Chapter Text
Some people might say Goro isn’t doing well.
Goro herself would disagree. Yeah, sure, maybe she’s upped her cigarette intake from three a day to ten. Maybe she’s asked her agent to schedule near nonstop interviews and photo-shoots and fan meets. Maybe she’s stopped sleeping and taken up knitting, carpentry, book-binding, soap making, and origami in its stead. But she’s fine. She’s doing great, actually.
She’s just busy. That’s all there is to it. Goro likes being busy. Goro likes working on her cases, and performing her idol job, and taking out bad men on Metaverse runs. It’s what she lives for.
The steadily growing pile of unread text messages and emails and voicemails is simply a side effect of her new chosen lifestyle. An unhappy one, of course, but a side effect nonetheless. Where would she find the time to respond to messages from Muhen, or the leader of the Phantom Thieves, or her father?
It’s… unfortunate. Not purposeful. Of course not.
Goro would take offence to someone who would suggest otherwise. This is just what busy looks like on Goro Akechi.
Busy: a lonely night in her apartment. With a bunch of textbooks on the kotatsu. A few empty energy cans scattered around. Her phone face down, but lighting up near constantly with alerts. God, the buzzing. The constant buzzing.
Goro herself is laying on her couch. Not doing any of the tasks her past self lovingly laid out for her to pick from. Staunchly refusing to take ibuprofen to stop the pounding noise in her head. Even when it starts to grow, louder and louder and louder.
It takes a while for Akechi to register the sound as someone knocking at her door.
Because, well, people don’t really knock on her door. She can count the times someone has on one hand, can remember them all with startling accuracy, and none of them have been fairly recent. There was the first time, the day when her landlady had come to welcome her to the building. She had been so surprised to see a barely sixteen-year-old girl answer the door. She’d asked Goro if her mother was home, and Goro had mumbled something awkwardly and closed the door. The landlady has not knocked since.
There were the two times after Wakaba Isshiki’s death when Goro had been too depressed to leave her bed and had to order food so that she didn’t starve to death. Admittedly, those times are more blurry than the others.
And then, a few days after those takeout deliveries, the final knock. It had been a man, a stranger; someone who had made her fingers curl around the baseball bat she keeps behind the door for emergencies. But he hadn’t said a lot, just a threat that skirted around itself in an attempt to keep itself legal and appropriate for a grown man to say to a teenage girl. Just in case anyone was listening. But she understood. It was Shido’s way of saying: you’re in too deep now. Don’t play around with a man like me.
Given the circumstances, Akechi going all but M.I.A., completing her hits silently, yet making a bigger public splash than ever, she can safely assume this is another one of those house calls.
This time, she lets the big, scary man behind the door stew for a bit. She makes some noise on purpose just to let him know she’s ignoring him on purpose. She grabs her gun from the bedroom.
Her knuckles go white on the door handle. “You can tell Shido—” she says, stopping herself mid sentence when her brain catches up. It’s not some stranger behind the door. It’s the man himself.
Shido Masayoshi.
Fuck.
“Tell me what?” he asks as he blasts past her, letting himself in.
Goro gives herself a generous second. She doesn’t turn around, slowly closes the door, notices her white knuckles and loosens her grip. The door clicks close and she lets herself have another second before she turns around on her heel, pressing her back against the wood. Silently putting the gun on the drawers next to her house keys.
“I’m not avoiding you,” she says. She can’t even make it sound like the truth. “I’ve been busy.”
“Yes,” he agrees. Goro tries not to let her surprise show, but she feels her forehead tense with the raising of her eyebrows. “Front page of Vague magazine, was it? The most viewed time slot for a Good Morning Japan interview? Fan meetup at Inokashira Park?”
“Amongst other things, yes.”
Shido laughs at that, running his hand over the bottom half of his face as he sits on Goro’s couch. Making himself at home, Goro supposes. She wants to be upset, but it’s fair if she thinks rationally. He does pay her rent.
Seeing him at all, well. She lets herself be upset at that.
“Not busy enough to stop doing your job, though,” he says and she knows what job he’s talking about. “Busy enough to stop communicating.”
“I’ve barely had a moment to myself,” she says. “I didn’t know you needed a verbal confirmation every time I eliminated a target.”
“It’s unprofessional,” he says, because he knows he doesn’t really have another reason to be so… agitated. “Tapping out a few letters on that phone mere seconds for you kids. Even I know that.”
“I don’t wish to become sloppy in our communication, Shido-san.”
He stares at her, tensing the muscles below his eyes in a barely-there squint. Agitated for sure.
“You have whisky here?” he asks.
“I’m underage.”
“Beer, then?”
She gives it a second. “No.”
But there it is again: the drinking to get drunk. Shido doesn’t drink beer, not really. Beer is reserved for fathers in dead-end jobs and sexless marriages. To drink on the weekends and late nights after putting the kids to bed. Beer is an overhanging gut and receding hairline. Shido is whisky. Refined, a successful man’s drink. Chiselled abs and baldness, sure, but baldness that has been chosen.
But without the synthetic courage…
“Do you regret what happened?”
She wraps her arms around herself, gaze now fixed on the floor as he speaks. That one question alone tells her all she needs to know: he thinks she had a choice.
So she avoids, ducks, dodges. “That doesn’t matter. What happened was a mistake, and for the sake of our professional relationship, we shouldn’t repeat it.”
“For the sake of our professional relationship,” he half-mocks, “you should not be avoiding me.”
“As I’ve said, I’ve been—”
“ As I’ve said, I don’t buy that bullshit for a second.”
Technically, he didn’t say that. But, well, Goro may be petty and persnickety, but she’s smart enough to see when she’s fighting a losing battle.
“Alright,” she says, “I admit it. I haven’t been giving you my full attention lately.”
Shido scoffs and looks out of the window.
“But it isn’t just about what happened.”
“Then what?”
“It’s also about… the aftermath.”
“The aftermath,” Shido says flatly. God, she could throttle him.
“I wanted to avoid an awkward encounter for as long as possible. It was clear to me that I had caught you in a bad moment. We’d both been drinking. It was a recipe for disaster.”
Shido relaxes back into the couch, letting his legs fall apart as he does. Goro doesn’t know if it’s subconscious or not. “You believe that it happened because I was drunk?”
Goro’s voice is as quiet as a mouse when it escapes her, “It was a possibility that I couldn’t ignore.” A possibility she was hoping for.
Shido laughs, a sharp one, entirely out of his nose. “You’re wrong.”
Goro’s stomach starts churning. Uncomfortable, not okay with where this conversation is headed.
“It would have happened either way.”
“Okay,” Goro says. And then, after a moment, “So might we get back to work?”
“And what? Forget it ever happened?”
“Precisely.”
“Do you really think I would be here, risking my career like this, if that was my desired outcome?”
Goro doesn’t really have anything to say to that. She’s only felt this way once before, when Shido had kissed her that night. That feeling of biting into an apple and feeling blackened, rotten flesh give against your teeth, tasting it on your tongue. Feeling a worm wriggle its terrified way out past your lips. Forcing yourself to keep chewing.
“There’s no need to be so adamant with me, Akechi,” he says. “Perhaps you harbour some shame about it, or feel embarrassed by it. I’m aware of the… optics. I’m old enough to be your father, after all.”
Goro might throw up. She feels her mouth flood with saliva.
“You don’t need to feel that way. There are many girls out there who are interested in this sort of thing. It’s typical for girls who grew up without a strong male presence.”
The acid burns as it comes up past her tonsils. She swallows it back down.
“Perfectly natural. I don’t think less of you for it. In fact, I admire a woman who knows what she wants. I know that you enjoyed our encounter.”
“It wasn’t right,” she says in that timid, mousy, little voice.
“And who says?”
Everyone, she doesn’t say, every cell in my body. Human nature.
“Attraction and pleasure aren’t things to attach artificial ethics to. If it feels right, feels good, in the privacy of a bedroom, then why not?”
Goro can think of a million reasons why not. She doesn’t say any of them.
“Come sit with me,” he says, patting the space beside him. When she doesn’t immediately move, he pulls out that voice again, that unquestionably dominant one. The one that makes her almost need to obey him, “Akechi. Sit with me.”
She finds her legs moving without her permission.
His hand finds its way into her hair as she sits, pulling through the brown strands. “There’s my good girl.”
“Please,” she says, shivering against her own fucking couch cushions, “don’t.”
“Why not?” he asks, breath blowing past her ear. “I know it makes you wet.”
“I don’t want you to.”
Shido makes a noise in the back of his throat, “You don’t need that shame anymore, Akechi. You can let me take it from you.”
She could cry. She might. She feels her voice wavering as she says, “Okay.” Fighting is exhausting. This is another losing battle. There’s no way she wins here. She can’t get everything she wants. If she wants to get her revenge, she has to make concessions. She has already made plenty. Sacrificing her role as the true hero, becoming an anti-hero. Giving up her privacy to go deeper into Mementos.
Becoming her father’s fuckbuddy. Just another concession.
“Good girl, that’s it,” he leans in close as he speaks, inhaling the scent of her shampoo as he does. Before his lips finally land on her neck.
She can’t help it. She moans at the simple feeling of it. Of the wet trail he leaves, the red marks he leaves when he sucks at her skin. It’s been hard, she’s been so busy and pent up. Trying not to think about this, but seeing it every time she closes her eyes.
It’s easier to give in. It’s disgusting to give in. But easier. So fucking easy.
Her hand curls up to his jaw, trying to hold him in place. Shido’s other hand comes up to pull her away.
“Get up,” he says, biting at her earlobe, “and strip for me.”
Shido leans back, fully separating himself from her, ready to watch. His hand remains a gentle presence on her back, closer to her ass than she’d like, giving her incentive to follow his orders.
All she’s wearing is her oversized t-shirt, the one she was intending to sleep in, and cycling shorts. The shirt comes over her head easily in such a fashion that is neither sexy nor unsexy. It’s quick, no fussing. She isn’t wearing a bra, so her breasts are on full display the moment the shirt comes past her ribs. There’s no throwing her shirt at Shido this time, no crossing her arms over her chest. It’s strange; she cares so little now. He’s already seen all of her, after all. Why not let him see it again?
The shorts come off next, and it’s a bit of a hassle to separate the form-fitting fabric from her underwear, but she manages. Because, well, Shido hasn’t really seen that part of her, yet. She doesn’t know if she wants him to. Doesn’t know if he wants to.
“Panties too,” he says, which settles one part of that.
Neither of them want to talk about the new lace that covers up her pussy. Or the thin strap that runs between her ass cheeks. They both know the reason that the comfy cotton is gone.
Goro pushes them off her hips and steps out of them.
“You’re a beautiful girl, Akechi,” he says, appraising her like she’s some… thing. “It’s no wonder half the men in Japan want to fuck you.”
“Only half?” she says. She wants it to be a joke, but it doesn’t come out like one. It comes out distorted and ugly, like she’s trying to flirt.
Shido smirks at her. “However many doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”
“Why’s that?” she asks, running her fingers up her thigh.
“Because,” he says, hands reaching out to grab her hips and bring her closer, “this is all mine.”
She hates it. Hates it. Hates the shiver it sends running through her vertebrae.
“Kneel.” Shido uses his hands again, manhandles her, helps her get to her knees. “There you go.”
The cold laminate flooring bites into her knees. Shido hands her a throw pillow. She’ll be down here for a while, then.
“Remember what I told you last time?” he asks. Goro nods. Of course she does, she’s been doing everything she can to forget it, to not think about it. It’s simply not possible. “Take out my cock.”
His belt is expensive leather. Warm and hard, but the metal buckle is refreshingly cool. Her fingers take their time with it, because she knows he won’t like it if she ruins his belt. She wonders if she wants him to free it from the loops of his pants, but figures that if he wants her to, he’ll ask. That’s a nice thought to have. Shido will tell her exactly what she’s supposed to do. She doesn’t have to think about it for herself. He knows what is right.
The button of his fly pops easily, and pulling down the zip is even easier. She can feel the heat of him through his thin boxers, see his hardening shape. Goro pulls the waistband down like she’s excited, pulls out his cock and balls, hesitant to touch him.
He notices, “You can touch. Get me hard.” She shuffles in closer, opening up her mouth as she moves, but she’s met with two knuckles against her forehead. “I said touch. What’s the rush?” he asks, “We have all night.”
Goro wanted to be in bed within the next hour. She doesn’t tell him that. Maybe she should. Instead, she drags up his thighs with her fingers. It’s as though she can feel the pulsing of his heartbeat as she gets closer to his dick, to the heat of him.
Gingerly, she wraps delicate fingers around the girth. She feels that way again: little. Small. Her hand is a few centimetres short of fully grasping him. There’s no way Shido doesn’t enjoy that, with the way his head falls against the back of the couch. It can’t be just from the barest of touches.
And Shido doesn’t let himself lose that control for long; his head is back up in the same moment, eyes back focused on her. Like he hates himself for missing even a second of it. Like it will never happen again. Goro wonders how many times this will happen again. She wonders if she’ll ever be able to lose track.
It’s not an easy motion: to attempt to glide dry skin on dry skin. Goro loosens up her grip, losing a precious inch around him, to try and help things along. She can’t tell if it helps. Shido gives her nothing; no advice, no encouragement, not so much as a groan of approval. Something inside her prickles. He’s getting off on this inexperience — far more than he would from any regular handjob.
With her other hand, she cradles his balls, feeling more and more like a fool as time progresses. He does let out a satisfied hum at that, but all that accomplishes is making her more angry, closer to snapping. She wants something real, she wants to take him apart like he took her apart. It’s not fair that even here, at his most vulnerable, he has something over her.
She pulls gently, revealing a blushing-red head that she wants to run her thumb over. She lets herself — just experimenting with him. Testing the waters. Rising to his unspoken challenge. He gives another hum at that, and it drives her fucking insane. She tries twisting her wrist as she strokes, tries a looser grip, tries glossing a fingertip over the slit.
That must be the limit for what he’s willing to put up with, because he speaks after a pained sort of grunt. “Gentle. Spit on your palm.”
It feels disgusting to do, disgusting to let him watch, but she does it. With her fingers, she rubs her saliva into her palm, ensuring with another spit that she’s all wet. It’s not enough, not really, not like a mouth or a pussy or even real lubricant would be, but she tries. It’s a better glide — for a moment. Once she gets back into the rhythm of it, it feels dry again.
It doesn’t matter. She keeps at it until he’s hard enough in her hand. If he could get harder, then it’s on him to instruct her. Goro won’t lose sleep over it. She sits back on her heels impatiently, staring up at him as she touches him slowly, waiting for the next instruction.
“I didn’t tell you to stop,” he says, but he’s laughing as he does. Like he finds her insubordination funny, for some reason willing to overlook it this time. Goro doesn’t say anything in response; she just keeps both her gaze and her hands steady. He’s looking at her with this strange expression on his face. An easy smile, eyes that for once aren’t stern.
If Goro didn’t know better, she’d say he looked fond.
“Very well,” he says, “you can use your mouth.”
Once again, she leans forward onto her knees, onto the soft pillow. Almost immediately, she feels regret start to swell up inside her. When she’s close up like this, Shido’s cock seems so much bigger. Bigger than anything she’s ever tried to put in her mouth before, bigger than her whole fucking face.
Of course, Shido won’t take pity on her now either. Well, aside from saying, “Don’t use your teeth.”
Which she could’ve figured out herself.
She starts by running her tongue up the bottom. Her nose bumps against the head as she goes, inhaling the sweat and musk of him. It’s not as bad as she would expect: masculine and raw and… sexy. If she’s honest with herself. She licks around the head, trying to inhale more of it.
It’s good for him, it must be; because he’s finally giving her aborted breaths and shaky groans. But it’s not enough. His hands find the nape of her neck, fingers curling around the hair there, and pushes her head — egging her on.
She looks up at him with a scowl. He knows she can’t resist that. Opening her mouth, she lets him guide her to her place. It’s less than one third of the way in before her gag reflex kicks in, but that’s enough to make him groan on a gruff exhale.
His grip loosens then, but he doesn’t let go — content to let her bob up and down, acclimating to the feeling. Goro doesn’t feel like she’s sucking so much as just letting her head move, but maybe that’s the idea. Maybe it’s just like fucking. She does a few experimental flickers of her tongue, like french-kissing, but none of them seem to get a reaction out of him like the slow glide of her lips do.
Too soon, his fingers knot together in her hair again, and push her down further than she’s willing to go. She chokes, splutters, gags, but it doesn’t stop him. In fact, he seems to enjoy those sounds more than anything else she’s done with her body all night.
And she can’t tell him to stop, god knows she would, with a mouth full of cock. All she can do is look up at him with glassy eyes, trying to warn him — if you make me throw up, I’ll kill you. He really likes that look in her eyes. It earns her a cock sitting against her tonsils for a moment, basking in the sensation of a warm hole.
“You’re a natural,” he says, constrained and tight, as he pulls her back up. There’s barely a reprieve, barely space for her to breathe before he plunges himself back in. He fills her so completely, there’s no room for anything but him: the feel of him, the hardness of him, the smell of him.
It drives her wild. Despite the physical discomfort of the gagging, the blocking of her airways, she feels her thighs slide together wetly.
Of course, she’s crying now. The pain of it, the forcefulness is too much. But she likes it. She likes it so deeply that she immediately recognises it as a natural part of her — part of her genetics, her DNA. That familiarity, the clarity, it makes her cry all the harder.
She already knows how much he likes that. So she keeps her eyes locked on him.
“Fucking—” he grunts. His hips are moving now, in a perfect tandem with his hand in her hair, meeting himself halfway. It feels like he’s pushing further every time. Like he’s letting her build up to it, like he’s doing her some sort of service. It’s not enough. She chokes on every thrust.
He must like it. The instinctive clamp of her throat as she gags must feel like heaven on his cock: soft and hot and velvety. Goro wonders if it’s better than her pussy. Is it more or less fucked up if she’s hoping that it’s not?
The pace is speeding up now too, each thrust further down her throat, each one faster than the last. Soon, Goro’s nose is getting tickled by wiry pubic hair. They aren’t as unkempt as she’s imagined, but they’re still a nuisance. If she sneezes during her first ever blowjob, she’s going to be having words with the omniscient sicko who bestowed this destiny upon her.
“Suck,” he says, “hollow out your cheeks.” He’s speaking like he’s walking on hot coals, quick, breathless. They have to be in the home stretch now, then.
Goro takes his advice, grateful to receive it, grateful for this to almost be over. She can feel wet trails of clumpy black rolling down her cheeks. Sloppy gaps torn in her mask of foundation. God, she must look like his wet dream. She lets her gaze on him soften, her attempt at seductiveness, to try and get him to finish quicker. Instead, he shoves her right down to the base, enough for her to feel the soft skin of his balls under her chin. Immediately, she tries to pull away. It’s instinctual — she can’t control that — but his firm grip tightening and pulling on her hair must think otherwise. He keeps her there for a moment, revelling in the roll of her throat, before he lets her go completely.
She all but falls off him, spluttering and coughing all the way. “Look at me,” he says in that same tone. When she does, he’s stroking himself off almost viciously. “Come here,” he says, and he lays the head of his dick on her chin once she’s close enough.
Goro’s seen enough porn to figure out what’s coming next.
“Open your mouth,” he says, “show me your tongue, there’s a good girl, oh fuck—”
She doesn’t even have to think about closing her eyes. One second they’re open, and the next they’re closed. Like her body is trying to protect her, even now, even after all she’s put it through.
The warm, viscous stuff hits her face in short bursts. It’s welcome, in a way, covering up her quickly-chipping mask. In every other way, it’s like a nightmare. There’s nothing for her to do to stop that heavy train of thoughts from barrelling down the tracks. No cock to suck, no pleasure to focus on, no discomfort.
Only her. And her father’s cum hitting her tongue.
Fresh tears squeeze themselves out of the tight press of her eyelids.
Goro doesn’t have any way to know that it’s stopped. She figures it must be over when a gentle thumb glosses along her cheek, but she doesn’t open her eyes.
“Swallow,” he says. His voice is softened from orgasm, but somehow still demanding — still in control.
Her tongue rolls back into her mouth. She tries not to focus on the taste, swallowing it quick like she would a dry pill. Though it’s a silly idea; it’s not possible to ignore the bitter tang, the overwhelming salt. She has to swallow a few more times to try and forget the memory of it.
“Show me,” he says, hands gripping her jaw like he did last time. She opens up easily, showing him her empty mouth. His thumb creeps inside. Goro doesn’t know why. Maybe this is one of his weird fetishes. Maybe he’s just trying to relive the memory of his cock. “You did well,” he says.
“Thank you, sir,” she says, mumbled around his thumb.
He likes that. She can see it in his eyes. He likes incapacitating her. He’d tie her to a bed and leave her there if he could, use her only when he wants to get off.
Goro would hate that. With him. She’s sure she would.
“Perfect,” he says. A delicate whine leaves Goro’s throat, something too vulnerable for what this is. Her bottom lip quivers under Shido’s palm, threatening to spill words that are better off not being heard. Words that are for a father and his daughter. Not this. Whatever this has become.
Whatever she’s let it become. God, this is all her fault.
Fuck. She can’t let herself lose to her own head. She can’t forget who the man in front of her is, what he did. This is her mother’s murderer. The man who she’s going to rule over. The man whose life she is going to ruin. This is another — admittedly unplanned — step in that process.
When he finds out the girl he’s been lusting over all this time is his own daughter, she won’t have to lift a finger. He’ll kill himself all on his own.
Goro lets her lips close around his thumb, sucking it like she had his cock. She is going to burn this image on the backs of his eyelids. He’ll see this as he’s throwing up into a street gutter, at the bottom of every bottle, in every fucking dirty nightmare. He’ll write about it in his suicide note.
Her own hand crawls between her legs at the thought.
Shido’s hard shoe comes up to kick it away. It’s painful enough for him to feel the scowl around his finger. “Eager, little slut, are you?”
She pulls away from him, “No.”
An ugly grin splits his face. “Get up.”
Her hands come up to wrap around herself as she obeys him. “Aren’t we done?”
He laughs, “And leave you to grind against your pillow?” It’s like a joke to him. She burns with the mockery of it. It’s not an entirely bad feeling. “What a waste of a beautiful orgasm. I’d much rather taste it.”
After he’s tucked himself away, Shido manhandles her again, laying her on her couch, resting her head against the pillowed arm of it. There’s barely enough room for her to spread out on the couch, but somehow Shido makes it work, hands splitting her legs apart to prey low between them.
His touch on her is too gentle — she feels almost ticklish with it, squirming under him until he places a firm hand on her stomach. Somehow, it calms her down, steadies out her breathing. “There you go,” he says, running his other hand over the soft fabric of her underwear, “good girl.”
Goro’s arm folds itself over her eyes. She feels Shido’s laugh as a warm breath against her thigh. She’s expecting a command, a deep, rumbling “Look at me,” but it never comes. Instead, four fingers push their way under the skimpy waistband of her underwear and peel it away. A whine passes through the smallest gap between her lips at the feeling of it — the stickiness, the cold air, the vulnerability.
She peeks past the complete darkness of her arm, just to watch him slide the fabric off past her ankles. Goro doesn’t know what she’s expecting — something terrible and mentally scarring, no doubt — but he barely even inspects them, just pushes them into the pockets of his pants. In different circumstances, she’d be upset, since they cost her a pretty penny. But she isn’t in different circumstances. And it’s Shido’s money that paid for them anyway.
“I almost miss those girlish things you wore before.”
Goro doesn’t have anything to say to that. There’s nothing to say that isn’t another confession, a pawn willingly given.
“No need to be shy,” he says, “I teased you about it, I know. But that doesn’t mean I don’t find it attractive.”
Her arm presses harder into her brow. It hurts, on some level, to know he doesn’t even see her as a big enough threat to hide away parts of himself. To know that while she covers herself in body armour, he doesn’t even care to carry a sword.
Two thick fingers drag themselves down her middle, spreading apart her labia when they get close enough. She feels like a pinned butterfly for a moment, feeling the air itself tense as he inspects her, decides whether she’s up to his standards.
She doesn’t get the verbal confirmation, the praise she’s secretly desperate for; instead, she gets a kiss, too gentle, against the very edge of her mons. She makes a disapproving sort of noise, but it just pulls a chuckle out of Shido — one she can feel right against her cunt.
“Needy, hm?” he asks. But he doesn’t make her wait any longer, he presses his mouth against her, licking hard and slow up to her clit.
The shock of it tears a rough cry right from her throat, makes her hips buck up into his twisted grin. The feeling is different than his hands were, it’s wet and slippery and the sensation of his mouth drinking her down is divine.
Shido pulls one of her legs over his shoulder, pressing the meat of her other thigh away to give him a better angle on her. She’s like a thing in his grip, moving wherever he tells her, her own fucking body betraying her.
But honestly, it’s hard to get lost in the melancholy with his tongue lapping her up like he’s a fucking eager dog with a bone.
It’s a bit of a power trip to see him reduced to this. Even when she’s touched him, when he’s fucked her, he’s still had all the control, still made Goro a slave to her own pleasure. But he’s enjoying this just as much as she is.
Maybe more.
Then he slides a finger inside of her and — oh, no, she’s definitely enjoying it more. One quickly becomes two before he starts to finger fuck her in earnest, finding that perfect spot inside her with a practised ease.
“Fuck,” she says to nobody, just to break up the raw, wet noises that fill her apartment. She pushes both her legs over him, tension building inside of her so quickly that she can’t help but squeeze his head.
He pats her outer thigh with his free hand. “That’s it,” he says. It feels like it should be a crime to have him pull away, even if it’s just to spill out a few pretty words. “There you go. Good.”
His words swirl around in her gut like her favourite meal gone bad. Like they’ll make her throw up any minute. Goro doesn’t quite know what to do with her hands; they move with every sharp intake of breath, covering her mouth, wrapping themselves into the couch, hesitating around Shido’s head. There’s too much happening, too much sensation, she doesn’t know what to do with it all.
“Close?” he asks, and she must be. She can certainly feel the telltale tightening of her muscles, but it feels more intense. Desperate.
“Ahuh,” she hums, nodding with her eyes screwed shut.
“Then you know what you have to do,” he says. She feels him smile into her cunt when she whines at the words. She remembers, of course she knows what to do.
She can admit to herself that it feels good this time. It’s easy to follow his instructions. There’s less guilt. She’s not responsible for this.
“Please,” she says, high and throaty, “it’s so fucking good, I can’t—”
“You can,” he says. “Look at me. I want to see you beg.”
Her wet eyes open, looking down at him between her legs, fucking feasting, devouring her. The sight makes her cry out, but she keeps her gaze steady. “Please, please, please,” she begs, fast enough to sound indistinguishable as separate words even to her own ears. “I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, sir.”
A distant part of her wonders if she’ll regret making such empty promises later. Wonders what exactly she’s giving up for an orgasm.
“Fuck me,” he says, the words hot on her pussy, “you are a damned succubus.”
“Please, shit, sir. I’m gonna come, I—”
He cuts her off, just as desperate and greedy as she is, “Come for me, come on my fucking tongue. My good girl.”
It comes out of her like a flood. Writhing and arching like a tsunami against his mouth. He fucks it all out of her, fingers making the most obscene, wet sounds she’s ever heard.
When it’s all over. Everything feels wet. Her legs, the skin against her, the fucking couch.
Goro peels herself away from it all, curiosity overtaking the perfect bliss she feels. There’s a wet spot where she’d been, darkening the beige colour of the couch. Shido crawls up after her, caging her in and feeding her the taste of her orgasm on his fingers.
“Did I— What happened?” she mumbles around his thick fingers.
“I made you squirt,” he says, right against her ear before pulling away to watch her lick him clean. “What do you say?”
“Thank you, sir.” And it barely feels like a betrayal of herself when she says it now.
A smile, a real smile, paints his lips when she speaks. He takes his fingers out of her mouth, wipes them on the crook of her neck and her shoulder, before he stands. “Good girl.”
She pushes her head into his offered hand, like a caress. It’s a nice comfort; she can admit that.
“I expect you to answer when that phone rings. I won’t make another house call.”
“Yes, sir.”
He pulls away, steps back, makes his moves towards the door. There’s a speck of her wetness on him, it makes his shirt see-through. “I’ll see you this Friday for your next task.”
And with that, he’s gone.
Goro stares at the mess of her living space. The empty cans, the clothes strewn across the floor, that damned spot on her couch. She finds her oversized shirt amongst the mess, tugs it over her head for modesty’s sake.
She leaves it all for future Goro to deal with. She walks to her bedroom in a haze, like she did last time. Last time, she sobbed and sobbed until she could wring out her pillow with tears.
Tonight, she just lays back. Doesn’t think. Breathes. Sleeps. Eventually.