Turn around
Since when are you smoking now?
It's been a while, let me know
Like, did you end up moving house?
You're the only one who knows that name
You're the only one does that face
I just wanna know if you're okay
Only have a couple minutes, it already kinda feels like
Back on your sofa
Of course, I still care
Love's never wasted
When it's shared, mm, mm
And although it's over
I'll always be there
Only have a couple minutes, guess we're going back to real life
I guess we've found a silver lining
I'm glad you're doing so well
If only you could see how I've been
If I'm being real, you know it ain't been the same
We could talk if we want now
I already know it's no good for me
It's alright, think I'm fine with the silence
There's some good in goodbyes
Oh, I
Back on your sofa
Of course, I still care
Love's never wasted
When it's shared, mm, mm
And although it's over
I'll always be there
Only have a couple minutes and we're going back to real life
In your heart
Every part of me
We'll let go
And let it start to be
In your heart
Every part of me
We'll let go
And let it start to be
In your heart
Every part of me
We'll let go
And let it start to be
In your heart
Every part of me
We'll let go
And let it start to be (oh, oh, eh, eh, eh)
Only have a couple minutes, guess we're going back to real life
(Oh, oh, eh, eh, eh)
Only have a couple minutes and we're going back to real life
this is literally making me feral he looks fucking animalistic lordddddd like this is the pope that pounds into you from behind anywhere he feels like it
[ SUM ] — college soccer coach toji has a secret admirer. but how secret is it when most of the highlights in the school paper are photos of him, instead of the players scoring goals?
[ TAGS ] — MDNI 18+ ONLY. nsfw. piv. raw. unprotected. age gap (mid 30s x early 20s). slight exhibitionism. HEAVY CREAMPIE. FAT BULGE. spanking. CUNNILINGUS. oral f!recieving. dacryphilia. reader kinda freaky. thick dark sexy HAPPY TRAIL. nudity. SHOWER SEX. SCENT KINK. pet names. spitting. wc: 19.1k
[ A/N ] — inspired by coach!toji from my fratkuna series. I was gooning too much whenever I’d mention him soooo
photo-journalism can mean many things. at its core though is documentation and being present. it’s about recording what happens so it doesn’t vanish into the noise of the world. and that’s what you’ve been doing since you started uni.
working for the school newspaper means covering everything that matters to the university. big events, games, and when you attend a school with a division 1 soccer team, that’s ranked the top of the country, it means your weekends are spent on the sidelines of the pitch. floodlights humming overhead, cleats tearing into the turf, and the air sharp with anticipation.
everyone’s eyes are on the match, on the players, the scoreline, and the inevitable victory. everyone’s, except yours.
your lens has a habit of drifting. and it always finds him on the sidelines, the head coach.
standing just outside the white chalk lines. shaggy raven hair that never looks styled, stubble he clearly forgot—or chose not—to shave that morning. his infamous scar pulling at his lips as he shouts. he wears the same black team jacket unzipped, sleeves rolled up his thick forearms. when he folds his arms or gestures sharply toward the field, you always catch his muscles shifting beneath the fabric, veins flexing making it so impossible to ignore.
it’s just a photographer’s eye for striking subjects. for sure….
he beautifully contrasts against the chaos of the game…even if he’s shouting, or breaking his clipboard…. still, you capture him mid-shout, mid-thought, jaw clenched as he’s holding the entire team together.
and then later, when the photos run, and his photos dominate the highlights more than the actual goal, well, you pretend not to notice how often your name sits beneath them in a small, neat printed font.
he doesn’t know you. you’re just another person with a camera on the sidelines. you’re just another face in a sea of professional press badges, not just one of the universities many photographers. but you know him. you know the way his brows pinch when one of his players gets injured, the way his mouth twitches when his team scores, and the way he exhales with relief when the game ends.
and you keep clicking the shutter button—
“again?!” the head editor exclaims. “you didn’t get the goal?”
“I did!” you huff, glaring at the senior grad student who basically runs the entire school newspaper.
“not the first one, the final goal! the one scored by the universities ace! sukuna—“
“god forbid i missed a shot, I basically got everything else, plus I’m not the only one taking photos on the pitch. don’t you have other photographers?” you tsk, arms crossed.
he glares at you behind his desk, clicking through the photos you’d uploaded. “you got every single expression of the damn coach,” he mutters under his breath, clicking through one of toji shouting, then another of him spitting on the grass, then another of him scratching his jaw—
you nibble on your cheek, slouching slightly in the seat.
“you hate when we use someone else’s photos,” he adds, licking his teeth as he finally gets to your photos of the actual players. and they were spectacular. the action shots were perfect, you can see the sweat dribbling down their foreheads.
“because it’s my job,” you mutter, glancing at your editor who frowns when the photos return back to the head coach.
“unbelievable,” he mumbles, exhaling slowly as he sits back in his seat. “you’re killing me.”
your heel kicks the floor. this wasn’t a first. this happens almost every time. your lens just happens to drift away from the ball and fall on the head coach.
even with fans shouting in the stands, and the other cameras flashing in the other direction. your camera can’t help but find coach toji in the chaos. he was just as important as the team. he’s acting like toji isn’t mentioned a million times in the articles! god forbid you want him getting his flowers. but your editor wasn’t very appreciative of your sympathies.
“we’re going with these three, and taking one from the other photographers for the final goal you didn’t get,” he sighs, showing you your three photos, one of the team celebrating, another of satoru gojo sprinting across the field with the ball, and of course, the final — and in your opinion the best — of head coach toji standing with his muscular arms crossed at the start of the second half.
your editor rolls his eyes turning his screen back to him. “if you bring another folder and it’s seventy percent of this damn coach, I’ll drop you and pull noah up.”
the threat has you lowering your head and muttering a hesitate okay, because at the end of the day, you were the only photographer that worked full time for the paper, and you go to every single match. the rest are focused on other stories, or working their way to become editors.
while you liked photo-journalism more. it helped, that on weekends, you got someone to admire. and your editor was not the only one that’s noticed.
“what the hell, you’ve got to be kidding me,” geto huffs, snatching the paper from gojo as he sits on the pitch. “why am I never in these damn fucking articles??” he huffs with anger
“score more goals,” gojo sticks his tongue out, just to get kicked harshly by his friend.
“I fucking scored this game,” geto snaps, grumbling even more as he flips through the paper, seeing the team celebrating.
sukuna chugs his water behind them, “my picture sucks ass,” he grumbles, spitting the water right beside their goalie making him jerk back in annoyance. “you didn’t score, but I get the shit picture?” he snaps lowly at gojo.
geto frowns, “I scored, and at least you get a picture.”
gojo chuckles, pointing at the next photo, making the entire team roll their eyes simultaneously.
“some things never change,” one teammate, yuno, mutters. his hands are on his hips as him and the rest of the team glare at the immaculate, pristine, jaw-dropping photo captured of their strict, grumpy, nicotine addicted head coach, toji.
sukuna snarls as geto looks like he’s going to fucking tear out his luscious black hair. “fucking unbelievable.”
gojo snorts even louder, snatching the paper just to wave it from his place on the ground towards toji, who’d just gotten off the phone. “coach! you’re mogging the cameras again!”
toji’s brows pinch until he notices the photo. and it’s always the same reaction from the head coach. his eyes scan over the photo, then they fall down to the same printed name underneath. “not bad,” he casually says, handing back the newspaper like it’s nothing.
but the entire team is seething, with the exception of gojo laughing his ass off.
“I finally figured out who your secret admirer is,” gojo announces, “it’s definitely the cutie with the charm on her camera and stickers on her flashlight.”
geto raises a brow “how d’ya know that?” the rest of the team immediately huddle in.
gojo clears his throat.
“for the last few games I’ve been purposely fixing my shoes or drinking water on the sidelines where they’re all huddled up. obviously I ruled out all the old farts, then I narrowed it down to the ladies. then i crossed out the outside press, but it’s hard since I can’t see all their press badges—but then i noticed,” gojo holds up the newspaper, slapping his index finger on your name beneath the photo. the entire team have basically memorized your full name by now. “she was the only one still photographing the field, BUT it was pointed at coach,” gojo points to toji.
“AND,” gojo continues, “she had this cute little charm on her camera, and this sticker. and it’s definitely your secret admirer,” gojo confidently smiles.
however, geto scratches his jaw, glancing at gojo then the newspaper. “so which one was her instagram?”
oh right, gojo rubs his neck in disappointment.
your name under a majority of the game’s photos started catching the teams attention a couple months ago. your credentials at the bottom of the article was always signed with your first and last name. however, when the team caught on to your not-so secret admiration for their coach, and neglect of the rest of team, they tried stalking you.
yet, they couldn’t find a single social media handle. not your instagram, twitter, tiktok — even your linkedIn was just the default linkedIn pfp. and the school paper website didn’t have a photo for you. either way, the team was on a mission.
“I don’t think her socials are even under her name,” gojo admits, making the team groan.
toji, silently watching the ordeal transpire, claps his hands, breaking the gossip. “enough, continue your drills unless ya wanna stay till sunset!”
once the team finally finishes practice and began packing their gear. neither one of them notices the students enjoying the nice weather on campus, or the girl that take a detours to walk past the field.
your eyes easily fall on your perfect subject. his hand cracks his neck as he stifles a yawn, kicking the soccer ball towards one of the players as they kick it up, tucking it under their arm.
it was a routine….one that you found yourself subconsciously doing on practice days. you would follow the path down from the quad, until you reach the second soccer field on campus, mainly used for practice and training.
your bag hangs off your shoulder along with your camera — the lens was downsized to your fixed 24mm and the flash wasn’t on — that’s usually how your camera is when you aren’t at events, or games.
it isn’t uncommon to watch the schools infamous soccer team practice. especially when half of them are also part of a fraternity. hell, on the other side of the field were a few girls fawning over the sweaty players.
in other words, you don’t stand out. and you’re unbothered by the hot players that glance your way as they pack their bags. well, until a certain white haired player is squinting across the field, before muttering a quiet “no way…”
geto gives his friend a look, lifting his duffle over his shoulder as sukuna wipes his face with the hem of his jersey, “what?” he grumbles.
gojo’s bag hit the grass. he locks eyes with you. then he does the worst thing imaginable. he shouts your name.
the entire team snap their necks in your direction. gojo suddenly leads the pack of six foot whatever college men across the field — their bags drop, cleats half untied, some bare foot. but all on one mission.
you.
the color immediately drains from your face. your body freezes like a deer in headlights. and when the entire team of sweaty, built, hot men crowd the waist-high fence that separate them from you. you’re ultimately stuck.
“you’re-you’re—“ slightly out of breath and pumped full of adrenaline, gojo heaves out your name. not just a first name, no—your full government name. “right!?”
you eyes lazily drag between the men, fixing the strap of your bag, your camera clinking against the side, drawing every man’s attention to the little charm gojo had just described less than an hour ago.
“yeah,” you manage to exhale, shifting your balance. “did you need something?”
“yeah,” the low voice of the hot headed team captain interrupts. he hadn’t ran with rest of the players, instead he walked up, casual and full of loud confidence. finally making his way across the field, energy drink in hand, glaring right through you as he continues. “why the fuck was my picture the only one not taken by you? it looks like shit.”
you exhale, about to answer when another one cuts in.
“why haven’t you taken one of me? the game last month was my debut and you didn’t get me going on the pitch—“
“I liked that shot you got of me when—“
“can you get my good side next time—“
“why did you—“
“can you—“
“you didn’t get my goal!” geto manages to dogpile. all the men yell complaints and compliments, overwhelming you with critiques. until you’re frowning, glaring harshly at the group of men you’d watched from a distance since your freshman year.
“I don’t work for you guys,” you finally snap. your words are cold making the men frown. “I work for the schools paper, and they choose the photos, not me.”
“and yet coach is in every single one of em?” geto bites back, and that’s when they all catch the slight surprise that crosses your face.
gojo smirks, leaning over the fence, getting close as he tilts his head. “seems like a majority of your photos have our coach. it’s like your editor can’t help but be forced to put him in.”
you feel your stomach churn, glancing between the sharp sapphire eyes. “that’s not how it works,” you mutter.
you did not expect your first interaction with the soccer team to be this. accusing you of favoritism. you can practically feel all their eyes on you, like they knew exactly who you are, even if this is your first time speaking to them.
“sure looks like it,” sukuna drawls, smirking wide when he sees you shift uncomfortably. “you like our coach or somethin?”
“of course she does,” geto’s smooth voice cuts in. “do you get all hot lookin at coach toji?”
you swallow thickly, pushing down the heat crawling up your neck to glare at the men. “you guys are disgusting,” you spit, but the men don’t falter, instead they continue gloating and poking.
“we just wanna get to know you. you’ve been takin’ our pics for months, we can’t have a chat now?” geto cuts.
they were quietly impressed with your composure. your poker face would’ve been perfect if not for the slight fidgeting you’re doing with your bag and camera strap. either way, your glare was mean, unwavering until—
“cut it out.”
the sharp voice slices through the team. then, one strong palm shoves gojo into geto, and the rest of the team topple on each other like dominos. the head coach plants himself between the fence, his team, and you.
“i forget you’re all a couple children,” toji tsks, his arms are crossed standing like a lone knight keeping a pack a wolves from a poor princess.
your heart slams against your rib cage. all your composure evaporates into thin air, struggling to catch your breath. this was the closest you’ve gotten to the head coach. you can practically smell the mixture of his cologne and natural musk. your cheeks grow hotter by the second, completely dazed and loosing all other senses, unaware that practically half the team noticed your sudden shift.
gojo elbows geto eyeing the way your pupils basically turn into bright pink hearts. even your lips look more glossy from the drool collecting in your mouth.
they’d never seen anything like it, and for their coach of all people?!
you’re caught up in gawking at the huge man, eyeing his wide shoulders, the veins straining from his compression shirt, his shirt clinging to every muscle that could break you in a blink of an eye — that you miss his short lecture towards his boys to quit scaring off a young woman, all to end with him shouting—
“ten more laps!”
the team’s eyes bulge, jaws dropping in shock, and quickly follow up with a spew of complaints.
“ya heard coach!” sukuna, the hot-headed captain, interrupts. and if the team wasn’t scared of their coach, they definitely had a reason to be with their captain. they ultimately drop their things and start their laps. however, sukuna hangs back at bit, “I didn’t even say sh—“
“you were late to practice, so you were gonna do the laps anyways,” toji cuts, earning a loud tsk from the tattooed captain. his duffle drops on the floor dramatically, eyes flicking towards yours, which — no surprise — haven’t left the coach’s profile, and with his own groan, his cleats hit the grass starting his lap.
with the entire team running laps….you’re left alone.
coach toji doesn’t move.
instead, he leans against the fence, strong arms crossing. you’re barely a foot behind him, close enough that the scent of grass and dizzy cologne reaches you when he shifts his weight. close enough that your brain short-circuits again.
then he looks over his shoulder.
it’s not rushed or sharp. it was an easy turn of his head, his dark emerald eyes flick to you with calm, assessing. and up close, he’s worse. he’s broader than he looks from the sidelines, his stubble shadowing his jaw feels unfair for a sunday morning. sunlight catches the edge of his cheekbone, and the curve of his mouth makes you stare shamelessly especially when it lifts just slightly. he’s amused by something you’re not aware of yet and you don’t even notice.
your heart stutters.
you practically forget how to stand or how to function like a grown ass adult, instead you feel like someone who’s just had their fantasy materialize directly in front of them.
heat rushes to your face, your chest tightens, and you pray, desperately, that your expression isn’t as transparent as it feels. you focus on keeping your hands still, even as your pulse flutters wildly under your skin.
and toji’s gaze lingers. he takes you in like the way someone experienced does, without staring, without shame, just a brief glance that drifts. from your fidgeting fingers, to your necklace trapped between your pretty cleavage, to the tank top that hugs your chest, to the zip up hoodie falling off your soft shoulder. to your lips, wet from the amount of times you’d lick and bit them.
and you still don’t notice it! you’re too busy trying not to melt into the grass beneath your feet. all you register is how hot the space suddenly feels, how solid he seems standing there.
from the field, a player snickers mid-lap. a majority watching the entire interaction, waiting for someone to make a move. gojo snickers as geto analyzes.
you don’t hear any of it, all you know is that the knights are real, and he’s right in front of you, and your carefully maintained composure never stood a chance. especially when his eyes meet yours and his deep, husky, voice sinks into your bones.
“been wondering who was seein’ me like that, sweetheart.”
you were gone.
s-s-s-sweetheart!?
your heart bursts, veins burning through your skin as your lips part, words falling into the void as your brain struggles to reply.
and he finds it adorable.
college girls are cute, but you, you’re a little pervert. how many photos have you taken of him? and for the past year too? he’s wondered just like his team had, who was behind all those photos. who was oogling him while the best team in the nation was playing right before their eyes?
at first, he was bothered, confused even, how big of a stalker did you have to be to take his photos for months and not introduce yourself?
but now he sees it. the way you’re struggling to find words. the way your eyes flick between his — surprised even that you’re not shying away from eye contact, but instead, struggling to just respond. like the words are right there, but your dumb brain is getting fried just by his presence. cute.
“I’ll try an’ wink next time.”
he just hammers the nail straight into your heart. your face bursts into flames as you let out a strangled hum like whine, face burning even more. unfortunately, your audience isn’t as silent. instead a few had caught your reaction and were bursting with laughter. a few whistling at their coach.
“she’s too young for ya, coach!”
“get someone y’er own age!”
“coach, the shy ones are the freakiest!”
the last one — somehow — snapped you back to reality. your glare cut through the field, immediately hitting one of the players making him burst out laughing along with the others around him. your face pulls into a scowl, heart hammering at the teasing you’re receiving from the team. who even are they? they don’t know anything about you!
shy?! you?!!! you scowl in annoyance, eyes rollin—
“ignore em, sweetheart. they’re just being dicks.”
fuck.
your face burns hot again, heart hammering against your ribs as you stutter out another nod, fingers gripping your bag as you glance at the head coach again. his green eyes were unbelievably dark, just staring at them, you felt like you were getting dizzy.
the scar on his lip twitches up, leaning an elbow on the fence, his eyes flick down to your camera. “what kinda camera is that?”
your eyes widen, looking down like you’re surprised it’s there. but it seems like he flicks a switch in your brain with that question, because now you’re fumbling to hold the delicate thing in your hands. then you hold it out for him.
a small puff of air leaves his nose in amusement. you’re cute. he turns, reaching his hand out, just for your small ones to place the expensive camera in his. the same one you’d deny your friends from even holding, afraid they’ll drop it.
b-but if coach toji holds it…if he wants to hold it…who…who are you to stop him!!!
your blush only breaks out across your body once you feel your hands brush his, eyes so bright and big even he can see the hearts explode from your irises, fuzzy pink flowers glowing around your head like a cartoon.
“looks expensive,” he finally takes his eyes away from you to momentarily examine the camera. it was nice, sony. “bought it yourself?”
you nod, smiling as you rock on your heels. “it was…” oh first words, toji’s eyes flick to you, eyeing your glossy lips as they part. “my first big purchase,” you glance at the camera then back up at toji as you point with your manicured index finger, towards the camera. “it’s nice…right?”
well fuck me.
toji chuckles internally. he really can’t read you. from rude (to the team), to shy, to snappy (to the team), to demure, to charming—all while looking up at him like he’s some shinning knight and not a coach, albeit for the best team in the nation, but still.
his lips curl up, his internal switch already flipped when he shooed the team away, and the smooth voice of his poured out like second nature. “very nice, sweetheart.”
you nod, enthusiastically.
god, you were a cutie.
“and you take such good pictures with it too, you’re a natural,” the sweet words just keep pouring from his mouth like honey, and you’re eating up every drop. your feet manage to carry you closer to the fence…closer to him.
you wet your glossy lips, leaning close to point at the camera, “it also takes video here…I initially wanted to do more videography, but I stuck with photos. but it’s a nice perk with the camera…and I can shoot in raw and jpeg, so I can edit them afterwards if I want, and uh and I have other lenses too. this one is a fixed one, so it can’t zoom, but I have two other ones that zoom, I usually use those ones for work…like during your….games.”
your rambling was one of, if not, the most attractively adorable things you could’ve done at this moment. especially when you’re oblivious to the light flush that settles in the coach’s stomach as he eyes you down.
his gaze flicks between your fingers on the camera, and your profile from his height. your hair lightly brush’s back from the wind exposing your neck, your perfume reaching his nose.
“can I try takin’ a pic?”
your face bursts hot, you feel like it’ll melt off as you gawk up at the head coach, before nodding your head frantically, a wide smile pulling at your lips. you try to clear your throat as you turn the camera on for him and take the lens cap off.
“good?” he asks.
you just nod again, biting your cheek feeling how wide you’re smiling it almost hurts, but you can’t take your eyes off the way his big hands handle your camera. your biggest crush ever is using your camera!
you contain a squeal as he stands straight. he brings the camera to his eye, before lowering it again, confused. your eyes widen momentarily before realizing he’s struggling and quickly stepping up again.
you lean over the fence. and toji purposely avoids coming down to your height. instead, he watches you hold the fence to stand on your tippy toes, the other gently holds his wrist to ask him to lower the camera just a bit from his eye so you can instruct him. fuck, the confidence to touch him when you were just a jittery mess a second ago.
“the shutter button is here. if you half press it, it’ll auto-focus for you—“ you move to the front of the camera flipping some switch, “jus’ turned it on. but just press down all the way and it’ll take the picture,” you say, mistakenly glancing up from where you are, just to realize that coach toji’s face is inches from yours. his warm breath fans against your cheek, his scar so close, his lips right there and his eyes….
you were beyond gone. the steam immediately comes off your face as your eyes turn into big giant hearts. you’re so easy to read it should be illegal.
you fall back on your heels, allowing toji to attempt again. what you weren’t expecting was for him to point the camera at you.
well considering the wider lens, I guess he wants to shoot something closer for more satisfaction. but it caught you slightly off guard, your cheeks flame once more, heart stuttering, but your face immediately lights up.
his lips curve up behind the camera, watching you give him a cute smile, angling your head to tip to the side a bit. people that automatically smile when a camera is pointed at them is definitely a cute trait.
he takes a few quick photos, before pulling the camera back. “how do I see ‘em?”
this time he lowers the camera for you, but keeps it close to his body so you’re still leaning over and up beside him, albeit with the fence between you both.
“ah the sun was behind me,” you realize now looking at the photos. toji hums like he knows what that means (he doesn’t) but he clicks the button to go to the next picture and same thing.
“let’s do it again,” he says, already pulling the camera back, but your finger quickly reaches out, easily flipping it back to view mode before moving back. toji watches you glance up at the sky, before moving yourself in front of the sun. “smile f’er me, sweetheart.”
you were smiling, but now—toji chuckles through his nose at your reaction. he knows exactly what he’s doing. he takes one photo, than another.
your smile turns more pose worthy, not so big, but just as beautiful. “you’re a natural,” he comments, with full honesty.
your cheeks flush, waving your hand in front of you, “don’t glaze me.”
toji snorts, “jus’ saying what I see, not my fault you pose like a model.”
a model?!
toji notices the way you bite your cheek and the way your hands fidget with your bag. “put the bag down, sweetheart.”
your heart skips again, the nickname electing a response from you every time. but you oblige, setting your bag on the ground. now without anything to fidget with, your hands carefully clasp behind your back, your navy hoodie completely off your shoulder, exposing the casual white tank top. his eyes glance at the swell of your tits that your bra pushes up. and the sliver of skin that peaks at the bottom.
the wind was like a perfect accessory, blowing a warm spring breeze in your direction brushing your hair again.
you do your best to pose casually, smiling at the camera, eyes low as you stare into the lens, heart beating erratically as you wait for coach toji to finish.
your breath catches momentarily. cheeks stinging and lips parting like a deer in headlights, because you notice it. just briefly, the way toji lowers the camera from his eye, gaze tracking down your figure, eyeing your thighs, then your hips, then your tits.
he’s definitely checking you out.
you glance away, flustered, unaware that toji was now clicking the library to view the photos he’d just taken.
“I think I’m a pretty good shot,” he compliments his nonexistent skills, but the light hits you so well.
you smile watching him look at the photos. eyes glued to his lazy smirk, stomach hot and heart fluttering at his short comments. he’s so handsome, you glance at the curve of his nose, the stubble on his cheek. he’s so so pretty.
your mind was getting dizzy, all because coach toji is in front of you, but it made you completely forgetful that if he keeps clicking next, it’ll eventually reach—
“oh.”
you first notice the slight raise of his brows, then the scar on his lip twitching wider, then the greens of his eyes darkening.
“did ya’ submit these too, sweetheart?”
your brows furrow for half a second, then it clicks. you lunge forward.
this can’t be happening!
you immediately cover the screen and take the camera as you hear the coach chuckle. of course you’d forgotten that you had these on your sd card.
staring back at you is a photo of toji’s fat bulge from the game. you managed to catch the moment he reached down to itch himself, grabbing it. if he saw this one he definitely saw the three before this of the closeups of his lips, his big biceps, his ass when he was fixing his shoes.
your heart is beating in your ears, skin sizzling with embarrassment as your vision starts to narrow. your eyes flick up to the coach in horror, flustered beyond speech. “it’s not—“ you struggle to explain, “you weren’t supposed to see that. I was just taking one—then I someone bumped so like, the camera went down—“
the rambling was unlike the one before, this one was much more uncoordinated, fueled by your humiliation, anxiety, and desperate attempt at defending yourself to him, so that he doesn’t think you’re some creep.
“I wore that shirt from the match two weeks ago. not this one….” his head tilts, arms folded across his beefy chest. “why do you still have ‘em?”
the older man is quite unbothered. instead, his chest grew hot, and his mind wandered off imagining this hot college girl laying in her bed, staring at pictures of his crotch with her small fingers playing with her wet little pussy. his eyes flick to your chest again.
your eyes are wide, glancing at your camera.
“I just forgot to format the card,” you quickly reply, pretty chest rising and falling. “I always forget, and I realize after when I’m exporting the photos or run out of storage—I delete them, i-i swear!”
he snorts, head tilting, “you swear?”
you nod frantically.
his emerald eyes narrow, tongue poking out to wet his lips, touching his scar. his eyes flick to the camera in your hands. you’re quite the actor…
“okay, I’ll take your word then. you wouldn’t lie to me…?” his gaze was intimidating, the darkness of his pupils felt like a black hole pulling you in. but somehow you manage to shake your head.
“no, sir.”
toji holds eye contact, before tearing it away to reach for his phone, “good girl.”
your heart beats in your throat, threatening to tear out, but you step forward, eyes big and sad. “sorry, coach.” there’s a slight waver in your voice, the man’s eyes widen briefly, chuckling under his breath as he brings a hand up to the crown of your head.
“don’t worry about it, keep taking photos of me. ya’ make me feel important,” his comment is punctuated with a flirtatious wink, shooting another arrow straight into your heart.
you were lovestruck the entire trip home. and so unbelievably grateful.
you talked your way out of such incriminating evidence. because how could coach toji know that in truth, you have an entire album of photos just like the ones he saw, that you pull out almost every night to help you cum.
you really should be an actor, you think, blushing at the way he called you good girl. the way he looked at you, the way his fingers brushed yours on the camera —ahhhh, you bury your hot face in your hands.
you were in shock for days, heart slamming against your chest and face heating up every time you thought back to the moment.
you were so in your head that you hadn’t even noticed the two athletes walking up behind you on your way out of class, crossing the quad.
it’s like that thing that happens. when you’re finally introduced to someone for the first time, then you’re suddenly seeing them everywhere. that’s how geto and gojo felt. you’d been under their noses the entire time.
with a lecture of over two hundred students, of course they’d spot you when you entered today. gojo elbowed his friend, nodding in your direction. geto’s eyes nearly popped.
“what the hell?” geto leans forward, the two men closely watch you enter the lecture hall, walking a few rows down before slipping in. geto’s eyes narrow at the camera you carefully place in your lap as you take out your ipad.
it was like the cards were being dealt out for him perfectly.
“wait, I don’t get it,” gojo huffs catching up to his friend as the lecture hall empties.
geto tsks, “what’s not to get? I’m gonna bribe her into taking photos of me next game. I’m fucking tired of being some fucking blur—“
“you’ve gotten some photos man—“
“well i want more. ones where I’m actually scoring,” geto huffs, brushing his bang back in frustration.
once the two men hit the pavement outside, they spot you. gojo is tagging along for the fun, while geto is set on a mission. one he conjured up mid-lecture the second he saw you. it was perfect. genius—
“what?” your face scrunches in mild disgust. the two men baffle at your reaction, especially at the way you’re looking up at them with narrow, and irritated eyes. your expression isn’t hard to decipher, it’s basically screaming, why tf are you talking to me?
geto licks his teeth, exhaling through his nose, “you heard me fine, sweetheart—“
“don’t call me that.”
his jaw clenches, repeating his line without the pet name. “the next two games are the semifinals and then the finals, so I’ll give you access through our manager to join press during the media window two days before the matches—“
“I already have access to that through the school paper,” you give him a look, immediately ticking him off.
“let me fucking finish will you—“
“you’re taking forever and I’m being cornered,” you snap back, rolling your eyes at the pretentious athlete. geto bites his tongue, as gojo gasps.
“you’re not being cornered!” he states, just to exchange a look with geto as they both see that they’ve steered you off the pavement and against a tree. “no—we’re just talking.”
you exhale, glancing back at geto, “whatever, just finish.”
geto licks his lips, continuing, “you’ll also get access to our locker room strategy meeting or whatever, and behind the scenes access — you only do photos, no video or interviews?”
you shake your head, heart beating just a little quicker because now you’re starting to see the perks. bts access is the one thing university teams can deny since they don’t like any outsiders butting into their strategies or taking them out of “the zone.”
that also means you can see….coach toji.
gojo and geto both notice the realization crossing your face, especially when your lips part, much more glossy than before. unbelievable.
“but,” geto snaps you back, your eyes darting up to meet his, “you better take some good fucking shots of me during the game. if I’m not in the fucking paper and insta page, then no deal.”
you gasp, “dude, you’re literally acting like I’m the one in charge of that?? it’s my editor that picks the photos to put in the articles.”
geto tsks, “yet somehow coach is in every single one.” your jaw clenches, stomach heating up. “take more photos of me so it’s inevitable. got it?”
your lip curls in annoyance, eyeing geto, just for gojo to suddenly but in—
“but also take some of me, i look so hot in them and i like reposting them on my insta,” gojo flashes you a smile.
your frown deepens, “there’s other photographers. you guys know that right?”
“yours are the only ones they choose and they look better than whoever took sukuna’s,” gojo snorts, remembering their captains complaints.
nevertheless, geto and gojo wait for you to agree, both men standing with their arms crossed, blocking the spring sun from hitting you.
then a certain captain happens to pass by, noticing his two teammates, and frat brothers.
“the fuck are you guys doing?”
the men whip their heads as sukuna steps up, bag slung over his shoulder wearing a backwards baseball cap. and with a quick explanation from his friends, sukuna tsks glancing at you and adding.
“coach always showers before or after our games.”
and it was that one bit of information that automatically has you saying: “deal.”
—
you don’t rush setting up. you check your flash, bouncing it once off the ceiling to make sure it won’t wash anyone out. your fingers move with muscle memory, standing in these rooms plenty of times for the school paper, along with other journalists from the school paper especially for media days, post-game scrums, pre-season press.
so this isn’t new territory.
the room is packed, though. there’s national outlets mingling with campus press, and clusters of journalists already talking. you hear familiar phrases float past as you move, many talking about the teams unbeaten streak, their goal differentials, their historic season.
familiar names are easily getting tossed around. captain sukuna coming up first, always, and his leadership, and the way he commands the field. gojo’s speed follows after, and his natural talent and eye for goals, then geto’s consistency, his intelligence and composure. someone mentions scouts again, plural this time, and how a few clubs have been hovering around those three all season.
you barely react because you’ve heard all of this before, and it was impressive of course, you enjoy it. however, what does get you, embarrassingly, is his name.
every time coach toji is mentioned—his tactics, his discipline, the way he rebuilt the program and incorporated new strategies —you feel heat creep up your neck. it’s a soft and traitorous blush that you’re grateful no one’s looking closely enough to notice you smiling.
you keep your eyes on your camera, pretending to fiddle with a setting you don’t actually need to adjust, reminding yourself that he’s just part of the team. a very effective, very respected part of it.
then finally, the noise dips and the conversations fade into an expectant quiet as the side door opens.
the players file in first, with sukuna at the front, expression unreadable, gojo already grinning, geto calm and observant as ever. everyone’s cameras lift, and recorders click on. and then he steps in behind them.
coach toji, in a suit.
your face breaks into a hot mess, heart skipping a beat as you eye him through your lens. it fits him too well. dark, sharp, shoulders filling it out like it was tailored perfectly. no team jacket today, no morning stumble. no, he looked clean, with polished shoes, and authority. he guides the team forward eyes sweeping the room calmly.
your flash fires once, professionalism wavering again. how can it not when your knight is walking into the room and reminding you exactly how out of reach he is.
the entire team easily spots you in the front row for the first time. your charm hangs from your camera strap, along with the little sticker on your godox flash. they all know who you are now, so their wasn’t any hiding the way they’d purposely glance at your camera lens, giving you their best shots.
many of the questions are being directed towards the coach, your eyes focus on his reaction, lens zooming close as he rolls his dress shirt over his forearms. your camera flashes and your cheeks warm. you do this every time. acting like it’s your first time seeing the coach in a suit even though he wears one every semifinals press. but you can’t help it!
journalists throw questions without breath, firing rounds until the set time is up.
“photographers only, please.”
the room clears out fast. chairs scrape back, and laptops snap shut. you step forward instinctively, already lifting your camera. the players shift back into place. sukuna straightens, his expression resetting into something stoic. gojo cracks a joke under his breath that earns him a look. geto adjusts his sleeves, calm as ever.
toji moves standing just off to the side at first, arms crossed, smooth dress shirt crinkling over his taut muscles, and unforgiving across his shoulders.
the manager gestures. “let’s get the team all together first.”
cameras flash as the team pose, all in their uniform. you move easily getting their shots, unaware of the emerald eyes watching your every move.
coach toji noticed you the minute he stepped into the room. however, he remained composed, knowing how many eyes were on him. but now, his eyes sweep over your figure.
your grey dress pants hugging that right ass, and those hips. the tight dress shirt hugged your frame, with the top buttons undone allowing some of your cleavage to be revealed along with your necklace stack. business casual, but he’s sure half the team is looking at your tits. your pretty anklet catching the light as you move in your kitten heels.
“coach with sukuna,” the manager says.
toji steps forward.
you track him without thinking, framing the shot as he places a hand lightly at sukuna’s back, guiding him a half-step to the left. your shutter clicks, noticing how easily he steps into your frame, how naturally he fills it. his height just a hair taller than the hot headed captain, at least in your eyes.
“alright, another group photo,” the manager says.
toji turns, motioning the players in with two fingers. his eyes briefly catch yours making your eyes widen. the team clusters around their coach, heads bowed slightly, listening even though there’s nothing to hear. he speaks low anyway. you circle to the side, careful, capturing the curve of his shoulder, the way his jaw tightens when he focuses.
toji’s gaze lifts again, slow and deliberate, landing on you.
why does he keep doing that?!
it’s brief. just a glance that lingers a fraction longer, his eyes flick from your face to the camera in your hands and back again, like he’s remembering the photos he saw on your camera.
you feel heat blooming under your skin, pulse kicking hard enough to throw you off guard. you steady your hands, inhaling subtly, pretending you don’t feel the way the air shifts when he turns slightly…when he ends up closer than before, just at the edge of your frame.
“okay, we’re good,” the manager calls.
the team breaks, the players disperse, but toji stays put for a beat longer, adjusting his sleeve, posture relaxed again, unreadable.
you lower your camera only when it’s over, breath leaving you in a quiet rush you didn’t realize you were holding. you don’t see him glance at you when you step back to check your photos. you also don’t notice the small, satisfied curve of his mouth.
not until you’re feeling a gentle, firm, hand on your waist, and a low voice right against your ear, “say hi next time. you’re not a stranger anymore.”
your body immediately catches on fire, eyes snapping to the man like a magnet, heart slamming against your ribs as you watch him pull back, emerald eyes meeting yours.
“right, sweetheart?”
your face stings, as you nod quickly, heat pooling deep in your stomach, feeling his thumb caress your hip over your shirt. your lips part, mind dizzy as you glance as his strong forearms, he’s towering over you, slightly leaning down to speak to you in quiet whispers.
“I’ll see c’ya tomorrow, yeah,” he gives your waist a squeeze as he greets you with a kiss to your cheek like some gentleman. then he walks away. and if you weren’t a mess before, the casual glance he shoots over his shoulder has a third arrow piercing your heart.
you couldn’t contain it anymore. you were consumed by this man. every waking thought was spent daydreaming about him— his voice, his eyes, his hands, his demeanor. it was intoxicating.
all for you to show up in the lockerroom, the next day, hours before the match. the team is either dressed in their uniforms, or still shirtless, huddling around the white board as they prep for the game.
geto was the second to notice you, after gojo. both their eyes twinkling as they walk up to you. “they gave you the pass,” geto nods to the press badge around your neck.
you nod, glancing around the lockerroom. it felt tense, the aura suspenseful as the time ticks closer to when they walk onto the pitch.
“get your vip shots, but you better get my photo,” geto hushes in your ear.
“and mine!” gojo blurts, just as a certain coach is stepping out of the steam.
and you feel it. the towel wrapped low around his waist, skin still slick with water that traces unhurried paths down his sculpted torso. his hair is darker when it’s wet, heavier, droplets slide from it and disappear along the hard lines of his shoulders.
your eyes catch his muscles moving when he walks, hard mass, that shifts beneath skin without effort. you swallow thickly, body heating up, stomach fluttering as you catch the trail of dark coarse hair leading down from his navel, and disappearing beneath the towel. your eyes follow it to the bulge you know is under there. your cheeks sting at the thought of it.
you were utterly shameless. as if the two men standing beside aren’t still talking to you. but they immediately recognize the shift in your attitude and notice the steam leaving your face. gojo stifles a laugh, as geto sighs. you’re hopeless.
your eyes follow the scars you’ve never seen before. the old pale marks catch the light, etched across his side, his pecs, and back, proof of some life before this one. then he turns just enough and your heart stutters, and your panties soak.
ink blooms along his ribs where the towel dips. the tattoos are sharp and intimate, black against his skin that’s still flushed from the heat. you’ve photographed him dozens of times, from every angle, but you’ve never seen a peak of a tattoo.
“how wet are you right now?”
the comment snaps you back, glaring straight at the crystal ocean eyes narrowed in amusement.
“don’t talk to me like that,” you huff, “I’m working.” your attitude really is night and day when it comes to anyone else and toji.
gojo blushes, “I love mean girls.”
you roll your eyes.
“what’re you two doing? get the fuck over here,” sukuna snaps.
the team huddles as the fifteen minute timer starts. and that’s what you should be photographing, but instead you glance back. toji is now pulling up his pants, wet hair still dripping down the expanse of his back. his eyes catch yours for a second, gaze flicking to your camera, taunting…
his hand subtly cups his crotch, squeezing his girth just to present you with a size, one that has your lips parting with a shaky exhale, heart pounding as you glance between his emerald eyes and the way his forearms flex when he fixes the waistband of his boxers, pulling the material down just a bit that you catch more of the thick patch of hair at his base seeing a peak of it, before he’s fixing himself again.
and once he zips his pants up, glancing at the team as they huddle for some words from the captain before coach steps in, toji walks to you. just a few feet away, your eyes widen in surprise, heart stuttering as you watch him lean down to greet you with a kiss to your cheek, again!
he’s acting like you’re familiar even though this is just your third interaction with him…but maybe you are…
“thought I told you to say hi next time,” he says against your ear, pulling away.
your face heats up, “you were….changing.”
“so?”
you gulp, eyes flicking between his, heart pounding. he’s so close. your breath catches when his scent hits your nose, sandalwood, oak and something deeper under it. his stubble is darker than yesterday, rougher along his jaw, and you realize you’ve been staring for too long when the heat creeps up your neck.
he doesn’t move away though, he stands beside you, attention forward on sukuna as he speaks. focused, and so aware of you’re attention he has to hold back a smirk. and maybe he doesn’t mind messing with you, so his hand remains at your lower back, light, almost absent, but there.
your stomach flips, attention gone. you try to listen, you do. sukuna is talking about positioning, about discipline, about not getting sloppy or something and the room is locking in around you, everyone leaning in. these would be great photos—but all you can think about is how close he is.
how his hand hasn’t moved, every small shift makes your pulse jump. you keep your eyes forward. you don’t trust yourself to look at him again.
and that gives toji the opportunity to take you in. his pupils dilate just a fraction as his gaze travels down your body. his eyes zero in on the multiple open buttons of your tight dress shirt. you’re not even hiding yourself, and the sliver of skin that peaks between your pants and shirt doesn’t help.
his hand remains over your clothes, heat settling in his stomach when you take a deeper breath and your tits push up, and his eyes shamelessly look down your shirt from his towering height. fuck, he wants a look at that pretty ass too—
“coach! you’re up!” sukuna’s voice cuts through everything, snapping toji back. your gaze whips with it, catching him off guard as you wait for his next move like anything he touches is gold.
he controls himself, giving your waist that same squeeze before his hand leaves you just like that.
you push down the feeling that hits immediately, sharp and cold. but now you can finally breathe properly when he steps away. he moves past the players without rushing — a few of the boys let their eyes roam over you— toji adjusts his sleeve ignoring the feeling bubbling up when he notices them. and then he’s at the front.
he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t need to now, but he usually gets to that point around the halfway mark. but this was the first time you’re seeing him speak in private…and when he speaks, they all listen—every single one of them.
gojo notices, gossip second nature to him. but the quick glance your way already has a grin tugging at his mouth before he nudges geto. geto follows his gaze, then sukuna does too, just briefly—and it’s obvious. painfully obvious. the way your expression softens, the way your attention doesn’t wavers. it’s written all over you.
“she’s actually really hot,” gojo comments.
though you wish you could stand there forever, the time finally comes for the team to head to the pitch, and that’s when the chaos begins.
not just on the field…but off it.
the press box is packed, bodies press against you shoulder to shoulder. the field below is relentless. everything fast, and aggressive, and loud enough that the noise bleeds through everything. you always forget how overstimulating and exhilarating semifinal matches are. but you remember the deal you made with the three stars.
your camera moves with them, tracking their plays, snapping multiple shots of them without hesitation, and then catching the moment when things go wrong...
sukuna gets taken down hard during a penalty shot—and there’s no whistle. no call.
you’re already shooting when the other team pushes, then scores, and the stadium erupts, but sukuna is on his feet, shouting. the goal should be discounted. the captain was known to be a hot head, but even you could see that the tackle he received was completely brushed off by the ref and he was right.
everyone watches as the team moves forward in defense of sukuna, but also holding him back. the other side meets them just as hard. the crowd shouts as they watch the players shove, yell, and slam into each other—and through it all you keep shooting. you catch toji too, voice cutting through the chaos as he orders his players to pull sukuna back.
the press talk amongst themselves as halftime quickly breaks up the argument. your feet quickly carry you out of the press box, towards the locker room.
“no locker room access.”
your jaw tightens immediately irritation flaring hot and sharp.
“I have a different badge,” you show the security guard your press ID. the one geto gave you.
“no press allowed, do i need to repeat myself?” the man snaps.
your irritation ticks at your side. fine. whatever. the second you step back, your mind is already running, already circling back to geto. you scoff under your breath, shaking your head as you pace along the corridor, camera swinging lightly at your side.
seriously? all that talk, all that stupid ass convincing, and for what? you were supposed to be there. that was the whole point! you roll your eyes, heat building the longer you think about it, every step feeding into this petty irritation instead of cooling it. were you overreacting —yes, but whatever—if he’s not holding up his end, then why should you?
by the time you make it back up, you’re done. done thinking about it, done entertaining it, done with their stupid deal.
the second half starts and you fall back into rhythm. camera up, focus sharp, and attention on only one thing now, the ball….
gojo and geto drift near the press box occasionally, clearly expecting something, acknowledgment, a photo, but you don’t even bat an eye. not a look, not a flicker, hell, they might as well not exist.
it’s almost satisfying. almost.
the final whistle blows and the stadium erupts, the first leg ended in a draw, preparing for next game to see who’ll continue. cameras around you go wild, capturing every second of it. the quiet annoyance of both teams, the noise in the crowd. but you don’t. you lower yours, expression flat, already turning away. it’s petty. a little unfair, but still, you walk.
“you’re not coming to the locker room?” gojo’s voice follows you, footsteps quick behind yours as you head in the opposite direction.
“why would i?” you snap, sharp, not even slowing. “am i even allowed,” there’s an obvious clip in your tone that has gojo confused.
“what’re you talking about?”
“deal’s off.”
huh?!????
gojo barely has time to react, before you’re walking away.
baffled and utterly confused, gojo makes his way back to the locker rooms. the energy is stiff, sukuna is grumbling under his breath about how embarrassing it was to end their first leg in a draw, geto is lounged beside his bag scrolling on his phone, and toji is in the corner talking to the managers. ugh, does no one care that their personal photographer isn’t taking photos of them???
they do care.
especially when the next paper comes out and the article is filled with photos taken by other people, not you!
“WHY THE FUCK DO I LOOK LIKE THAT!??” sukuna shouts, entire body fumming as they all sit outside during practice. sukuna is not the only one pissed, geto is practically seething because there isn’t even a single photo of him or gojo.
“what is this girl’s problem?! i thought you idiots made a deal with her?!” sukuna snaps, already in a foul mood, but now it’s worse.
geto licks his teeth, jaw ticking, “we did.”
“I told you guys she was pissed that she didn’t come in during halftime,” gojo throws, as if anyone was listening to him after their shitty match.
“so she throws a tantrum because she didn’t see coach’s dick during halftime?” sukuna clips.
“she looked super hot when she was all pissed though,” gojo throws, “she’d definitely go for me after she realizes how old coach is.”
“what’s wrong with you?” geto rolls his eyes, confused how gojo can talk about your looks when you screwed them over. even if he maybe also finds you attractive, it doesn’t negate your shitty attitude.
gojo throws his hands up in defensive, “I’m just calling dibs now.”
toji, just a few feet away, strides over after noticing the group no longer doing drills. “what’s the hold up!” he grunts, also in a shit mood because of the embarrassing match and then overheating what gojo had said.
“your stalker fucked us over,” geto snaps, eyes burning into the school paper. “she didn’t even get a pic of you.”
gojo’s eyes light up, “oh shit, yeah—she’s definitely over you!”
the paper then hits toji’s chest, his brows furrowing as he holds it up. his eyes glance over the sports section, and just as geto had stated, there wasn’t a single photo of him, unless you’re counting the wide shot of the field and you see him standing in the corner, but it definitely was a starch contrast from the streak you’d created.
“so?” toji tosses the paper like it’s nothing, “you guys playing for the cameras or because you want to win?!”
the men baffled, gasp and scoff. “we want to win!”
“then get off your fucking asses! I don’t have time to be doing this shit with you all!” he snaps aggressively, uncharacteristically pissed off, whether it’s because of the teams misdirected frustrations, or something else. either way, the school paper is long forgotten beside their bags and the team is splitting into practice teams.
it doesn’t matter…
it doesn’t matter that you made a deal with suguru geto and satoru gojo. and the captain pushed you to seal that deal with the information about coach — and they broke it. none of it matters! you still should’ve taken those photos, especially when you’re receiving an earful from your editor, and then sulking through the week of classes.
“what’s your problem,” your friend, shoko, cuts in, snapping you back to the campus day festival. you were once again sulking on the picnic bench, ice cream melting in the cup as you stare off.
“you’re gonna get annoyed…” you mutter, brows pinched in agony.
for most passing by, they immediately steered clear of you, not only did you carry a lethal rbf, your words of “agony” really translates to, you’ll rip someone’s head off and if looks could kill, everyone would be dead. it was quite funny, considering how you’re pretty sweet when you want to be, shoko quietly thinks. still, most would rather avoid you, thanking the heavens that you stay behind the camera so you don’t interact directly with people.
“don’t start,” shoko groans, piecing together the not so subtle mystery.
you frown, “i didn’t even say anything!” you whine even more, glaring at your ice cream. your pretty camera sits on the table beside you, collecting dust when you should be photographing this event. “I just screwed myself over,” your tongue laps at the dripping ice cream.
“agreed.”
your glare snaps to your friend, to which she brushes off with a shrug.
“you should’ve taken those photos,” she starts.
“I know…”
“then you would’ve made your editor happy,”
“I know…”
“and then you wouldn’t have to do this event.”
“I know.”
“and you’d have more weird pictures of coach toji.”
your heart drops. eyes snapping to shoko. “what?!”
shoko goes mute. suddenly realizing what she said. “nothing.”
“pictures?” you repeat, “I have weird pictures of the coach?? I don’t—why would you even say that??“ you’re not subtle at all. and shoko feels guilty at your horrible lying skills, but still…she confesses…
“you uploaded photos to your drive, when we’d study together,” she tries to hold in her laugh as heat crawls up your neck, “like more than once.”
you glance away, eyes flicking over your camera, “that’s it?”
shoko raises a brow. “yeah…what do you mean?”
you look back, “like that’s how you know, it’s not like you heard from someone else or anything?”
shoko shakes her head, “no, who else would know?”
your cheeks are burning at this point, and it was written all over your face now. the realization hit shoko in seconds. “no…” you’re silent. “does the coach know about your photos?”
you don’t want to make eye contact.
“how?!!”
even though it happened days ago, why is it now starting to feel even more embarrassing. maybe because of your cool headed friends reaction— “it was an accident.”
“how did he find out though?” shoko pushes.
you cringe, “well…” you swallow, “when I first spoke to him, remember…” shoko nods, “I let him use my camera because he was interested.” you pause, reliving the humiliation all over again. “then he kept swiping to see the pics, and just found them…” your hands slap your face, “that’s not bad!”
shoko is getting second hand embarrassment, “dude.”
“STOP IM GONNA KILL MYSELF!!” you cry out, humiliation seeping from your pores.
shoko is trying not to laugh, but it’s quite hard not too, especially when you’re groaning like that. “what was his reaction?”
“I obviously said it was an accident, and he was like whatever and seemed fine,” you explain quickly, trying to cool the situation. “It’s not bad!”
“okay okay!!” shoko laughs, trying to calm your reaction. however, shoko knows about your huge crush, what she didn’t know is about a deal her two friends made with you. heck, she didn’t even know that you interacted with them. not until those two men are standing directly behind you, sweaty and pissed. “what the hell—“
“I guess you don’t know how to keep your word,” geto spits, bag dropping aggressively on the bench beside you.
you jump, then, your eyes flick over your shoulder, immediately rolling them when you see them. you turn back to shoko.
geto snaps. “there wasn’t a single photo of us!”
“not my problem,” you scoff, attitude returning in seconds, shoko completely used to it. but she’s shocked that you know gojo and geto. “not like you guys even played well.”
gojo’s vein bulges, “we played fucking good, we didn’t lose!”
“you didn’t win,” you shrug, cold.
that’s when gojo and geto both glance up at shoko. shock crossing their expressions. “you know her?!” they both point down at you.
shoko raises a brow, “she’s my friend.”
“she’s a bitch—“ geto spits, just to receive the worst glare of his life from you, but he just rolls his eyes. “how the fuck do you know each other?”
“I just told you she’s my friend. you’re the ones that screwed her over.” shoko takes your side.
gojo gasps, “we didn’t screw her over! she screwed us over! you saw the paper this week—not a single highlight!”
you glance at shoko, ignoring the men behind you, “how do you know them?”
“we went to high school together,” shoko throws with a bored wave.
frustrated, geto straddles the bench facing you, his hand falls on top of your camera, immediately making you snap your attention to him.
“hey—“
“listen. our deal was that you get access and then we get photos, you didn’t finish your job,” he keeps a grip on your camera. shoko frowns.
“you guys didn’t give me access—i got like ten minutes before the match, then I couldn’t even go in during halftime where everyone was pissed, so what’s the point?” you snap, getting in his face.
“the point is that has nothing to do with me!” geto shouts, your eyes pierce his in two, but neither of you back down.
“it literally does though!”
“guys,” shoko and gojo attempt at intervening, but neither of you will back down. especially when geto won’t let go of your camera.
“let go,” you seethe, hand on the camera as geto flexes, grip strengthening around it.
your heart pounds against your chest, the hot spring sun beats over the four of you, sweat building on your neck while geto scoffs. “you better take those photos of us this week—“
“or what?” you glare, “are you seriously threatening me?” you were dripping with ego and confidence, except for the fact that your eyes kept darting to your camera, your poor, expensive, beautiful camera—
“is this your first time being threatened—“
“the fuck.”
the deep, intimidating voice breaks the argument in seconds. geto’s eyes widen as he feels the gravity taken away from him and being lifted off the seat. the collar of his jersey tightens around none other than toji’s brutal grip.
your eyes break into hearts, grasping your camera before it clatters back on the table, glancing up to see geto gripping his coach’s forearm.
“since when do you fucking shout at girls. you?!” toji barks, baffled. sukuna sure, gojo maybe, but geto?!
“I wasn’t fucking shouting, we were talking,” geto tsks, neck red from embarrassment.
toji shoves him back. geto slams on the bench. you hadn’t realized it but they all looked like they just finished practice, geto and gojo both still in practice uniforms and duffle bags, and coach toji wearing his usual black cargos, and that compression shirt that left nothing to the imagination.
geto scowls, rubbing his back in pain.
“you were shouting, that’s why i came over—“
“she was shouting at me!”
“so what!?”
the table is quiet. a few passerby’s glance over before quickly walking away. it isn’t a shock to know how unbelievably hot your face is right now. especially when coach toji continues his stern lecture to geto.
“you’re defending some girl that can’t keep her word, mind you,” geto mutters, flashing you a glare—his breath catches. you’re not even looking at him!! shoko stifles another laugh along with gojo, because you really were, truly, unbelievable.
how can you look at someone like that?!? like he’s some idol?! him! a musty ass college coach?!
but none of it mattered, not when toji’s attention shifts to you!!! a warm heat floods between your legs, as your lips part. then suddenly, you glance away…
“I actually did shout too…” you confess, taking accountability. “and kinda screwed them over.”
gojo, geto, and shoko, stare at you in shock.
toji sighs, like some grown ass man (which he is), his hand settles on his hip as the other scratches his hair like he’s surrounded by immature children and figuring out what the fuck to do with you all. so he decides to confess too…
“i told security not to allow any outsiders.”
your heart drops.
“including you.”
oh shit.
the three audience members immediately glance at you, and what none of them, not a single one, expected, is to suddenly see the your eyes tear up.
toji felt a sharp twist in his gut, eyes widening for a moment, before sighing. “it wasn’t personal.”
your throat feels dry, unable to look away until now. a tear hits your camera. “how is that not personal,” you whisper, bottom lip trembling.
shoko’s brows pinch in hurt, at least out of everyone, she knows how much and how long you’ve liked this man. and then sulking and now— she knows you’re absolutely shattered.
“I needed the team to focus, and you’re press,” he states like some cold fact, and that hurt even more.
your grip tightens on the camera. “but…” your not a stranger anymore…. but you can’t get the words out…your heart pounds loudly in your ears, the heat surrounding you felt suffocating, and your head was growing dizzier by the second. and the only thing spinning in your mind was how fucking embarrassing this is.
“don’t be upset.”
you manage a small nod, though another tear falls on the camera, and your body freezes. “how can i not be upset?” your small voice catches toji off guard.
you’re standing up, eyes hot with tears, walking past the esteemed coach.
“wait,” he catches your wrist, “if you have something to say don’t just run away.”
you’re fuming, your pretty chest rises and falls, the disappointment turning into built up anger, “I don’t have anything to say right now, and it’s stupid—“ your hand twists in his grip. “let go.”
he does.
you’re practically heaving, tempted to turn away, especially when the dryness in your throat gets worse. the stinging behind your eyes burns like hell as you try to rip your gaze away from the towering man. you really are stupid…
toji wets his lip, head tilting as if disinterested, but the cooling in his chest says otherwise. why does he have a weak spot for women?
“we can talk.”
his words hang in the air. a silent, open invitation for her. it’s a clear sign of his guilt for making this cute college girl cry. he was too blunt, forgetting she isn’t one of his boys.
your hand comes up to the bridge of your nose, quietly recentering yourself as this older coach watches. your shoulders rise with a deep exhale, then inhale.
pull yourself together…
you nod. cute.
you swallow the embarrassing lump in your throat, clearing your throat. “can we talk while walking…I have to work,” your usual clipped tone used for everyone except him, comes out, but he can hear the slight shakiness.
“sure.”
gojo, geto, and shoko are left in utter shock. it’s not until you and toji completely disappear into the crowd, do they slowly exchange looks.
“what…”
“the fuck,” geto finishes shoko’s sentence.
gojo stares baffled, “did we just set them up?!”
geto’s brow jumps up, “why is he always saving her like some knight?? and he was the one that screwed us all over!!”
gojo shakes his head in agreement, “nah for real, what the hell, blaming us but it’s all him.”
geto slouches back in the picnic table, rolling his eyes. “still,” he tsks, “she didn’t have to be so bitchy and not take our pictures. isn’t it her fucking job—“
“hey!”
“ow!” geto feels a slap upside the head from brunette, her eyes harsh. “what the hell!”
“don’t call girls bitches what’s wrong with you?!” shoko huffs, baffled by geto’s attitude.
gojo snickers beside the man, “he’s been like this since he met her.”
“I haven’t,” he grits, rolling his eyes at the thought of you. “she’s just a—she just gets on my nerves.”
“really because she reminds me of you,” shoko cuts him off. geto’s eyes widen, as gojo breaks into a loud laugh.
“WHAT?!”
“oh god BAHAHA she does!” gojo’s obnoxious laugh sounds like knives stabbing his ears.
shoko hums, “she has that rbf look, intimidating, very blunt, but also so cute with her friends.”
“cute?” geto frowns.
gojo smiles, “it comes out when you’re hanging out with ussss.” gojo and shoko dramatically strike a cute pose. geto tsks.
the campus was packed with students and faculty roaming to booths and small events. it was the university’s 102nd anniversary, and as memorable as it is for the students to enjoy the activities during this nice spring day, you couldn’t bring yourself to give a shit.
not only did your editor scream at you all week, still pissed about the shit photos you took during the match, he also threatened removal if you didn’t take good photos during this event. and now, after sulking with shoko, then procrastinating some more, you decided you’d be able to take such fanatic pictures while your idol and crush trails beside you….sure.
toji lets out another sigh, hands in his pockets as he stands to your left watching you snap some shots of laughing students beside a booth.
“it’s not a big deal,” you mutter, behind the camera. toji notices the twitch in your fingers. “I overreacted, so it’s whatever.”
toji wets his lip, “sukuna and a couple others jus’ get jumpy with cameras.”
you hum, looking at the photos you just took. “I understand.”
“I didn’t know about this deal you did with geto,” toji admits, hand instinctively coming to your waist and guiding you away from some unaware boys shouting and laughing. your cheeks flush, stepping away from his hand. toji notices. “we didn’t have a good game anyways.”
“I know, so it whatever. not a big deal,” you sigh, heat crawling up your neck. this is so embarrassing, so embarrassing! ugh you really don’t know how to keep a cool head at all when it comes to this coach. you overreacted during the match, then blamed geto for screwing you over, then almost cried because the coach locked you out on purpose, and now—
“I feel bad.”
your heart stops.
toji glances at your manicured nails holding your camera, your cute necklaces dangling on your exposed chest, cleavage glistening from the heat. but then his eyes flick up, and you’re staring at him like he’s holding the entire world.
“I didn’t mean to make you upset,” his voice is softer, gentler, nothing like how you’ve heard him for months, shouting, harsh. your stomach heats up, face stinging.
his hand, unexpectedly, comes up, feeling your hair between his fingers. “you work hard, and all your pictures come out so nice…” the compliment hits your heart. “but I couldn’t risk the boys getting distracted.”
your face suddenly twists, lips pursing and jutting out just a bit, your brows pinch. your dewy makeup makes you look like a fucking doll, he thinks. “I was jus’ gonna take photos in the corner, not interview them,” you reply harshly.
“you saw how they are when they talk to you,” he cuts in. your brow quirks, noticing his sharp inhale. “sweetheart, you’re hot.”
your face bursts into flames, pupils turning to literal swirls, and brain getting fried in seconds.
what?!
your reaction was priceless. toji controls his smirk, thumb brushing your adorable cheek, glancing at your glossy lips then your eyes. “I know you’re a professional, but most of those boys aren’t, y’ understand?”
you nod, cheeks sizzling, you’re surprised his thumb isn’t burning.
“so you see why I couldn’t allow you in the locker room then, and i won’t next time,” he watches you nod again. god, you’re fucking precious.
then, your tongue wets your bottom lip before speaking… “are they the only ones that would’ve been distracted?”
shit. can a grown man really pop a boner that fast?
toji’s chest heats up, glancing between your pretty eyes filled with hope. this isn’t the first time a younger girl has crushed on him, and it also isn’t the first time he’s nice to one. but what really got him, is the way you’re maintaining eye contact, almost afraid to look away, and you’re holding your ground against him.
“no,” he admits, “they’re not the only ones.”
oh. your lips curve into a smile toji hasn’t seen before, and his hand flexes in response. you look like you’re going to eat him alive right there, and he’d let you, no questions asked—
“that’s good to hear,” you pull away. you touch your heated cheek with the back of your hand, wetting your lip as you glance over the coach’s flushed face. “your cheeks are red.”
what?! his eyes bulge, catching you off guard as you break into a loud laugh.
“tch,” he looks away, his own hand rubbing down his face. it really is burning out here. but even so, his emerald eyes look through his fingers at this pretty college girl laughing at him and he doesn’t know why his chest warms at the sight.
“I can buy you ice cream. I feel bad now that you had to explain yourself when I was just being the unprofessional one,” you start, already leading him to the nearest ice cream booth.
your camera hangs over your shoulder as you point to your favorite flavor than glance up at him, he points at the cookies n cream. “oh! I love cookies n cream,” you say, reaching for your phone to pay.
ding.
your eyes widen as toji pays instead.
“wha—it was supposed to be my treat, man,” you huff, accepting the cone he gives you, hand on your lower back as he guides you away from the booth. neither of you batting an eye to the multiple people gawking at the renowned coach of their soccer team, walking around with the hot, rude, student photographer.
“as if I’d let you pay,” he snorts.
your brows pinch as you take a lick of your ice cream, the cool sensation leveling your body temperature. your eyes narrow at him as he enjoys his ice cream, grateful to have something that cools the heat building up under his skin. “so not fair,” you mutter.
“how come?”
the two of you walk across the quad, sun still beating down.
“I wanted to use it as an apology,” you say, “I said that.”
“you don’t need to apologize,” he shrugs, casual, unbothered. you huff again. this time toji smiles, scar twitching up. “you can pay next time.”
your heart skips a beat, stomach doing a stupid flip.
“….next time.”
toji catches the smile behind your cone, his eyes trailing over the ice cream coating your tongue, your pretty hand wrapped around the waffle as your bracelets clank around your wrists.
“there’s other things you need to apologize for,” he coolly says, finding a bench and dropping his weight, eyeing you as you sit close beside him. unashamed.
your brow quirks, eyes narrowing, full body facing him, “what other things?”
toji shrugs, “we can talk about it next time.”
“but I can’t just be left in suspense, that’ll give me anxiety?!”
toji snorts, loud. his big tongue is finishing the ice cream so quick he’s already eating the cone. “don’t be anxious,” he says with his mouth full.
you tsk, rolling your eyes, and you don’t notice the twinkle in the older coach’s eyes. he can definitely see geto’s point about your attitude, but if he leans over—
your eyes go wide. stomach flipping.
he takes a bold bite of your ice cream, emerald eyes shut, and thick lashes kissing his flushed cheeks. your heart feels like it’ll break from your ribs, then, he opens his eyes. he doesn’t pull away yet, instead his tongue cleans his lips, humming in low delight. the heat around you wasn’t helping your own body temperature as it skyrockets.
“taste’s sweeter than mine,” his voice his huskier than before, catching you by surprise, and the heat pools between your legs.
“i—“ you can’t even form words! your eyes won’t tear away from his lips, and your chest is moving erratically because he’s so close.
“do you want a taste of mine. I took a bite without asking yo—“
his words cut the minute your lips press against his.
shock prevents him from reacting, eyes going wide. you gave in so quick, sure he was teasing, but still. he could feel the certainty in your kiss, along with the warmth, and anxiety. after a long ten seconds you pull away—
you pant against his lips, chest rising and falling, brain scrambled. “i jus’…” your heart is beating loudly in your ears. mind trying to keep up with what your body just did. you kissed him. you kissed the coach. the one you’ve been idolizing and photographing for months—
“we can do it again.” his free hand tilts your chin up, lips hovering over yours again. his breath is warm. “kiss me.”
you do.
this time you’re a little bolder. your lips connect with his, soft again, sucking his bottom lip, skillfully. slowly. he brushes your jaw with his thumb, humming in delight just like he did with the ice cream. but the sound goes straight to your core. completely unbothered by the rowdiness of the uni day activities around you. your free hand rests on his thigh, leaning more into the kiss.
“open,” you murmur against his lips. you can feel the the shit-eating smirk that breaks his face, groaning just low enough to make the heat furiously spread under your skin.
then, his lips part.
his tongue immediately connects with yours. caressing the wet muscle. he tastes the ice cream, delving a little more. it was just so easy taking control, and your little whines are too sweet for him to stop. his jaw opens wider, taking the lead as you follow. his hand cups the side of your face, unexpectedly possessive, ignoring the alarms sounding off in his head.
you had a crush, you’re fucking adorable, and you kissed him. plus, you make these cute sounds when he shoves his tongue against yours, thumb pressing into your cheek. how could he resist?
your grip against his thigh tightens, his back is pressed fully against the bench, while you were practically leaning over him, trying to swallow him whole.
“breathe,” he mutters, lips hovering close, waiting for you to inhale. his scar quirks up, you’re so cute. his thumb brushes your cheekbone again, eyes glancing between your fluttering lashes. “if we keep kissing, I’ll have a problem.”
your face burns, eyes darting down to the tent pressing up near your hand. and unlike toji, you let your second ice cream of the day melt and fall to the ground. you were a mess. you carefully lean back in your seat, the sudden space between you allowing you to take another deep breath. being near coach toji is intoxicating. it’s not that you didn’t feel like yourself, but you definitely throw all common sense out the door when he’s in front of you.
“are you staying to see the booths and stuff?” you clear your throat, trying to ease your erratic heartbeat.
toji finds it cute. his hand once cupping your face, slides down to brush the hair off your shoulder, fingers brushing the multiple earrings that dangle from your piercings. you’re much more stylish than he is…your accessories, the cute tank top that hugs your breasts, and embroidered low rise flared jeans.
“nah, gotta drive back home so i can take my son to practice.”
toji eases, not a single thing can bother him. it was a routine, the subtle throw away line about having a son that scared off many young women, or had them wanting a one night stand with the older dilf. so his eyes flick over you, the second he finishes his sentence.
your freeze.
your blood runs cold, eyes flicking down to his ring finger.
even if you’re looking, you know he isn’t married. you know. you’ve been photographing him for months, and not a single time have you ever seen him daunt a ring on his finger.
“there’s no one waiting for him at home?” you question, wetting your lip.
toji’s fingers slide from your earrings to the dried ice cream on your chin. “nah, if I’m late he’ll go to his friends house.”
you nod, anxiety slowly dissipating. “how old is he?”
“ten.”
your eyes light up, “my nephew is just a year older, that’s when they get really fun to hang out with,” your voice is so light and sweet, toji has to shove down the weird somersault his stomach does.
“really?” toji is not convinced. “all my son does is give me attitude and bully everything i do.”
you laugh, waving your hand, “yeah they get super opinionated, but it’s funny—trust trust he’s just doing it because you’re an easy target.”
“I’m an easy target.”
you nod, waving a hand again, “your his dad, my brothers and i were the same to our parents.”
brothers? toji doesn’t comment how that peaks his interest, but he naturally asks, “how many siblings do you have?”
“three older brothers,” you nod.
damn….toji hums, that explains your attitude and how you can handle geto’s bitchy moods. what also quietly settles in his mind is how your oldest brother would probably be around his age, considering your nephew is a year older than megumi. is that why you’re easily holding a conversation this long…maybe the age gap isn’t that big then…
“they were so freakin bossy, definitely why i pushed to dorm away from them,” you huff, toji zoning back into your rambling. it was cute watching you talk mindlessly, hands waving making your bracelets clank against each other. the sweat glistened across your skin, making you look eternal, which is amusing since you’re just talking.
but still, toji is the one to lean up this time. his hand settling on your waist as a anchor and he presses a firm kiss to your warm cheek.
your glossy lips part in shock, heart stuttering again. unbothered, toji casually stands up, towering over you as his hand gently settles atop your head. “i have’ta get going, but I’ll see you next week for the match. I’ll also let em know you can come in before and after the game, but not during halftime. okay?”
you nod.
“I’ll see ya’ sweetheart.”
and with a wink, he solidifies the fourth arrow straight through your heart.
—
it was very likely that your entire week looked like sunshine and rainbows, all because you had a full on make out session with your idol on a park bench. you couldn’t bring yourself to care much about anything else—well except for your job. you had to scramble to get photos after toji left, afraid of staying on your editor’s bad side.
luckily you pulled through, and convinced him to keep you on for the semi final match this coming weekend.
which leads you to your current blissful state. watching toji speak to the team in the locker rooms. unlike last time, you grabbed different shots, smiling every time toji glanced at the camera, but frowning any time any of the other boys looked.
“surprise surprise, couldn’t stay away too long,” gojo coo’s after the team breaks to finish changing.
“don’t bother me or I won’t take photos of you,” you throw, eyes flicking up at the tall man.
gojo pouts, “but I’m just talking to you,” his words drag.
geto is scowling a few feet away, jaw tightening and relaxing, until he finally comes up to you. your attitude shifts, eyes narrowing up. geto holds eye contact, chest rising with a subtle inhale. but once he exhales, his shoulders ease, and his eyes close, the fakest smile you’ve ever seen graces his naturally attractive features.
“I’m looking forward to seeing your photos after the game.”
your lips purse, brow quirking. “yeah…”
geto leaves. shortly after, the team gets called out. gojo utters the same line geto had just said, but much more cheerfully, all while toji walks up to you. brow furrowing at the two athletes as they walk towards the exit.
“they still bothering you?”
your eyes light up the moment you see him. “s’ fine,” your pretty lips pull into an easy smile, unexpectedly warming the coach’s heart. is it that easy to smile because of him?
“I’ll tell them to fuck off again,” his voice is naturally deep, hand subconsciously roaming up to the strap of your camera.
you smile, “okay.”
god, you’re really cute. his hand cups your cheek, leaning down and easily locking lips with you.
you’re immediately caught off guard, but his hand is so firm on your cheek, you just melt. your lashes flutter shut, leaning in more. he’s so big and tall. your cheeks sting, humming against his lips, trying to fight off the butterflies in your stomach. but it’s worse when he pulls away, and your heart leaps into your throat as he brushes his rough thumb against your lip, dragging the spit across the plumpness.
“I’ll c’ya after.” he winks.
you barely feel your feet when you step back out onto the field. your camera in hand, strap tight around your neck, everything exactly where it should be, and still, your entire body is giddy.
toji….toji toji toji—
you press your lips together, trying to fight it down, but it’s useless. your mouth keeps twitching, threatening to break into a smile and you can’t help it! he kissed you. twice now! like it was nothing—
you snap a shot.
sukuna’s first goal. the team and stadium erupts, and you’re already capturing it, body moving before your thoughts can catch up. you don’t need your editor screaming at you this time, so you shift angles, crouch lower, shoot through. geto lines up for a penalty shot, and you catch that too. the strike, the follow-through, and the way the net snaps back as the ball hits. you don’t miss a second of it.
but…inevitably…your lens drifts…to him. you can’t help it!
toji’s on the sidelines, where he always is. his sleeves are pushed up again, pacing, shouting, running a hand through his hair. you catch the flex of his arm, his biceps bulge and you feel heat pooling between your legs. you catch the drag of his palm across his broad huge chest, the set of his jaw when gojo almost tackles into another player.
you shouldn’t be taking this many photos of him. you know that, but you take them anyway. your chest feels tight with every picture, cheeks still burning, and your smile impossible to get rid of.
halftime comes and goes, and you don’t even try to get into the locker room this time. instead, you linger with the rest of the press, nodding along to conversations, camera hanging loose in your hands. you don’t care. not really. not when your mind keeps replaying it—his hand on your face, the way he looked at you after, the wink.
the second half starts and you’re back in position immediately. getting more action shots of the players—ugh but you keep stealing other moments too…small unnecessary ones. his biceps when he folds his arms. the scratch of his chest. the tilt of his head as he watches the field.
your thoughts don’t stop. why did he kiss you? why did he kiss you again? what is that supposed to mean? is he going to kiss you again??
the spiral doesn’t fully come to an end until the pitch breaks out into celebration. the team is off to the finals!
managers and the rest of the team flood the pitch as the stadium breaks out. you do your best to get the best shots of the team together, and you stay after to capture them talking to journalists, and press. unaware of the coach that slips away.
you follow the team and a couple managers back to the locker room as they continue celebrating. you can’t help the smile about how happy they are, they played well.
“how was the match?” geto corners you quickly.
“good,” you nod casually, fixing your flash. “you guys played really well.”
geto’s brow quirks. that’s nice….his lips purse. “I scored.” he mutters, glancing at the multiple piercings on your ear as you tuck a hair behind it.
“yeah, it was a nice shot,” your eyes flick over your camera before glancing up to meet his eyes, testing, “you wanna see?”
his eyes narrow again, “no.”
he’s quick to ignore your eye roll, as he points over his shoulder. “coach is calling for you.”
you can’t control the way your head whips to geto, then following the direction he’s pointing at. you don’t hesitate, your legs carry you across the locker room, and into the steamed shower room.
your heart hammers against your chest, putting the lens cap back on your camera and carefully sliding it off your shoulder, afraid to step further in until you put it back in your bag.
a single curtain is closed. shower running.
“coach toji?” your voice echos.
there a beat of silence, then…
“that you, sweetheart?”
you flush. controlling the smile that breaks your face as you hum, “yeah.”
the shower is still running, steam collecting in the room. your heart is beating erratically, you barely register anything aside from the fact that coach toji is definitely one hundred percent fully nude just a few feet away. his clothes are laid on his duffle on the bench beside the door.
“sweetheart?”
you jump. “yeah?”
“you gonna come in?”
you blink. again, then once more. then— “WHAT?”
your screech bounces off the tile floors, making you shrink at how loud you are. but it was a normal reaction. he just asked you if you wanted to come in? how else would you react—
“leave your things by my bag,” he doesn’t even react, like what he’s saying is the most casual kind of flirting. the kissing was one thing, but this…
your camera is zipped back in your bag, and in seconds, you’re peeling your panties off standing completely naked in the middle of a shower room. goosebumps break out, necklace and bracelets still on as your nipples harden.
what’re you doing, seriously?
one, this is highly unprofessional (whatever). two, you haven’t even gone a date with this man. and three, w-why would he even ask you to come in?!?! does he like you?! he does—he has too—
your bare feet pad against the steamed tiles until you reach the curtains. your hands won’t stop shaking, face burning hot, and lips parting as you let out a shaky exhale. then, you slowly pull back the curtains—
“come in before someone sees you,” is what you hear just as you’re being dragged into the steaming water, curtain pulled closed behind you.
the steam wraps around your skin instantly, thick and suffocating. your pretty nipples perk up in seconds. and standing right in front of you is the 6’5 two hundred pound man. water cascading down his body in slow, steady streams. you don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until your chest tightens, and your hands hover close to his forearm.
you’re so close.
your gaze is eye level with his broad solid chest, rising and falling slow and controlled like none of this affects him. like you standing in front of him naked is something he expected. but your too dazed to care. especially when you follow the droplets sliding over his muscles, catching the shallow lines as you continue going lower, and lower. the heat pools more obviously between your legs as you see the thick patch of dark coarse hair…then you see it.
your face burns hotter, stomach flipping hard making you even dizzier.
his cock twitches under your gaze. your knees almost buckle just at the sight. it’s huge. you have to suppress a whine, lashes fluttering as you feel a strong hand cup your chin.
“say hi first,” his voice is unbelievably deep, tearing your gaze away from the monster between his legs. his dark forest green eyes sink into you.
“hi.”
shit. he bites back a groan, eyes trailing down your naked body. nipples already perky and standing all pretty for him. his hand comes up, cupping the side of your face as he leans down, lips colliding with yours.
you whine immediately. your lips move together, tongues colliding as your hands slide up his muscular chest, feeling the deep ridges of his abs as he holds the side of your face, dominating the kiss.
it was overwhelming, the shower box, his body heat, his cock touching your thigh, it was all making you dizzy in the best ways possible. he pulls away, letting you catch your breath, but he stays close, brushing his lips over yours like it’s not enough. because it isn’t.
“did anyone see you come in?” he husks, hand still cradling your face as the other brushes your naked waist, pulling you closer. your skin is so soft under his palm.
“no,” you shake your head adorably, tongue poking out to wet your lip, “I don’t think so.”
the older coach hums, his hands freely roaming your side as he nudges your nose with his. “good,” is all he adds before he resumes the heated make out.
your tongues collide and caress, jaw falling slack as you moan a little louder when he grips your ass. groaning into your lip when your arms lock around his shoulders, wet chest pressing against his. you were such a sweet tasting girl.
his hand nudges your thigh. “jump.”
you gasp when he easily picks you up, back already pressed against the tiled wall. the hot water cascades down his back as he continues kissing you. “were you mad at me?”
you pull away, breath hot as you glance at his features. he’s so handsome, your hand cups his face, pushing his drenched raven hair back. “why would I mad?”
“because I kept ya out during halftime.”
you shake your head, lips curving as you trace his wet eyebrows, chest rising and falling. “no,” you drawl, wetting your glossy lips again. “I was jus’ confused about how much you kiss me.”
his scar tugs up, biting back a smirk threatening to break free. “you kissed me first.”
“that one time.”
“you started it,” he leans close, lips brushing yours, “so you can’t blame me for getting hooked.” his eyes are lidded. “it’s really hard for me to break bad habits.”
this time you kiss me.
you’re so unbelievably hungry for this man’s affection, you can ignore all the blaring red light going off in your head. he’s so hot, he’s so big, and he’s so fucking sexy! your mind has been completely and utterly fried and you don’t care.
“fuck, you’re dripping,” toji husks, his finger collecting your juices from your pussy, groaning at how turned you are. “kissing me makes ya feel that good? your cunt always dripping like a fountain?”
“yeah-aah—“ your lips part as he shoves a finger inside. he groans against you, chuckling at the choked whines leaving your pretty lips, your nails dig crescents along his shoulder.
his lips trail down your neck, tongue flattening against the wet skin and licking until you squirm a cute whimper. his smirk is impossible to hold back. he sucks a dark bruise as another finger pushes in your fluttering hole.
“c-coach—“ you gasp, lips so wet from spit. you try to look down at his fingers pistoning inside you. every muscle on his body flexing, keeping you up like you weigh nothing, while fingering you against the little shower wall. “fu-fuck, I’m gonna—cu-uhm—“
it really is too much for your obsessed brain.
coach toji’s fingers are inside you. he’s kissing you like he’s hasn’t pleasured a woman in years. and his groans are going straight to your pussy—
“I wan’…coach—“ your whine drawls a little longer, thighs shaking, and arms locking around him, head falling to neck.
the older man chuckles close to your ear, voice deep and husky as you fall apart, in his arms. hugging him like he’s your savior. his fingers curl, slowly pumping you through your orgasm. “that was quick. my baby hasn’t cum in awhile?” he says as a matter of a fact, but you just hug him closer, lips pulling away to trail kisses up his neck. your fingers coarse through the back of his head, grasping them as you kiss the corner of his mouth.
“it’s b’cause of you, toji.” you kiss his scar, panting as he pulls his fingers out and lifts you up suddenly, hooking his arm under your knee.
“you want a good fucking princess?”
you nod frantically, cheeks dewy and stinging, as you glance over his face then his chest, then you feel his cock between your slick folds.
“it’s a big stretch,” he mutters against your lips. “you saw.”
you nod, nervous stirring at the way he’s preparing you. but you don’t break away. you doubt you physically can, when your mind is only screaming his name over and over.
“I can take it, coach,” you nod, determined.
“you’re so fucking cute,” he snorts, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he kisses your lips in quiet reassurance. “ever take a cock this big?”
you shake your head, water droplets falling from the tips of your hair. your pretty necklaces still wrapped around your neck, all wet and glistening between your perky breasts.
“it’ll hurt,” he strokes himself underneath you, thumb running over his tip multiple times before lining it with your pretty clit and teasing you. “then you’re gonna cry.” you gulp, nodding along. “then you’re gonna tell me to stop—“
“I won’t!”
he snorts. “it’s okay if you do.”
you shake your head, “I won’t I’ll be okay. okay coach? I can take it, I wan’ you inside me. please.”
the tug to his heart is immediate. how can it not be when this cute hot girl is begging him to fuck her? but he can’t even formulate this emotional string that’s tying him to you. the only physical response coming out is this fucking erection that feels like the most painful shit he’s experienced, twitching after he first spoke to you and then again when you kissed him. surely it’s disgusting….an older man like him getting that quickly turned on…
but maybe it was the way he’s only felt this tug in his chest one other time in his life, and even if it didn’t end the way he wanted, he never regretted pursuing his baby mama.
so he’s all in right now.
“deep breath, sweetheart.”
you inhale sharply, just as toji pushes his engorged tip past the tight rim of your pussy, and you suddenly clench—
“shit!—“
your eyes widen, “I don’t feel anything,” you mutter, glancing down to see his ears burning a deep shade of red.
“your cunt squeezed me too early and shoved me out,” he wets his lips, as he crashes his lips against you. “relax, baby,” he husks.
you whine against his dominating mouth, lower body relaxing as he lines up again and the moment you ease up, he snaps his hips in.
“angh!—“
your jaw slacks, and he continues kissing, groaning at the unbelievable tightness that’s squeezing every corner of his tip.
“Mmm so warm, took me in good,” he groans, rocking his hips and grabbing a handle of your ass. “you’re gonna make me feel good?”
you nod, lips connecting with his, it’s messy, teeth clashing, spit mixing.
toji’s guttural groan echos through the shower, bouncing off the tiles as he rocks his hips, going in inch by inch, until he’s finally shoving his entire length deep inside your cunt with one mean thrust.
“fhuck—“ he chokes, jaw slacking as you clamp around him again. “full?”
you nod, brain scrambled as you glance at your tummy, cheeks stinging at the obvious bulge. “keep going,” you pant, securing yourself better as he grunts, pulling out and snapping his hips back.
it was mind numbing, toji holding you up with his strong arms hooked under your knees, hands gripping each ass cheek as he ruts into you like a beast in heat. the squelch and clapping was deafening as it bounced off the walls, the steam enveloping you closer as your whines flow right into his ear.
“nghhh—gettin’ me worked up,” thrust. “when you squeeze me,” thrust. “with this tight.” thrust. “fucking.” thrust. “cunt!”
his massive cock is stretching you in ways you never could’ve imagined. his blunt tip slams into your cervix with every thrust. your thighs shake, eyes filling with unshed tears as your nails dig into his tough skin.
“m’ s-sorry—haah ah coa—ahh! it feels s’ fuhh—fuh’me ple-easee—ahh!” your pretty lips were so glossy, drool coming down as water droplets fall from your pretty breasts with each vicious slam of his hips.
he was unforgiving. and his laugh like groan didn’t help your pussy from fluttering and tightening around his chubby cock. you can feel every thick pulsing vein and ridge. it was numbing your brain to mush. your fingers curled into his hair, tugging as he gives your ass a mean, violent, spank!
“angh!” your eyes bulge, a wave of heat crashing into you.
toji laughs, gripping your ass as he quickens his pace. “admit it,” he husks, voice condensing, and eyes dark with lust. “this is what ya’ wanted.” you’re falling apart around his cock, and he’s not slowing down, even as the tears finally break, making you look even more irresistible. you’re gasping like you can’t breathe. “you always wanted the coach to fuck you. taking those dirty photos of my bulge—nghh!” thrust. “imagining how big my dick is.” thrust. “how big is it baby, tell me.” thrust!
you were fucked dumb.
your face is flushed, eyes glossed over, as you whine like a full blown slut. and even with your two orgasms in a matter of minutes. your mind was still screaming one thing: toji.
“c’mon baby, I know you’re still with me,” he snorts, ears red, and body flushed with sweat as he feels his climax edge closer. “tell me—fuck—how big is it?”
your stupid brain catches his words, and your fingers dig into his neck as you gasp and moan, the stimulation of his massive cock slamming into you was ruining you. mentally and physically. it was humiliating. but still…
“haah—fuh its’ it’s so big— i wan’ you to cum in me! please —wan’ your cum so bad, wanna feel your big fat cock cum inside my pussy toji—ahh!”
anothet sharp spank takes your breath away.
toji is at a loss.
his grunts grew louder and thrusts sloppier, until finally, he gave you one final thrust, and stilled. his ass tightens, body pressing you into the tiled walls, face buried in your neck, and teeth sinking into your shoulder. toji completely unravels in the shower, holding up a pretty college girl that whines so beautifully in his ear he thinks he’d never cum this hard again, but sure enough—
your adorable whine has him rutting shallow thrusts into your pussy, like a fucking dog. his cum pumping out as he continued stuffing you full, purposely milking out ever drop as his dark wet pubes rubbed against your puffy clit.
you both catch your breath. your lashes wet from tears, as the water from the shower head fills the silence. after a moment, toji pulls away from your neck, his lidded eyes, hypnotizing as he stares up at yours.
you don’t know why you suddenly feel shy. your cheeks burn as the emerald irises bore into your own. lips parting, and a gentle hand coming up to his cheek. you brush back the raven hair flattening against his features, smiling softly when his full face comes into view.
and he could’ve sworn you looked like an actual angel at this moment.
your eyes twinkled above, face illuminating in the dark shower, and body glistening like you’re an eternal being.
“toji…” the soft call has his heart doing something it hasn’t done in years. and that has his soft cock twitching inside you. “I’m,” you lean closer, arms wrapping around his shoulder, lips hovering near his, breasts smushed against his chest. your confidence comes back the moment you feel the man lean closer..but you continue. “I hope you don’t think…i wanted to have sex…just because i thought your dick was really big.”
toji blinks.
then he does the worst thing ever.
he laughs.
your cheeks sting, watching his head fall back in loud laughter. your hand flys to your face, embarrassed. “I’m being serious!” you yell.
toji laughs louder, body shaking as he lifts you up, his cock slipping out. he carefully sets your shaky feet down on the wet tile. the height difference returns, making you even more ticked off, your little attitude was oozing out, and his slick cock couldn’t help but twitch against his thigh at your pouting.
god, you’re fucking hot.
he brings your attention back to him. hands cupping your face, tilting your head to look up at him. your brows are pinched together, and lips pulled in a subtle scowl.
toji smirks. “don’t worry, I know you also took pictures of my face.”
you flush, rolling your eyes. “those were accidents.”
“so you just wanted pictures of my dick?”
your eyes widen, “no! i told you they were all accidents.”
toji clicks his tongue, leaning down to your level, making your tummy flip “you’re fucking cute, but let’s not lie to adults.”
“I’m an adult though,” you raise a brow, pushing back, and god if that wasn’t the hottest thing ever.
but still, toji’s easygoing smile remains on his playful lips, “it’s embarrassing. i understand,” he softens the blow as your face heats. it was humiliating when he found those pictures, “taking photos of the coach like that. but now’s the time to take some accountability.”
you lick your teeth, eyes boring into him, narrowing. but it’s toji. toji is asking. and you can’t hold back any longer…
you exhale, glancing away, even though he’s still cupping your face. “yeah, obviously I took those photos on purpose,” your eyes meet. “happy?”
water is still running down his shoulders as he keeps your face tucked carefully in his hands like you’re something precious despite the grin threatening to split across his face again.
but then toji smirks. “ecstatic.”
your eyes narrow immediately, “you’re so annoying.”
he huffs another laugh under his breath, quieter this time, thumbs brushing over your heated cheeks. standing this close to him is ridiculous now that the adrenaline’s settling. he’s huge. his broad chest still damp against yours, muscles flexing every time he shifts, towering over you while you stand there completely naked except for the necklaces you’re wearing. the little gold chains glisten under the shower head, delicate against flushed skin, and toji’s eyes flick down to them for a second before returning to your face.
that look in his eyes makes your stomach tighten all over again. he knows he’s not trying to be mocking, or casual like before. it’s fondness.
“those shots were real creative, sweetheart,” he says, voice rougher now. “nice and close too.”
you groan, immediately trying to shove his chest, but he barely moves. “oh my god, can you let it go already?”
“can’t,” he answers easily. “been thinkin’ about it for weeks.”
your face burns hotter. weeks?!
toji watches it happen in real time, watches the attitude crack just enough for embarrassment to slip through, again. and it does something terrible to him. you’re sharp with everyone else—cool, hard to impress. he’s seen it. seen the way you brush off gojo and geto without a second thought. but with him? you melt.
even now, glaring up at him with your brows pulled tight, lips still swollen from kissing, legs trembling from the multiple orgasms, trying so hard to stay irritated while your body keeps betraying you. it’s fucking adorable.
“don’t look at me like that,” you mutter weakly.
“like what?”
“like you know things.”
his grin widens instantly. “but i do know things now.”
what proceeded after was the thirty something year old coach, dropping to his knee and lifting your leg up, burying his face between your legs like a starving man. your lips part in shock.
but still, as toji works your pretty body to another orgasm, tongue shoved inside, cleaning this little pussy up, jaw slack as he gulps down his own cum. your fingers thread through his hair, tugging whenever he’d give your clit a mean rough suck, cheeks hollowing. his hand, grips your ass from behind, squeezing and slapping as he pleased, until you were falling apart.
afterwards, he cleaned you up. this time with some soap. his big hands roamed your body, every crevice and curve, hands massaging your breasts as he had your back pressed to his chest, chuckling when you’d whine. thumbs tugging playfully. hand rubbing between your legs, head tucked in your shoulder as he watches your smaller hands hold his forehead, face hot.
“toji,” you whine, embarrassed, as he teasing a finger against your hole again.
“what,” he smirks, watching your reactions, “I’m jus’ cleaning you up.”
he’s a fucking perv. but still, he teases you through the whole shower, keeping you close to his body and even letting you wash his back, admiring the muscles and ink that decorate his skin.
eventually, he steps out first, keeping you inside so he can grab an extra towel. his own wrapped around his waist.
that was the start of all of it.
three months later….
you and shoko are sitting out in the quad. table covered in assignments and forgotten laptops. all while you explained to shoko how your weekend went.
“no, we definitely got along. megumi is so cute!” you gush about the ten year old, describing how your first meeting went. toji had spoken about you enough to prepare megumi, waiting until the right time to introduce you both.
and now, you’re going to every single one of their soccer games, toji and megumi’s.
and eventually, after another hour passes by. a group of athletes comes walking down the path. covered in sweat, holding their duffles, and behind them is a very hot coach, already breaking into a smile when you jump up.
“toji!”
it was a routine. your arms thrown around his shoulders, as he lifts you up with one hand. zero regard for any pda, as he kisses you deeply. smiling as you hum, pecking him over and over.
“why do you guys look like that?” shoko grimaces, looking at gojo and geto who look far worse than the rest of the team that leave.
geto scowls, glaring at his best friend, “fucking coach overhead him again.”
shoko shakes her head, rolling her eyes, at the white haired idiot. “you need to stop—“
“it’s been three months and she’s not over that old man?!”
“he’s not even that old!” shoko defends.
but gojo scowls harder, glancing over his shoulder at you laughing and talking, hands animated, like the man in front of you was holding the world. “it’s always the mean girls.”
shoko frowns, “you’re messed up in the head.”
but even geto narrows his eyes when toji wraps a possessive arm around you, glaring up at the two players.
it was clear as day.
you’re his.
a/n: this was LOONG overdue, mb guys!!! but i hope you all enjoyed it!!! ahhhh i love coach toji sososososo much—like its a serious problem, i cant make reader behave normally when its toji, like she has to be obsessed with himmm
anyways, the next oneshot will def be the frat gojo fic! possibly thinking of frat geto after this oneshot too bc i put in some little easter eggs about how they both kinda lean into mean girls so stay tuned! — (divider by @/strangergraphics)
summary: you stop providing camgirl services to your clients when you start your residency. except you can't let go of your favorite client, who, as you quickly find out, is your new attending physician for the next four years. he recognizes you immediately and is ready to stake his claim.
warnings: 18+! camgirl reader obvi, sex work, fear of sex work revealed to hospital coworkers, pushy patient (tries to set up reader w her son), mentions of clientele as a camgirl, possessive jack, jealous jack, inappropriate workplace relationship SUE ME!!!
notes: erg this has been in my drafts for so long and the "i'll pay for it" scene last week was the inspo i needed to finally finish! i don't get much into camgirl smut but trust its on the way. also jack's screen name "SgtMD" is pronounced "Sergeant, M.D."
masterlist 𓊔 request 𓊔 tag list
find smutty pt 2 here! part 3 here!
Two jobs would keep anyone busy. Juggling another job during your first year of residency?
Forget about it.
All throughout medical school, you balanced clinicals and classes with your camgirl gig. Study sessions were interrupted by scheduled video calls. You’d set up your laptop on your dresser, aim it toward your bed, and shrug your hoodie off before dialing whichever gentleman requested your services that night.
There were nearly two dozen clients who you met with regularly over the past three years.
Some showed their faces. Some just showed their lap. Some only spoke, urging you on verbally with no other input. Some wanted a show from you and nothing more. Some of them gave you too much information-- full names, jobs, routing numbers, and home addresses.
None of which you ever used. You were strictly providing online services: Video chats only. Other forms of communication, like your business email, were very explicitly limited to scheduling inquiries only. Any client who refused those boundaries was nixed and replaced with someone from your waiting list.
Since graduating with your doctorate in May, you’ve phased clients out. There wouldn’t be enough time to balance all of them with the demands of your intern year.
So, you let your clients know that you’re no longer in service due to a career change. You offer one more call for each of them as a last hoorah (final paycheck) and go your separate ways.
But there was one client that you can’t bring yourself to let go.
SgtMD
He was your third client ever. You’d seen him at least three times a week for the last three years, and looked forward to each meeting with a pounding heart and heated cheeks.
Each time SgtMD booked a call, he showed his torso. Always clad in a plain, black shirt with large biceps and broad shoulders, never anything else. There was a hint of silver stubble that trickled down his neck sometimes, usually on your first call of each week. A tuft of dark armpit hair you saw once when he stretched his arms above his head.
And SgtMD likes to talk.
He likes to tell you how beautiful you are. Likes to ask you to twirl around in the new lingerie he sent to you and then laugh darkly each time you obey. He likes telling you to “Take it slow, sweetheart. Just like that, yeah. Don’t worry about the extra time, I’ll pay for it.”
And you like him.
Most clients don’t make you finish. They want you to shake your ass or flash your tits or tell them they’re “such a good boy”. Nobody wants to see you come apart like SgtMD.
So, when you move to Pittsburgh to start your residency, you dropped them all... Except SgtMD. To him, you sent:
You: Hi, Sarge. I’m about to start a new job and my hours will be a little different. I want to see you as often as I can. I will email as soon as I have a fixed schedule so that we can plan to call. Remember you can always ask. Please don’t be shy. Your next few sessions are free since I’m changing things up on you. I hope I can see you soon.
His returning email came within two minutes.
SgtMD: Hey, Sweetheart. I’ll pay. Are you free at 5? I know it’s last minute, but it’s my birthday. I want to see you.
You: Happy birthday, Sarge. 5 o’clock is perfect. Am I invited to the birthday party?
SgtMD: It’s a date, then. No party, I’m working tonight.
So, the afternoon before your first shift as a resident, you find yourself baking a cake for him. It’s silly. It’s inappropriate. It’s crossing every boundary that you’ve ever established as a sex worker. And, really, there’s no point in making it, because you’ll end up eating it alone when you get off your shift at 8 a.m., anyway.
Yet still, here you are, logged onto the call at 5 p.m. on the dot with a lit candle. Your black scrubs are folded outside of the frame, ready for you to throw on once you’re off camera.
Now, you’re wearing a pretty white lace set that SgtMD bought you for your birthday last year. You’re not sure he remembers, but something tells you he just might. He’s thoughtful, in the unconventional ways that a man can be thoughtful with a sex worker.
He remembers your birthday every year. He sends you flowers each time he orders a new lingerie set for you. Every holiday there’s a bouquet waiting for you at the post office with a sweet, hand-written note.
You keep them all posted to a corkboard in your bedroom next to other keepsakes like photos with your friends and concert tickets.
The screen dings, and you see his image pop up. His broad, thick shoulders taking up the whole frame. Black shirt tugging between his large pecs, and the typical trail of grey stubble down his Adam’s apple.
“Happy birthday.” You grin into the camera.
“Thank you, sweetheart. Always so thoughtful, so good for me.” His voice is as rough and deep as always. It winds a knot in your stomach. “Blow that out for me.”
You purse your lips and blow a gentle puff of air onto the cake, the warm illumination leaving your face.
“What does the candle say?” He asks. You catch a glimpse of the ends of his hair as he tilts his head. Auburn and grey. Fucking hot.
“It’s just a 1.” The temperature is warmer under your embarrassment than it was with the open flame of the candle. “I thought it’d be a nice gift if I told you that you’re the only client I see now. The only one.”
He leans back slightly as if your words have physically stunned him. Running a big hand over his neck, he exhales slowly.
“Wait, sweetheart. Are you just saying that? Or is it really just me?” You wish you could see his face. Usually, his lack of personal identifiers isn’t something that bothers you. It’s easy to understand why someone wouldn’t want to stare at themselves while they were on a call of this nature.
But here, now, you wanted to see if there was a blush on his cheeks. You wanted to know if he looked excited or concerned.
“It’s just you, Sarge.”
𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔
Two hours and three orgasms later, you're walking through the doors of the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center for your first shift. It’s the most he’s ever gotten out of you, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t ready to fall asleep after so much stimulation.
But it’s only 7 p.m.. Night shifts have always been your preference. Even before getting a job in medicine, you preferred the overnight stocking gigs or the late night video chats.
You like the dark. The night is gentle and unpredictable.
“Hi,” you greet the charge nurse at the hub with a small smile, tucking your bag into one of the cubbies under the desk. “It’s my first day. Do you have any idea where I can find Dr. Gloria Underwood?”
The blonde woman nods once, and you look over your shoulder to find her already walking toward you. You’d met Gloria once previously over the summer when you had a virtual interview for the resident position. It was a panel of her, one of the day-shift attendings, and a few of the hospital board members.
“Welcome!” She greets cheerfully, but there’s a franticness in her wide eyes. “My gosh, it’s a bit hectic around here today. Usually I’d be the one showing you the ropes, but I’ve got a meeting with corporate and-”
“No worries,” you excuse, waving your palm. “Things get busy, I understand.”
“I like you already.” Her gaze trails to the other side of the nurses’ station. There’s two men, both in black, both looking at the screen of a tablet. “These are your attending physicians, Dr. Jack Abbot and Dr. John Shen. I’ll introduce you and they’ll walk you through everything you need to know.”
One of them is older, a stubble across his jaw and neck that glints under these harsh lights. He’s handsome, with light grey curls and dark eyes. Freckles smatter over his entire body as far as you can see. Face, neck, arms, hands, all covered in evidence of long summer days.
Next to him is the younger doctor, with a head of full, dark hair that matches his deep brown eyes. He’s also sporting stubble, though his is darker and shorter, closer to a shadow than anything else.
Before you can respond to Gloria, she’s already sweeping you over to the two men. As you get closer, you realize that Dr. Abbot isn’t wearing a black scrub top like Dr. Shen. Instead, he dons a plain black tee that reminds you all too much of SgtMD and the meeting you had before this.
It’s bad that you miss him. You know it’s wrong. It’s inappropriate. It’s probably unhealthy on some level.
But nobody has ever made you feel the way he does. Nobody has taken care of you so well. Nobody has ever shown you so much affection in their words and actions. And you’ve never wanted to return that care and affection before.
You shake your head as if it will manually remove the thought from your brain.
“Jack, John, this is your new resident,” Gloria introduces you.
“Only one this year?” Dr. Shen raises his thick eyebrows. “Are we broke?”
You snort, but quickly cover it up with a cough when Gloria’s sharp eyes dart to where you’re still standing at her side.
“Nobody wants to work nights,” she huffs. “Would the two of you please show her the ropes? I’m late for a budget meeting.”
Again, she’s halfway down the hallway before she gets a response.
“Hi, it’s nice to meet you both,” you say with a soft smile. Your eyes catch on Dr. Abbot’s slack-jawed face.
Your heart drops, realizing you’ve already made a bad first impression on one of the only people that matters here.
“I’m sorry about the inconvenience. I’m sure you’ve both already got enough to do without babysitting me through your shift.” A wince threatens to pinch your face in apology, but you try to remain confident.
“No need! Happy to help our residents.” Shen hands you the tablet they were both reading. “I’m going to do hand-off with Robby. Read over this chart and tell Abbot what your next steps would be.”
“Is everything ok?” You ask Abbot quietly once Shen is out of hearing range. “I’m sure the having-me-shadow-you thing is annoying. I promise you won’t even know I’m there.”
His head snaps to you, heated eyes meeting yours. His short curls have dashes of auburn throughout them that you can see now up close. His eyes are dark, pupils blown as he stares at your face.
“I’ll know you’re there.” There’s an edge to his voice that sends a shiver up your spine.
“What?” Your brows meet in the middle of your forehead at that. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Abbot, I don’t understa-”
You’re cut off by another doctor slinging an arm around Abbot’s shoulders and pulling him in for a hug.
“Happy birthday, brother.” He smacks his back hard.
Your heart sinks to your stomach as you piece it together. The black tee shirt, the auburn hair, the broad shoulders, your reaction to his voice. The birthday.
Holy fucking shit.
Dr. Jack Abbot is SgtMD.
Your new attending physician is the faceless man you’ve pined after for the last three years. He’s the man who sent you the earrings you’re currently wearing. Small, modest studs with a little emerald stone that he said was his favorite color.
Fuck, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck.
Quickly, you snatch the tablet close to your chest, as if the secret truth is announcing itself on the screen, and move a few feet away. You try to tune out the waves of anxiety wracking through your body at the realization that he’s here and he’s hot and he’s staring at you while having an entire conversation with the attending you recognize from your interview.
The chart.
The thing you just spent the last 8 years of your life working for is here in front of you. You cannot let your personal life get in the way of accomplishing this.
The air you inhale is sterile. You breathe it out and let your eyes scan the chart.
13 y/o female ℅ SOB at rest. Sats 90. No hx of asthma. Sudden onset after tackle injury in lacrosse game Friday. PCP prescribed inhaler, no improvement.
The possible diagnoses flit through your head, overriding the anxiety of your personal life catching fire between these walls.
This is what you’re here for. To practice medicine. To be a doctor.
“You look at the chart?” Shen comes next to you. He makes a slurping sound as he pulls coffee through his already-empty cup. The clock just struck 7:01 p.m.. One minute into the shift. How is his drink gone already?
“I did. My first thought was a fractured rib that punctured the lung, but I don’t see any symptoms other than shortness of breath. Surely she’d complain of pain if there were a rib injury. My next thought is a respiratory illness unrelated to the injury-- still, sats are really low for a young, active girl. Hard to find a bullseye here,” you relay your thought process to him. He takes the chart, nodding as he reads through it again.
“I agree. So what should we order?” His dark eyes are much softer and sweeter than Abbot’s. You blink the thought of him away quickly, refocusing on the question.
“CBC, BMP, ABG, ECG, and BNP.” Your answer comes quickly. “ And maybe a D-dimer depending on what medications she’s taking. I didn’t any listed in the chart.”
He smiles widely and nods, revealing the stereotypical adrenaline-junkie smile that all emergency doctors seem to possess.
“Right on. Let’s go get her from intake.” He claps your shoulder and leads the way.
𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔
Shen takes you under his wing for the first half of the shift. He walks you through how to read and work the board, introduces you to every staff member that walks by, and shares plenty of stories-- comedy and horror-- of his time spent at PTMC.
When 1 a.m. rolls around and you’ve shadowed him through most types of cases, he cuts you loose.
“I need a coffee, and you need a patient,” he sighs, looking up at the board. “What do you see?”
“I can do the debridement in Central 9,” you suggest, turning to face him.
“Perfect. Go get ‘em, tiger.” Another clap on the shoulder and he’s leaving you.
You review the patient chart on the tablet before you enter the room. No matter how many patients you treated as a student doctor, it’s still nervewracking to go into a room alone. After rereading the chart, taking a deep breath, and letting the yawn you’ve been holding in for six hours go, you’re finally ready.
“Hi, Mrs. Sanchez,” you greet your patient as you enter the room. You introduce yourself and wince at the sight of the wound on her leg. “Gosh, this looks like it hurts. What happened?”
“I was taking the stupid dog out to the bathroom. He needs to go out on a leash because we live on a big property.” Her face crumples into a cute frown. “He took off and pulled me through the gravel backyard. He hates me, I swear!”
You sigh, shaking your head.
“Doesn’t sound like he has your best interest at heart,” you agree, earning a small grin. You pull the stool to her bedside and snap on a pair of gloves. “What breed is your dog?”
“My dog!?” She scoffs, wiping the smile off her face instantly. “No! My son’s. Little rat bastard that I never wanted in the first place.”
“The son or the dog?” You tease, opening the instruments on the sterile tray next to you. She chokes out a stream of laughter that lasts the entire time you’re unwrapping, earning a few giggles from you as she tries and fails to regain her composure.
“Things are going well in here, I see.” A familiar voice says from the doorway. Abbot steps into the room, rubbing sanitizer into his hands before looking at the patient chart. “I’m Dr. Jack Abbot, I’m the attending physician here.”
“This is Mrs. Hilaria Sanchez,” you introduce your patient because she’s still laughing too hard to get a word out. You’re wearing a wide smile of your own as you glance back at her. “She was taking her son’s dog out when he took off and dragged her.”
“Yeah?” He says it almost unconsciously, and still, heat pools between your legs. He isn’t even looking at you, and you’re quick to turn back to your patient before he does. The last thing you need is for him to realize the effect he has on you. “Should I be concerned about a hospital-induced laughing spell, Mrs. Sanchez?”
She snorts, wiping tears from under her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt.
“She’s just a very funny doctor!” She giggles again, and you can’t help the amused chuckle that tumbles from your own lips as you grab her a tissue from the counter.
“I said one thing!” You retort through your own laughter. “Ok, ok. We have to stop laughing so I can get these pebbles out of your leg. Talk about something else, please, Dr. Abbot.”
You’re careful not to look at him when you address him out of fear that he won’t react to you the way you do to him.
That’s one thing that used to bother you about Jack SgtMD. Since he never showed his face online, you could never tell if he was enjoying what you were doing, really. He’d groan and tell you how good you looked. You’d catch his strong arms moving sometimes, stroking himself off camera at a slow, steady pace.
Once, last year, he’d finished and came so hard that cum shot up into frame, dirtying his pressed black shirt. It was dirty and impulsive and he was so out of breath, you remember. You came immediately after him that day.
“How old is your son?” He prompts as he hands you the tweezers and sets the discard tray on the bedside next to her wounded calf. Again, you’re jolted back into the moment.
“He’s 25. That’s about your age, no?” She looks at you as she blots under her eyes with the tissue.
“Just about,” you reply, dropping the first rock into the tray. “What does he do?”
“He’s a lawyer,” she responds proudly. “And he’s very handsome. And single.”
You and Abbot both snort at the same time.
“Are you trying to set me up on a date with the same son you just called a ‘rat bastard’?” You raise your brows playfully at her before turning your attention back to the leg.
“Oh, please! You know I meant the dog!” She chuckles, swatting at your arm and missing by a mile. “I’m telling you. You two would be good together. Two attractive, successful young people.”
“Unfortunately, she’s taken,” the man behind you answers before you can even open your mouth.
You turn your head to face him, eyes wide as saucers as you process his words.
Did he actually just stake his claim like that?
Heat floods your face, neck, and ears as you reorient toward your patient’s leg. The sight of him there, in that same tight black shirt he was wearing earlier today when he had you beg him to stop making you cum, is too much.
“That’s too bad. I’m sure my son is cuter!” She winks.
You give your best chuckle despite the rising temperature, continuing the tedious task of plucking each piece of dirt and gravel from her six-by-three wound.
For longer than he should, Abbot hovers over your shoulder, humming each time you do something well.
It’s almost odd seeing his face. You’d never considered what SgtMD might look like. Based on the build of his torso and the grit of his voice, you knew he would be hot, and that was really enough to satisfy the knots he managed to unwind.
You were used to knowing clients only by their screen names and what they chose to show. It wasn’t a big deal, it was the nature of the business.
But this morning, it did bother you, just for a fleeting moment.
First, it bothered you not knowing what name to write on his cake. You weren’t going to write Happy Birthday, SgtMD on top of your pretty white buttercream frosting. Something about that name had been… defiled.
SgtMD was the man who coaxes orgasms with only his instruction, never a finger laid on your body but still managing to light you up with desire.
Happy Birthday, Jack would have been much more fitting.
Jack is the man who pays you for every session, even the ones where you’re ten minutes late because you had to finish a timed quiz or hit every red light on your way home from the library. He’s the one who insists on buying you pretty lingerie. Sexy, of course, but beautiful. Handsewn pieces custom made to fit the measurements he asked you for.
A little ache splits your heart as you face the new reality of your situation.
He recognized you. He knew you. Not your name, maybe, but your face. From where he’s standing over you, he’s observing the hands that he’s seen knuckle-deep in your pussy. It’s not new for him, just for you.
And as much as it embarrasses you to admit it, it upsets you a little bit. Makes you feel guilty for not being able to know his name from your residency offer letter and reject it.
And seeing his reaction this morning, him having to process your presence alone while you apologized for something entirely unrelated-- it releases a strange guilt that climbs up your throat.
“Dr. Abbot,” you say without thinking first, because you desperately need reassurance that you haven’t managed to go and fuck up your professional and personal life by being here.
You want him to tell you that everything is alright, that he’s not disgusted by you, that this doesn’t ruin his fantasy of you, that he won’t march to HR as soon as the shift ends and tell them that he can’t work with you because you have an inappropriate relationship.
You swallow hard, not knowing what to say now.
“Do you think this area needs a stitch?” Is all that comes to mind.
His dark eyes feel all-consuming, and suddenly you’re grateful that he never showed them during your calls, because the pressure of having to make yourself finish while he gave you this stare would be far too intimidating.
It isn’t unkind, it’s just-- intense. Everything he’s done today, actually, has been rather intense.
He bends down, and the smell of mint swarms your senses. His chest presses against your shoulder as he squints, searching for the made-up bleeder.
“Where?” Fuck that voice is even better in person. The breath of it brushes your ear just barely, and you suck in a sharp breath.
Instead of answering verbally, you point to a random spot on the wound with your tweezers. He looks from you, to the not-bleeding area of skin, back to you.
“Stitches?” Mrs. Sanchez asks, looking up from where she’s been scrolling on her phone.
“No, ma’am,” He reassures her quickly with a shake of his head. She nods, and he turns his gaze back to you. “I see why you thought to ask. Come find me after you’re done here and I can explain why it doesn’t need a stitch. I’ll be charting if you need me. Feel better soon, Mrs. Sanchez.”
He stands quickly, sheds his gloves into the waste bin, and leaves the room.
“Do you think it’s ok to add non-famous people to a hall pass list?” Your patient asks as soon as the door shuts behind him. Slowly, you lift your gaze from her leg to her face, arching a brow in question. “That Dr. Abbot is… phew!”
She fans herself with her fingers, eliciting a hearty laugh from you as you continue working and thinking about your attending because… phew is right.
𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔
Mrs. Sanchez is discharged shortly after you finish the grueling task of removing each piece of gravel from her open wound and wrap it under Donnie’s supervision. There’s a sharp ache across the entire length of your shoulders.
“Shoulders?” Shen asks as you sit down to chart, noting your pained wince.
“I was hunched over that leg for two hours.” You blink hard. “I’m seeing little pieces of gravel everytime I close my eyes.”
He laughs, wiping condensation from his drink with a sterile towel.
“Is she ready to be discharged?” He looks at the board. “We could use her room.”
“Actually, she’s been discharged. Just waiting for her son to get here and pick her up,” you say through a bite of the granola bar you keep in your scrub top. “He’s a lawyer.”
“Is she trying to set you up with her son?” He snorts, shaking his head as he looks toward the patient room where she’s rifling through her purse. “You’ll get used to it. Happens at least once a day. Everyone wants their kids to date a doctor for some reason.”
He leaves, taking his coffee with him into a patient room.
Just as you’ve found a comfortable position and typed out the first sentence of your patient care summary, Lena raps her knuckles from the other side of the counter. When you look up, you make eye contact with the man next to her.
He’s about your age, with dark, curly brown hair and a tanned complexion. Both features that match Mrs. Sanchez, who you turn to find excitedly waving at you both through the glass door of her exam room.
Laughing, you stand up and extend your hand in greeting as you introduce yourself.
“You’re Mrs. Sanchez’s son, I assume?” You ask as you round the counter. He nods, scratching the back of his neck.
“I guess it’s safe to assume that all the matchmaking texts I was getting were being relayed to you, then?” He breathes out a nervous laugh.
You chuckle in response, pulling your lips between your teeth before releasing them with another quick laugh. Before you can respond, you hear your name called from down the hallway. Abbot is walking over, and you note the slight unevenness of his footsteps.
So many quirks, and you want to know them all. You want to know him. All of him.
“You discharging Mrs. Sanchez?” He asks, leaning in to glance at the tablet in your hand, not once looking at the man beside you. You nod, maintaining his heavy eye contact. “Great. Mind if I observe?”
You shake your head, then gesture between the two men.
“This is Mrs. Sanchez’s son. He’s here to take her home. This is my attending physician, Dr. Jack Abbot,” you introduce the two of them to each other, taking note of the way Jack nods without a smile. On the way to her room, you stop to grab a wheelchair from the side wall of the hallway, but Jack takes it quickly, pushing it on his own. “Thank you, Dr. Abbot.”
He pulls the door to the room open, waiting for you to walk through. Shyly, you cast a smile in his direction and step inside.
For such a gentleman, you’re surprised he isn’t being welcoming to Mr. Sanchez. Surely, he isn’t jealous. Right?
“Hey, mom.” Her son enters right after you, moving to her bedside to place a kiss to her hair. “I’m so sorry this happened.”
They spend a moment arguing over the son’s dog while you sort her discharge paperwork and Jack prepares the wheelchair.
When you turn to face the bed again, Mrs. Sanchez points to you.
“Mijo, this is the girl I was telling you about. See? Very pretty, very sweet, very very smart. She’s a doctor, you know?” She nudges his side.
“This is your discharge paperwork, Mrs. Sanchez,” you say in an attempt to change the subject. “There’s instructions for how to rebandage the wound on this page. You’ll want to do it twice a day, when you wake up and when you go to sleep, ok?”
She nods, taking the packet of paperwork.
“Your leg may be a little bit tender. A little pain is normal as the skin heals, but if it gets too uncomfortable to bear weight, or if you start noticing any foul smells or pus coming from the wound, it could be a sign of infection. Come back in as soon as possible if that happens, alright?”
She nods and hands the paperwork to her son as Jack helps to transfer her into the wheelchair. He does it easily, lifting her body off of the bed and into the cushioned seat.
As he does, every muscle ripples down his arm. Somehow, every inch of him is huge. Fingertip to his bicep, where the tee blocks the rest of his arm from view, you watch his skin dimple as it flexes with his movements.
“Does she need to be on any antibiotics or anything?” Her son asks, bringing your attention away from Jack’s arms and back to him.
“Um, no. She’s all set to go.” You smile politely.
“I’ll walk them out,” Jack says, nodding to you. “Can you notify Lena that this room is ready to be cleaned, please?”
You nod, holding the door as he pushes Mrs. Sanchez through the threshold. She hooks a finger into your scrub pocket as she’s pushed out, winking coyly. Although you don’t understand, you smile and wave, wishing her a good rest of her night.
“Central 9 is ready to be cleaned,” you tell Lena as you approach the nurse’s station again. She gives a thumbs up and picks up the phone, nodding to the board. Pediatric bone break in South 12, and she’s writing your name into the box next to it.
You head there, smiling softly when you enter the room and introduce yourself.
𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔
You pick up cases for the rest of your shift, bouncing from room to room and having no time between check-ins to chart.
“God, it’s nice having another resident,” Ellis tells you as she plops down across from you to chart.
You grin, fingers clacking away as you hurry to document everything as quickly as you can. It’s already 6:45 a.m., the day shift is trickling in, and you have eight charts to start and complete before you can leave.
“Do you have a minute?” You swivel on your stool to see Jack standing at your desk. “I wanted to discuss the bleeder you asked about earlier with Mrs. Sanchez.”
Swallowing hard, you nod, standing to follow him. His limp is more pronounced now after a shift on his feet, and you wonder what he’s dealing with.
The continued reminders that you don’t really know him at all are both aggravating and unnerving.
“How was your first shift?” He asks you, leading you to a window that overlooks the bridge. It’s far from the swing of things, nestled between a staircase and elevator.
Only the two of you are here for the moment, but anyone could walk down the stairs or exit the elevators.
He’s staring out, watching the occasional car drive by.
“Um, it was good, thank you,” you reply nervously. “How was your birthday?”
He faces you then, a smirk tugging one corner of his lip up.
“Best one so far,” he says simply. His eyes are so full of something, not emotion, but-- passion, maybe? You aren’t sure what to call it, but it’s incredibly difficult to maintain eye contact and even more difficult to look away. “I realize I made you uncomfortable this morning, and I’m sorry. I was just-- surprised to see you.”
“What?” You frown, stepping back in surprise. “Dr. Abbot, you didn-- no! Oh my gosh, no, not at all! I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable. I promise I had no idea that you work here. Really, I didn’t mean to ambush you or surprise you or ruin what we have.”
You snap your mouth shut so hard that you have to run your tongue along your teeth to make sure none of them chipped from the force.
The corner of his mouth raises higher, but he says nothing.
“Is this ok? Me working here, I mean.”
You hate how desperate you sound. The feeling sits low in your stomach, bubbling with anxiety as his silence continues.
“What kind of cake was it?” He stares back out the window.
“What?” You ask stupidly for the second time before realization dons on you. “Oh. It’s vanilla. With a whipped buttercream. I had some leftover batter, so there’s cupcakes, too. Actually, there’s two in my lunchbox if you want one.”
“You made me a cake from scratch?” He chuckles darkly. “You brought it to work?”
A bead of sweat runs from your hairline down the nape of your neck, and you wipe it anxiously. Shrugging, you wince a little at how pathetic he’s making you sound.
It’s not like you knew SgtMD would be here.
“You’re a sweet girl,” he comments, and you feel heat pool between your thighs.
Instinctively, you cross your legs and look down at your feet.
“I should probably get back to charting.” You wipe your sweaty palms off on the knees of your scrubs and push yourself to stand.
He follows, towering over you. Then, silently, he dips his hand into the front pocket of your scrub pants.
It’s only for a moment, but the heat from his palm makes your breath catch in your throat.
His hand emerges with a piece of paper between his pointer and middle fingers.
“You don’t need this. You’re seeing someone, remember?” His head tilts to the side, as if testing you. Your eyes flit to the paper he’s holding, something you don’t recognize.
“I-I-- what is that?” You pout your lips and return your gaze to his face, finding his eyes fixed on your mouth. Your pout gets more dramatic as he further confuses you. “Dr. Abbot?”
“Don’t call me that.” It’s stern. “Jack. I’m Jack.”
“Jack,” you repeat softly. It’s your first time saying it out loud. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He drags a hand down his face, laughing like you wear him out. The sight makes your heart skip a beat.
This look on his face. This is what you craved from him online, and here it is.
It was worth the three-year wait, no doubt.
Jack tucks the paper into his pocket and his eyes dart to something over your shoulder. You turn, following his gaze to find a man entering the double doors. Jack places a hand just above the curve of your ass, urging you back into the main ED.
“Robby!” He calls, dropping his hand, but motioning for you to follow with a tilt of his head. The man entering the ED turns, and you recognize him as the one who wished Jack a happy birthday this morning. The same man from your interview. “This is our new resident. I don’t think you two met this morning.”
He shakes his head, gaze moving between the two of you briefly before settling on your face.
“We did not. I’m Michael Robinavitch, everyone calls me Robby.” He extends his hand for you to shake, and you do, hoping you don’t look as fucked-out as you feel. When you tell him your name, he surprises you by saying, “I remember. I sat in on one of your interviews. Hard to forget someone with such an impressive resume.”
You laugh, waving your hand in front of you to dismiss his praise.
“Oh gosh, thanks Dr. Robby.” Nervously you glance at Jack, who is giving you an appraising look. “I’m really behind on charting, so I should probably get to that. It was great to meet you, I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“Maybe we could grab dinner sometime,” he suggests, and Jack clears his throat.
You were almost sure that he was merely suggesting a space to talk more about your resume. Almost.
“I’d love for the three of us to get together!” You play stupid on purpose. “I just moved to Pittsburgh so I could definitely use the restaurant recommendations. I’ll be looking forward to it.”
You catch Jack’s sneaky grin from the corner of your eye as you turn on your heels to go back to your computer station.
𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔𓊔
An hour later, the sweet smell of buttercream enters your nostrils. You hear a crinckling and turn quickly to see Jack looming over you.
“Holy shit,” you gasp, clutching your chest. “How long have you been here?”
He’s just standing there, holding your lunchbox and unwrapping your cupcake.
You have no idea how he knew it was yours, but alas, here you are.
He sets the lunchbox onto the counter next to you and pulls a stool from another charting station. Sidling next to you, he leans too far into your space, disregarding all professional boundaries.
“This is really good,” he praises. “You spelt ‘oophorectomy’ wrong.”
“Where?” You move closer to the screen, scanning your patient history portion of your last chart. His finger points at the correctly spelled term. “That’s how you spell it.”
He hums, chewing another bite.
“So you’re good at everything, then? Baking and spelling and-”
“Don’t finish that sentence, Dr. Abbot,” you whisper harshly, eyes darting for any listening day-shift ears.
“Told you not to call me that.” He clears his throat, tugging at the fabric that’s now pulling a little tighter around his groin.
Ok, maybe this is the thing you desired most from SgtMD. This was a view you were not getting over video chat.
You busy yourself grabbing another cupcake out of your lunchbox.
“Our shift ended an hour ago. Shouldn’t you be going home?” You press.
He was usually home by now. You knew, because he’d schedule calls with you four times a week at exactly 8:00 a.m..
“Nothing exciting to rush home for anymore.” He says it so offhandedly that you almost don’t realize he means your appointments. Then, leaving no room to the imagination, he adds, “Ive got you right here. We’re both getting paid now, huh?”
You choke on a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. Your tongue darts out to lick the peak of buttercream from the top of the cupcake. He blows out a long exhale, and his breath smells sweet as if fans over you.
“You almost done? We could grab breakfast,” he suggests, eyes tracking your tongue as you swipe it across the top of the cupcake again.
“Mm, I kind of spent my ‘fun money’ on ingredients for the cake stuff,” you say, setting the cupcake back down and saving the chart. “I think I get my first check next week. Can we raincheck?”
“I’ll pay.” He sounds offended. “How much longer do you need?”
“I’m done, actually.” You rub your eyes and face him again. “And breakfast would be very nice, thank you, Jack.”
“It’s a date.” His words ring familiar from his message prior to yesterday’s call. “Go grab your stuff.”
As you obey, you can’t help but think about how much better it is taking orders from Dr. Jack Abbot than SgtMD.
content: one-shot! suggestive. crack. pro-hero!bakugou. reader is very shameless, bkg is flustered & angry about it lol. wc: 0.9k.
note: this is so stupid but im crine at the thought of doing this
masterlist | say hi!
You’re staring.
You had been, for a while. Lips pursing, gaze not even attempting to be discreet.
As if paperwork wasn’t already excruciating enough, Katsuki was stuck doing it with you on the other side of his desk, staring at his fucking crotch as he leaned over the table, propped up by a hand.
“Quit it.”
You looked up for a moment, watching as he straightened out, folding his arms over his chest. “Quit what?”
Not believing your little confused act for a second, he sneered. “Being a pervert.”
As per-usual, you weren’t the least bit affected by his harsh tone, giving him an exasperated look as if he was the crazy one.
“I’m just catching print.”
You didn’t bother to elaborate beyond that, eyes going back to being glued between his legs.
His teeth grind together. “You’re what?”
Katsuki knew you had gone to lengths before to get on his nerves, but this unabashed leering was a new low. Even for you.
He could feel you tracing every curve, each fold of the fabric as you scrutinized the outline of what was right under.
“Catching. Print.” you repeated it back to him slowly, talking down to him like it was his fault for not knowing whatever bullshit you were on about now.
“The fuck does that mean?”
Your eyes finally peeled away from him, seemingly satisfied, now focusing on your pen gliding across your paper.
He didn’t miss the small smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth as you answered.
“It’s this method to guesstimate dick size. Foolproof.”
For a moment, he felt warm. He swallowed, feeling his heart stutter in his chest. For a moment, he was weak. Because that’s what you did to him— you found a way to worm under his skin, you leeched off of him acting like an idiot.
He slumped down onto his chair and dug his pen into the paper in front of him, signing to the bottom with enough pressure to nearly tear through the parchment.
He grabbed the next document harshly, shooting you a glare through furrowed brows.
“You really are a pervert.”
“Well, never said I wasn’t.”
Something about the unbothered acceptance in your voice made his jaw tic. “You don’t see me starin’ at your—”
He made a vague gesture towards your chest, that spontaneous need to one-up you leaving his body the very second he actually looked; the very tips of his ears dusted pink. The corner of his mouth twitched as though itching to say the word, but he couldn’t quite get it out.
You cocked your head to the side, leaning in by pushing closer into the desk between the two of you, your chest pressing against the edge of it. “My boobs?”
He didn’t know how to respond, stuck with his eyes darting from down there back to your slowly curving lips.
You forced that smile back as quickly as it came, feigning consideration while tapping your chin, looking off to the side. “I mean, you can.”
You said it so casually. Like that was something he could really do, like that wouldn’t mean anything. You were already going back to your paperwork, unaffected while his stomach was flipping at even just the thought.
He hated it, hated how stupid you got him.
“You’re so fucking shameless.” he bit out.
“Hey," your lower lip jutted a little. "Only honest.”
He forced his attention back to the same document he had been on for the past fifteen minutes before letting himself speak again.
“What’s your stupid method say ‘bout me, huh?”
“Definitely an A.”
“What?”
You offered him a grin. “You’re an A!”
“I heard you the first time, dipshit.” he practically seethed. “Doesn’t explain what the hell that’s supposed to mean.”
You sighed, as if whatever you said was meant to make sense. It was when you moved to stand up that he noticed you had finished signing your final document.
He spared a quick glance at his own pile; barely halfway through.
“So, you can either be an A, a B, or a D.” you explained, counting out the three options on your fingers after you finished straightening out your pile of paper.
An A, you said. The first letter of the alphabet. That had to be a good thing, right?
Katsuki had the initial instinct to feel proud before he noticed that gleam in your eye: all smug, testing.
You always did get something out of pushing his buttons. His eyes narrowed as you gathered up your completed paperwork in one hand.
“That’s smallest to biggest.” you continued, matter of fact, a small frown on your face as if sorry for him. You circled around the desk, coming behind him.
“S’okay, though.” You gave him a small pat on the shoulder. “Your ego almost makes up for it.”
Just like that, you’re stepping out of the office room, leaving him behind to process what the fuck you just implied.
You’re already in the elevator down the hall when you hear the crackle of a small explosion, followed by a door slamming open.
You watched Katsuki’s enraged stomping figure getting closer and closer as you pressed the close door button calmly and gave him a small smile, waving with your free hand as the double doors shut right in his livid face.
The slamming of his furious fists against the door grew quieter as the elevator moved down, and you let yourself laugh.
Of course, you had lied, just to get a rise out of him. Because, what you really caught?
An undeniable D.
may blabs: catching print is in fact revolutionary btw.
ty to briar ( @cupidkats ) for beta reading ilu twin ❤️🩹❤️🩹
00. 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 ⋆ katsuki bakugou. “i’d do it again and again if it meant i found you each time.”
every now and then, you swear off men. and then, sometimes, when you get a little bored, you re-download all of your dating apps.
friday night, when you find yourself swiping mindlessly through poorly made accounts, you stumble upon the holy grail: fully clothed in each picture, literate responses to the prompts, a nice smile—you sit up straight and swipe right.
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. a hybrid traditional / smau fic. pro-hero! katsuki x civilian! reader. beware of the following when approaching a new chapter: profanity & sarcasm, alcohol & drug usage, angst, suicide jokes, possible ooc. irregular update schedule. taglist is open - comment or send an ask to be added.
warnings: oral (fem receiving), fingering, penetration, pleasure dom bakugo, breeding, cum eating, sex, mentions of birth control
word count: 6k+
Summary: Wearing skimpy clothing around the dorms and wondering why the spiky-haired blond refuses to look at you.
Short, fluff continuation here.
It was no mistake that the U.A. College dorms were unbearably hot during this time of year, their A/C units almost unable to face the blistering weather outside. Consequentially, many students wandered about in little clothing, putting their shame aside in favor of withstanding the heat.
Pretty much the same could be said about you, one of the students in Class 1-A. There wasn't a day where you wouldn't waltz into the common room wearing skimpy tank tops or crop tops, matching booty shorts, and odd bunny slippers. In your defense, what else could you do? You've always preferred the cold regardless, so this horrible wave of warmth had you in a much sour mood than usual which in turn made you care less about the opinions of your classmates.
And to your absolute delight, no one else seemed to care. Hell, Kirishima and Kaminari were walking around in nothing but their boxers, so why would they give you shit when you were a little more appropriately dressed? The girls even ended up buying matching pajama sets with you in an attempt to make you feel comfortable, but they played it off as just "really liking the silky material". You knew that was simply an excuse, were very grateful for their thoughtfulness, and immediately became less self-conscious about sometimes catching your classmates' lingering stares. Maybe they thought you looked pretty, is what you willed yourself to believe.
However, there was one classmate who wouldn't even spare you a glance, as if you were the most disgusting person on earth for wearing such revealing clothing. That was Katsuki Bakugo, a man you haven't gotten to know very well since the beginning of the semester. He was always either hollered up in his room, at the gym, or in the kitchen, but no matter how many times you bumped into each other, he'd never look at you. Your very first meeting went a little something like this:
"Hi, I'm Y/N."
The blond glanced at you sideways, ignored your outstretched hand in favor of stuffing his scarred hands into his pockets, and grumbled under his breath, "Katsuki Bakugo," before walking away.
Probably the only time his garnet eyes were trained on you. You didn't know if you should feel offended or glad, and you let the time pass without questioning it until now.
His indifference began to make you curious. What about you was so repulsive that he couldn't stand looking at you? Was that even the case, or did he just not find you interesting in the slightest? He had no problem getting along with Mina and Jirou, chatting occasionally with the other girls as well. Something about you kept him at arm's length, very uncharacteristic for the explosive blond, from what you could tell given your classmates' reactions.
Whatever it was, after months of small interactions, you were bent on solving this mystery, whether he liked it or not. Today, you put on a pink, oversized tank top unlike your usual tight-fitting ones, a pair of pastel pink satin shorts, and your dear bunny slippers.
You marched into the kitchen where he was making himself dinner after a particularly long evening gym session, his hair still slightly damp from the shower and a black t-shirt draped over his muscular body, along with a pair of grey sweatpants. Jesus, how is he not melting?
Some of your classmates were already asleep whilst some opted for retreating in their rooms for the evening, meaning it was just you and him in the dimly lit kitchen of the dorms. There was no way out now, this was the best chance you had at confronting him.
Before he could notice your presence, you leaned against the doorframe and admired his figure from behind, taking in his broad back, intimidating height, and even more intimidating biceps. The man was built like a Greek god and no matter how much you tried to deny it - because trust me, you did - you've always felt attracted to him. He was exactly your type, the part where he didn't even care you existed just adding to the attractiveness factor. That, plus the scars, piercings, and coarse behavior, turned you into a pile of mush with a gigantic, stupid crush on the hero.
The twitch of his hand on the plate as he poured curry onto it broke you out of your daydream, knowing he caught you staring and predicting exactly what he was going to say.
"You want something?" Bakugo murmured without needing to turn around, already knowing who it was. Only one idiot smelled like bubblegum in the dorms.
Approaching the counter steadily, you shoot a smile towards his back, seemingly in a great mood despite the nerves bubbling up in your stomach. How bad could it possibly be to admit you want his attention? Although, it did sound kind of bad being put that way...
"Can't sleep, so I came to get some water," you explained and leaned back against the counter at a comfortable distance next to him, giving a pointed look to the glass rack, "Mind passing me a glass?"
"Can't you get it yourself?" he scoffed, handing you one despite complaining.
You thanked him, swiftly filling it up with water and taking a sip, all while keeping your eyes on him. He hadn't looked in your direction once. You realized he was doing it on purpose, not by chance as you've wanted so hard to believe. Was it really something about you that threw him off? You've always been friendly and respectful, so you couldn't think of an instance where you managed to weird him out or anything of the sort...
Standing in uncomfortable silence for a bit, you fumbled with your fingers as he finished filling up his plate, and right as he was about to go enjoy his meal at one of the tables, you mustered up the courage to reach out and grab onto his shirt. You placed the glass back onto the counter, your right thumb and index finger gripping the material of his shirt loosely, barely enough to halt his movements. He stopped in his tracks, shoulders visibly tensing at the contact. It was now or never.
You gulped, thinking of ways to phrase your feelings, but nothing seemed good enough for you. You probably should've thought about this before grabbing onto quite literally a time bomb.
While weighing your words, you noticed something strange about him. His back seemed to be heaving, a growl making its way deep into his throat and startling you for a moment, grateful that it pulled you back to reality since you were in a bit of a compromising situation. If someone else were to see you, they'd probably think you were confessing and to be honest, they wouldn't be far off.
"Why are you ignoring me?" the words stumbled out of your mouth so quickly you were sure they fused.
As incoherent as your sentence was, Bakugo caught onto it. You saw him place the plate onto the table in front of him - a bit too gentle for your liking - and you gulped. Letting go of his shirt, he took the opportunity to turn around while his gaze was firmly planted towards the floor, seeming like he was going to explode at any moment. You couldn't help but take a step back, wondering if you did something wrong, but something happened right before you even lifted your foot.
Out of all the things you expected your crush to do, hooking his index finger around both of your tank top's shoulder straps and harshly pulling you forward wasn't one of them.
Mouth agape and breath knocked out of you, you stared up at the blond locks shadowing his crimson eyes and noticed that his gaze was finally fixed on you. The way his pupils dilated, the tips of his ears turning a slightly pink color and the crease between his eyebrows had your stomach flipping, involuntarily blushing beneath his intense stare. He raked his eyes over your figure slowly and deliberately, taking in everything about you. Your bunny slippers, your calves, knees, thighs, hips... Chest, neck, lips, nose, and then remaining trained on your widened eyes. Yet, there was something in your gut telling you that he's seen it all before, that when you're not paying attention, his eyes absentmindedly drift to you. The thought makes your heart speed up, hands balling into fists at your sides as you wait for him to speak.
And it feels like almost an eternity before he responds in a low, gravelly voice, "You're insane. You waltz into the commons in your tight fucking booty shorts and expect me to not shamelessly check you out?"
"That's not what I-"
"Even now, you're wearing this loose shit that barely covers anything," he murmured and tugged on the material once more to drive his point home. His brows furrowed further when he realized one of your tits popped out through the armhole, your perky nipple coming in full view. Bakugo let out a strangled gasp, his hand shaking on the material before fisting the collar, forcefully pulling it up so it would cover your chest and bring your face level with his. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"
You were honestly speechless. You've never felt his gaze on you, ever. Just how sneaky could this guy be? To admit that he's actually been looking at you this whole time and not to mention, admiring your body... It made you feel inexplicably relieved. And way too fucking turned on.
You never thought you had a thing for degradation, but here you were.
Getting over your initial shock, you raised a brow at him, somehow finding the courage to speak again as your heart thumped wildly in your chest, "Do I... affect you?"
He scoffed, eyes roaming your face, drinking in your features from up close. If he was intimidating from afar, being this close to him while he maintained unwavering eye contact was much worse. Even so, you felt your entire body heat up as he guided you back towards the counter, your ass resting on the edge and your hands flying to grip it for dear life, being the only other thing you could feel besides him.
"You use that stupid bubblegum shower gel that leaves you smelling so incredibly sweet," he panted, avoiding the question while still keeping his distance but not letting go of your shirt, "But it clashes with your shampoo that has a more powerful, flowery scent. You wear fluffy bunny slippers even though you're sweating your tits off. You eat all of my spicy food no matter how much you say you hate it. And don't think I'm not aware of how much you check me out. Your eyes are practically glued to my ass."
You loosed a shuddering breath. Nothing could've prepared you for that. His grip tightens and you swear you almost pass out from embarrassment. You didn't think you were that obvious... He just simply paid a lot of attention to you without you even realizing it. How could you have been so oblivious? It all clicked right then and there; you both stupidly pinned over each other since the beginning, avoiding the other in fear of rejection or of letting your desires consume you.
Although, the look on his face tells you he's already at his limit. You bite your lip, putting the pieces together and hyping yourself up mentally to further embarrass yourself.
"I could say the same about you. You once tried out my shower gel and Kirishima called you out on it in front of the whole class. You keep on leaving an extra serving of your spicy ass food in the fridge, knowing I'll crave it at some point. You heard me say I like compression shirts, and ever since then, you wear them to the gym, and you even take the front door to make sure I see you. The way you're panting right now... You're checking me out as we speak. You're not slick either, Bakugo."
You conveniently leave out the part where you were under the impression that he hated your guts. You could talk about that later, but for now, you were just glad you managed to get that off your chest. Similarly, you wished he'd just rip off your tank top already, frustrated with the pent-up desire you tried to keep in check all this time.
"I wasn't trying to be, dumbass," you hadn't noticed just how close he'd gotten since your eyes were absentmindedly trained on his lips until you felt his breath wash over your blushing face. "But I doubt you would've wanted me to jump you in front of our classmates."
"Then why not come talk to me in private?" you tilted your head to the side, reducing your words to a whisper when you felt his nose nudge yours.
"Because..." his mouth hangs open just enough for his bottom lip to brush against yours and it sends electrifying shivers down your spine, heat immediately flaring in your core, "I didn't think you felt the same."
"Dumbass," you retorted in a shaky, breathy whisper, taking your eyes off his lips for just a moment to take in the way he was staring down at where his lip touched yours, beads of sweat forming on his temples from the exertion of holding himself back, "After this, you owe me a proper date, got it?"
And just like that, your hand took a fistful of his shirt and pulled him flush against you, the space between your lips closing. You closed your eyes and hummed contently at the feeling of his soft, plump lips, immediately tasting caramel in your mouth as you basked in its sweetness.
With his hands instantly darting to your hips, you were pressed backward into the counter, and you graciously took a seat on top of it, being a little closer to matching his height now. His large frame found purchase between your legs and your hands tangled in his hair, pulling ever so slightly in hopes of hearing the noises he made. Him groaning and melting into you didn't help with your growing arousal. If anything, it urged you to start moving your lips, him following shortly after and desperately seeking your tongue.
You granted him entry, his tongue desperately brushing against yours while he swallowed your soft gasps and whimpers, muffling them to the best of his abilities. He knew this was risky given that some of your classmates were still awake, but he couldn't care less. He wanted to hear every little sound that'll come out of your mouth once he begins touching you and since you were so vocal from only a kiss, he couldn't wait to hear you screaming his name. The thought made his fingers dig into the plush of your hips, hastily guiding your legs to wrap around his waist as he hoisted you up, gripping the back of your thighs.
You yelped through the kiss, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck for support. The bastard only chuckled in response and bit your bottom lip, beginning to head towards the stairs.
"Your room or mine?" Bakugo asks in between heavy pants, clearly pained beyond imagination from having to wait for so long to touch you. If he'd known you tasted just like your signature scent and your skin felt so perfect underneath his fingers, you would've been his a long time ago.
"Yours," you whispered, digging your face into the side of his neck and peppering the skin there with light kisses.
The blond picked up the pace, heading to his room with such hurried steps he was practically stomping through the dorms, "Fuck..."
Whenever he took a step, your clothed core would accidentally brush against the tent in his pants, making you shiver and hold onto him tighter, a bit afraid he might drop you. But Katsuki was big; a beast of a man, his biceps larger than your head and pecs probably bigger than your boobs, too. There was no way he could've dropped you, regardless of your weight. He didn't work out for nothing.
It felt like an eternity walking up the stairs to the fourth floor, but your conversation helped lighten the mood.
"Can I call you by your first name?" you quietly asked once you unlatched your lips from his neck.
Bakugo laughed. You've heard him chuckle with his friends now and then, a deep chuckle that left you blushing redder than a tomato, but this was entirely different. The man couldn't believe your words, genuinely having to switch to holding you with one arm to wipe the tears from the corners of his eyes. You could almost feel your heart being pierced by Cupid's arrow all over again.
"We're about to fuck, so yes, I think we're on a first-name basis now," he replied, glancing down at you with a smirk.
The tips of your ears heated up and you buried your face in his shoulder, whispering a simple, "Okay, noted."
Out of nowhere, the blond squeezed your ass, earning your attention once more. "We're here."
Before you could process everything, Bakugo led you to his bed and dropped you unceremoniously on top of his neat, black bedsheets, which were about to be ruined. You made a mental note to buy him some colorful sheets sometime, just to see his reaction.
"What are you thinking about?"
You propped yourself up on your elbows, kicking off the bunny slippers and planting your feet onto the mattress, knees closed together.
"Ways to torture you."
A playful spark lit up his eyes. He supported his weight with his hands as he crawled over to you, stopping right in front of your knees.
"Funny. How were you planning on doing that?"
You eyed him curiously, heart hammering in your chest when his warm, calloused hands rested on your knees and then slowly pushed them apart. Your breathing grew heavier than it already was and you bit your lip out of instinct.
"Buying you colorful bedding."
The sight of him laughing again, throat bobbing and his head being thrown back lit a fire within you, and you wasted no time reaching for him, your hands tangling in his hair as his lips clashed with yours.
"I was thinking of somethin' more pleasurable, but I'll take it," the blond murmured against your parted lips.
He was the most handsome man you've ever seen and his hands caressed you so gently, seemingly afraid to touch more than he was allowed, completely contrasting his usual brass behavior. In the intimacy of his room, Katsuki was nothing short of a gentleman.
However, your body was in dire need of attention. You needed to let him know you were more than okay with this and in fact, craved it. When he eased you down onto your back, you trapped his hips with your legs, snapping his bulge flush against your core. The friction felt so good that you arched your back in search of more and moaned softly, eyes tracing the length of him through his sweatpants up to right where he was pressed to you.
He grunted, muscles straining as he held himself up with his arms on either side of you and admired the view of you sprawled out underneath him on his bed. He thinks you're the most beautiful person in the world and he couldn't quite remember what he did to deserve having you like this, so delicately placed amidst his sheets. One thing was for sure, he was going to prove he deserved you. You could see the determination light up his irises when his hand trailed up from your knee to your belly, the tips of his fingers sneaking beneath the material of your shirt.
The mere action ignited your skin, goosebumps adorning it. You caught his eyes for a split second, noticing his hesitation or rather his asking for consent, and immediately nodded while grasping onto his wrist. You guided it upwards, shirt bunching up and resting above the curve of your breasts, his hand engulfing one of them. A soft exhale left your nose and you tensed right before he squeezed the mound, it turning into an excited gasp. It wasn't as gentle as you expected it to be. Well, it didn't matter since you didn't want him to be gentle in the first place.
"You're so fuckin' gorgeous," he murmured, leaning forward to lick a trail up your neck, then biting harshly into it. You shuddered, angling your head to the side and feeling the energy in the room shift from a soft, silly mood to a fervent one. "And you're all fuckin' mine."
"Stop talking, it's embara- Jesus!" You moaned when his lips found your other breast, tongue coming out to lap at your sensitive nipple in tandem with his fingers pulling and twisting the other one. Your hands instinctively went to his hair, you quickly realize it's your favorite place to put them, tugging on it just to make him groan against you. The vibrations from the sound made your back arch, breasts pressing further into his face.
Bakugo sucks for a few moments more before unlatching his mouth with a pop, opting to instead leave a trail of dark hickeys from your breast up to your neck. His other hand was relentless, though, kneading onto your breast harder, testing the waters to see what gets you going. You got louder once he added more pressure and continued to do so until you quite literally began to squirm away from his grasp, craving his touch elsewhere. Your neck, chest, and breasts were already littered with love bites and marks, the bulge of his aching cock brushing against your thigh occasionally and making you whine.
He seemed to catch onto it at some point, though, because the next thing you know, you're laid in a more comfortable position with your head placed on his pillow and his lips on yours.
Tongues danced for what seemed like forever when he finally pulled back, a string of saliva connecting them. He experimentally squeezed your inner thigh, rubbing his thumb over the plush skin and venturing beneath your shorts, lightly teasing your clothed clit. Your eyes almost roll into the back of your head as a strangled moan escapes your throat, a dopey smile pulling at your lips from finally being touched where you needed it most.
"Have you ever done this before?" he huffed, repeating the motion and making your hips jolt.
"Why? You jealous?"
The blond frowned and squeezed your boob in retaliation, earning a giggle out of you. "Brat."
"I have, don't worry. I'm also on birth control, so..." you trail off, winking before taking the initiative to sit up and throw your tank top somewhere around his room.
"Good," is all he could say, the overwhelming need to have his mouth on you overriding his senses.
He kissed the middle of your chest, right above your heart, then went down to press a kiss to your ribs, above your navel, and after that to your right hip bone, the affection in his actions taking you by surprise. It felt so romantic, you couldn't help letting out a few pathetic whimpers, quickly covering your mouth with your hand in embarrassment.
One of his heated palms rested on your hip, squeezing it reassuringly when he saw you muffling your noises. As if you, yourself, weren't cute enough, the noises you made were so adorable and turned him on so incredibly much that his cock ached, precum leaving a big, damp stain on his boxers. He wasn't about to let you cover them up. No way.
"I wanna hear you, Y/N," his free hand gently pulled your hand aside, intertwining his fingers with yours, "I wanna hear how good I make you feel."
The only response you could give him was a nod, red tainting your cheeks and ears from his words. If he was going to be like this the whole way through, you weren't sure how long you would last.
He hooked a finger under the waistband of your shorts, tugging it upwards before letting it fall back down with a snap. You flinch from the impact, glancing down at his hand with a raised brow.
"Up," was the only thing he said, his voice gravelly and seemingly deeper than before. You eagerly complied, raising your hips a bit as he dragged your shorts and underwear down to your legs agonizingly slow, letting them hang on your right ankle as he stared at your newly exposed skin.
He did everything in his power to hold back, but he just couldn't anymore. He wanted to be a gentleman, he really did, but with your cunt drenched and on display like that for him and only him, he couldn't control himself. You were sent from the heavens above and Katsuki wasn't about to let you go without satisfying you fully.
He used a thumb to part your lips and watch your tight hole twitching and squeezing on nothing. A deep, guttural groan rumbled from his chest, the ghost of a smirk on his lips as he threw the remainder of your clothes off and dived in.
His warm breath fanned over your core and you gasped, meeting his eyes with a shiver. You fisted his pillow, bashfully turning your head to the side as you continued watching him curiously. He chuckled at your actions, keeping his eyes trained on yours when he suddenly licked a trail up your slit, letting the tip of his tongue tease your clit for a moment longer. Moans reverberated through his room, bouncing off the thin walls while he continued eating you out, lapping at your pussy as if it was the best meal of his life, groaning deeply every time you slightly moved your hips to get him where you wanted him. He hooked his arms under your legs, palms coming to rest on your lower tummy to keep you in place. Obviously, if you suddenly decided to fuck against his face, he wouldn't deny you that. A tiny part of him hoped you eventually would, actually.
Slurping and other obscene noises joined your ceaseless moans, along with the peculiar sound of the bed creaking. You weren't moving that much to make it creak like that, so what was...
You have a clear view of Katsuki's back when you prop yourself up on your elbows, albeit a bit wobbly from the constant pleasure of his tongue invading you, and you almost come on the spot when you see his hips aggressively humping the bed. The man could not get enough of your taste, feeling like he'd go insane if he stopped for even a second. The ache in his lower stomach went unnoticed, too focused on giving you the orgasm of your life.
And soon enough, when he thrusted a finger inside you, you yelped and fell back down, a metaphorical chord in your body tightening. Thrusting another finger in, he began a ruthless pace of curling his fingers inside you and sucking on your clit, driving you absolutely insane, being more vocal than you've ever been in your entire life.
"Fuck, yes, Katsuki! Right there, it feels so good, hmm," you melt from the way he expertly pushed past your walls, his fingers parting in a scissoring motion every now and then before brushing against that sweet, soft spot that made you see stars, "Oh, fuuuck..."
One of your hands gripped his hair tightly, keeping his face in place as you began moving your hips against it at a languid pace, in desperate search for your release.
"Katsuki, Jesus, 'm gonna-"
The tightening chord within you snapped, making you cry out as you rode out the height of your orgasm, head thrown back and thighs twitching around his arms. You convulsed at the force of your orgasm, breathing quickly as you let go of him, your strength seemingly dissipating.
Katsuki pulled away from your sopping cunt, your spent dripping down his lips and chin, glistening in the moonlight and flipping a switch in you. You shudder at the perfect sight, pulling him closer and smashing your lips onto his, tasting yourself on his tongue. You lick him clean, making sure to press another grateful kiss to his lips before laying down on your back once more.
"You did so well for me," he slurred, peppering your face with kisses and kneading your breasts softly, running his palms all over your curves in an attempt to memorize them. "My pretty, perfect girl. 'M gonna make you come again, okay? Once more for me?"
It was not, in fact, just one more time. Bakugo Katsuki had made you come on his tongue and fingers at least three times, or at least that's when you stopped counting, before you finally shoved his shoulders away, panting as sweat rolled down your forehead.
"You're... You're insane..." you breathed out, arms trembling and you were almost sure after he was done with you, you wouldn't even be able to move tomorrow. "You haven't even taken your clothes off!"
Bakugo snickered, kissing your cheek apologetically and taking your hand in his much bigger one. "Sorry, couldn't help it. You taste like fuckin' heaven, sweets."
The nicknames seemed to roll off his tongue way easier now and if you had any spare energy left in you, you would've felt embarrassed by now. But you preserved it for the real deal, needing him to fill you up at least once to be satisfied.
"Need your cock. Now," you whined breathlessly, ripping his tank top over his head and throwing it away.
"Impatient much?" he hummed with a shit eating grin on his face, standing up from the bed to take off his pants and boxers, swiftly discarding them to a corner of the room.
"Yes."
"Damn, babe. You don't have to tell me twice," he mumbled beneath his breath, moving to stand between your legs once more.
He sat on his folded legs, spreading them slightly and bringing your hips closer, letting the back of your thighs sit over his. You absentmindedly ran a hand over his abs, trying to memorize their shapes when you felt something brush against your overly sensitive folds, a shaky gasp slipping past your lips.
Glancing down, you saw Bakugo pumping his dick with a hand, your eyes bulging out of their sockets at his impressive length. Your heart sped up more in excitement than anything, but a small part of you thumped with the fear that he wouldn't fit. You hadn't taken anyone as big as him before and the nervousness made you sink your teeth into your lower lip. Now you knew that he wasn't simply big in size, but also in his cock, a question that floated through your mind much more often than you'd care to admit.
He easily threw one of your legs over his shoulder, leaning down to bite the inside of your thigh and snap you out of your train of thought.
"Eyes on me, sweetheart," he rasped, his gaze meeting yours as he rose to his full height again, running his tip through your folds just like before, "Need to see your face when you take my cock."
"Is it even going to fit?" you find yourself asking, brows furrowing mildly.
"It will," Katsuki mumbled, gently running his thumb over your clit and pushing the tip just barely past your entrance, "C'mon, pretty girl. I know you can take it."
Arching your back, you felt an inexplicable pang of pain mixed with pleasure at the sudden intrusion, fingers gripping his sheets for dear life. Katsuki hurriedly grabbed another pillow of his and placed it underneath your hips, elevating them slightly to put you in a less painful position, then soothing the skin of your hip comfortingly.
"Is this position better?"
"Mhmm."
"Are you hurting anywhere? We can stop if you-"
You place a hand on his chest, stopping him mid sentence and whispering, "Katsuki. Need you deeper."
He took that as his cue to push himself further, splitting your walls easily from the wetness of your cunt and reaching beyond what any of your exes did. You couldn't even compare them to Katsuki who was barely halfway in and already had you writhing in pleasure underneath him, the pain long forgotten and being replaced by the fullness feeling of it. You need him deeper, squeezing onto his cock unforgivingly as you took him in further.
Bakugo was on cloud nine. You were so tight, so warm, coercing him inside and twitching on his dick. The man growled from the sheer amount of pleasure he was experiencing, rumbling and vibrating throughout his body, sending heat flaring right to your core and making you even wetter. Because of that, Katsuki was able to snap his hips forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt inside of you.
The two of you moaned, an unusual noise for Katsuki to make and an absolute delight to hear, and you stayed like that for a while, chests heaving wildly and your heartbeats unknowingly matching. You were seeing stars, wondering how on earth you got so lucky to meet this man, whines rolling off your tongue softly.
"Fuck, you're so tight," he hissed, adjusting himself and somehow reaching deeper inside you, making you moan loudly. His ears immediately perked up, imitating the roll of his hips one more time to hear the beautiful sound you just made. "Here, baby? Does it feel good here?"
In a second he managed to change your position, lifting your hips higher and pressing his chest flush against yours, taking your wrists to pin them above your head. He repeated the slow motion, this time reaching even deeper, perfectly bullying the gummy spot within you that had your entire body shaking with barely a few thrusts.
"M-Mhmm!" you replied between lewd moans, nodding dumbly enough for him to smirk and his ego to skyrocket.
"Feels good having my cock so deep inside, huh?" he inhaled sharply and decided to snap his hips against yours aggressively this time to see if you'd enjoy it and to his utmost surprise, you shivered and moaned loudly with a thin string of drool coming out the side of your mouth. That's all it took for him to begin plowing into you, not giving you a second to breathe, much less squirm away. His cock dug deep and hard with each move, each snap of his hips harder than the other while his free hand gripped onto the back of your thigh and pushed up, guiding your legs onto his shoulders and folding you into a mating press before you could let out a strangled whimper.
He plowed into you, once, twice, giving your tit a good squeeze before sucking down on it harshly, sending tingles down your spine. He let your wrists go, opting to hold onto your throat instead, adding small amounts of pressure to make it feel good. His thumb dug into your pulse point and you whimpered, involuntarily grinding your hips against his aggressive movements. His lips and teeth continued their ministrations down your chest, switching between whispering praises and insults at a lightning pace.
"Atta girl... Dreamed of this pussy every night," Bakugo grunted, his hips picking up the pace, " 'M gonna fill you up so well. 'M gonna make you mine, princess."
You could feel the outline of his dick plunging in and out of you, his veins popping out to shape your walls to his form. The tightening chord was back stronger than ever, your lower stomach burning as you held yourself back from releasing, wanting to do it at the same time as him.
"A-Ah! Katsuki, I can feel you twitching- 'M gonna come, ah!"
"Yeah? You feel that, baby?" Releasing your throat, he pressed a comforting kiss to your forehead as he rutted into you, faster, harder, your juices frothing at the base of his dick in a ring of white. "God fuckin' damnit, you feel too good. Give it to me, sweetheart."
Having the urge to feel closer to you, he dropped your legs to wrap them around his waist instead and pressed his chest flush against yours. Your warm bodies melted into each other as you clawed at his back, grunts, moans, and creaks overriding the silence of Katsuki's once-lonely room. He wasn't sure how he would be able to let you go back to your room after this or if you even wanted to, but one thing he was certain of was that this felt right. After pinning on you for so long, he finally got confirmation that you were the one for him. No one else.
To say he was ecstatic would be an understatement. The way his hips now sloppily bullied into yours as he ground his teeth to the point of drawing a thin trickle of blood instantly made your eyes widen and your pussy clench, his debauched expression sending you over the edge with him right after you.
“Holy shit...” the blond whined as he felt a chill run down his spine.
“Katsuki!”
“Yeah, that's it, pretty...” he growled, sneaking a thumb to your clit to stroke it in circular motions while the rest of his palm pressed down onto your lower belly, gloating in the way your tummy bulged and in turn making you scream from the overwhelming pleasure. “Think'm addicted to you...”
You pulled him down in a choking embrace, gasping and shivering uncontrollably, tensing your thighs around his waist to keep him there. He buried his face in your neck, biting down harshly on whatever part of your skin he could find, giving a hard thrust of his hips and letting his warm seed spill out. He moved his hips a few more times, thick ropes of white painting your insides and filling you to the brim, the intense pleasure turning you into nothing more than putty beneath him.
Panting like a dog in heat, he pulled his face from your neck and gazed down at where you were connected, a mixture of your juices barely seeping out of your cunt before he hurriedly pulled out and leveled his face with your twitching hole, lapping at it desperately to collect the sweet combination. His tongue invaded you, and you arched with a loud moan, already too sensitive to suppress the shaking of your body.
“ ’Suki, I can't anymore, I— Hnng... Too much...”
The new nickname had his ears perked up, a smug smile on his wet lips as he pulled back to look at you. He pressed a grateful kiss to your core to apologize for his egotistical actions.
“Sorry,” he mumbled and came up to press a kiss to your forehead, both of you seemingly coming down from the height of the orgasm, exhaustion seeping through your bones. “I'll go get a towel, one sec.”
After Katsuki took care of your numb body, cleaning you up thoroughly and giving you one of his water bottles to drink from, he went ahead and cleaned himself up. He then put your clothes back on but conveniently forgot your shorts before he threw on a new pair of boxers and plaid, black and white pajama pants. Through the haze in your mind, you wondered if he even owned any colored clothes, making you giggle when he snuggled up to your side.
“What are you laughing about this time, brat?” Katsuki couldn't help the fond smile pulling at his lips as he glanced down at you getting comfortable on his chest.
“You in pink clothes.”
He flicked your forehead lightly and you yelped, elbowing his chest in retaliation. The cute smile on his lips turned into a smug smirk as he leaned closer, his eyelids dropping slightly.
“Oh, by the way, your tit popped out the first time we met. Thought I should let you know.”
a/n: heyhey!! this was my first time writing smut, i hope i did well :3 let me know if you liked it!!! i apologize for any typos or errors, i initially wrote this on wattpad and had to copy-paste it here🫠🫠🫠 it's also unedited because i'm lazy 🫶 THANK YOU @/shortestcake FOR EDITING THE PHOTOS!!
pairing: frat!rafe/ghostface!rafe x reader (uni au)
warnings: no plot; smut
inspired by this audio (+18)
between midterms, a terrible class project partner, and your roommate constant need to fuck her boyfriend at any given hour of the day, you’re half asleep most days.
the only thing you should be doing is sleeping, anywhere, for hours, but instead, you let yourself get dragged to a halloween party.
sure, you’re running on three hours of sleep and five cups of coffee, but heaven forbid you to miss a party because your roommate just had to be there. never mind that she’s been wearing her "not-so-pg sexy witch" costume since last tuesday, casting spells for her crush to notice her (like he doesn’t see half her skin every night anyway).
you look hotter than you'd like to admit. black mini dress? check. sky-high boots? check. a little lace mask that hides just enough to keep the mystery going? obviously.
you're not trying too hard, but you’re giving just enough to turn heads, with a vibe that says, “i might ruin your life, but you'll thank me for it."
you’re rocking some version of a "slutty masquerade," not that anyone could guess what that means, but it gets you a free drink within five minutes. and the best part? nobody knows it’s you.
the only downside is that you’re in his territory.
it could be anywhere, but it’s happening at his frat.
your project partner, personal headache and resident menace, rafe cameron holds court here like he’s king of the idiots.
he’s hot, you’ll give him that, guy’s all charm until it’s time to work; then he’s as useless as that cheap foundation your roommate keeps borrowing.
and now you’re here, half hoping to avoid his face entirely—his smirk that screams "’m getting credit off your hard work" and that irking attitude that makes him think he’s doing you a favor.
as if seeing him once a week in class isn’t enough of a problem. you pull your mask down a bit lower, not that he’d recognize you through the lace, but just in case.
against all odds, you’re having a good time. the drinks are good—something sugary—and you find yourself laughing, loosening up.
mid-laugh, you walk straight into someone, practically face-plant into a solid chest. you stagger back, the guy's hand catching your elbow to hold you, and you look up, only to be met with a ghostface mask.
“ohh, sorry,” he says with an amused chuckle like he's getting a kick out of startling you. "sorry, sorry—i didn’t mean to scare you," he adds, not sounding remotely apologetic.
you raise a brow, your lips curving just slightly. “hmm, you sure? cause it kinda looks like you enjoy it."
he puts a hand up in mock innocence. “nah, i swear, completely unintentional,”
you blink up at him, squinting against the red lighting to catch a better look at his mask. it’s honestly a little creepy up close, that ghostface grin somehow twisting a bit more under the lights and crowd. but you’re in the mood to get laid tonight.
"nice costume,” you don’t bother to hide the way your eyes stuck to every corner of his body, “scary.”
he doesn’t catch it though, leaning down, head tilting, “what?” he asks, chuckling a bit as he stands closer. “yeah, sorry—the music’s way too loud.”
rolling your eyes with a little attitude, you repeat yourself, a bit louder. “i said, your costume’s scary.”
he nods, shaking his head like he’s relieved, and rubs the back of his neck, as if this mask isn’t hiding the flush you think you see creeping up his neck. “oh, thanks. yeah, uh, you look…” his voice trails off a little, and he clears his throat, swallowing. “you look pretty, uh, scary too.”
you raise a brow, "you think so?"
he nods again, “yeah, ’m terrified of hot women, so…”
the music cuts him off this time around, his words getting lost in the heavy bass, it’s harder to know what he’s saying when you can’t read his lips. you frown, stepping closer into his space. “hmm?”
the guy practically jolts, “nothing, nothing—it’s, uh…” he stammers, then gestures at your face, his fingers brushing near your mask. “it’s a cool mask.”
you smile, amused. “thanks, ghostface. should i be, y’know, scared of you?”
“i don’t know, that depends. should i be scared of you?”
"nop, you're cute. i like where this is going."
the guy’s mask tilts, there’s smidge of surprise in his voice. "really? so—so you’re into masks and, like, the whole psycho-killer thing?”
you shrug nonchalantly, letting your gaze drag over him slower. "only if they're hot and built like you."
there's a short pause, and you can practically feel the amused smile hidden under his mask. “oh, okay, yeah, yeah—so what is it? do you like being scared, or?”
there’s something about a guy like him—tall, broad-shouldered, who could probably break you in half without even trying. and honestly? you like that kind of shit. you’ve always wanted a guy who could cover you with his entire body, who’d tower over you in a way that was intimidating enough to make your heart pound.
the kind that, if you begged nicely, might just be able to cut off your oxygen in bed with one hand. and here he is, looking like he could throw you around a little if you wanted him to. which you might. his hand still hovering near your waist isn’t exactly subtle either—it’s like he knows, somehow. either way, you keep your expression smooth, not giving him anything, it’s more fun that way.
you let out a giggle that’s only partly mocking. "maybe i just like danger, ghostface. or maybe i like watching people squirm."
“holy shit, that’s fucked up.”
you take a slow sip of your drink, watching his shirt cling to his chest as he takes a deep breath, every inch of that body sculpted to the fucking gods like it was made for nights like this. shit, that’s a nice body.
you can’t help the sly smirk that pulls at your lips as you murmur, “what’s wrong with liking it rough?”
he snickers, almost breathlessly, and you know you’re getting to him. “there’s something a little wrong with you.”
yeah, there is. you almost blurt out the truth—that your panties are drenched and practically glued to your skin because of him, that he’s got you feeling hornier than you’ve felt in a long time. but you choose to let your fingers trail down his arm, slow and teasing.
“you think so?” you faux-pout, giving him a look that’s all dark lashes and bad intentions.
he swallows, stumbling over his words. “y-yeah, i mean, there’s some things you need to… work on.”
you tilt your head, smiling in that way you know drives guys crazy, leaning in just enough to make him catch his breath. “would you like to help me?”
he stares at you, goosebumps rising along his arm where your fingers still rest, visibly caught off guard, “what does that mean?”
with a wicked grin, you reach up, wrapping your manicured hands around his neck, his breath all but halting as you pull him down until his face is level with yours. his breath hitches, and you take your time, letting your lips brush the shell of his ear, enough to make him shiver.
“you find me upstairs,” you murmur, voice dripping with promise, “and ’m all yours. okay?”
instead of waiting for him to process it, you’re already sneaking off into the crowd, leaving him rooted. you don’t try looking back, already feeling his stare burning into you, dazed and desperate as he takes in what you just promised. you don’t second guess yourself once, you know he’s coming.
by the time he shakes himself out of his trance, you’re halfway up the stairs.
at the top, you stop, one quick peek over your shoulder to check if he’s still watching.
you push open a random door and slip into an empty room, locking eyes with yourself in the mirror. hair a little wild, eyes glinting with that mischievous glint you know all too well. you adjust your mask, the lace sitting just right over your cheekbones. you pull your dress higher, letting it ride up just a little higher, admiring the way the fabric clings to you, showing off every curve.
you turn the lights off, letting the room fall into shadows. he’ll have to work for it if he wants to find you. you can imagine the way he’ll hesitate, hand hovering over the doorknob, wondering what the hell he’s getting himself into.
why make it easy for him?
rafe watches you leave, standing there like a fucking idiot, heart hammering in his chest as he replays what just happened. the words “find me upstairs, and i’m all yours” looping in his mind like a mantra. the confidence in your voice, the way you looked at him like you already knew he’d be following—fuck, it’s enough to make him hard just thinking about it.
he swallows, trying to be calm as he looks around, but there’s no hiding the way his breathing’s quickened, how his body is buzzing at the thought of finding you, alone, in a dark room, just waiting for him.
you’re playing with him, he tells himself, but he doesn’t care. he’s going to go after you anyway.
pushing through the crowd, he’s half-dazed, talking to himself under his breath, almost wheezing out a series of what the fucks. his grip wraps around the banister as he ascends the stairs, his fingers still itching from where you’d brushed against him. he feels completely out of his element. girls flirt with him all the time, he’s with girls all the time, sure, but this—this is different.
he always been a sucker for a good challenge and you’d practically left him in the dust, tossing back that promise without even checking if he’d follow.
at the top, he pauses, looking down the hallway, every door holding the possibility that you might be behind it, waiting.
rafe feels that thrill coil in his stomach, his heart pounding in anticipation. he’s like a kid on halloween night, trick-or-treating at the house he’s always been too afraid to knock on. but you dared him, so there’s no way he’s backing out now.
he starts with the first door, pushing it open only to find it empty, checking the shadows, in case you’re hiding, but nothing. he goes into the next door, finding a couple already in there, and quickly shuts it again, eyes slamming shut, ignoring their annoyed stares as he backs out.
third time’s the charm, yeah? he thinks, reaching for the next door and pulling it open. the door creaks as it swings shut behind him, his footsteps are slow, hesitant, and the scuff of his shoes against the floor makes him cringe.
it takes him a second for his eyes to adjust to the dark, pupils dilating as he walks further inside.his breathing is loud and uneven, almost like he’d run all the way here. he stops in the middle of the room, his chest rising and falling hard, his breath painfully audible.
his heart is doing an annoying thing, pounding, and he swears he can hear it.
did he misread you? the space is eerily quiet, he can’t help but wonder if he’s been set up, if you’re somewhere downstairs, laughing at how eagerly he followed your trail up here like a fucking dumbass.
rafe scans the room’s edges, searching, and he notices a quick movement in the corner—something. he swallows he leans forward a little, squinting to make out any familiar shape.
“you wanna play hide and seek?” he calls out, hoping he’s not making a fool out of himself, “is that it?” he’s taking gulps of air, feeling dizzy from being in the dark for so long, “you like this?”
a quiet giggle echoes from one of the corners, inviting, and he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. you’re playing this game too well, lurking just beyond his reach, and the longer he waits, the more desperate he feels.
he swallows, his mind spiraling as he steps walks around, slow and cautious, hands slightly trembling. he’s caught off guard by just how badly he wants you; the way you kept looking at him like he was the prey downstairs, has him all kinds of worked up.
his cock stirring against his jeans is proof enough.
“you want me to scare you or somethin’?” he provokes you, praying it’s enough to lure you out, “you think it’s smart? letting a stranger chase you into a room, with no one else around. you’re all alone with me.”
“who says you’re that dangerous?”
the second the words leave your mouth, rafe’s resolve slips.
it’s maddening, the way you’re hiding from him, how your voice seems to come to him from every dark corner of the room. he shouldn’t have drowned two shots before following you, but the liquid courage had been tempting.
you’re keeping him on a tight leash, making him wonder if he’s got a shot or if you’re just messing with his head. he wants to see you again, your expression—wants to read you, even if the last time he tried, he ended up with his mind in knots.
“you don’t even know my name,” he muses, taking a couple steps closer to the closet, “does that make it more fun for you? that you don’t know anything about me?”
his movements are cautious, almost reverent as if you’re something sacred and forbidden all at once. he stops, opening the doors, leaning inside as he half-whispers, “not here, huh?” no answer, just silence, but he swears he can feel you watching him, your gaze prickling his skin, almost burning, “where are you? c’mon come out, i’ll go easy on you.”
he sighs, sounding like more of a frustrated exhale. no sign of you anywhere. he shakes his head, letting out a soft laugh, more amused than annoyed.
“be a good girl and come out.”
rafe stalks around the room with the focus of someone hunting prey, his footsteps deliberate, his hands gliding along the walls and over furniture. he reaches the small bathroom door adjacent to the room, his fingers tightening around the handle. his lips pull into a smirk as he pauses—listening.
the room’s quiet, but then, he hears it: the faint, uneven rhythm of your breathing, a quickened inhale, almost as if his words had finally affected you. he stops dead, dropping his hand from the door and turning around with a dark gleam in his eyes.
“wait—wait,” his voice lowers with satisfaction, with the thrill of the chase. he lets out a breathy chuckle, his eyes roving the room as he zeroes in on where you’re hiding. “i can hear you, can hear you breathing.”
he takes a slow, taunting step, his head tilting, as though he’s relishing the way you’re fighting to stay silent, to keep control.
“what’s the matter? you sound a little…” he trails off in a murmur, enjoying the tables turning. “...shaken up. are you scared?”
your breath slips, just enough to betray you and his lips quirk up.
“i know exactly where you are.” with lazy confidence, he walks over to the far corner where the heavy velvet curtains seem to pool against the floor, drawn closed over the tall, narrow window.
his fingers brush the fabric, his eyes narrowing as if he can feel the warmth of you just on the other side. then, in one smooth motion, he grabs the curtain and yanks it open.
“caught you.”
moonlight spills in, illuminating you both. in a second, you’re pressed against the wall, lips parted, cheeks flushed, and his eyes rake over you, lingering on the way your costume accentuates every curve of your body.
he steps in close, his silhouette blocking the light as he cages you in, one hand pressing against the wall beside your head, the other landing on your waist. his gaze drops to your lips, taking time to roam the way you’re biting your lip.
you tilt your chin up, “maybe i just like trouble.”
rafe’s grip on your waist tightens in response, a hunger that he can’t hide, while he’s memorizing the way you’re looking up at him, ready to push him just as far as he can take it.
“you’re in trouble, alrigh’,” he shakes his head, while his hand inches down, slipping lower along your body until his thumb brushes against the curve of your hip, “don’t think you understand what you’re getting yourself into.”
your fingers slide up his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath the thin fabric of his black shirt, the way his heart hammers from your touch alone.
“maybe that’s what i want,” you whisper, tipping your head up so your lips brush against his mask.
he shudders, and you let your fingers trail slowly down, tracing over the line of his collarbone. rafe swallows hard, his body thrumming with tension. his eyes dropping to your mouth once again, wishing he’d been smart enough to take the mask off, so he could kiss you.
“you don’t know what you’re asking for,” he breathes, but the glint in his eyes says otherwise. he’s already melting under your touch, the desperation in the way he holds onto you confessing just how badly he needs it.
“you want me?” you ask, watching his pupils dilate as you lean in even closer, close enough that he can smell the fruity trace of your drink on your breath trough the mask, the lingering sweetness making him light-headed.
jesus fucking christ where have you been all his life?
“yeah,” he mutters, voice strained, eyes half-lidded as he stares down at you, “i want you.” his hand trails up your side, down the line of your dress, stopping just at the hem. he hesitates, holding himself back for your sake, the look in his eyes begging for permission, daring you to say something, to let him go further.
you smirk, letting your fingers slip lower, grazing over the top of his waistband, “’m already so wet for you.”
a rough, almost growling sound escapes his throat as his fingers taunt around you, his control slipping at the admission. “yeah?” he grunts, letting his hand glide under the hem of your dress, his fingers inching higher, grazing along the sensitive skin of your thigh, “lets find out.”
the first brush of his fingers against your thong sends a shiver from your head to your toes, his smirk growing. he’s bold now, unapologetic as he moves them up, grazing the thin barrier of fabric between his hand and you.
your panties are ruined, drenched, and stuck to you most uncomfortably, he can tell from the way you keep pushing your hips forward, begging him to do something.
he doesn’t think twice before using two fingers to pull the sticky fabric to the side.
“fuck,” he mutters to himself, “all this for me?”
you have to bite your lip to stop a moan from slipping out when he finally touches you properly. two of his long, thick fingers press against your entrance, sliding into you with no resistance. the feeling of your cunt clamping around him makes his cock twitch.
he works you open, even the slightest touches have you arching your back from the wall. the need in his eyes turns ravenous with every desperate little gasp you let out. he moves slowly, deliberately, feeling the warmth of you clenching around his him, as he curls his fingers just right,
“you’re so wet, ah, yeah—you’re gonna scream for me?”
his thumb finds your clit with ease, and he presses down, drawing gentle circles that make your knees buckle. he grins, drinking in every sound you’re trying to bite back. his thumb stays steady over your clit, circling with the perfect rhythm, applying just enough pressure to keep you breathless.
“c’me here,” his other hand moves with swift, easy dominance, capturing your wrists and pinning them above your head, holding you firmly against the wall,” you like this shit?”
“you’re gonna fuck me with the mask on?” you grind yourself harder against him, practically delusional from the way he’s making you feel, “kinky.”
he's mesmerized by the way your breasts jolt underneath your dress with each shaky breath you take, your skin feels feverish, heat radiating off it like a furnace.
“just like you wanted,” he promises, his voice filled with satisfaction as his thumb presses down harder, coaxing a soft whimper from your lips. “go on, let me hear it—ride my hand.”
he tightens his hold on your wrists, keeping you perfectly in place, not prying his eyes away from how your brows frow with every grind.
“fuckkkkk, do that again,” you whine when he hits a particular spot, your walls tightening around him in a way that makes him want to stop the foreplay and fuck you right away.
rafe leans forward to coo praise into your ear, “like this?” your skin is sticky with sweat—some saliva too—his. he’s never been this fucking hard in his life. he slows down on purpose, to torture you, doing anything in his power to make you beg, “ooh look at you— a fuckin mess.” he taunts.
“don’t be an asshole,” you groan, fingers itching to be set free, and grab his shoulders so you can slam down on him harder, “you gotta make me cum if you wanna fuck me.”
he runs deep circles into your clit making you press your legs together, knowing that he's getting exactly what he wants makes him chuckle into your skin. by this point as he mindlessly humps against your writhing body, he’s peeking down, taking a moment to admire the mess of slickness between your thighs.
“you want more?” you’re so caught up in the feeling that you don’t notice his hand leaving yours, wrapping it around your neck, pulling you closer to him, “answer me”
“another finger,” you spit out when he tightens his grip on your neck, the added touch having you on the brink.
rafe doesn’t even look at you, too entranced by your mess to make eye contact. he never got so lost during sex, but your pussy’s making him intoxicated to the point where his senses are dull, and the part of him that’s fully aware is his dick.
he’s not even inside you yet, and still, he can cum just from seeing you ride his fingers. “another?”
he groans at the way one of your hands move to flex over his, watching in amusement as you try to get him to add one more finger. he mutters a low, gruff “good girl” as he slides a third finger in, pressing just deep enough to make your legs tremble, since you asked so nicely.
“think you can handle more?” rafe prods, “you’re so tight, don’t think you can take me.”
the way his fingers work, methodical and relentless, leaves you barely able to breathe, let alone answer.
“i could take t-two of you,” you tease, letting a breath out, and turning your head to face him. god you wondered if he looked good under that mask, but if he was this good in bed, who fucking cared.
“the only thing you’re taking is this fucking costume off,” he grumbles against your shiny lips, fanning like a wild animal catching the scent of its prey. he’s already tugging at the material, pulling the straps to the side before you can, nudging it aside, “look at you. gotta get my hands on you.”
rafe moves his attention to your breast and squeezes firmly, the tips of his fingers clasping down on your nipple, pressing and pulling as he chases after those sweet sounds that leave your lips.
“look at these tits, fuck” he rasps, eyes trailing over your chest and savoring every inch, his breath almost a snarl, “this’ what you wanted?”
you pressed your lips to his neck, ignoring the deep rumble in his chest as you sucked marks into his flesh, nipping him less than gently. grunting at a particularly rough bite you landed just under his adam’s apple, “i wanted your cock not your finger—"
his pitches your nipple harder making you squirm, “watch your fuckin’ mouth.”
the way you’re creaming his hand should be illegal, but this man is clearly sent from above. someone finally listened to you and gave you exactly what you needed to survive your dry spell.
you reach down to cup him up through his jeans, “or what?”
he moans, head dropping to your shoulder, “fuck,” he mutters, his tone conveying that he’s just as distracted, watching how your puffy folds glisten with your arousal.
“hmmm, can’t hear you ghostface.”
rafe’s too entranced to put you in your place, you’ve got him eating out the palm of your hand. the sounds of your pussy sucking in his fingers are obscene, the simple act of your hand grazing cock has his knees buckling.
he can feel his heart beating miles a minute and he swears he could die right there, his hand coming down to grip the swell of your ass, kneading it firmly. you sigh contently with every slow drag of his hand, your head falling on his shoulder, nipping at his neck no doubt marking him up again.
“open your mouth.” you lift your head immediately, no smartass bullshit coming out of your lips, he chuckles breathlessly at your impatience, fingers moving from your ass to your parted hole, “suck my fingers, go on.”
it’s hard to make any coherent thought when his fingers are still inside you, dragging against your spongy walls deliciously, but your tongue automatically slips around his digits, doing your best to suck them down your throat. you’d never felt so willing to let a man bend you however he wants to, hushed curses escaping your occupied mouth, raking your nails down his arm.
“good girl, yeahhhh, that’s it,” he grunts when you prod his skin harder, “you like diggin’ your nails into me, like it rough, huh? ‘course you do,” he stammers out when you clamp harder around him, your slick making everything slippery, “course you fucking do.”
with his fingers buried deep inside you and your lips wrapped around his other hand, rafe’s fully intoxicated, drunker than he can ever get. the sounds you make, he never wanted to taste something so bad, if it wasn’t for his stupid mask—
“take this thing off—" he grinds his hips into you, the rough fabric of his jeans pressing deliciously against your bare skin, teasing you, while his hand leaves your mouth to do nothing else but rip your panties apart.
you let out a huff, glancing down at what’s left of your underwear as he tosses it aside like nothing, already sliding his back up your thigh, “you’re paying for those.”
“whatever you want.”
you’re already occupied with his stupid belt, fingers quickly working to take the damn thing off, pawing at him to help. it’s only then he leaves your pussy unattended, settling his hold on your hips while you fumble with his jeans, unbuttoning them and snapping them open, his bulge straining against the fabric of his boxers.
he grabs the underside of your thigh, picking your leg up and wrapping it around his waist, backing you two further into the wall, eyes gazing into yours, even though you can’t see him. why the fuck do your eyes look so familiar?
the tip of his dick kisses the skin of your pussy, the firm head bumping against your clit as he rubs himself against you, “happy?”
looking down, you watch his cock slide back and forth between your thighs, the friction making heat slowly rise in your core, warmth swarming in your chest. he’s so fucking big. you watch him, eyes half-lidded, your legs aching from the position, almost drooling from the sight alone.
you don’t know how much longer you can let him tease you.
“so happy,” you nod, not tearing your attention from him.
“yeah?” he cocks his head to the side, brows furrowed, concentrating not to cum on the spot with the way you’re eating his cock alive just with your pretty little eyes, “you’re gonna let a stranger fuck you?”
rafe reaches down, teasingly rubbing the tip of his dick over your folds, tracing it over your clit a few times. you look up, lips curling into the most earth-shattering smirk.“i can always find someone el—"
you both groan when he slides into you with no warning, your warm walls enveloping him perfectly, sucking him in like a vice, a perfect tight fit. he pumps you so full, not waiting for any adjustment, your walls fluttering around his girth, thick tip slightly curved up from your position.
“fuck, fuck, fuckkk,” he drawls out, rolling his hips in tight circles, slowly fucking into you, dragging himself along your walls to learn what you like, “this pussy, oh—so good.”
your head falls back against the wall, sighing in pleasure. you want him to let go and beat your walls loose, especially when he looks so good doing it. you melt into him, body sagging, downright losing it with how easily he holds you up and still pounds relentlessly into you, your breathing picking up with his change of pace.
he’s so strong.
“this good enough for ya?” he murmurs against your ear, picking on the way your body shudders, a scream for anyone outside that door to hear, “hmm? you like my voice, right here?”
“you’re gonna make me cum,” you feel yourself grip him harder, his thick cock stretching you open, dragging out moan after moan from your lips, “oh my god.”
it’s the sweetest torture, the way his pelvis smacks against your tummy with every thrust, barely even pulling out to roll back into you.
“such a fuckin’ slut, aren’t you?” he growls, “letting a stranger fuck you open—holy shit, holy shit,” he hisses, almost as if he’s in pain, when you teasingly whine your hips back into him, fluttering at the low sound he breaths right by your ear. “shit, you’re squeezing—fuck.”
“you’re so b-big,” you wheeze at a rough thrust, hand coming down to press against his lower stomach.
“yeah? good enough for you, huh?” his hips increase in rhythm, rocking into you, his thrusts precise, beating against your g-spot with vigor, “takin’ it so good baby.”
by now you’re seeing stars in your vision from the white-hot pleasure shooting up your spine, smart mouth forgotten, “harder.”
“harder?” he’s fucking into you at such a pace you feel like he’s gonna split you in half, “don’t think you can take it.”
“please.”
it sounds too pretty coming out of your mouth. having a girl like you beg feeds his ego like nothing else.
he buries himself so deep, his pelvis is pressed hard against the hilt of your mound, fingers coming down to pinch and roll your neglected clit between his fingers.
“fucking take it then.” rafe snaps his hips with every word, glaring into your teary eyes.
you gasp, nodding your head frantically, too fucked out to even use your words properly when he bottoms out properly, leaving you entirely only to slam inside harder than before. you squeal, not expecting him to use his entire body strength to almost fold in half while you’re still standing.
“no one can h-hear you down here, go ahead,” your mouth runs dry as you feel his body helplessly pressing into yours, “lemme hear those pretty noises, c’mon, scream f’me.”
you’ve never moaned so loud in your life, hands coming up to tweak your nipples, him filling you to the brim, “w-where the fuck have you b-been?”
he chuckles, though it comes out strained, “right here,” he makes a point by ramming into your g-spot perfectly, “hold your leg up f’me.”
for once in your life, you do as you’re told while focusing on his clothed stomach, feeling it constrict with every deep breath he takes.
“you look so pretty like this,” you hear him praise you, one of his hands sliding down the span of your back, coming down to wrap around your hair and forcing your head up, “could fuck you for hours.”
the tip of his dick is kissing right against your cérvix, “not stopping you.”
“yeah? that’s how good is it?” he laughs, “can’t believe stranger cock does it for you.”
you open your mouth to speak, probably to give him shit about how he wouldn’t stop teasing you, but your words run dry as you feel the familiar sensation of his fingers playing with your overstimulated clit. motherfucker.
your body tenses as he builds up the pressure, and a strangled symphony of your wails leaves your sore throat. it’s too much and not enough at the same time, the pressure of his cock as well as his fingers, he’s quite literally fucking you dumb.
“nothin’ to say now, huh?”
the better it feels, the farther gone you’re in your mind, “s-shut the fuck up.”
if you were with someone else, it would bother you that your tits are quite literally out while he’s still dressed, besides the jeans pooling by his ankles, but that stupid black wife beater looks mouthwatering on him.
somehow the outfit and the mask add to the allure, not knowing who’s behind it, but still letting him treat you like a rag doll. you’re bouncing down onto him, almost sniffling as your pussy’s still twitching and soaking, so close to your well-deserved orgasm.
“cum inside,” your head’s starting to sting from how bad you need to cum,“please.”
rafe swears he almost falls on his ass, “what?”
“inside,” you grit out, eyes closed in bliss, “want to feel you cum inside.”
he lets out a groan at the way you say it, “are you serious? oh fuck, what a little cock-slut.” he can’t help but let out a chuckle at your fucked-out state, lost in the chase of your own pleasure to care about how pitiful you look right now, “you’re gonna cum around me? go on,” he coos, kneading at the flesh of your thighs.
you nod, slipping out a high-pitched ‘mhm’, knowing this shit is about to hit you like a train. you arch yourself into him, whimpering lewdly and cutting small moon crescents into his shoulders with your long nails.
rafe feels like he’s lost all ability to fuck anyone else but you, growling at the filthy thoughts swimming through his mind, the urge to fill you up with his cum getting stronger as he enjoys watching you.
a strained whimper escapes you as you lean forward to bury your head in his shoulder, groaning against the skin, “don’t stop.”
“n-never stopping, c’mon,” you swear you see stars while he’s slipping out curses and praises that you’re not even sure make sense. “holy shit, yeahh, fuck.”
he applies a little more pressure to your clit and that’s all it takes for you to be gone, your chest touching his, blinding flashes of paradise filling your vision as you leave reality, having it ripped away from you.
your mouth is parted in the most beautiful oh shape he’s ever witnessed. tears are streaking down your eyes and he can’t help but be turned on by them.
“oh! fuck, fucking—” you squeeze your eyes shut, having no idea how you pulled the words out between continuous sobs that escape from you.
rafe feels like a fucking creep, he can’t take his eyes off you for the life of him, hips snapping animalistically into your pussy while he grunts, groans, and cries as he talks you through it, “that’sss itt, so good, so fuckin’ perfect.”
he tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at him, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.
he’s chasing his orgasm while he watches yours; he all but whines when he releases inside of you, not slowing down in the slightest as he makes sure you take every drop. his hand comes down on your stomach forcing you back down with his python grip, feeling his bulge right there makes his eyes roll as his hand tightens on your waist. you’re still clenching and spasming as you milk him dry, “fuckin’ take it.”
his hips don’t let up, grinding into your core despite him already finishing inside of you. for another ten minutes.
five minutes later, you’re both a little hazy from the endorphin rush, still processing. once he pulls away, rafe feels a lazy grin stretching across his face, feeling more satisfied than ever. unlike the past hour, the room isn’t filled with your moans, but complete silence as you both try to breathe like normal people again, collecting yourselves, adjusting clothes, and then there’s an unspoken agreement that maybe, it’s time to see who’s behind the masks.
you fumble with the edges of the fabric, hesitating for a moment before finally pulling them off, unveiling each other’s faces.
you freeze, staring at him in disbelief.
“you gotta be fucking kiddin’ me,” you nearly burn a hole through his head, eyes narrowing with pure annoyance as you process this disaster, voice dripping with irritation, “what the fuck? rafe?”
he’s completely still, staring at you with his mouth wide open, eyes wide like he’s just seen a ghost—everything you’re hurling at him is going in and out his ears. the realization that he just spent the last hour fucking you is making him dumber. the girl he’d been thinking about, dreaming about, wanting more than he’d ever admit, even to himself.
the anger in your eyes, the annoyed way you’re crossing your arms and glaring at him—it’s so perfectly you. he’s watched you in class a hundred times, always stealing glances when you weren’t looking or cursing his ass off, catching little glimpses of your attitude that only made him want you more.
but he’d never thought he’d get a moment like this.
bless halloween.
“are you even listening to me?” you snap, catching his starstruck expression, waving a hand in front of his face. “hello? earth to cameron? stop looking at me like a puppy, this was a mistake.”
more than a mistake. you can’t believe you just fucked the reason why you didn’t want to come to the party in the very first place.
and the worst part is that you’d do it again.
“i…i just…wow,” he breathes, “it’s really you.” he lets out an incredulous laugh, rubbing a hand over his jaw “can’t believe it.”
you groan, rolling your eyes and shaking your head in exasperation. “are you serious right now?
“can i eat you out?”
you blink, realizing you’ve been staring, “what?”
he takes a step closer, filling the small space between you. you swear the sound of his next words drag a whimper from your throat, “can i eat you out?”
you nearly choke to death as his hand ghost near your waist, the barest brush of contact, sending sparks dancing across your skin, “right now?”
rafe leans down to your size, eager to get on his knees and taste you.
“why not?”
well, fucking damnit.
dont go fucking strangers with ghostface masks at random parties
Synopsis. Five times Gojo Satoru - your self-proclaimed biggest fanboy, your #1 stan, your hottest - makes his delusions of you everyone else’s problem (step on him), and the one time he proves that even the most delusional, dirtiest of fantasies really do come true (still, step on him).
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!idol!reader, fanboy!Gojo, 5 + 1 things, he’s down BAD, stan Twitter, social media, fandoms, headIines, parasociaIism, shenanigans, slight crackfic, YEARNING Gojo, pússydrúnk Gojo, face-sítting, fíngering, he goes feraI, spíttíng, P TALKING, manhandIing, first times (his), matíng presses, he’s your fan with a big D, fitting it, rough s, chokíng, cervíx kíssing, sensitive Gojo, slight switch dynamic, creampíes, mentions of kids, overstím, happy ending, hard launching, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 13.9k
A/N. Babygirls would y’all believe that I was deep in the trenches of stan Twitter for fandoms I’m not even in gathering research for this for weeks…
Gojo Satoru is having the worst day of his entire life.
The worst day out of all the long, arduous, handsome (exceptionally handsome, he’d been voted ‘Most Likely to Grace a Vogue Cover’ three years in a row) eighteen years of his entire life.
For starters, their prank (plastering the hallway with the worst shots from Principal Yaga’s abstract dance lessons: Mean Girls-style) had been caught-in-the-act by none other than Yaga himself.
And Geto had somehow slipped away from Yaga’s rage (it’d been his idea- that bastard…) And he’d just lost his spot as valedictorian to Shoko (she cheated, he just can’t prove it.) And! On his way walking back home from detention, the convenience store was out of his favorite kikufuku mochi.
So all in all, for the worst day of his entire life, Gojo Satoru thinks he was handling it quite well-
He slams his hand down on the counter, “I’m going to kill mysel-”
And that’s the first time he hears it.
Your voice.
Not in front of him. Not behind him. Not even anywhere around him. It was - quite fittingly - emanating from above him, as if the heavens themselves had split open, and the first sign of the pearly gates was the voice of an angel.
You.
Gojo instantly darts his gaze to where the wiry, bespectacled cashier was staring to avoid eye contact with whom he likely thought to be a madman. A rather cheap device, with rather cheap graphics. A box with the most beautiful voice.
The first spark of elation today.
It sung to him, almost like a siren.
“I-it’s the leading contestant—eek!” The cashier says, and cowers in fear once Gojo’s azure gaze snaps to him in a split-second. Unwavering. Intense.
As the young man trembles, Gojo reads the name tag on his uniform: Ijichi. Huh? That name almost sounded familiar, was it perhaps a long lost friend? Some obscure family member? He looks at the man again, maybe not. Or perhaps…
“We go to the same school.” Ijichi sighs, when it becomes obvious that Gojo was furrowing his pale brows at the name tag. “I’m two years below you, but we had extended maths together. I sat next to you?” Again, that knit between the other’s eyebrows only grows deeper. “Also you plastered one of Yaga’s pictures on my backpack today.” He adjusts his glasses, “And my face.”
Recognition floods Gojo’s face, and he snaps his fingers. “Ahhh, I remember you now- yeah, sorry about that.”
“I-it’s alright! It was an accident.” Ijichi pauses. “I think.”
“Heh…” Pointedly, the white-haired of the two doesn’t answer that question. Instead, he’s turning his eyes back to the television above Ijichi, ravenous not to miss a single second.
The cashier follows, more easy-going now without any additional customers or managers there to keep him moving. He could afford to ask, “Ah- her. Do you watch idol competition shows often? I didn’t expect that of you, Gojo-senpai.”
“Excuse me?”
“I-I mean-” Ijichi waves his hands fervently in front of him in explanation, “It’s just- those shows really do target a certain demographic and- I just didn’t quite expect it with your…oh, but it has been g-getting popular these days so I don’t know what I’m saying-”
“I don’t.” Gojo admits, cutting through the other’s blubbering. He crosses his arms in front of him and aims to look as dignified as possible as he admires the lil’ dance you were doing as you sang. “It’s just…”
And he almost felt stupid asking this- hell, he almost felt fucking shy (which is impossible, Gojo Satoru is never shy). But he does so anyways—
Holding his head high. Index pointing straight at the blurry screen. Pixels which would not hide your beauty.
“Who’s that?”
“Th-that?” Ijichi turns his head back towards the television, and his face breaks out into a dopey smile - Gojo doesn’t even know why it irritated him so much. After all, that was exactly how he felt, too.
So why the hell was another smiling at you like this-
That’s when Ijichi says your name.
And any and all annoyances with the other man simply melts. Simply turns the insides of his chest all warm and gooey. Simply leaves him a little weak in the knees (and he was damn glad that his lower half was obscured by the counter).
Gojo repeats your name, like he was tasting it.
“Stage name: Cupid.” Ijichi continues, watching you dance about the screen now, as well. “She’s been a fan favorite since her audition, even though producers did do a bit of dirty editing to try and make her unpopular- fans saw right through it. And now she’s been in the lead for weeks.”
“Talented.” Gojo grits out - one word. Perhaps the only word that wouldn’t make him positively shatter that nonchalant façade of his and embarrass himself in front of fucking Ijichi of all people.
He nods at the vocal break you were continuing on-screen, your gentle lashes fluttering shut as you put your all into a song that seemed to be of your own make. You nail the note. He trembles. “Though I’ve…seen better.” Lies.
“She has come a long way.” Ijichi hums, eyes closing as he savors the music. It was the last few chords, perfectly in harmony. “She’s the fan-favorite to win the contract from executives, expected to debut sometime next year.”
“Ah- another idol then.” His throat remains parched with his own lies, growing dryer by the seconds of your voice. Your dance. Your presence. “Talented, though…” You finish off your final belt, and Gojo can only repeat, stupidly. Nonchalant, nonchalant. C’mon Satoru, you can do this.
Gojo shuffles, “So uh- what’s the show name?”
“Idol Academy.” The black-haired man answers, “New episodes air every week at 9PM.”
Scratching behind his back—nonchalant. “Ah, I’ll let my sister know-” You fool! You don’t even have a sister! And only too late does Gojo realize that Ijichi seems to realize this as well, “I mean- uh, Shoko…who is like a sister to me. I’ll let her know- and maybe I’ll check it out, too- if I have the time. Probably won’t though.” Nonchalant! Nailed it!
Ijichi nods, and he looks away from your finished performance. “Well, if you want to vote for her for the upcoming finals then her number is #143.”
“Ah, we’ll see…probably…won-” Except, for idols, a finished performance isn’t really a finished performance at all. Nonchalant! Nonchalant!
Because then there’s the ending fairy—you with your bright smile directed at the camera, your arms moving behind you as if you were drawing back a bow and arrow. Pop! The arrow embeds…deep into his heart. “I’m going to marry her.”
Gojo pauses after his confession.
Ijichi pauses after his confession.
It seems the world pauses after his confession.
Everyone but you (which made sense you were practically out of this world), who nodded along to the comments that the judges were giving you. As you walk off the screen, Gojo practically leans over the counter to watch your every step- and even your steps past the television frame-
Ijichi reaches up to turn off the television.
So nonchalant.
“Gojo-senpai…” He starts, and this time it’s Gojo that cowers at the way his schoolmate was looking at him.
Before he knows it, there’s the smack! of something being plastered on his face. Flat and glossy. Colors bursting even behind his scrunched-up eyelids.
A…poster.
“Her official poster.” There’s more than just a little amusement in Ijichi’s tone as he watches Gojo rip the paper off of his face and stare down lovingly at your own, right in the middle of it. Smiling a smile that seems to be just for him (nevermind the fact that this had once been Ijichi’s poster). “9PM on Channel 8, #143. Don’t let her down.”
Gojo would vote for you like his life depended on it.
That night, he went home and created a second Twitter account for himself.
@thestrongestfanboy: Voting for Cupid #143 on Idol Academy and u should too or else (҂` ﾛ ´)凸
@Fushidaddy replying to @thestrongestfanboy: already voted, youre late to the club lmao.
@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy: Blocked.
Liked by @CupidOfficial.
.
.
.
@MnetIdolAcademy: ANNOUNCING THE OFFICIAL DEBUT LINE, CONGRATULATIONS TO OUR RISING GLOBAL STARS!
[GLOBAL VOTE FINAL RESULTS]
RANK #1—Cupid
(Read more)
.
.
.
And he did.
From his phone, his laptop, his mother’s phone, his father’s phone- Geto’s phone, Shoko’s phone (where he found a copy of the last test paper’s marking scheme—he knew that little con-woman cheated, he feared for her future patients). Until, ultimately, you did win the competition.
Just as he’d wanted you to.
And Ijichi as well, he supposes. But he is younger (at least, visibly) and more beautiful - therefore Gojo thinks it should count more.
And so you swept every award in the reality competition, and snagged center spot in every headline, concert, and fan account that was ready to feature the freshly-minted popstar.
Almost two years later, by the time that your official debut had come ‘round with a hit single and an album that was climbing the charts, he’d just entered his first year in university. And by then, practically everyone in his life knew by now that he was a sort of…stan. Gojo accepted the title begrudgingly, after Geto and Shoko had walked into his newly-acquired dorm room one day and found every inch of his walls covered in your posters. There was a life-sized cardboard cut-out of you underneath his bed, too, but thankfully they hadn’t found that yet.
Geto threatened to strangle him until he took down the posters of you on his side of the room, at least. They were sharing, after all.
The room was appreciated on stan Twitter, at least. His latest post about it racked up a solid 992.1k views.
@thestrongestfanboy: New room pic!! Can u guess my ultimate bias, bet u can’t^^ \(★ω★)/
Attached was a picture that he’d forgone every single rule and regulation about internet safety to post: from the posters of you dating all the way back to your pre-debut days, to the cardboard cut-out of you, to the plushie of your cupid character, to the American flag with your face on it (why always the American flag for these things, he wasn’t sure), to the rare photocards that he was holding up for the camera. It was a shrine.
The replies…not so much.
@pinkillit: Lemme guess…Cupid? Lol so real, I luv her too!
@thestrongestfanboy replying to @pinkillit: Well I love her more than u so…(￢_￢;)
@pinkillit replying to @thestrongestfanboy: Damn
@gggggnarly: WOAH??
@hearts2hurts: I can’t even send hate, this is impressive ngl.
@utahimeslefttoe: need to do this with my bias
@lovelicky: Parasocialism, who?
@yuuthebaddie: You scare the huzz
@thestrongestfanboy replying to @yuuthebaddie: I don’t need the huzz when I have my queen #thearrowhitme (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)
@Fushidaddy7 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: kinda wish I could hit you rn too #fakefan
@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy7: ??? Blocked.
@Fushidaddy8 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: ??
@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy8: Don’t u think it’s kinda problematic to be pushing 40 and arguing with minors online?
@Fushidaddy8 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: youre 19 tf are you talking about?? and also because you claim the arrow hit you, but you don’t even have her rare “First Love, First Kiss” photocard. youre no better than a local lol.
@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy8: U seriously think ur a bigger fan than me? I was there since even before our girl debuted. Lmao.
@Fushidaddy8 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: i was there before she even entered the show- and yes. i am.
That particular scathing reply wasn’t over with just that, and Gojo had realized - clicking on the notification, to his slowly-growing horror - that it would be accompanied by a picture, as well. A snapshot to a room that looked much like his own.
From the posters of you dating all the way back to your pre-debut days, a selfie with you at a rookie fanmeet before (dammit) you’d entered the competition, the cardboard cut-outs, the plushies, the flags, the rare photocards. And yes…the ultra-rare ‘First Love, First Kiss’ photocard that he’d last heard went for a comfortable few hundred dollars on the market.
With you costumed like a sweet, sweet cupid.
Sparkling eyes. Angel wings. Holding up the second button from the top of a school uniform - a symbol of confession in Japan - as if you were confessing to someone.
To him.
Gojo’s giggling stupidly and kicking his feet on the bed as he zooms in on the picture, taking in your picture on the photocard- before his phone buzzes with yet another Twitter notification and his heart plummets as he realizes just whose room this is. Fushidaddy8 himself could be seen reflected on the lone mirror in the room: scarred lips smirking, his beefy arms raised in a flex, biceps the size of Gojo’s head—
@pinkillit: He kinda ate you up ngl.
Ignoring that, he responded to the aforementioned perpetrator.
@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy8: Well I’m going to marry her!! Hope that helps!! ╮(︶▽︶)╭
@Fushidaddy8 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: delulu really isn’t the trululu kid
@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy8: That trend’s dead, unc.
Though he did slide into the other man’s direct messages right after that, in the hopes of buying out the exclusive photocard from him.
He was laughed all the way out of his direct messages.
Gojo Satoru did several things next.
He blocked (and reported) @Fushidaddy8.
He subscribed for a gym membership.
He dragged Geto out of their shared dorm room (sleep-deprived and grumbling at the 3:41AM on the clock, bound to miss the important physics exam that day…semantics, heh) as moral support on his trek to the post office. Where, when his best friend shivered at the cold early morning and questioned just what and to whom were they mailing, Gojo had answered-
“Oh, just my second button.” The very same one that he’d kept safely since their graduation from high school a few months ago - because, see, Gojo Satoru wasn’t the type to fall in love.
He wasn’t the type to confess.
Though, he did get confessed to more times that he could count (he was perhaps the second most popular bachelor on campus, right after Geto - but even that was a highly-debated ranking of first and second). He just never found the one.
That is…
Gojo beams, plastering on a few stamps on the cardboard box- much too big for but a single button. In it, he poured his feelings—corny, yes. But true. “I’m going to send it to my girl, Cupid-”
Geto punches him before he can finish.
@thestrongestfanboy: The lion does not concern himself with the pain that comes with #truelove, even if he cried a little ☆⌒(> _ <)
@Fushidaddy9 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: lmao loser.
Just a few months later, another one of your limited edition photocards was released: the “Said Yes!!” photocard that sold out instantly. Just the cutest photo of you receiving a second button in confession, your expression one of pleasant surprise.
No one believed Gojo when they told them that the button was his.
He bought five.
.
.
.
@BuzzFeed: Mirror Mirror on the Wall, Who’s The Biggest Fanboy of Them All? Cupid’s Fandom Compare Notes on Fanboy Shrines and 35 Other Delulu Stan Happenings This Week.
(Read more on buzzfeed.com)
.
.
.
Gojo Satoru had bought 67 albums.
67…heh.
Sixty-seven different copies of the very same album—yours.
Sixty-seven different copies of the latest addition in your platinum-reaching, Grammy award-winning discography: the ‘Obsession’ album.
Of course, they’re all yours. Because who else would have such banger songs that he wouldn’t mind replaying over and over again until Geto threatened to smash the damn things? Who else would have exclusive photocards so cute stuffed into the crevices of said albums, that he just had to collect them all? Who else would host a fancall event that he simply had to put a dent in his sizable bank account to win?
It was somewhat of a lottery system, and Gojo’s sure he’d funded his local record store for a few months at least with how much he’d cashed out there.
He’d been up bright n’ early on the day your album hit the stores - camping outside with a few avid others of your fandom (though, proudly, he’d been the first one there). Rushing with the rest to buy up your album, your merch, and with it…a chance to see you.
Every album bought was an entry into the raffle that’d grant them a chance to see you.
Just a few minutes of your time through the screen, and even that was like looking through the pearly gates of heaven in Gojo’s eyes. He’d dreamt about it, he’d manifested it, he’d tweeted about it so many times on his private account that everyone but Haibara had blocked him on.
@thestrongestfanboyPRIV: I’M 22 NOW SO PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LET ME GET WHAT I WANT (ಥ﹏ಥ)
@thestrongestfanboyPRIV: LORD KNOWS IT WOULD BE THE FIRST TIME.
@HiByeRawr replying to @thestrongestfanboyPRIV: I believe in you Gojo-senpai ^.^
@Fushidaddy27 replying to @HiByeRawr: dont
@thestrongestfanboyPRIV replying to @Fushidaddy27: How did u even get here??
And so, the wait had dragged on with a few more accounts blocked.
Until, finally, one day Gojo had been simply scrolling through his emails as he usually did. A few updates from Canvas on his assignment grades. A few A+’s. An email from Geto with nothing but one of those old pictures from Yaga’s abstract dance classes attached. A few more A+’s. An email from the record store saying he won the fancall event. Yet another picture of Yaga-
His heart had damn near stopped.
Actually- Gojo doesn’t think he was even breathing as he hurriedly scrolled back and clicked open the email from the record store. He reads the very first word—
“Congratulations…”
And that’s all he needs to stand up and cheer-
“Shhhh—!” The cryptid-like elderly librarian, Gakuganji, shushes him from just a few tables away. A glare so intense that it makes Gojo sit back down in his seat in an instant, ducking back down to stare at his phone screen.
Heart thundering. Fingers trembling. “Oh my god…” He whispers to himself, knees bouncing underneath the mahogany table as he’s clicking on the link embedded into the email.
It takes him to the official site of your management, where the list of winners had been announced on one page dedicated especially to you. And there - right at the very top - his name.
Gojo Satoru.
Censored, yes. But he could read it well enough - it was only confirmation of what he already knew through the email.
And as Gojo tries to tame his giddy elation inside the library, he forgoes those revision papers of his to instead tap away at his phone. First, he texts his parents. Then he texts his friends. Then he emails Nanamin (also one of his friends, but the man had him blocked everywhere else…)- and just as he caught sight of that winner’s email again, Gojo squeals—
“Out of my library!”
Later, Gojo Satoru was added to the campus library Wall of Shame (and Nuisances).
But he didn’t care.
Not one single bit.
@thestrongestfanboy: About to meet my future wife- how do I look? (￣▽￣*)ゞ
Attached was a selfie of him making your signature bow-and-arrow pose a few days later.
He was well-fitted in his best dress shirt that hugged his toned waist. Cologne practically palpable through the screen. Soft white bangs tamed. Donning a silver chain. False glasses on because he heard in one of your latest interviews that you liked nerds.
Cheeks rosy.
“Bro, isn’t the call for like two minutes?” Geto grumbles from his bed on the other side of the room. Their cramped dorm was already small enough without the other pacing every inch of it in nervousness.
Gojo whips around with a snarl, “No, for your information it’s actually two and a half minutes.”
Geto squints, “Right…” Before he raises his nose into the air and sniffs—“And god- what is that awful fucking smell?”
“You don’t like it?” His best friend asks innocently, “It’s my cologne.”
“There’s no way your cologne smells like that?” The dark-haired man gapes, leaning back in his bed as he covers his nostrils with a palm.
Geto already has his answer by the way that Gojo starts to squirm. “Well…I may have also added in a bit of your cologne, too…”
“…”
“And Nanamin’s.”
“…”
“And Shoko’s-”
“What the fuck, Satoru?” Geto slaps a hand over his forehead, in the way he much seemed to do when it came to an antic that Gojo did without his consultation (he means, c’mon, if they were to be dumb fucks then they should be dumb fucks together).
But this was too far even for him.
And Geto only sighs before he’s reaching for his heavy headphones, placing the cushioned device on top of his head. “After this, we’re taking you out to touch grass, man.” He opens his phone to something and blocks out Gojo’s whining protests with it. “I’m serious.”
“And I’m serious when I say you better not fuck this up for me, Suguru.” Gojo stabs an accusing finger at his best friend, while his other hand reaches for his own phone - the scheduled time for your video call was nearing. “Keep yourself scarce when she calls me.”
“Mhm, whatever you say.”
“Because she’s my future wife-”
“Crazy story, bro.”
With Geto not even close to responsive any longer, Gojo huffs as he looks through his notifications-
@Fushidaddy31: YOURE SO CHOPPED LMFAOOOOOOOO
Nevermind.
Instead, he waits in front of his desk. Phone propped up. Earbuds plugged in. Back straight against his chair. More formal and elegant than he had in any of his other meetings or lectures before.
He turns off his notifications and opens up the app that management had directed him to through emails. Pressing on the screen record button, Gojo’s stomach turns as a staff member performs an ID check before the call.
And then it starts.
Your beautiful, beautiful face pops up on the screen.
Those eyes. That smile. The voice that says, “Hello?”
Fuck.
Fuck.
Gojo’s heart drops to his stomach then takes a high-speed elevator right back up to his throat, he can feel the ba-dump! of it there. And later - years and years later - he’ll be able to cringe at the way that his naturally deep voice broke- “H-he-”
Before your face pauses.
It freezes.
And suddenly the call ends.
wait…Gojo taps on his Wi-Fi…he taps on his data…he taps on anything and everything that might make a difference. And yet, nothing ever does. Gojo immediately throws down his earphones on his desk and stands- so fast that his chair topples over—“Suguru!”
The dark-haired man jolts in his bed, turning over at the shriek with his brows scrunched in confusion. Seeing the state his best friend was in, he raises his phone as a shield. “What?”
“Don’t what me- don’t- you- you—” So enraged that he couldn’t even string together a coherent sentence. Face red. Veins popping on his neck. The only way that Geto manages to even slightly discern what the other man may be talking about is by the way he points at his phone, the shared Wi-Fi router, then his phone.
Geto’s mouth drops, “Ah…” And he catches sight of the orange, blinking right on the router that told the both of them that the day’s data has been finished. He looks at his phone…with the absolutely massive update that had just completed. “In my defense, Love and Deepspace had an update-”
“Suguru, I’m going to kill you.”
Ultimately, no amount of begging or crying to attempting to throttle Geto could reverse the fact that Gojo had won a fancall…and missed it.
All because of his Wi-Fi.
“There there, man.” Geto pats his friend - draped across his bed with his face in his hands - on the back. “At least the new event loaded- it’s an idol event, and I’ll let you play it with Sylus-”
Gojo only sobs louder.
“And then after that, we’ll actually go touch grass. How about that?”
@thestrongestfanboy: Nothing beats a Jet2 holiday to HELL. @DigiGeto ur going to HELL.
@DigiGeto replying to @thestrongestfanboy: Mb
@Fushidaddy32: rare aesthetic: fancall with #her n made her do the coldplay kiss cam trend with me heh
@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy32: Blocked.
@Fushidaddy32 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: ??
@CupidOfficial: So glad to be able to talk with my lovely fans during the fancall event today!! Thank you to everyone that attended, and even those that didn’t attend heheh…I see you, and I love you <33
.
.
.
@Variety: This week’s cover story:
Global Superstar Cupid: On Stardom, Surprises of Fame, and the Undying Support of her Fans (“There was actually this funny story with a fan that froze—”)
(see page 9…)
.
.
.
Gojo Satoru was on cloud nine.
Gojo Satoru was in heaven.
Gojo Satoru was going to meet his wife.
Everywhere he looked, he could see that beautiful face of yours.
From the floor-to-ceiling posters against the stark white walls, to the stalls upon stalls of merchandise that featured you, to the rows upon rows of people wearing t-shirts with your face on it. Posters. Plushies. Bow-and-arrow lights. Everything that his heart could ever yearn for.
And that included you.
And no- Gojo hadn’t died and gone to heaven (evidenced by the way that no matter how many times he pinched himself, it still bruised). Don’t be silly! He was simply at a place that was rather similar, he imagines.
A fanmeet.
Where the excitement was palpable, and everyone here had arrived with the same goal in mind - to spend just a few precious moments with you in person.
In person!
Geto was the one that’d snagged him the ticket to this event, to make up for the rather tragic incident with the fan call two years ago. And so here he was, at your first-ever fanmeet in Tokyo. Gojo vibrated on the balls of his feet, and with his towering height he could make out just a few more meters until he managed to see you up-close.
He held one of his most prized possessions - your first poster from Idol Academy, the one that Ijichi had gifted him so many years ago - to his chest and sighed. In less than an hour, he’d have it signed. In less than an hour, he’d get to hold your hand.
In less than an hour, he’d get to see you.
There was a part of him that felt like it was tugging towards you already- and Gojo has to bounce himself slightly to find a way to channel the adrenaline.
It’d been quite the arduous journey to get to here, and he didn’t want to make a single mistake now - all the albums he’d bought, all the pictures from your latest fanmeets that he’d fawned over, all the stan Twitter fights.
Honestly, just today he’d gotten into it with some delusional loser online (@urmomstype) that’d been spreading rumors about you being…particularly close with the famed actor you had in your newest music video. Gojo shudders as he thinks back to it:
@urmomstype: A thread of all the PROOFS that #Cupid is dating the hottest k-drama actor right now—
Inside was some amalgamated mess of pictures of ‘shared couples items’ (half the population owned that shit, c’mon, that actor was far from special) and coded messages that apparently littered your social media. By the end of it, the user had been self-assured, a few other misogynistic antis were spouting hate, and Gojo was furious.
He’d typed away so fast that his thumbs were nothing but a blur.
@thestrongestfanboy: U call this proof?? Holy fucking airball lmao (￣ヘ￣)
@thestrongestfanboy: Bozo
@thestrongestfanboy: Ratio + L + my fav is better than ur fav
@thestrongestfanboy: She isn’t dating anyone BOZO!! Even if she was (which she isn’t) it’s none of ur business and ur a loser so go back to doing loser things. I bet ur an anti from that one other agency…凸(`△´＃)
@Fushidaddy89 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: yk for once i agree with you
@urmomstype replying to @Fushidaddy89: Why are two uncs replying to me…arguing with a minor btw.
@thestrongestfanboy replying to @urmomstype: With this gift I summon-
It had lasted a few hours (and that was on the shorter end of the stick). Until, ultimately, Geto and Shoko had pulled his phone away from his face (he was defending your honor!) and reminded him that there were much more important things on the horizon.
Namely, you…
Besides, he was glad to get away from the epic highs and lows of high school football stan Twitter. He was glad not to have to fight with what was likely some middle-aged, parasocial man there over you. He was glad not to get into futile shipping wars that-
“Do you think her actor boyfriend will be here?”
An agitating, grating voice breaks through his thoughts (really, it was the squeaky voice of a child), and Gojo’s immediately whipping his head down, down, down behind him.
It was a buzzcut boy, wearing a t-shirt with your face and a pair of soft feathery wings that was sold as one of your exclusive merchandise—and yet…those angelic appendages still wasn’t enough to hide the mischief in his face.
Gojo stares at him.
And he stares at Gojo.
“You.”
“You.”
As his blonde-haired guardian looks on in slight shock, Gojo stabs an index his way- “User urmomstype?”
“User thestrongestfanboy.” He then points at himself, “But you can call me Todo Aoi.” And before the older man can begin to sputter again, he raises a small palm to silence him (and why was Gojo being silenced by what looked like an eight-year-old?) “I already know who you are, Gojo Satoru. You’re infamous inside the fandom, y’know?”
He gapes, “I am?”
“Mhm.”
Before he starts twirling the curls of white at the base of his neck, Todo stares in bewilderment as the taller man starts squirming. “So like…d’you think that means there’s a chance she’d notice me, too?”
“…”
“…”
“F-forget that-”
“You really think you can pull fine shyt?” Todo squints up at Gojo, and then down at the sheer amount of merchandise he was draped in. “You’re chopped with a negative aura that no amount of aura farming could possibly replenish, brother. Your eyes are built like a 24k labubu. If you were a meal, even Fanum wouldn’t ask for tax. Even I’d win a mid-off against you. I hate to break it to you but she’s much better off with that actor-”
“Don’t think that just because you’re speaking in brainrot terms I don’t understand you- I’m brainrotted, too.” Seething, “And they’re not even dating-”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Definitely not!”
The little boy nods, sagely. “Still got the views for the music video, didn’t I? And what did you do? Whine about how you weren’t married to her yet?”
And to that he doesn’t have much to say, “Well…”
The blonde-haired woman that’d been holding Todo back finally announces her presence, “Hi there- apologies. My name’s Yuki.” She reached out her hand, and they shook - with Gojo dazed by the absolute demolishment of his character. “I’ve warned him about his ah- ragebaiting issue…it’s a work-in-progress.”
“I-I see…” Gojo breathes, looking back at the line - just a little longer and he’d be out of here. Just a little longer and he’d get to see you—“One question, I’m not actually chopped, am I?”
As Todo whispers the definition to Yuki, she shakes her head happily. “Oh, not at all! You’re not exactly my type, but trust that you’re quite the handsome character.”
“Handsome enough to pull my wife?” At her visible confusion, he jerks his head where your figure was seated at a black-clothed table, signing posters and making conversation with your line of fans. Oh- how perfect you were.
“O-oh! Her?” A line of sweat beads at her temple, “Well, why not?”
Gojo - quite maturely - sticks his tongue out at Todo.
But the boy only replies, “You look like you wear wigs.”
Gojo self-consciously runs a hand through his soft white hair, “I-I don’t!” He did take particularly good care of his hair.
“Do you wear wigs?”
“No, I do not-”
“Have you worn wigs?”
“No, I have not-”
“Will you wear wigs?”
“…Maybe?!”
“When will you wear wigs-”
“Please!”
“Sir, we’re going to have to ask you to step out.” A gruff, masculine voice speaks out from beside him- and it didn’t match Todo’s probing voice. Not at all. Gojo turns his surprised head around and finds himself face-to-face with a stony-faced man.
As tall as him. Even beefier. With shades that reflected his own widened blue eyes.
His jaw drops, “Wh-what…”
The security guard gestures to Todo, and then towards the door with the ‘Exit’ sign. “For your disruption, we’re going to have to ask you to step out of the premises.” He cracks his knuckles, “Or you shall be escorted out.”
“No-” Gojo’s gasping, looking around for an answer. “No no no no- disruption? What disruption?”
“Arguments with a child-”
“That lil’ shit deserved it—” Gojo whines out, before realizing that that likely didn’t help his case. “I-I mean-” He’s gesturing to the boy that was clearly not disrupted in any sense of the word, “-look at him! He’s completely fine! In fact, I’m the one emotionally scarred.”
The other two also start to protest this course of action, and the security guard stays silent for a beat, and lets the counterargument sink in…
Before he raises his walkie-talkie up to his mouth, “We’re having some resistance here, I request back-up at the front of the line.”
“No no no-” He was just a meter away - a meter. “No, wait- please no.” And by now, the other fans were starting to point and stare at him now. At the way he was panicking. At the way he was trying to inch himself closer to the signing event. At the way he was so close to you- and yet, so far, with two burly security guards that clapped their hands down on his shoulders and dragged him away by his arms.
All the way to the exit.
As you stared.
“NOOOOOOO—!”
@thestrongestfanboy: I’m gonna be honest, kitten, daddy’s about to kill himself ٩(× ×)۶
@Fushidaddy103 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: i saw the video youre trending on tiktok lmaooooo
@urmomstype replying to @thestrongestfanboy: F in the chat
@pinkillit replying to @urmomstype: F
@hearts2hurts replying to @urmomstype: F
@utahimeslefttoe replying to @urmomstype: F
@lovelicky replying to @urmomstype: F
@CupidOfficial: Tokyo, oh Tokyo~
.
.
.
TRENDING ON TIKTOK:
#Cupidfanmeet
#thatonecrazyguy
#thestrongestfanboy
#Cupiddatingrumors
#Cupidbemywife
.
.
.
This was it.
This was Gojo’s last chance.
He hadn’t won a fancall since that one time (no matter how many albums he bought, the universe just wasn’t on his side), he’d been barred from your Tokyo fanmeet, he’d been known as that one delusional fanboy in your fandom.
Which was honestly fine. Gojo was fine.
He was completely and utterly fine-
“OHMYGODSUGURUI’MSOCLOSEITHINKICANSEEHERICANSEEHER-” Gojo yelled in Geto’s ear, over the roaring crowd that was most likely saying the same thing he was. He shook the man, and then proceeded to shake his other best friend standing right beside him. “YOUGUYSARETHEBESTANDILOVEYOUANDYOU’LLBETHEBESTMANANDBESTWOMANAND-”
“Not if I kill you right now.” Shoko mutters, punching Gojo right in the stomach so he’d shut up for the first time in the past few hours. She takes a puff of her cigarette, even though the stadium had a strict no smoking policy.
She needed it.
She deserved it.
Though, she supposed that there was no one to blame but herself.
It was obvious the toll that all the failed fancalls and fanmeets had taken on Gojo. And while she couldn’t quite understand the sheer ahem- delusion that came with it, she knew that this was something important to him. And Geto did, too.
Which was why, with the power of social media, the duo had reached out to that ‘urmomstype’ boy and his blonde-haired guardian. Apparently, even after Gojo had been escorted his merry way outside, the two had tried to overturn the decision, explaining that it’d all just been some silly banter and there really wasn’t anything to remove him over. ‘He might be chopped and unc, but he’s still a goat. Sorta.’ The boy had said, whatever that means…
But, alas, the security guard had been stubborn.
And so, the four - Shoko, Geto, Yuki, and Todo (yes, even Todo) - had wanted to make it up to Gojo in a different way. Despite not being able to attend the fanmeet, you still had your upcoming concert in the famous Tokyo Dome.
They’d stayed up all night on the phone trying out every connection they had to somehow get a few extra tickets.
All night.
There had to be something, right?
Until - finally, finally - Yuki managed to get in contact with Gakuganji (yes, their ol’ campus librarian), who managed to get in contact with Yaga (yes, their ol’ high school principal), who managed to get in contact with one of his other friends that knew someone on your staff team. And through a rollercoaster of contacts, they somehow managed to snag a few seats.
Front row.
Gojo had burst into tears the moment he read that pink slip of paper with your name in bold, surrounded by hearts. He’d crushed them all to him, so tight that Shoko wondered whether her bones might break, and whispered. “You guys are definitely invited to my wedding.”
And if her heart melted just a little bit then, well…she didn’t mention it.
Now, however, she’d no sooner be invited to Gojo Satoru’s funeral than his alleged wedding. To their own fortune, Yuki and Todo had been assigned places a few seats down. A weary Geto on the other side of their white-haired friend reaches his hands out towards her. “Cigarette, please.”
Shoko raises a brown brow, “You don’t even smoke?”
“I’m about to start.”
“You guuuuys—” Gojo drags on, as the opening notes of your album start to ring out on the speakers. He shoots his hands out to grab Shoko- and when she ducks, he shoots his hands out to grab Geto- and when he groans, Gojo only sways them in the air. “It’s about to start- she’s about to come on stage- oh my god, oh my god my wife’s about to come on stage-”
“She’ll be your ex-wife if you don’t calm the fuck down.” Geto can’t help but laugh. Shoko looks on in confusion as he moves in synchronization with Gojo to the first few dance moves of your routine. Geto answers her unspoken question, “What? He played it all the time in our dorm, I could recite every lyric and move in my sleep by now.”
“M-me too.” And as your silhouette starts to become projected on the screen behind you, Gojo’s starting to tear up. Large, bulbous tears of emotion.
They were both dancing in unison now.
Crying (Gojo, at least).
Shoko shakes her head with a chuckle of her own. “Idiots.”
And then you saunter your way onto stage and Shoko (as well as everyone in a five-mile radius) feels their eardrums stop working.
@thestrongestfanboy: I wasn’t just another screaming boy…I challenged her stare down…she saw me. She pointed—twice. And if u think I’m done? Let’s see if the wolf can find his prey again…good luck…(^人<)〜☆
Attached was a video taken from the concert - more girlish screaming (Gojo’s) than music, to be quite honest.
@Fushidaddy114 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: cringe
@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy114: I don’t see u at the concert. L |ʘ‿ʘ)╯
@Fushidaddy114 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: i dont see me trending on tiktok either
Gojo doesn’t even have the time to block and report Fushidaddy’s 114th account, because he’s too busy shoving his phone into his pocket and joining the screams for your encore that night. The one where you pretend to walk off, then dramatically sigh as you prance back down—
“Ah~” You’re voicing into the mic, looking at the sea of flash-lit faces around you. “Again? You lot are reeeeeally ravenous tonight, aren’t you?”
In unison, they roar. They agree.
With a faux huff, you’re placing your hand on your waist. It’s a pose infamous amongst your fandom, and they already knew what was coming up next- “Who’s got you so worked up, huh? Is it…me?” Roaring. Rumbling. Raging. You gasp, flattered. “It’s really me? Oh, now you’re just kidding—”
A furious shake of heads.
“You’re not? Well…” You smile, and it’s the type of smile that makes a flurry of star-stuck cameras go off. Basking in it, you walk oh-so-closely to the edge of the stage, where hands reach out to merely be in your presence. “That’s cute. But I still think I should arrest someone for being so naughty tonight, getting you all worked up.”
Crowds wave, volunteering themselves up to you.
You reach for your glittering belt and pull out the fluffy pink handcuffs that make them squeal, “And how aboooooout…”
Scanning the stadium.
Looking around.
Your eyes pass over the roaring head until—
“Ah! You there.” You’re pointing, your eye catching on a fluffy head of white hair. A face so handsome. So eager. “How about you? Would you like to be my arrestee tonight—?”
His deep voice sounds out, “Y-yes! Yes please-”
And as you near, the crowd grows even more restless. Like a tumultuous sea, the waves crash into each other, creating a rough tide that almost wanted to pull you in-
You blink.
And suddenly that white-haired man has disappeared.
But you’re by the edge of the stage by now, and you could feel the palms reaching for you as you try to discern just where he might be. “I uh-” You pause. Before the crowd surges forwards, and you’re thinking quickly to point out someone else. “Perhaps he isn’t so eager to be thrown in the slammer tonight-” They laugh, “-so how about you? Brown-haired girl? Would you like to be arrested by me~?”
She nods, and you proceed with your lil’ skit to ‘arrest’ her for being much too naughty.
Teasing and twirling, before you stand up and get on with the rest of your concert-
“And now—who’s ready for an encore~?”
You prance away, leaving a trail of glitter and song- and tears. Fuck, Gojo only claws himself up from the ground just as you finished your little arresting routine. The roll of the crowd had knocked him to the ground, and Shoko looks at her sad lil’ best friend.
She raises the handcuffs on her wrists, “Help me get out of these and you can have them, Satoru-”
“No, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Gojo straightens himself up, and Shoko’s shocked to find that he shakes his head in rejection.
“Satoru, are you okay?” Geto asks, warily.
“Yeah-” He sighs. “Yeah, I’m okay.” Something hollow in his breath. Something hollow in his heart, as he watches you slip away.
One.
More.
Time.
It’s alright.
It’s alright.
@thestrongestfanboy: Siri play Chasing Pavements by Adele
@Fushidaddy117 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: cringe
@Fushidaddy117 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: but you good bro??
@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy117: No bro
@Fushidaddy117 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: i feel you bro
@CupidOfficial: White hair. White stars…
That night, while Gojo had tossed and turned himself into a fitful sleep, his phone buzzed with yet another notification.
One that he had to blink his eyes at to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, one that he had to pinch himself at to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
DIRECT MESSAGES for @thestrongestfanboy.
@CupidOfficial: You’re the white-haired boy from tonight, aren’t you?
@CupidOfficial: Sorry if this is forward of me, I’ve just seen you around quite a bit…on my timeline, at the fanmeet…
@CupidOfficial: I just wanted to ask whether you’d want to model for the cover of my upcoming album?
.
.
.
@pannchoa: Rumors swirl of Cupid’s upcoming album! Dispatch hints and industry whispers - read the full EXCLUSIVE from her producer right here.
.
.
.
First thing’s first, you had Gojo Satoru sit on the couch of your penthouse accommodation. Talking through the details of your secretive upcoming album, and how the aesthetic you were going for fit his dazzling looks perfectly.
Second thing’s second, you had him seated on your king-sized bed. Still babbling about your album- at least, he was. Though the both of you knew that it was something else entirely on your minds.
Third thing’s third, he was sprawled out on said mattress. You straddlin’ his handsome face like a perch. His puffy, pinkish lips glued to your cunt—
“Mmpf- mmmm…” Gojo’s groaning over the most lecherous squelches that you’ve heard in your entire life. They’re echoing out like one of your sweetest songs, in sloppy staccato with the rovering movements of his tongue.
Gojo Satoru was eating you out like he was ravenous.
Famished.
Grabbing ahold of each side of your ass cheeks, he’s dragging you back down onto his gaping maw each n’ every time you flinched away with a whine, letting his tongue slash deeply into your drivelling orifice. “Mmm- hck!” Gojo’s so sloshed on your syrupy pussy that he’s finding himself hiccuping, eyes rolling all the way to the back of his head once your sap trickles out with a splash! Straight into the back of his throat, “Ohhhhh, my sweet girl-”
“Now now-” With a shiver, one of your hands slithers down to tug on Gojo’s clammy white locks. Almost as if to pull him away- but that only makes him nudge his lips closer to your hole with a keen. “Make sure you remember to- haaah, breathe, Gojo-”
“Sa-Satoru-” He whispers this out directly against your quivering cunt, and the vibrations make your back arch perfectly. Looking up at you through his pale lashes, fluttering. “Please call me, Satoru…”
Just the tip of his tongue that reels back out to fuck back in-
“-ma’am.”
“O-oh—” You’re moaning out at the way that his thick muscle pierces you - not only was Gojo an avid talker, but he had the tongue to back that up, too. So strong. So lengthy. He’s stirrin’ his tongue around and around in circular motions to graze those ridged tastebuds of his into each tiny nook n’ cranny.
Pulling onto his sweaty bangs and that only seems to make him go even harder- “S’that what you want me to call you?” You’re managing out, looking down at him- and that seems to make him jolt at the sheer intensity. “You want me to call you…”
You teasingly trail off, and Gojo only seems to buck—his hips coming up to make your vast bed creek. Chin spankin’ against the edge of your cunt when he yearns even closer, “Yes? Yes?”
“Oh? Was I supposed to- hck! finish something?” Pretending to not know exactly what he wanted, and it frankly made you even wetter to see the way that the tips of Gojo’s ears burn bright red at being caught.
“You know what I want baby- you know-” Sputtering out scorching hot breaths against your hole, before you know it- Gojo has one of his hands looped ‘round your thigh. The flat of his right thumb rubbin’ up and down your clit, “You kn-know what I want- and this pretty pussy does, too.”
Just the sultry sensation of him toying with your nub makes you gasp and buck. With your head thrown back, he’s taking every forceful bounce.
With such immense pleasure, Gojo’s letting his entire pretty face get ridden. The seeping hot core of your cunt plasters from the tip of his nose, down, down, down to grind your clit on the point of his chin. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.
Timing your gyrations just right, Gojo purses his lips and he spits- “She’s just so wet, my light.” Creating a slippery puddle that lets him slither his tongue into you even faster, “Soooo fucking wet. Sooo fuh-fucking loud, might even be louder than you on stage- and she’s honest, too.”
You’re raising a brow in challenge, raising his blushing head from between your legs to simply ask. “And just wh-what is ‘she’ honest about?”
There’s another dangling line of saliva spat on top of your pussylips, and the edge of Gojo’s thumb presses each wad inside. You shiver - and so does your core. “She knows she loves me—she knows she wants to call me ‘Satoru’, doesn’t she?”
Oh.
You simply shiver- you don’t even have an answer, and Gojo doesn’t expect you to have one. With sensual movements, the plush part of his lower lip drag-drag-draaaaags down the front of your cunt.
He’s pulling his tongue back, just lightly tapping it on top of your shaky orifice—“Hey…” You’re grumbling out, when his teasing motions are lingering for just too long. You tug on his hair, and that seems to make him groan in ecstacy - the happiness of being used. “Don’t tell me you’re tapping out already?”
“Why? Does she miss me?” Gojo prattles away - not to you, but to your dripping wet cunt. Almost as if to prove his point, just the spit-covered edge of his tastebuds slither close to your hole. And it makes you clench—
Around nothing, because Gojo’s pulling away in an instant.
He never imagined how fun it would be to tease you.
His pretty, swollen lips turning up into a dirty grin. “Ohhh, don’t you worry, my light.” And the crown of his thumb rolls over your clit a few more times, “I already know that she misses the feeling of my tongue fucking ‘er-” And just as you wanted (because he could never leaving you longing for too long) Gojo’s tongue starts moving in, sinking. “Already know she wants to be f-filled up like no other could, already know every word to your songs- every lyric- every syllable. Already know you’re gonna feel my tongue between your legs- and you’re going to call me—”
You breathe, “Yes?”
And he’s almost pleading. “Your good boy?”
“Well…” You twist your fingers harshly into his silken white hair, and it makes Gojo moan. Slightly shoving him where you wanted him the most- “-then shut the fuck up n’ prove it to me, Satoru.”
And that’s all he wanted.
That’s all he needed. For now.
Until you’re calling him your ‘good boy’ exactly like that dark, carnal part of him wanted you to—Gojo’s grunting at the shock of his first name leaving your pretty lips, in that sing-song voice of yours.
A sudden lurch that makes him shove his clammy head between your legs once more. He’s glued to the sheeny inner parts of your thighs, roughly gluing his mouth over your glazed pussylips.
“Oh- oh…” Heavy pants leave your mouth, and your chest heaves each time Gojo’s probin’ not only his prolonged tongue inside you- but also his slender fingers. “You’re really trying to prove it t’me-”
They were just so long. The curvaceous tips of his digits deliciously curving into your tenderest spots- he glides them perfectly along your walls. Fitting the ridges of his middle and ring fingers against your g-spot.
Thoroughly. You could feel the way that Gojo was grinning against your cunt folds as he feels your cute walls clamp down ‘round his touch- “I found that spot, my light. It feels sooooo gooood having my fingers all up in there, hm? Can you feel me right there-”
“Y-yes-” Fuck, he was circlin’ the padded tips of his fingers and that made you fall upon the bed. You clap a hand down on that mahogany headboard of yours and use it to keep yourself moving- “Fuck, it feels so good.”
“Then don’t you think I deserve it…” He’s pouting, plush mouth now pulling back to clamp down your clit, too. And not only was he suckin’ on that nub, he was biting down, too. “M’your number one fan.”
“Mhm—fuh-fuck.” Your head falls back when he’s pressing his lips together and draaaaagging the fleshy top of your clit backwards. Just stretching. Just itching this carnal itch.
When you’re distracted by the white-hot pleasure that bursts behind your lids at the feeling, Gojo’s easily managing to sneak in yet another finger. A third one that pummels your bruising g-spot just as hard. “Can recite your every lyric. Every fanchant.” The hot crevice of his mouth moves rapidly against your core.
Furiously.
He’s drawing out a saucy pattern with his tongue, one that you’re only later realizing are the strokes to spelling out your stage name.
C-U-P-I-D-C-U-P-I-D-C-U-P-I-D.
Gojo’s hot tastebuds salivate right down your front, pressing on your clit until you see sparks behind your eyes. “See- see?” There’s an almost crazed look in Gojo’s peripherals, rolling until they were almost nothing but pure white as you clench down on him roughly - and you start to wonder just what you have released. “See, m’your biggest fan- hck! M’your good boy, and this pretty pussy knows it.” He almost sounds pathetic begging between your legs, drooling, drunken. “And- and that’s not all-”
“Satoru, what do you mean that’s not…” Your sentence slowly dissolves in your throat, and with every push of his slimy tongue, you’re realizing just what he’s talking about.
Because instead of the curving ‘C’ that meant he was spelling out your stage name, Gojo was slashing something out. Long, hard lines that edged you closer towards your bliss—
I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U-I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U-I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U.
“Mmm, you really are my biggest fuh-fan.” You’re somehow managing out, and the only thing you can do right now is grab ahold of Gojo’s hair and let him lavish you with his mouth. “You really love me, Toru?” And you feel him jolt at that cute nickname- “Or do you love my pussy?”
“Both. Both.” Fingers spearheading you so fast at this point that the skin ‘round his mountainous knuckles turns red. Stinging red. Needy red. Just like the strawberry shade of his overworked lips-
Plap! after plap!
And you’re not sure if the sounds are from the way you’re riding his handsome face, or the impact of him banging his fingertips into your deepest insides. “Both both both- fuck, I wanna have you drippin’ down my tongue for forever, my light. Could have you squeezin’ around me like this for ages, mmm, m’fucking obsessed.”
“A reference to my- haaah, to my album?” You question, and you were just so close. You were just so rapidly nudging yourself closer on top of him like this- “But what if you can’t breathe, Toru?”
“I don’t need to-” To which Gojo only grips the side of your ass with his free hand, tugging you down. Jolting you atop him. Manhandling you down further. He scrapes his swabbing fingers even further down your walls, past the spot of your bundle of nerves. “I don’t need to at all. Hah- I don’t need to breathe if I can have you like th-this…”
Your mouth dries of a response, because just then, he’s changing up the pattern of his sizzlin’ tastebuds again.
Long, luscious strokes.
M-R-S-G-O-J-O-M-R-S-G-O-J-O-M-R-S-G-O-J-O.
Your eyes snap wide open, and you’re gasping at the realization of what exactly he was spelling out. “O-oh…” Chin slathering with a waterfall of your spittle, you’re just holding onto him for dear life at his vulgar kisses. “Satoru, I think m’gonna c-cum—”
And you’ve had voice training before, you’ve been used to keeping your voice steady even in the most pressurized of environments- but just then, your tone cracks as you heave your sultry body forwards and cum.
Hot, glistening waves of bliss.
A heat that takes over your body, from your scalp to your toes.
Again and again.
Slight tears prick behind your eyelids as you let Gojo fuck you through your high with his tongue, “Fuck- fuck, you made me cum-” Somehow pinpointing each peak of your orgasm to stick his fingers in for. Thud, thud, thud. “-and I didn’t even expect it.”
“Mmmm—” And you don’t know who was more gone on the fact that you were cumming like this, you or him. Because Gojo was lappin’ away with his thick tongue, slurping. “Tastes so sweet, my light. S’like sugar on my tongue…”
“Oh, you really are pussydrunk.” You whisper, and let his face move back and forth to elongate your euphoria. “Keep going, Toru—h-hah, keep going.”
“Anything for you, ma’am.”
How he loved the way you soaked yourself just a lil’ wetter at the sound of him saying that particular title. How he loved the way you’d flinch and tremble on top of him when he licked you from the tip of your clit and down to the end of your cunt. How he loved the way your high bated to nothing but mere tingles, and you shivered sensitively when he still kept going.
“My orgasm’s over now, Toru—” You hiccup, your tears starting to spill. “You were such a…good boy.”
And that’s when Gojo jolts, his entire body running with a shockwave that made itself obvious even to you. Curiously, you’re peering behind him- before he’s drawing your attention back to the front with a few more plunging pushes of his tongue. “Mmmm, m’your good boy. Your good boy- your good boy.”
G-O-O-D-B-O-Y.
“Mhm—” And when it became obvious that he wasn’t going to wrench himself away anytime soon, you’re bawling. “Fuck- fuck, Satoru m’so sensitive.”
“M’sorry, my light, I just can’t seem to-” Somehow managing to pant through his thorough pushes, it was honestly a wonder that he could even find the time to breathe at this point- with the way he was glued to your puckered pussy. Mouthing out what felt like the most popular lyrics to your songs at this point- “-can’t even seem to stop. It’s like I’m…almost like I’m-”
You flinch when he spits once more, the wad oozing down your slit.
“-addicted.”
You take a goood, long look at Gojo: puffy eyes, bleary vision, his mouth all puffy and raw around your cunt. Nearly every inch of his face was covered in a sappy layer of your slick, and it dripped down to drench your pillow beneath. Like a puddle.
Your cup your hand down from his hair n’ to his cheek, and Gojo practically melts at the touch. You had the distinct thought that if he were a cat, he’d be purring. “But Toru-” Jutting your bottom lip out for emphasis, “I want to give you the same, you know what I mean? S’that alright.”
“Oh, sweetheart, you could step on me and I’d thank you.” He says, before wrenching off of your swollen pussylips with a wettened plop!
A loud, dramatic mwah!
It makes your heart race, and something in Gojo’s tightened trousers twitch. Eagerly, you’re shuffling yourself off of him and sitting on one end of the bed.
Earlier, Gojo had simply ripped off your skirt and panties off- and his flooded mouth drops further with every item of clothing you’re taking off. Until you were completely exposed, and you’re directing him with a finger to do the very same.
“Yes, ma’am-” There’s absolutely no hesitation before his t-shirt (with, tastefully, your face on it as part of your merchandise) comes off. And you’re absolutely shocked- because Gojo wasn’t the trim, lanky figure that you’d expected him to be.
Instead, he was built.
Well-chiselled pecs that made you ache to touch them, leading down with a deep valley to the muscles of his washboard abs. Almost like a ladder. They were decorated only with a few beauty spots, and a line of sparse white hair that led down, down, down.
Gojo’s beefy biceps flex as he then tugs down on the hemline of his pants and boxers, revealing—oh.
He flushes at the intensity of your stare, “Wh-what?” Almost squirming, he just felt so shy by the way his idol was looking at him like you just wanted to tear him apart. Sensually. “Is something not-”
“You’re just so big, Satoru.” You gasp, your eyes never straying from him.
Naturally, your hand reaches out to grab the ninth of his loooong inches, thick and hot in your hold. Glistening with need. His tight balls clenching. He was so hard that every pulsation was visible even from here.
A few veins decorated his shaft, and he was so reddened at the tip, n’ dripped down a stream of milky precum just at the feeling of your palm on him.
Slowly - ever-so-slowly - you start to lower your head…
“Oh.” Gojo pants out a scalding breath. “And that is…good?”
“It’s perfect.”
Gojo’s watching you through partly-cracked eyelids, feeling so hypnotized by the sight of you below him. He raises himself slightly on his haunches with a hiss, the hot air from your mouth kissin’ his tip—it almost- it almost reminded him of the way you’d lean in so close with your microphone.
Lips so soft.
Tongue so talented.
Just gently pressing—
And that’s when Gojo chokes back a needy cry and cums- straight down the front of your pretty, pretty face. In a split-second, you have your tongue filthily dangling out to catch the wads of seed that he was pouring out.
Splat after splat that ended up emptying on your tastebuds.
He’s bucking to let his shaft glissade just further down your tongue- and the mere plush feeling of him only makes his geysering divot spill out more generously.
“Fuck-” Gojo scrunches his azure eyes, head fighting not to throw back and miss a second of the sinful sight below. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- I can’t believe I’m…this is all your fault, sweetheart, ngh.” And his abs flex as he starts up a lil’ half-rut to fuck himself through his wave of bliss.
“Mmm—” You’re savoring the salted caramel taste of him, something so sweet about him. Amused, you raise a brow. “I barely even put my mouth on you, and you’re cumming already?”
He’s raising his hands to his blushing face, peeking out through his fingers. “Actually…it’s the second time tonight m’cumming, my light.” As you raise your brows in slight surprise, and flick your eyes to the drenched mess of his boxers. “The haaaah—the first time was when you- you called me your ‘good boy’.”
“Oh.”
Cumming just from eating you out? Now that really made your cunt throb with torturous need, and you’re sliding a hand between your legs to feel for the wetness there.
“Well, then-” A beautiful grin graces your face, and it’s enough to make Gojo’s swollen cock twitch. “-guess you have one more to make up t’me if you’re such a, mm, good boy, huh?”
“Y-yes, ma’am.”
Before you know it, you’re being splayed out with your back against the bed. The mattress slightly dips as Gojo hovers his muscular weight above you, and he’s gently pushin’ apart your legs, sweat beading on his forehead as he takes in your dripping wet core.
You swear you catch his mouth watering at the sight- “No need to be nervous, Toru. Have you ever done this before?”
He shakes his head, “No, it- it was actually my first time eating you out, too.” Peering up at you with teary eyes, “Did I do good?”
Did he do good?
If that was his first time, you didn’t know what would happen with his second, his third, his tenth. And you’re snapping yourself forcefully out of that little reverie, “Yes- fuck, yes you did so good. Was such a good boy for me.” He grunts, something ruined in it. “Now I need you to be a good boy f’me again, okay? C’mon- put my legs on your shoulder—yeeeees, just like that.”
His muscles shifted underneath your heels, he was just so hulking.
“Now bend, Toru-”
“Bend?”
“Bend.”
And Gojo wanted to prove himself to you, just like before. He wanted to do his very best for you, you, you and only you - even if that meant…manhandling his one and only idol, just a little.
With a primal lurch, Gojo then has your knees pushed all the way up to your tits. “Like this?” Your body bent completely in half, like a lawn chair. “Like this?” And his hips slotting between your legs- in this mean mating press, Gojo’s furious cock stuffs juuuuuust inside- “Like- like-”
Before he’s slouching his head forwards and pushing—
“Fuck-” Gojo’s canines try to sink into his lower lip, before he’s realizing that that won’t hold back his gruff noises and he’s simply keening. Carnal. Baritone.
A thin line of drool starts to splash from the side of his maw, before his entire body bows inwards to yours. Like he was focusing each n’ every ounce of strength into pryin’ aside your swollen folds and squeeeeezing his round, girthy tip inside. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- fuck!” And then you clench and you can hear the exact moment that the sensation pangs through Gojo’s body, “I think m’gonna cum again- fuck, m’gonna cum again just from this.”
“If you do then I want it allll inside-” You say, looking up into his attractive face - so unintentionally sexy. Gojo was flushing. Rabidly slobbering. His dick aching.
He was so hard that you could feel the prominent outline of each vein, scraping your insides as Gojo tries to push past the slight resistance of your entrance and buck and buck- “Don’t- oh.” He could barely even echo out a coherent thought with your wet pussy wrapped ‘round him like this. “Don’t- fuckin’- talk like that- s’only gonna make it, ngh, worse.”
“But I thought you were my good boy?”
“Fuh-fuck.” Gojo hollows out, with a clouded breath that made it seem as though every ounce of sanity was leaving his body along with it. And at that very second, you feel him spurt out just a single pearly white bead of cum.
It splats! down at the back of your pussy, and makes you shiver at the feeling. Meanwhile, Gojo’s forced to lurch up one of his fists and gnaw down on it to control himself. “Fuck, you don’t know what you’re doing t’me.” The blood vessels at his neck and temples pop as he somehow stops his dribbling cock from flooding your insides any further. “Didn’t know how fuck- fucking mean ya are, my light.”
“What can I say?” You hum, your hamstrings all sore with the intrusion that was being lodged in your lower half. “You were the criminal that got away- ngh, at my concert.”
“Mhm—?” Still rutting. Just animalistic half-ruts.
“And I want you to fuck me filthily, Toru.”
Oh…at this confession of yours, he grows even bigger inside of your tight channel. The girth of Gojo’s cock swells up, and his sheer length pushes apart your walls, molding them to him-
“Oh- oh my…” There was still a light sheen of your slick on Gojo’s face that he hadn’t been able to greedily lap away, and it’s then - mid-sentence - that you choose to lean yourself closer to him and get a taste.
To which Gojo’s hazed blue eyes snap open- and oh, the look in them makes your legs tighten. Makes them fail- he’s snapping them open in a singular fluid motion, uncaring of the way it exhausts your muscles. Uncaring of the snug stretch-stretch-streeeeetch of your cunt once he’s mazing himself inside. “-my light.” Gojo bites out, “I’ll give you anything you need…”
Just then, your ears ring with a sharp clap!
You’re wondering whether it’s your ears.
You’re wondering whether it’s your heartbeat.
You’re left wondering no longer when you register it’s the slamming impact of Gojo’s toned v-line snapping against your lower half. Bottoming out in one motion, he’s deeply probin’ his rotund tip into the back of your treacly pussy.
Bottoming out? Already?
“And that includes fucking you like the slut you want to be fucked as.”
Oh.
Oh.
It seems that perhaps you’ve broken him.
Because then Gojo’s pounding his rough, ravenous hips into you all the way until his white happy trail scrapes your clit, and the end of his shaft reaches for the back of your throat.
“What the fuck…” He stops as he feels the tender end of your pussy - teary eyes widening. And the first thing out of his mouth is, “Is this real?” In utter, feral disbelief. “There’s no way this is…” Before Gojo’s pinching himself.
He bottoms out a few more times, and each time the look in his eyes grows more distant. Jaw dropping further and further with the pure ecstacy of having his painfully-hard erection surrounded by your soft warmth. “Are you- hck! are you holding up, Toru?”
“Holding up? Holding up?” He almost cackles- octaves higher, almost crazed. He turns to you, “Pinch me.”
“What-”
“Pinch me.”
And so you do - right on the strawberry nubs of his nipples, where he was just so sensitive. Only when the painfully lewd sensation confirms it’s real does he start formulating his sloppy cadence, “Fuck! It doesn’t fucking feel r-real. It can feel like this, sweetheart?” He was rutting his hips impatiently into you like he was trying to fuck the answer out of you. Each n’ every loooong, winding vein glissading down your walls. “N-ngh, she feels like heaven ‘round my cock.”
“Oh yeah—?” Purposefully, you clench. “Like that, Satoru?”
He simply shivers, “Y-yes.” You can feel him thumpin’ away at the goopy back of your pussy, with his circular divot creaming out in pre. “She’s sucking up every inch of me- fuck, huggin’ me so tight. Bet she can feel my veins reeeeeal good, can’t she?” A few slurps as he sloppy fucks his way in, which he takes as an answer. “Mhm, she can.”
And you only clench harder-
“Oh.” He whimpers, “Have mercy.”
“I dunno…” You drag out from the back of your throat, and you have to curl your toes to stop the pleasure from overflowing and interrupting your sentences. “You didn’t have mercy when you ate me out earlier, did you?”
Gojo gasps-
“And when you screamed at my concert, and when you disrupted my fanmeet.” You’re quite enjoying watching him fall apart - head hung, hips stuttering as he struggles to hold himself back. You wonder just what might happen if you made this handsome virgin Gojo…break. “So why should I show you- ngh, mercy?”
“Please- oh, what are you—”
Whatever Gojo was going to say is immediately derailed by the casual way you’re hiking up a hand to your stomach. Pressing dooooown just as his throbbing length was sinking in, “Filthier, Toru.”
And that’s when something in your favorite fanboy - in Gojo Satoru - snaps.
That’s when your positions shift.
His sap dribbles down n’ overflows just like the way your steaming tastebuds do, and your teeth clench after every one of his thrusts. Harder. Faster. Just like you’d said, he was thwacking his aching hot cock into you so hard that the curve of his ballsack was swatting your cunt. Slowly, you’re growing more and more hypnotized by his roverin’ dick stuffing every ounce inside you full. “Just like that- hah-” Arms wobbling, you struggle to reach ‘round Gojo’s shoulders. “Oh- just like that-”
“Just like that?” He asks, oh-so-kindly. And you almost feel a glimmer of hope for your poor body when Gojo gently tugs your arms around his shoulders. Letting you grab onto his deltoids-
“But I don’t think s’filthy enough, my light.”
Oh…so you were mistaken.
“Filthier, you said?” He repeats your words from earlier, fully channeling his energy to swabbin’ every point of your cunt. Gojo feels your legs slipping, and he’s reaching a hand behind his neck to pin your ankles together - locking them in place. “Look-” Other hand thumbing between your puffy pussylips, “Look, she wants it harder- faster, too. She’s practically flooding out and begging for it.”
“Oh my god-” Your pillow is drenched in a layer of your spittle by now, and your back arches. “Keep- keep going.”
“Keep going? But I wanna go even filthier, sweetheart.” That familiar pout of his makes an appearance, though there was something much more…sleazy about it this time.
Your nails dig into the plush mountains of his muscles, shifting underneath your touch each time he’s reeling his body back. Back, back, back. Gojo was putting his entire frame to work - not just his hips - each time he’s shovelling his cock into you.
And the extra pressure makes the rounded crown of his shaft embed deep into your cervix, leaving a bruise there that acts as the perfect target for the next slam. And the next. And the next. “Please-” You’re gasping out, sobs bubbling in your throat. “Please please please- please, and how are you gonna be even filthier?”
“Like this.” Just to prove his point, his free hand tilts open your chin and spits straight in your mouth. And without wasting a second longer, Gojo spanks that very hand back down on your hips to keep you from running. “Aaaand—”
Instead, he’s using his strength to pliably jerk you back down. Hissing between your parted lips, “Like this.” He’s bubbling up even more saliva- this time, down your slippery slit. That hand of his on your hip reaches over, and with the forefront curve of his thumb, Gojo’s smearin’ the wad of saliva on top of your pussy. Pressing down on your clit- “Because m’just your pathetic fanboy, my light, listening to- ngh, every word you say. So when you say filthy, m’only gonna go filthier.”
You almost don’t want to dare to ask, “And h-how will you make this…even filthier?”
But you knew he wanted you to.
You knew he was just dying to fuck the words out of you.
Gojo’s plastering a sleazy smirk across his face, and it damn near looks downright blasphemous with the layer of syrup on his features. “I h-have an idea or two…”
He’s not telling you what the idea is, he’s showing it to you - with his fingers twisting on top of your clit to spell out some of the very words he’d spelled out with his tongue earlier.
I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U-I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U-I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U.
Furiously, your body thrashes at the mercy of his clutches. Gojo was holding you down ruthlessly, a mean expression taking over his face when he finds out that he can simply pin you down and make that glistening hole of yours take it.
M-R-S-G-O-J-O-M-R-S-G-O-J-O-M-R-S-G-O-J-O.
All those zaps of pleasure that you loved so much, that you were moaning so much at. You’re so cockdrunken by this point that spittle sloshes ‘round inside your mouth- and Gojo only leans over to lick off the drivels of it escaping your mouth.
<3
Just in time to crash his lips into your when you cum.
“C-cumming.” You’re gasping out, almost in disbelief at the sheer strength of the orgasm that was flooding your entire body. Bucking back into his thrusts, “So much- it’s- it’s so much, fuck.”
“Yes-” Gojo growls, slightly breathless at the fact that this was you—and you were cumming ‘round his cock, suctioning every tender ridge on his shaft, fully fucking yourself through the complete waves of your high.
Bliss upon euphoria.
If you thought that your orgasm was incredible earlier, then you weren’t ready for this one. It simply takes over every part of you, until it felt like your nerves were fried with the sensation.
He stops pinning you down any longer, letting you bounce your hips back into his to your heart’s content. “That’s right, use me.” Gojo’s fingers are but a blur on your clit, “Use me to ride your high- fuck, use me as much as sh-she wants. Let me feel every inch of you squeezin’ around me-”
“I can’t be the only one.” Despite the pangs of your bliss, you somehow manage to blink away your tears to gaze up at him. With a hand fisted in Gojo’s perspired hair, you’re pulling him in reeeeal close, “Want you to cum insi- oh, fuck.”
You don’t even have to finish your sentence.
You don’t even have to finish your thought.
Because the moment that Gojo realizes what you’re trying to say to him, the bawling divot at the end of his shaft pours out white-hot cum. Heard throwing back. Chiselled body bowing into yours. Voice straining with a call of your name.
It’s just the creamiest texture, it polishes a layer of white on your cervix and along your walls until the syrup froths outside.
Gasping, Gojo brushes his thumb between your folds and plugs up your leaking hole. Overspilling. So many webbed layers were seeping out of you, and he was taking the time to push every ounce of it back inside- “Fuck.” He whispers, thickly. “Fucking hell.”
“S’all inside, Satoru.” You mewl, gliding your hand up and down your front. “I can feel it splashin’ around inside-”
“Don’t say that- don’t- fucking say that-” He just barely chokes out- before one of Gojo’s hands lets go of your ankles to actually squeeze that pretty neck of yours, so perfect in his grip. “Don’t say that or m’gonna…”
“Or what?”
“Or m’gonna cum again-”
“Can feel it alllllll up inside.” You continue, despite the lecherous tightening at your throat. And Gojo has to listen on in pure agony as that voice he loves so much continues on—“Honestly- at this rate, you might just get me- ngh, pregnant, Toru.”
And that does it- he’s splurging out his dewy wet wads all over again. It seeps a layer of white into your glossy insides, making every thrust of his slippery.
With a slight whimper, he doesn’t waste time fucking those droplets of cum inside even if it aches him with sensitivity. The reddened tip of his cock twitches, and Gojo’s balls nuzzle the forefront of your cunt, already sucked dry with nothing more to give-
“You kn-know-” When Gojo speaks, it almost sounds like he’s crying- oh. Something hot and wet drips from his eyes, he actually was crying in overstimulation.
The texture of your cunt leaving him red n’ raw, but even then he’s way too addicted to try and bring himself to stop. Moaning, “-I did say something about you st-stepping on me, my light.”
Your brows raise.
Oh, this is going to be fun.
.
.
.
It’s almost a year later when Gojo posts:
@thestrongestfanboy: Siri play I Just Had Sex by The Lonely Island.
@Fushidaddy1008 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: lmfao as if anyone would bang you
@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy1008: Ahhh, my wife would bang me~! ＼(≧▽≦)／ Also blocked (*≧ω≦*)
@Fushidaddy1009 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: wife?? lmfao i thought Cupid was your wife?? youre saying you banged Cupid??
@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy1009: Exactly~! Blocked (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
@thestrongestfanboy: I would let her step on me (and HAVEEEEE) <(￣︶￣)>
@thestrongestfanboy: Does anyone have that meme of the guy shooting a basketball from the moon and actually making the basket???
@thestrongestfanboy: I’M IN LOVE.
@DigiGeto replying to @thestrongestfanboy: Bro do you gen need your meds or…
@Shokomedical replying to @DigiGeto: I’ve prescribed all he needs, idk how but it’s gotten worse since that concert last year.
@HiByeRawr replying to @thestrongestfanboy: Happy for you Gojo-senpai ^.^
@thestrongestfanboy: MY BEAUTIFUL WIIIIIIFE~! ٩(♡ε♡)۶
And then came the disaster, perhaps. Because he’d meant to attach a completely innocent picture of you from your last show, he’d meant to post something that would have been inconspicuous with everything else that your fansites were posting.
But this is Gojo - and that’s obviously not what happened.
Attached to that aforementioned tweet was a picture of none other than Gojo Satou and you. Not from a concert. Not from afar. In the flesh, in nothing but a soft blanket covering your most intimate parts, clearly bitten all over and sex-hazed.
You were raising a digital camera up, your smile peaking through its edge as if you were taking a picture of a picture. And Gojo himself was in the corner - bitten, marked, a dopey smile and just as ruined, as sex-rumpled as you were, shirtless.
The first night.
How damning.
In the split-second that the photo had been up, it spread across stan Twitter like wildfire. And all of Gojo’s subsequent tweets had upwards of 1M+ views just because of it.
@thestrongestfanboy: WAIT
@thestrongestfanboy: WAIT DIVA DOWN DIVA DOWN
@thestrongestfanboy: I DIDN’T MEAN TO POST THAT PLEASE FORGET ABOUT IT.
@pinkillit replying to @thestrongestfanboy: Bro actually….did it? The fanboy actually did what every delulu stan hopes to do??
@gggggnarly replying to @thestrongestfanboy: YOU HOOKED UP WITH QUEEN CUPID?!
@hearts2hurts replying to @thestrongestfanboy: I fear I, again, can’t send hate because this is impressive ngl.
@utahimeslefttoe replying to @thestrongestfanboy: i know this is a marketing stunt i just cant prove it (uta give me a chance pls)
@lovelicky replying to @thestrongestfanboy: PARASOCIALISM WORKED??
@yuuthebaddie replying to @thestrongestfanboy: YOU GOT THE HUZZ??
@thestrongestfanboy replying to @yuuthebaddie: I GOT THE HUZZ!! („ಡωಡ„)
@thestrongestfanboy replying to @thestrongestfanboy: WAIT DELETE-
@DigiGeto replying to @thestrongestfanboy: Satoru what the fuck
@Shokomedical replying to @thestrongestfanboy: SATORU WHAT THE FUCK
@HiByeRawr replying to @thestrongestfanboy: I always knew the day would come!! Congratulations, Gojo-senpai ^.^
@urmomstype replying to @thestrongestfanboy: What did I miss?? Do I need to make a new thread??
@Fushidaddy2067 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: thats it siri play chasing pavements.
And that’s when it spreads outside of your fandom, first to the celebrity news outlets, and then everyone else. Soon enough, BuzzFeed, TMZ, Pannchoa were all tripping over themselves to be the first to report and interview on the subject. Personally, you knew that Dispatch was foaming at the mouth to drop the annual bombshell with all the sordid details.
TRENDING ON TWITTER:
#CUPIDPICTURE
#CUPIDDATING
#THESTRONGESTFANBOY
#DELULUISTHETRULULU
#HEGOTTHEHUZZ??
#LFORFUSHIDADDY
@CupidManagement: As a company, we do not interfere in the private lives of our artists and we kindly ask everyone to stop spreading any malicious rumors. We wish all the best to Cupid, and her relationship going forward.
And you?
@CupidOfficial: Ahhh might be as great a time as ever to announce that my new album, Stargirl, will be out on all platforms November 28th!! Here’s the cover art, hope you love it (and a special thank you to the special boy that made it happen) <33
On the cover, a picture of Gojo.
Not as you’d seen him in the bedroom, of course. It’d been exciting work to get to the studio, to don him in the most ethereal flowy whites, to place him in the midst of a blank background and stud his hair with roses, to bathe him in a dreamy light. It was almost hazy. In the picture, his face was turned away but he was staring into the camera- and…perhaps past it.
Right where you’d been, directing him.
With such a loving glimmering in his eyes that it made one almost shy to directly at it.
Your vision had some to life.
It quickly racks up a comfortable million plus views on Twitter, and you quietly shut off your phone as the notifications keep beeping. Instead, snuggling up to Gojo right back in your penthouse, right beside you (not before you give him a lecture on double-checking the pictures he posts, of course.)
synopsis: a story in which a depressed satoru gets sent to the future and sees just how bright it eventually becomes. meanwhile, you're reminded of how much of a brat your husband used to be when you first started dating.
cw: MDNI, time travel, smut w/ a touch of angst bc we LOVE plot, satoru's actually so mean at first lol, dad!jo (him and reader share a daughter together)
notes: hiiii we got 6.5k words for this one ❤️ comm for the lovely @sadlittlecucumber i hope u like!!!!
song rec: drag path — twenty one pilots
Satoru’s life ended up being a fucking bummer.
His best friend’s a mass murderer. Shoko’s gone off to do her own thing with medicine. Nanami left to go become a banker or whatever. Ijichi’s… Ijichi. Oh, and Haibara’s dead. Everyone who’s alive seems to have moved on— so should Satoru, honestly. But times proved that to be quite difficult.
He’s starting to understand where Suguru was coming from with the whole exorcise-absorb mantra. Except for him, it was exorcise and destroy, leaving every cursed site he’s stepped foot on looking like god himself decided to hit the reset button to obliterate the place.
Nobody says anything about it. He’s probably the closest thing to a god. Despite having tried his hardest all throughout his youth to fit in and act as if he was just like everyone else, people were still terrified to fuck with him.
And despite the chaos he’s constantly surrounded by— mainly from his own doing— the days still find a way to bleed into each other, morphing into a never ending cycle of boredom and violence. It’s quite the combo. The higher ups are lucky he’s too tired to plot anything behind their backs.
He’s exhausted.
The past is too blurry. The future’s too bleak.
Gojo was bound to fuck up sooner or later. The thought of him finally snapping like Suguru did, dangling in the back of his mind, taunting him.
He didn’t snap. It’s so much worse than that. At least in the eyes of the arrogant boy who got bested by, what he assumed to be a grade two curse because of how pudgy and stupid it looked. The thing that caught him lacking looked like a fucking blob fish that struggled with crippling anxiety, how the hell was he supposed to know that it could mess with timeof all things?
One moment he’s laughing at the way it looks, the next he’s in the complete dark.
That was the first time he’s smiled in months, by the way.
“Huh?” Satoru huffs out, trying to look around before eventually realizing that he has a blindfold on, and rips it off in annoyance. “Don’t tell me that thing knocked me out,” he begins to grumble to himself. It’d explain why he had a blindfold on… but then he realized he was in a completely different outfit, one that you didn’t put on someone who was currently in rest and recovery.
He highly doubts Shoko would even change him, anyway, at least not for this.
“Oh hey, you’re home.”
Home?
He looks around, and all he knows is this isn’t the dorm he’s continued to stay in after graduation, purely due to the fact that he was already out on missions for up to 18 hours each day. Not to mention that the penthouse he was currently standing in was too clean to be his. Too warm. Way too comfortable.
You already knew there was something deeply off in those first few seconds of looking into his eyes. This wasn’t your husband— this was the hot mess you met and still fell in love with all those years ago.
You tilt your head to the side, more curious than cautious, “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” he snorts, literally the worst liar ever. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know,” you hum, holding eye contact long enough to leave him feeling a bit unsettled. “You tell me.”
First of all, who the fuck do you think you are speaking to him like that?
Second, who even are you?
Something big and shiny on your finger catches his attention, then he looks at his own hand that has an equally shiny band around his ring finger.
Fuck.
“Honey–”
Satoru physically cringes at the pet name, giving himself away once again.
“I’m not Satoru,” he blurts out, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “I mean, I am, but I’m not— FUCK– some fuckin’ curse blasted me into the future, and I need to go back.”
Well, that was quick. He’s always quick to fold under pressure when it comes to you— it’s something he’s unaware of though, as he fights back the urge to start pacing back and forth.
There’s a light smack from your mouth when you go to open it, only for the words to never even come, let alone die out. Nothing about this surprises you. This is not the craziest thing that’s happened since you’ve met Satoru.
Your lips thin into a smile as you take a deep breath, knowing you had no choice but to accept your new circumstances.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” He raises a brow at how you just… accepted it.
“Yeah… I believe it.” You respond flatly, then point at him, casually motioning your finger up and down. “Your attitude kinda sucked when we first met.”
He grimaces, taken aback by the statement. “No, it doesn’t–”
“You also liked to argue, too.”
“Okay— whatever,” he waves a dismissive hand, not at all interested in hearing what else you had to say. At this point, it just sounded like you wanted to shit on him, something he actually doesn’t have any fucking time for right now. “You’re a sorcerer… right?”
“No.”
“Christ.” Satoru sighs, turning on his heel. “You’re fuckin’ useless—“
You scoff, more humored than offended. “Where are you going?”
“To figure this shit out!” he snaps, throwing his arms out as he turns around to face you.
“Okay,” you shrug, still way too calm for Satoru’s liking, as it pisses him off even more. “If you don’t get it all figured out tonight, you can always come back. We have a guest room.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He huffs out a bitter laugh, as if that was the dumbest suggestion he’s ever heard. “I appreciate the offer.”
–
“Yaga” Satoru storms into the principal’s office, ignoring all his cursed stuffed animals, but noticing what he’s done with his hair. “What the fuck happened to you?”
The principal's brows pinch together, wishing he had locked the door to his office. Satoru fucked with him enough today by showing up to a meeting 20 minutes late with some sugary frap in his hand, and now he’s storming into his office, insulting him out of nowhere.
“Actually, nevemind.” Satoru waves a hand to stop him from even answering his question, reminding himself not to get sidetracked right now. “Look, I need your help. I got sent into the future by some curse, and I need to get back.”
Yaga inhales sharply. “What are you even talking about?”
“Exactly what I just said! I’m from 2009! Not whatever age I am now—”
“31.”
Satoru throws up a little in his mouth. “Send me back.”
Yaga lets out a long, disappointed sigh. It’s always something with Satoru. Always. Having to deal with the younger version of him was a painful reminder that he’s been dealing with his bullshit for well over a decade now. Nothing surprises him anymore.
“Let me see if some other windows would be willing to help look through the library. I’m sure you’ll be able to find information on what kind of curse you got hit with.”
“Thank you,” Satoru groans, still not very pleased by everyone’s reactions thus far, but grateful that he can at least get somewhere with Yaga… unlike a certain somebody.
Hours later, he finds himself at the school’s dusty, unkept library. It looks worse than it originally looked before he walked in. Books sprawled everywhere. Research papers were scattered all over the tables and floor. Assistants running around in every direction, more than half of them terrified at the total 180 in Satoru’s attitude.
“W-we can’t find anything,” Ijichi says, too old to be acting this scared in Satoru’s opinion.
He hums, elbows still resting on his knees, not bothering to sit up. “Hey, Ijichi?”
Ijichi gulped loudly, managing to annoy the world’s strongest sorcerer even more. “...Yes?”
“How are you even more incompetent now than you were before?”
“I tried my best! I swear!”
“Well, it’s not good enough— I’m still here!” he snaps at the nervous wreck of a man. Thank fucking god Ijichi listened to him and just became a window. He sucks at it too, but at least it’s easier for this dumbass to avoid death. “God— what the fuck am I supposed to do now?!”
“This is just one of the libraries, there’s more! And some in Kyoto too, that we’ll have the Kyoto branch check out.”
“Do whatever you need to do. I’m just letting you know right now that if I'm not back by tomorrow, you better watch the fuck out.”
The threat is followed by complete dead silence, aside from a certain someone's breath catching in horror.
“Me?!” Ijichi squeaks out.
The sorcerer doesn’t bother answering that and instead walks away, grumbling something insulting under his breath, just in complete and utter disbelief over how Ijichi truly hasn’t changed.
—
You figured your husband would eventually come back, so you set some food aside for him, and now you’re sitting at the dinner table, trying not to laugh at the pout on his face as he picks at his dinner with the chopsticks in his hand.
“Is the food good?”
“Sure.”
“I can warm that up for you, if you want?” you ask, barely trying to hide your amusement.
“No thanks,” he curtly responds before shoving another piece of karaage into his mouth. He’s known to have a sweet tooth, but chicken karaage’s probably his favorite food, savory wise. You almost want to tell him that he’s allowed to enjoy food even if his day hasn’t gone the way he had planned. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped staring.”
Your lips twitch, threatening to break out into a fit of laughter. “Right, sorry.”
“Mommy…? Is Daddy home yet?”
Oh great. As if the day couldn’t get any worse— now there’s a child.
“Yeah,” you respond in a tentative tone, shooting Satoru a look that screams ‘behave or else’, and even though you are currently a stranger to him, it intimidates him enough to behave for the time being.
A little girl, no older than 4 years old, walks into the kitchen and Satoru’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head upon seeing his daughter. It’s pretty obvious she’s his with her baby blue eyes and stark white hair. Her facial features are entirely yours, though. It’s strange to see.
“Hey… kiddo—” he awkwardly says, not really sure how to address the little girl. You clear your throat, mouthing ‘princess’ when he looks at you, because your daughter also happens to have her dad’s attitude. “I mean princess.”
It’s hilarious how unnatural it sounds right now when he was the one who started calling her that the moment you two took her home from the hospital.
“You pomis to wead bedtime stowie,” she starts to pout— same exact way he does.
“Did I?” He gives the girl a sympathetic look, albeit fake.
“Yeah,” she frowns as she walks up to you, giving him the world’s nastiest side eye. “Liar.”
Why is that the one word she’s able to enunciate correctly? She didn’t even stutter.
“Yeah— I was a little busy with work today,” he murmurs, as if she knew what that even meant. With the glare she was giving him, he doubted she’d even care if he broke down what work and the importance of it was. “Maybe mommy can read to you tonight?”
Sai wasn’t having that.
Satoru spent the end of his night reading her favorite book to her. Multiple times. He almost asked if it was some form of punishment for not upholding a promise he didn’t technically make himself, but decided against it in fear that she’d make him read it one more time. Sai fell asleep… eventually. Despite there being no way to prove it, he knows that the little girl forced herself to stay up out of pure spite.
But still, he finds himself smiling as he thinks about his nightmare of a future, not wiping it off quickly enough when you lightly knock on the guest bedroom door.
“Here’s some jammys for the night.” You smile back as you walk up and hand him a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt, both neatly folded up. “Figured you wouldn’t want to sleep in your work clothes.”
“Oh uh— thanks.” He clears his throat and forces out a laugh, pushing through the embarrassment of getting caught smiling to himself.
You’re giving him that look again. The one that’s mixed with amusement and a bit of fondness, where you look like you’re about to start making fun of him, but never do. Satoru would rather die than admit it makes him nervous.
“What?”
There’s a small pause as your smile grows. “Do you like your kid?”
“She’s weird.”
“Yeah, no— you wouldn’t believe who she got that from.”
“Fuck off.” A laugh easily slips through his lips this time, unable to stay serious at the thought of her inheriting even just a quarter of the traits he had as a child. Then it grows quiet again as he realizes she probably has the freedom to be a kid.
He wants to ask, but you beat him to it with a statement that answered the question he had in mind.
“Your duties as her father don’t end just because you managed to time travel by the way,” you say playfully, though he knows you’re being dead serious.
He can only guess what other horrors that little girl will subject him to for the rest of his time here. To put it simply, she’s not afraid of Dad.
For once, somebody doesn’t look at him as a god to fear.
—
It’s been over a month.
Ijichi and the rest of the windows are just as useless as they were when they first started trying to find answers. All that’s changed is that Nanami knows, and doesn’t seem to be too thrilled about the fact that he is now involved.
But still, the search for the fix to his predicament continues, turning every library and warehouse upside down. That’s all they could really do— aside from asking the elders for assistance of some sort.
Over his dead body.
Knowing they’d most likely do more harm than good, everyone’s agreed to keep this all a little secret from them.
So all that’s left to do, or rather forced to do, is to be patient. It’s hard. Satoru doesn’t do patient— he’s the type to snap his fingers and have a solution magically appear right before his eyes. You can only imagine how difficult it’s been for him to accept that he can’t immediately get what he wants right now.
Not to mention the fact that he had to continue working throughout all of this, but that wasn’t very surprising.
Now, what was surprising was learning that he has his weekends completely to himself. If anything, he assumed he’d just work more as time went on, but no. Turns out he threatened to kill the higher-ups if they didn’t let him have that when you two got married.
Satoru looks over your body once.
Twice.
He totally understands his future self.
He looks again for a third time, and you just so conveniently turn around, showing off your cute, frilly little apron covered in flour streaks.
It’s Sunday— you’ve been baking sweet treats all morning, and he wishes he had been a little nicer to you. Especially a couple of days ago when he snapped at you.
You had found him sitting alone on the balcony, head in his hands from yet another day of failure.
“Hey… any good news?”
“No,” he said impatiently. “If there was, I wouldn’t fucking be here right now.”
“Fair enough.” Your voice took a dip as you looked at the ground, allowing yourself to feel a little hurt for a moment before trying to lift the mood again. “Well… me and Sai stopped by your favorite bakery and got you the cookies you like if you wanted some—“
“No— no,” Satoru cut you off. “I don’t want your fucking cookies. I don’t want to do a family movie night where all we watch is Ms. Rachel. I don’t want to read some book about a mouse trying to become a fucking painter over and over again. I don’t want ANY of it. I want to fucking go home— what part about that do you not get?”
You tried to stand as straight as possible despite your shoulders growing heavier, pushing against the small frown threatening to carve itself across your face. You forgot how mean he used to be, at least during that first year of dating him. It only stings more because the man you married would never raise his voice like that, and you remind yourself that this isn’t him.
After a long pause, he looked up at you and immediately felt guilt wash over him.
“I didn’t mean that,” he tried to meet your eyes as he began to backtrack. “I’m sorry, I just— fuck. I didn’t mean any of that—”
“It’s fine.” You forced yourself to look at him again and smile. “I’ll uh… give you some space.”
The one thing about Satoru is that he doesn’t apologize. Like ever. So, one could only imagine how painfully awkward it was later that night when he knocked on your bedroom door to say he was sorry. It didn’t help that you were in a paper-thin silk slip, skin glistening from the lotion you rubbed all over it— he spent half his time trying not to stare at your tits. Had you been anyone else, it wouldn’t have felt as genuine.
But thank fuck he apologized, you probably would’ve spent all day ignoring him.
You raise a brow, and his cheeks start to pink. “What are you staring at?”
“Nothing, you just–” he awkwardly gestures at your entire body, “there’s flour all over you.”
It almost sounds like he’s offended by it. He kind of is. You keep your foot on his fucking neck— he doesn’t even know why he came out here.
“Oh, right— 'cause messes have always bothered you,” you lean over the island ever so slightly. The pink on his cheeks darkens as you do, unable to control his eyes from drifting down to your cleavage. And while he’s not exactly ashamed of looking— you are his wife after all— he can’t help but be a little flustered.
He’s always had a thing for milfs.
Especially when said milf is talking about messes— he knows a couple of places he could make a mess on right now.
“Nah,” he rests his elbows on the marble counter as a playful grin stretches across his face. “This is nothing compared to how I like it.”
You tilt your head, a small laugh escaping you as you rest your chin over your palm, curious to see where this conversation will get you.
“How do you like it?” you ask, as if you didn’t already know how filthy and depraved he could get when he’s alone in a room with you.
And you fucking miss that.
He opens his mouth to respond.
Then you hear your daughter whimpering about waking up alone. It’s nothing new, and you revert back to mom mode as you watch her turn the corner and waddle towards you.
Satoru, on the other hand, is not used to this. The slightly bruised laugh he lets out just barely masks his desire to fucking scream. What a fucking cockblock— no wonder you only have one kid.
His kid completely ignores his existence as she wraps herself around your leg, continuing to whimper despite no actual tears streaming down her cheeks. “I had a nightmawh.”
Meanwhile, there’s Satoru, who has yet to wake up from his very own nightmare. He internally sighs, then attempts to grab her attention because it doesn’t feel very good watching her give it all to you. “You wanna share a muffin with daddy?”
It’s starting to sound more natural.
“Y-yeah,” she sniffles.
Minutes later, she’s sitting on his lap, absolutely demolishing the blueberry muffin they ended up splitting— a complete 180. He couldn’t be mad, even if he tried.
His little girl was a dream.
—
Month two. Ijichi is still as useless as ever. He stopped complaining to you about him, though. You noticed he doesn’t talk about going back to his original timeline all that much anymore.
It’s not like Satoru’s given up hope, he’s just more present, as if he finally realized that wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to send him back any faster. He’s unknowingly more like his future self— laid back, not a care in the world.
He’s even sleeping in for once. It’s not that hard though when Sai’s gone for the day. She seemed to care more about getting the hell out of the house with her grandparents than greeting her father a good morning. You didn’t push her to, either— figuring Satoru needed the sleep. He always does.
It’s too bad that his phone started blowing up at around 10:00 am. Unfortunately for you, he left his phone in the living room, leaving you to get up and grab it since the master bedroom was the closest room to it. With how thick the walls are, you doubt he’d even hear it.
With a long sigh, you rise from bed, rubbing the sleep off your eyes as you snatch the stupid phone off the coffee table.
The snores coming from Satoru reach your ears before you even open the door. You have to hold back a laugh as you walk in and take a look at him. Face down, his long limbs sprawled over the bed, messy white hair sticking out in all directions.
You reach out and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, surprised infinity is off.
“Toru?” He stirs a bit, and you cautiously attempt to wake him up again. “Toru— someone’s been trying to call you for the past 10 minutes now.”
He lifts his head, eyes still sealed shut as he murmurs, “Who?”
“Uhh,” you look at the screen, unsure of who it might be. “Your contact name for them is nerd.”
You know it’s not Ijichi because his contact name is “courage 🐶” in his phone. Someone else must've annoyed Satoru for him to change yet another contact.
Satoru shoves his head back into the pillow and groans before taking the phone off your hands.
It’s Nanami. He, of all people, should know now is not the time to be blowing up his phone right now because he is fucking sleeping. It’s a Saturday for fucks sake.
Satoru sighs and accepts the call, grumbling into the phone. “What?”
Nanami cuts straight to the chase, as he would rather be doing anything else right now.
“How long are you planning on hiding your secret from the higher-ups?” he asks in a clipped tone.
Satoru rubs his eyes, too tired to return the same sense of urgency his friend seems to have at the moment. “Forever.”
“Don’t give me that.” A vein pops up on the side of the usually stoic man’s forehead. “They asked me about you this morning. They know something’s up. I can’t keep covering for you if it means my own safety’s on the line.”
“You really haven’t changed, have you?” It’s more of a statement than a question.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean—“
“You’ll be fine,” Satoru cuts him off. “They’re always up my ass anyway. I doubt they’re even suspicious. They just don’t know how to mind their own fuckin’ business. Seriously. You’re worrying over nothing right now.”
“I swear to god Gojo, if you—“
“Kay’ good night.”
Click.
Nanami’s probably fuming right now, but he’ll get over it. Satoru wanted to enjoy this. Lying in a comfy bed, surrounded by nothing but peace and quiet. He closes his eyes and stretches a bit, then rests his hands behind his head.
He would’ve forgotten that you were still sitting at the edge of the bed had you not lightly cleared your throat. One eye opens to look at you, then closes. The last thing he wants to do is share the reason why Nanami had been blowing up his phone all morning.
“Just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not here.” You cross your arms. “What was that all about?”
“Nothin’,” he easily says. “Just Nanami being Nanami— the guy’s a fuckin’ stickler for no reason.”
“That’s a little rude, no?” you chastise him.
“So is waking me up.”
“Sai wakes you up all the time, though.”
“Sai’s a ball of sunshine,” he says, quickly coming to her defense. “Not a grown man with depression— where is she by the way?”
“She’s spending the afternoon with my parents.”
Both eyes open this time, and stay open. “Why didn’t you go with them?”
“No way,” you wave a hand. “I need a break, too.”
“Yeah, no— I’m sure,” he agrees, feeling flustered all the sudden.
And Satoru being Satoru, he doesn’t do a very good job of hiding it, once again forgetting that you can read him better than anyone else can.
You smile, scooching closer, “You good there?”
“Yeah, m’fine,” he murmurs, trying not to shift around too much.
“I can take care of that, you know.”
“What?”
“That.” You look down at the boner he’s been trying to hide since finding out it’s just you two here.
“That’s not—“ His brain straight up short-circuits. “You don’t think that’s weird?”
“No.” You continue to inch forward, getting closer to him. “Do you think it’s weird?”
“No— never,” he shakes his head, answering a little too fast. “Fuck— won’t future me get mad?”
“Not at all. The most he’d probably do is make me show him what we did.”
“Make you show him?” he repeats after you in disbelief.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, that’s— that’s fuckin’ hot.”
Minutes later, you’re leaning forward with your hand wrapped around his base, and his breath catches as you start to slowly pump his cock.
“Feel good?”
His lids lower as he hums, “yeah— keep going.”
You lean forward, letting a string of spit fall from your lips to the tip of his cock, letting it mix with the precum that was already beading down from it. The wet sounds of you stroking him begin to grow, making the heat in between your legs start to pool.
“Can I sit on it?” You look up at him, batting your lashes as you innocently ask.
“Please,” he blurts out, just about ready to start begging you to.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t just as eager as him after all the weeks spent pretending like you don’t notice the way he stares at you. Lustfully. The slip you’re wearing happens to be extra short today, so you forego stripping down and practically pounce on him. Your soaked panties grazing over his rock-hard length as you straddle him, letting yourself get comfortable while Satoru grows impatient.
His hands find themselves planted on your hips and pull you down. A low groan escapes him as he grinds you against him. “God— fuck me. Please.”
“Well, since you’re being so sweet—”
You reach down, hooking a finger into the fabric of your panties, pulling them to the side. He’s already lining himself up with your entrance, teasing your hole as he runs his tip through your folds, collecting all the slick. His lips part as he watches in awe at how damn wet you are.
His head tips back as you lower yourself, groaning and rambling to himself as if you weren’t there to hear it all.
"Fuck. You’re so hot.” His words come out strained as he watches you start to take him inch by inch, slowly working yourself open. “So fuckin’ tight, too.”
“Mmm— forgot how big you are.” Your voice is all soft and breathy from the fullness, nails slowly digging into his abs as you bottom out.
It takes a minute to adjust— it has been 3 months after all. But then you finally roll your hips, and Satoru almost starts singing praises at how good you are at that— lifting your hips all the way up and throwing them back, taking all of him.
"Fuck yeah– just like that," he breathes, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. "Feels so fucking good."
You murmur back a measly, “kay,” already dizzy from the stretch. You’re able to keep up the pace on your own for a bit, until you feel his grip on you tighten and the sounds of skin slapping against his start to grow as he starts to help you out.
You wouldn’t exactly call it help though, not when he ended up doing all the work— holding you steady while he practically bounces you on his cock, pulling more and more moans out of you as the head of his cock repeatedly kissed your sweet spot with almost no effort.
"You take it so good," he groans, pupils blown wide as he starts to feel himself lose control, snapping his hips up a little harder than the last. He wants more, he always wants more— so he pulls you forward and pulls your straps down far enough for your tits to spill out. "Perfect fuckin’ tits. Been thinking about these for weeks."
You let out a surprised gasp as he pops a nipple in his mouth with no warning. You fully believe him with the way he starts sucking and swirling and flicking his tongue over your sensitive bud, all while snapping his hips up harder.
He pulls back with a pop, looking up at you for approval. “Was that good?”
“Mhm.” There’s a fucked out expression on your face as you weakly nod. “Harder.”
“You want me to fuck you harder?”
“Yeah.”
Something in him snaps. Eager to please you, he flips you over and folds you underneath him— grabbing the back of your knees and pinning them to your chest so he can drive his cock into you deeper.
“Better?”
He drives his hips forward again, knocking the air out of your lungs. “God— yes.”
“I can’t— fuck— can’t believe you’re all mine, can’t believe I get to have you,” he starts to ramble as the sounds of him absolutely pounding into you fill the room. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect— all of you.”
He crashes his lips into yours— the kiss is messy, powered by hunger. Satoru’s always been overwhelming, but it’s been years since it’s been this emotionally intense. He fucks you like he needs you, like he’s been waiting for you all his life.
Your walls begin to squeeze and flutter around his cock, pulling another groan out of him. “You close?”
“Yeah,” you whine, feeling the pressure begin to coil. “Keep going.”
He’s close too, you can tell by how sloppy his thrusts have grown, no longer trying to control himself as he starts chasing after both of your releases. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck and fucks you faster, harder— balls slapping against your ass with each lewd wet squelch.
Your orgasm hits you hard after one particularly rough thrust. Scratching at his back as a cry tears through you, and it only goes straight to his dick, not even realizing just how overstimulated you are from the way he drills into you.
“Fuck.” It’s just one word that comes out of his mouth after realizing how hard he’s about to fucking cum. He bites into your shoulder as his balls start to tighten, squeezing his eyes shut as he braces himself.
When it happens, it’s a lot. He shoves himself deep inside of you, unaware of all the weight he puts on you as hot spurts of cum begin to flood your walls. Slowly grinding against you, letting your tight pussy milk the rest of him.
You’re wrecked by the end of it. You both are— lids tired and heavy, bodies sore and out of breath.
And in the end, you just let yourself fall asleep, unaware of the soft kiss pressed against your temple as he watched you.
—
It’s month three, and Satoru doesn’t want to go back.
What was the point? It’s not like he had anyone or anything to go back to. Jujutsu Society never crumbled from him getting shot into the future. Would it really be that bad if he just never went back and continued on with his life from here?
He hasn’t uttered a word about it out loud, but the way he completely stopped asking Yaga and Ijichi for updates was telling of where he was at mentally.
Acceptance.
He likes his life here.
You’ve come to your own conclusion after these last three months.
No wonder why he was so hot and cold when you were trying to get to know him. Satoru got a little taste of genuine comfort, only for it to be ripped away from him sometime before you two actually met. It explains all the times you wondered why he even tried with you, despite being too emotionally inept to even be in a relationship. He probably went through the beginning of your relationship thinking you could disappear at any second.
With that being said, he can’t stay here. As much as you’d love to continue being the source of comfort for this version of Satoru, he needs to experience the last year he spent alone before meeting you. He needs to feel cautious around you. He needs to try and fail at opening up a handful of times before getting comfortable with the idea of truly being vulnerable with a person. Getting over that element of fear he had towards getting close to others is what made him a husband and father— he couldn’t just skip that part of his life.
You have no idea how you’re going to tell him that, though. You’re not one to kick a sick puppy, especially one as cute as him. He’s so happy here with you and Sai that the thought of doing so makes your chest ache.
He’s having a tea party with Sai right now, limbs way too long to sit in the little stool she pulled up for him to sit in. He drinks imaginary tea from the plastic pink cup she hands him, and your chest aches some more. You force yourself to look away before the tears start.
You’d do the next 11 years all over again if you could.
“Hey, Honey?” Satoru calls out to you.
There’s a pause before you whip your head around— it’s been months since he’s called you that. There’s nothing but warmth and fondness in his eyes as his gaze meets yours. “Why is Nanami’s number saved under ‘nerd’ in my phone?”
He’s back.
“I don’t know,” you laugh, despite the tear falling down your cheek. “You tell me.”
—
Satoru didn’t want to believe it when everything around him went dark once again. It’s not until his feet touch the ground with a soft thud and he finds himself back in his messy, cold dorm when reality slapped him across the face.
Something between a sob and a gut-wrenching scream rips from his throat. Grabbing the round shades he had hoped he’d never have to fucking wear again, he rips them off his face and sends it crashing into the wall, breaking into a hundred little pieces. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t give himself a chance to even breathe or think before raising his hand and releasing a purple orb with just a flick of his fingers.
Impulsive. Reckless. Deadly.
Satoru was fucking devastated.
Nobody knew what triggered him that night. All they knew was that the east wing of the school looked like it had been hit by an asteroid by the time he calmed down. He didn’t speak to anyone for a good two weeks following the incident. Everyone wants to think he was lucky the explosion didn’t have any casualties, but then they remembered who he was: Satoru fucking Gojo.
God’s don’t get punished, nor do natural disasters— it’s hard to tell which one he was at this point.
One Year Later
“If it’s that small of a curse, why are you sending me there?” Satoru continues to argue with one of the new managers over the phone.
It wasn’t that small of a curse. It was a grade one. But still, given the sorcerer’s title as a special grade, he was overqualified for the job.
“I’m sorry, we just don’t have anyone available to take on the case at the moment.” The young woman continues to apologize over the phone. “I think we might have a grade 3 available for the job. I- I can check—”
“Save it.” Satoru cuts her off. He wasn’t that heartless to push the case off to some 15 year old. That’s exactly how Haibara died. “Send me the address.”
The mission was nothing short of an inconvenience for him. He liked a challenge when exorcising curses, and the damn thing didn’t even put up a fucking fight. He traveled 2 hours to get here just for that? Unbelievable.
He wasn’t ready to leave and sit on a train for another 2 hours just yet, so he decided to walk around the town for a bit.
It was a cute place, a little quiet. Kinda boring. That’s never a bad thing, though. Lots of mom and pop shops, a few coffee shops scattered around, one of which he decided to try. A little sugar’s always good, at least to him.
The smell of vanilla and roasted coffee beans hit him as he walked into the place. There was a decent amount of customers inside. Not too much to feel crowded, but enough to stay busy. He keeps his eyes on the menu the entire time. The line moves fast, and he figures out what he wants just in time.
“And what can I get started for you today?”
His eyes are still on the screen, reading the item off the menu.
“Can I get a white chocolate mocha frappuccino, with an extra pump of…” his words die out, and his eyes widen as he finally looks at the girl taking his order. “Hey.”
“Hi.” You laugh at the way this stranger loses his train of thought. “Extra pump of white chocolate syrup?”
“Yeah.” He exhales, unable to rip his eye off you as you write the words down on the plastic cup with a sharpie.
“Name for the order?”
“Go– Satoru,” he corrects himself. “It’s Satoru.”
He’s a little awkward, but you still find him quite charming and smile. “Alright, Satoru. Your order should be ready in about 10 minutes.”
“Awesome. Thanks,” he nods rather pathetically, then goes to sit in an empty corner of the shop with only one thought in mind:
He has 10 minutes to come up with what to say to get your number.
synopsis: trusted with finding his heartbroken friend in a sex club, bakugou finds you instead.
warnings: nsfw, heavy exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), fondling, grinding, kissing, mentions of oral (m receiving), public sex, everyone’s naked, everyone’s horny, they’re in a sex club, in my head this is set in germany, still somewhat cute because i am bfbkg
an: tumblr has me on a mature ban which is funny because this is very mature. let’s see if anyone gets this on their dash or if it’s in the tags xoxoxo
bakugou katsuki has stupid friends that make stupid choices.
“stop fuckin’ lookin’ at me like that.”
“what? you gotta get more confident man, you look good. everyone’s gonna be naked in there,” kirishima chuckles, staring down his blonde friend even though they’ve seen each other naked more than they can count. changing rooms, missions abroad with one hotel room, even an undercover situation where they had to bathe outside in a river. kirishima’s voice turns to a whisper, clutching his clothing to his chest, “don’t turn around there’s naked people behind you.”
“fuck off,” bakugou grunts stepping in unison with kirishima in the queue to slide his clothing across the cloakroom desk. “i’m gonna kill sparky once we find him.”
“arm.” the attendant demands, this bored looking guy who’s probably seen more testicles this one night than bakugou has seen his own.
“for what?” bakugou spits and it only comes out rude because he’s nervous. he’s already had his phone snatched away at the door, which explains why kaminari hasn’t been replying to their texts and now he’s standing with his dick out before a clothed man.
“cloakroom number. you’ve got no pockets.”
bakugou blinks as kirishima chuckles, handing over his clothes and holding out the inside of his muscled arm. bakugou does the same, frowning when he gets a red stamp on his left wrist.
22.
“can’t believe you’ve been to this shithole before,” bakugou grunts. he can’t stop fixing his hair, rubbing his nose, then adjusting his dick. there’s no clothes to fiddle with or pockets to stuff his hands into.
he’s following kirishima down this smoky purple led lit hallway and he can hear bustles of conversation and slow jazz getting louder with every step.
“denks took me once last summer. it was fun, everyone’s so friendly and it’s definitely not a shithole. if anything it’s pretty freeing, very clean. nothing to hide.”
he’s got no clue what that’s supposed to mean, not until he follows behind kirishima through these red velvet curtains and analyses the scene before him.
there’s a minty smell in the air, a thick layer of smoke so you can only make out details of someone once they’re beside you. the room is coated in that same pale purple light with people everywhere. multiple body shapes, genders and the only accessories being earrings.
bakugou’s never had nudity before him at this amount. he knows his friends have taken part in threesomes, a few foursomes but bakugou’s only ever been intimate with two people in his life. sex has never been a focus, not when he was so busy with saving the world… and his drunk friend who’s somewhere wallowing about his ex girlfriend.
“some people have their fuckin’ underwear on. i coulda kept mine!” bakugou whispers in his red headed friend’s ear even nudging him in annoyance.
it’s intimating. there’s women lounging in sofas, legs crossed, legs spread. arms cuddling another in conversation. two women are making out against the wall, her fingers snaking down her stomach and stuffing into the others pussy.
bakugou’s eyes widen, swings around so his back is facing them.
only to be facing a woman straddling a man’s lap, kissing down his neck, wrist flicking between their bodies. he looks to the bar and there’s three men talking, one with his hand on the others lower back pinging at his underwear band. then the third pops a pill in his mouth and swallows it down with an orange liquid. the men giggle, a palm on a chest, a leg between another, a tongue in an ear and—
kirishima shrugs and bakugou can tell he’s not fazed by anything. in fact, he’s interested. looking at the lean man against the wall, swishing a drink by the stem of his glass. he chews down on his bottom lip once he locks eyes with him.
“okay, let’s split up, he last said he was at the back? incase he’s moved, you stay at the front.” kirishima orders, seemingly now in a rush to get everything sorted.
bakugou eyes the man who’s staring down his friend. then the man looks at him, gaze slinking down his body, his cock. winks. bakugou’s eyes go to golf balls.
“you’re gonna leave me?”
kirishima laughs, already ducking out of the conversation, “i’m sure you’ll be safe, bro. you’ll get hit on a few times just say whatever you usually say.”
“how the fuck are you gonna find me again?”
“this place isn’t that big. i’ll check upstairs.”
“there’s a fuckin’ upstairs?” bakugou mumbles to himself once kirishima disappears within the purple haze.
bakugou knows he could be paranoid but he can feel people staring at him. it’s unlike the usual stare he gets as a hero, fans impressed with his quirk, who have been following him for years and are excited to see him in the flesh. instead the stares he’s getting now, as he wanders through this faux house gathering are charged.
people are eying him like fresh meat, as if they can feel that this is his first time being naked in a public space. his anxiety smells good, only brewing arousal in these people.
a man ogles his arms like they’re chunks of chocolate. a woman stares straight at his cock and smiles when it twitches. he’s about to beg a security guard who stands in a suit at the door for his jacket until he remembers why he’s here.
to find his stupid fuckin’ friend who’s drunk himself in a sad stupor. nobody else here seems to be on that wave. chatting like they’re at a casual houseparty but lacking all their clothes.
bakugou circles one room, ignoring the whispers of two women sitting cross legged on the carpet. one is leaning on her hand behind her back, breasts out and perked.
“hey handsome,” she says and bakugou can only bring himself to nod.
he scatters into the next room. people making out on a sofa. a group of five are playing spin the bottle around the table. a woman with blonde hair is in heaven, moaning with her head flung back as everyone watches on. a few men touch themselves to it but pull away when another man springs from under the table, wiping his mouth.
“fuck, i’ve been wanting to do that!”
“spin the goddamn bottle, i wanna try!”
one of the guys notices him looking, “oi! wanna play? i think you're my friend’s type.”
bakugou doesn’t even bother to reply, glancing away with the snap of his head. one step forward and he bumps into a body.
soft and shorter than him. skin on skin, his hand brushing against a breast as he stabilises himself and clutches on your arm so you don’t fall in the process.
bakugou has to blink a few times to get his vision straight. just so he can be sure what he’s seeing is correct.
bakugou’s not sure what word to describe you but the first word that comes to mind is glittery. you’ve got a light glitter across your perfect chest, your arms, your— he stops once he sees a tuft of hair below your stomach. heat rises to his cheeks faster than ever before and he knows, he fucking feels the rush of blood to his cock.
you’re so fucking pretty.
“you’ve got glitter on me,” is the first thing he says but makes no move to wipe it off. instead he looks at that spot where your neck meets your shoulder, how smooth it looks. then, the plain gold hooped earrings in your ears and your shiny watery eyes. nothing about you is symmetrical, not the shape of your eyebrows or your breasts. your lips are luscious, clearly moisturised and he wonders if you’ve kissed anyone tonight.
bakugou katsuki has never met anyone naked for the first time. especially not the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on. nothing could have prepared him for this. nothing kirishima prepped him about in the car, definitely nothing in his hero education.
you giggle, butter smooth, hands at your waist and your head cocked to the side like you’re analysing.
“gives something for people to remember me by,” you grin, your teeth are not perfect but your smile is so insanely adorable. bakugou steps forward. “it’s also a hack for any married men. their wives get to find out what they’re doing in the evenings.”
bakugou’s brows rise. “that’s smart.”
“yeah, it happens more than you think.”
bakugou inhales. it’s a little shaky when he takes in your citrus perfume and the mint that feels like it’s being pumped in the air. you must be able to tell how on edge he is right now, overwhelmed and even more so now with your presence. he’s grateful you don’t look past his adonis belt, because then you’d understand exactly how he’s feeling.
“can i touch you? you’re so built. i’ve never seen anyone who looks like you,” you murmur, transfixed by his body. your eyes dart across his pectorals, his brown nipples and then his abdomen. bakugou can’t distinguish whether it’s interest in a biological way or sexually. especially when you stare at the soft tissue pink scar right in the centre of his chest.
bakugou swallows a gulp of his spit. he’s supposed to be finding… they must be pumping pheromones in the air because somehow he’s willing to get on his knees in front of everyone and stuff his head between your legs.
“fuck,” he sniffs abruptly, “y-yeah, you can.”
the little “yay!” that tumbles through you surprises him, creates a whole new folder in his head of how you’re endearing. right beside how sexy you look.
you flatten both your palms on his pectorals first, causing bakugou to inhale sharply. his chest is falling and rising hastily just from that, from you being fucking pretty and naked and interested in him. you squeeze, lips in an o shape in shock.
“they’re softer than i thought. wow, you’re beautiful,” you say with a smile, thumbs brushing over his nipples. bakugou is forced to grip a bookshelf beside him. “you must be in the gym everyday.”
“n-not exactly,” he manages as your finger strokes the smooth scar on his chest, then the two darker brown fleshy scars at his side. they don’t hurt him anymore, haven’t hurt him for years but somehow you touching them so inquisitively has sparks flying through them. “i’m a…”
does he say his job? can you guess?
“you don’t have to tell me now if you don’t want to. maybe later.”
you draw your fingers across his eight pack, a finger dipping in every curve. he feels firm, hard, undoubtedly strong. like consistency, persistence and pain was needed to look like this. he doesn’t notice you press your thighs together but he does notice how you bite your lip when you finally gaze down at his cock.
leaking, red and prominent against his lower stomach.
“even your dick is pretty. where the hell are you from?” you laugh, “i’m surprised nobody has snatched you up yet.”
he wouldn’t want anyone to talk to him but you.
“i think you’re pretty, too.”
bakugou cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth. how childish running around the sandpit to not catch cooties did that sound?
but again, to his surprise, you coo at him. your hands still haven’t left his body, pressing down on his sides, up to squeeze his shoulders. bakugou feels like he’s on fire, raging from unburied tension. he grits his teeth because he thinks he could come from you just touching his upper body, staring at him with your little smile.
“that’s so cute. thank you,” you reply honestly and bakugou gives a soldier like nod, “is this your first time here? you’ve got the first time nerves.”
“‘m not nervous,” but all the blood from his head is rushing right down to his crotch. you're massaging his shoulders now and bakugou is sure he’s about to loose stability in his knees.
“okay,” you don’t argue, “but it’s your first time?”
he wants to say he’s not a fucking virgin but he knows that’s not what you mean and it does feel like his first time all over again. definitely reminiscent of his first time watching pornography back in his room as a teen. over interested, horny but refusing to touch himself yet.
“yeah. my friends are here somewhere.”
it’s as if you’re magnetic, unable to take your hands off him. now they’re on his biceps, squeezing every couple seconds like you’re checking he’s still there.
“oh i know what that’s like. my first time here, i found my friend sucking this guy off less than half an hour in. she wasn’t even on anything.”
bakugou blinks, standing there dumbly like a mannequin that needs to be clothed. his cock aches.
“are you on anythin’?”
you shake your head, “no! my usual guy who i get stuff from isn’t here today, so just a few shots earlier.”
usual guy. this isn’t the place for him to feel jealous, it’s not, but he wonders if there’s anything you’d like him to give you. anything.
two girls and a guy walk past you and him, first acknowledging you with a little wave and giving him those same hungry eyes as everyone before. with his attention away from you, he realises how many people aren’t only staring at him but you. were people getting off on you touching him? there's a girl and guy on the sofa clearly talking about you, did they want you too? one of the men around the spin the bottle round table has an envious look in his eye and bakugou wasn’t sure if it was towards him or you. he shifts his body so that guy wouldn’t be able to see you.
“what’s your name?” bakugou asks. though he eyes your wrist.
a red stamped 47.
“yn,” bakugou’s not sure if you’re telling the truth. “you can touch me too if you want. i’d like it if you did.”
he didn’t come here to talk to women, he didn’t come here to fondle women, even if they’d like him to do so. kirishima has probably found kaminari right? they’re both grown ass men and kirishima has been here before. it’s fine.
you can sense the carousel of revolving thoughts in his head. so slowly, as if he’s a sensitive kitten that will run away at any loud noise, you remove your hands from his body and wrap them around his wrists. you drag his hands half an inch away from your chest. “it’s okay, i promise.”
there’s the space for him to decline, your grip loose so he can pull away. but he wants too, he just probably shouldn’t be.
“f-fuck,” he whispers, pressing his hands on your clavicle. you’re real, alive and letting him touch you. “if i touch you anymore, i will come and i can’t fuckin’ come like this.”
you frown playfully, a little laugh, “why not?”
bakugou stills, “what d’you mean? shit’s embarrassing, i need you to come first—,”
your hands are back on his wrists, sliding his palms down to the fat of your breasts. his hands are massive, able to grab both in a single hand. you exhale softly as if you just took a hit of endorphins.
“what’s your name?”
“katsuki.”
he doesn’t even have in him to lie.
“nothing is embarrassing here, katsuki. maybe if you fall flat on your face. that still applies.”
he squeezes your breasts, tender incase he hurts you. it only makes you step in closer to him, your arms wrapping around his neck. “you’ve got such warm hands.”
bakugou’s thankful you’re cautious to not press your body into his cock. “i’ve never seen a woman like you.”
your eyes are fluttered shut once he starts to massage, glitter from your body transferring onto his palms. it’s all over his body too, like you both are born from the same star.
“i wanna take you home and squeeze you. you’re so adorable.” you whine, opening your eyes to give him a pout.
he doesn’t get this reaction from women, usually he’s the one in charge throwing them on a bed, kissing them first. he’s definitely never been called adorable or cute but you’ve got him tied around your finger, pressing for more attention.
“you guys look gorgeous together, by the way,” a rather pretty man says in passing and your smile beams.
“thank you, honey!”
then your attention is back on bakugou like you knew he was crumbling without you.
“you can pinch them if you want.” you offer, taking your fingers through the hair on his nape.
bakugou looks at his hands on your breasts. his hands are ugly he thinks. always too sweaty, scarred all over though he always keeps his nails clean and cut. they drown your body, your flesh spilling between each of his fingers.
“you’re so…,” he’s out of words to describe how angelic you are, rolling your perked nipple with the pad of his thumb. you’re so reactive, bubbles of light delighted exhales. when he pinches your left bud you moan and bakugou is forced to squeeze the base of his cock.
you laugh at the flush of red in his cheeks, his jaw sharp as he grits down. he’s taking heavy controlled breaths, looking up at the ceiling to calm himself down.
this man, katsuki, is stupidly gorgeous. walking around this event like he’s so unaware of himself. it’s what drew you to him. you’ve figured out pretty quickly that he’s ridden with anxiety, pent up with arousal and is so determined to not release.
“i’m sorry, katsuki. it’s not because of me is it?” your hand flies to your mouth, but the giggles spill out.
he should be embarrassed at your laugh at his clear inability to control himself over your naked body and touching your breasts. about to nut in a room full of people over some half-baked fondling. but he isn’t, it feels like you’re both in this together.
“‘course it’s ’cause of you. i just need to—,” he runs his hand up and down his shaft twice, before letting go. he blinks at you, your pointed nipples, your confident smirk. he wonders how you'd smell if he dipped between your legs. “i’m good now.”
as good as he can be in this situation. he’s fucked.
you give him an understanding nod, biting down your smile. “if you want, we can sit down. talk a little?”
you’re like a fairy. not those dainty petite ones out of those fairytales but a real, glowing one with your palm out for him to take. you almost feel like a figment of his imagination, like he’s suffering from object permanence if he isn’t touching you. he can’t tell if you’re laughing at him just a little bit, he’s not sure if he cares. he’s out of his depth here, getting whiplash with his limits adjusting by the second.
there’s no chance he’s having sex with anyone in public. he’d do anything you ask him to and you don’t even have to say please.
bakugou slides his palm into your smaller one and allows himself to gaze down your back as you drag him away somewhere. your back is smooth, curved and he imagines kissing down your spine. your ass, he glances away, then he looks back. two round globes that ripple with every step you make. he wants to see his fingers gripping your flesh, how it shakes when he slaps a cheek.
he glances at your face to find you smirking at the fact he was so clearly checking you out.
“s-sorry, it’s—,”
“you can look at me, katsuki. we’re all naked here.”
you stop him in front of an empty maroon leather sofa though there’s still other people in the room. a group of four playing a card game on a blanket. a compulsory couple making out on another sofa, always someone making out somewhere. he should be used to it now but beside that couple there’s a man with a man and a woman kneeling on the floor licking his dick.
bakugou rips his eyes away from the scene when you drop yourself into the sofa, sitting sideways with your legs curled. you perch your arm on the back of the sofa, head resting in your palm. you tap the space beside you.
“sit, gorgeous.”
he does because he can see your pussy when he stands. was there a shine there? is it because of him? bakugou flops down, apologising abruptly when the weight of him causes your side of the sofa to bounce.
“it’s okay, you’re a big guy after all,” you say, snuggling up close to him. your hand is back on his chest but he notices your eyes widen.
“what?”
your finger swipes at the precome that’s brushed at his abs from how slouched he’s sitting. you’re quick, eager, like you’ve been caught with your fingers in the peanut butter jar.
bakugou’s never been so hard in his life, his head is a bulging red though the colour dimmed down under the purple lights. he flings his head back on the chair but his hand finds your thigh. squeezes.
“you’re killin’ me. i didn’t expect this when i came here. i was supposed to be in and out.”
“that’s honest. you didn’t expect to be turned on in a room full of naked people.” there’s a moan in the background, a couple. “or you didn’t expect to find me?”
bakugou opens his eyes to look at you, you’re clearly more presentable than he is right now. his eyes are watery, pupils blown out like just taken something and he already looks like he’s been run through tonight. fucked in all types of ways. his lips are parted, staring at your smiling ones.
“you. i don’t even know what to say to you.”
he doesn’t know what’s appropriate in this context. with people fucking and sucking all around him, how honest can he be?
a gasp gets stuck in bakugou’s windpipe when your hand cradles his cheek, thumb brushing the blushed apple right under his eye. the movement presses your breasts together, has bakugou once again wondering how the hell you’re real right now.
“tell me what you’re thinking. your first thought.”
he feels as if he’s about to start salivating. he can see every one of your eyelashes, curled up and batting against your cheeks with every blink. your eyes are caring, looking at him softly like you know he needs to be looked after here, a little push of confidence. bakugou’s never been treated like this in his life.
“i wanna eat you out. feel you come on my tongue. so fuckin’ bad, i feel like i’m going insane.”
he notices your thighs press together now, how your body shivers, how you snuggle closer to him with your breasts against his bicep.
“hearing you say that is going to make me drip onto this sofa.” your voice is like silk, weaving in one ear and out the other.
bakugou’s hand slides from your thigh to your ass, pinching you roughly, arousal uncontrolled.
“i was thinkin’ how the fuck is everyone able to just fuck in public here and now i’m close to beggin’ you to let me. just a taste.” he can barely pronounce a consonant, all his words slurring together, drunk on everything you are.
“you sure you want to? you don’t have to,” but you’re just taunting him. you can see how much he wants to, if not in his eyes but in his raging cock slapped against his chest. you stretch a bare leg across his lap and this large, beautiful man moans for you.
this is probably your favourite type. hot and ready after some touching. wanting to please you just from the sight of you alone. definitely helps that he’s built like a god and looks as if he can back up whatever he puts down.
“please let me,” he groans and you watch as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “i’ll do it here, let me do it here for you.”
you don't say a word, laying back on the sofa and slowly opening your legs.
bakugou feels like he’s about to shut down. your shine catches the light, gloss covering your lips, trickling down to between your ass. you’re pretty everywhere and he can smell how much you need a release. his heart raps against his chest like he just finished a sprint and he grabs the base of his cock whilst gritting his teeth.
“fuck, sorry. i’m tryin’ so hard not to bust. i fuckin’ can’t.” he’s blubbering away, unable to take his eyes from between your legs. you’re so fucking pretty. “so perfect. where the fuck have you been all my life?”
you’re laughing again, propping up your head at the arm rest as bakugou adjusts his body to have his head between your thighs. you ruffle his hair, tugging it lightly before letting go.
“you’re so adorable. i knew you’d be good for me.”
that has bakugou dragging his eyes away from your pussy to your face. “i’m good for you?”
he isn’t the submissive one in sex, in his life. he takes control of everything, he’s the one telling others where to go and what to do and… here he isn’t. here he’s waiting for your next word and there’s a couple people watching it happen. fuck, more people are in the room now. sitting on other sofas, staring at him staring at you like you created the stars in the sky.
“yes katsuki, so good. you said you wanted me, have a taste.”
the permission has him purring like a new shiny engine, both his thumbs spreading you apart and bakugou feels rewarded. thick sweetness pouring from your hole and he’s quick to lap it up so it doesn’t get on the sofa. he can’t waste any of you, how disrespectful that would be. your exhales are bubbling with every lick bakugou makes, firstly careful like he’s testing the waters before he dives in.
he grips your thighs like a man starved, the first piece of meat he’s seen in days. then he starts to rock his face into you. messy like nobody taught the man any manners. licks stripes across you so everything’s contained, moans sending vibrations through you because you taste even better than he could imagine. a sweet tang, that has him rolling his eyes to the back of his head.
bakugou is so consumed by you, by taste, scent and sight, that he forgets about his own hard cock and the crowd that has formed.
“can i touch you—,” it’s another voice, one said to your katsuki but he’s busy.
“don’t touch him,” you bite, grinding your hips up into his mouth, back arching when he suctions his plush lips over your clit, “fuck, katsuki! you’re doing so well, baby. you’re going to make me come.”
bakugou’s too engrossed, focused on your sounds and words to guide him, to ensure he’s doing the best he can. but you notice, you notice the jealous eyes, the aroused ones, even the curious ones in the corner. there’s even word spreading round to other rooms of what’s happening, of this sexy newcomer that has his head between your thighs.
“she’s so hot, she’s never let me do that.”
“who is he… who are they? d’you think they’d want me as a third?”
“i’m getting hard again just watching this.”
everything here is lewd, this is a protected place for your wildest fantasies to come true. the attention only encourages your orgasm, the teary red eyes of this stranger dragging you to the edge.
“need you to come on my face,” he grunts like a raging beast, lifting up on his knees to push yours by your head.
he needs a better position, one to get right inside of you, have your orgasm stretch as long as possible.
you mewl at the burn in your thighs, but it’s welcomed as his wet prodding tongue circles your clit again and again before sucking harshly. he’s created his own rhythm. a paw clutches at your breast as he grunts, ruby eyes staring at you for a reaction.
“we’ve got ourselves fans, katsuki,” you whisper to him and he can tell you are close, eyes fluttering, almost completely gone.
he slips two fingers into you and pre from his cock leaks onto his chest at how wet you are. now, bakugou finally pays attention to all the eyes in the room with his mouth slick with you. the couple that were making out have pulled apart to stare at you. there’s a man running his fist up and down himself. there’s groups of people just watching, more coming in as his fingers pump in and out of you.
how the fuck has he gotten here? a new flush of heat floods him, pride at everyone seeing how well he treats you. that you’re moaning and wailing for him.
“you like everyone watchin’ you, huh? you want everyone to see how pretty you look when you come?”
you look delirious, biting down on your lip as you nod, trying to lock your knee around his neck to bring him back to you.
“yes. i want everyone to see me come because of you.”
he doesn’t understand a thing about right now, just that he needs to take you there.
so he does, loud squelches of his fingers curling along your walls and his lips sucking your clit like he needs it for his survival. your orgasm rocks through you, bursts of come seeping from your hole and bakugou tries his best to keep it in his fingers, clicking around them and grunting when some spills.
your body vibrates, legs tensing in the air as sweat gathers at your temples. you’re murmuring swears with whines and your grip on his head gets stronger to keep him there through your orgasm.
there’s multiple other moans through the room, conversation about you and katsuki but it’s gone mute as white flashes your vision. once bakugou’s sure he’s lapped you all up, sucked you completely off his fingers, he kisses your stomach lightly, fixated on the empty pulsing between your legs.
“you good? wasn’t too much?” he asks you as your chest falls and rises.
you can barely manage to lift yourself up so you take his hand, “loved it. i knew you’d be good with your mouth.”
you still notice the urgency in his eyes so you look over at his cock, about to reach for it.
“you both are hot. mind if i join?” a man with dark hair, toned.
“no. fuck off,” bakugou snarls, lifting you up so you’re wrapped under an arm, tucked to his side. “you’re lucky we’re lettin’ you even watch.”
your smile blooms, awarding bakugou with kisses along his shoulder, a soft bite where his neck meets. “it’s your turn now, katsuki. need to take care of you before you pass out on me.”
you’re both sitting so intimately. you look exhausted after your orgasm and your skin is tacky with sweat against his. yet he holds you tight, skin to skin, your arms circling his neck.
“you don’t have to. i can sort this at home,” he doesn’t know why he says this. is he being polite? he’s now aware of the eyes around him. some people have dispersed since he stopped eating you out. others now just littered around the room.
“no,” you whine, a kiss on his jaw. he’s yet to kiss your lips. “i want to make you come. want to say thank you.”
your face is a few inches from his, hanging onto him like a koala. he’s committing this all to memory, the red printed 47 on your wrist. how your eyes are glassy like you owe him more than just an orgasm. how you gripped his hair once you noticed how many people were watching.
“can i kiss you?” his fingers run down your sides.
“so cute,” you whisper against his lips, sliding onto his open mouth and thrusting your tongue inside.
the kiss is amazing, sexy. has your hips moving against his side without warning. you can feel his boost of confidence as he sucks on your tongue, tilting his head to get deeper down your throat. he bites down on your bottom lip, hating to be away from you for a second before his lips land on you again. he tastes like you and something sweet and it’s all effortless as he begins to push you back down onto the sofa, thick forearms by your head so he can begin to grind between your sensitive legs.
bakugou doesn’t last long at all, he knows he wouldn’t be able to. as your legs wrap around his waist, all he wants is a pussy job. to feel you wet and soaked around his cock. but three thrusts from you with your tongue in his mouth and bakugou bursts all over your chest. his groan is incredible, has you clinging onto him in necessity.
it’s one jolt of come, then his face goes slack, grunts of “fuck, couldn’t stop myself.” hating how he couldn’t go on for longer, even though he’s been burning since he saw you.
“it’s okay baby, it’s all for me. i love that it’s all for me,” you say to him, working him through his weak thrusts as he’s unable to even kiss you, just transferring his hot breath into your mouth. another jolt and his seed pours. “you’re so sexy. i’ve missed you.”
that makes bakugou laugh, his come gathering in your tummy button, under your breasts and through the hair on your mound. “i’ve fuckin’ missed you too. where have you been?”
bakugou’s barely conscious as he lays beside you out of breath and out of any will to move.
“sorry, i know i’ve made a mess—,”
you tut, but you only mean it sweetly when he glances over at you, “stop apologising. there’s wipes and tissues under the chair.”
“that was so sexy, if you guys are ever looking for two more—,”
“no!” you and katsuki blurt, “we’re good.”
as the girl walks away, bakugou sighs delightfully, reaching for the pack of wipes to clean up.
“wait, wait,” you say, scooping up his come from your stomach on your finger and stuffing it in your mouth.
bakugou stares with a slacked jaw, reaching over to kiss the corner of your lips as you swallow.
“are you gonna let me see you again? maybe out of here?”
you cock your head to the side as he wipes over your stomach, then your thighs.
you take longer than needed to reply, enough time for bakugou to mumble, “please?”
“what the fuck!? there you are!” kirishima bustles in, stomping over with kaminari behind him still looking heartbroken but now considerably more interested in whatever's just gone down. “no way, kacchan? seriously?”
kirishima’s eyes flicker over you still laying on the sofa as bakugou wipes you down, very obvious about everything that’s happened.
“good for you man,” he says solemnly, slapping his hand on bakugou’s shoulder.
“kacchan?” you ask.
“short for katsuki,” he says into your hair and there’s something inside you that bursts in delight that he trusted you with his actual name.
“this is yn,” he blurts, knocking his head with yours. the fuck is he supposed to do, caught just having sex in a sex club with a beautiful woman by his two friends, “she’s sweet.”
kaminari laughs wetly, “course she is. how did he find someone and i lost someone. the love of my life.”
“sorry about him. still distraught. i found him asleep upstairs—,”
“then i woke up to him sucking off this guy—,”
“shut up,” kirishima whines.
“was it that same guy we saw when we walked in?” bakugou asks and he’s met with a slow nod, that becomes a small smile in remembrance.
the dynamic of katsuki and his friends wasn’t what you expecting. you weren’t sure what you were expecting really, but it wasn’t this. light laughter between them both, all three of them jacked and muscled like they have the same hobbies.
“anyway we’re heading out now, you coming with kacchan? or you wanna stay with yn here?”
bakugou looks to you. he wants to be anywhere you are. maybe do more with you, talk to you. find out what you do for work, your dreams, your family. he wants to touch you in his bedroom, without a crowd.
“i’ll meet you at the cloakroom in fifteen.”
with two waves to you, you look over at bakugou with a pout. “you’re leaving?”
“you can come with me? this isn’t my thing,” he looks around the room, “not at all. but i wanna spend more time with you. maybe outta here?”
it’s the same nervousness from earlier but instead of coming out jumpy, he’s unable to make eye contact, hands unable to leave your thighs.
“okay… i’ll say goodbye to a few people and meet you outside?”
bakugou doesn’t hide his shock at you agreeing. he was expecting push back, this being a once in a lifetime situation where he meets the most beautiful girl of his dreams and never again. but you rise to your feet, taking his hand like you’re helping him up.
on your tiptoes, you kiss his cheek, “i’ll be quick okay?”
he shakes his head, “take your time.”
with kirishima and kaminari clothed an seated at the front of the car, bakugou sighs for the fifth time.
“it’s been ten minutes bro, she said she will come, she’s coming,” kaminari says through the window, his eyes closed. “you won’t be let down. not like i was.”
bakugou stands leaning with his arms crossed against the car, kicking a rock.
“maybe she doesn’t notice you without your dick out,” kirishima laughs, which only makes kaminari laugh too.
“fuck off, we all had our dicks out—,”
“you know you’ve got glitter on your neck?”
“sorry for taking so long, they couldn’t find my clothes!”
you look completely different yet completely the same, under the harsh yellow streetlight compared to the fuzzy purple haze from the club. you look real, beautiful, in reach for him to kiss with a clear head. and clothed, you’re adorable. dressed nothing like the minx that enjoys having an audience when she orgasms.
you’ve got a fluffy striped jumper on and baggy denim blue jeans with your bag over your shoulder. you look like you’re dressed to do a food shop, a student going to university. fuck… he cannot even wrap his head around the fact he came over your chest a mere half an hour ago.
“you look adorable,” he blurts and you give him a grin, stuffing your hand in his face.
“shut up katsuki, that’s my word for you,” though he only grabs your wrist, kissing the faintly stamped 47.
he continues holding it when you peep your head to the open window to his friends. “thanks for dropping me off guys!”
“no problem!”
bakugou opens the back door for you, “d’you wanna come back to mine?”
he asks before you get in and like before, there’s an extra second pause. then, “are you going to tell me what you do for work?”
“he’s a pro hero, we all are,” kaminari groans, his hangover settling in as well as his urge to go home.
your eyes widen, your hand back on his chest like feeling him will reveal the truth. he’s now coated in a plain black tshirt. “oh wow.”
“guys we really can be horny in the car instead of outside. get in.” kirishima says and it’s a quick scramble of you sliding in and then bakugou after.
it’s inevitable, an attempt to be appropriate but straying from it at every corner.
another kiss shared in the backseat between you saying how many siblings you have, bakugou gripping your thigh as he says where he grew up. kaminari sharing an embarrassing tidbit about bakugou growing up and bakugou threatening to snap his neck. then the blonde apologises to you for saying that while kaminari whines in the background.
when kirishima drops you and bakugou outside of his skyrise apartment the only thing you can think to say is, “you’re a really good friend.”
bakugou huffs a laugh, slinging his arm around your shoulders, “not really. i was eatin’ you out when i shoulda been lookin’ for him.”
likes don’t do anything on tumblr! but reblogs, comments and asks mean the world! i delete comments asking for another part. thanks xox
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴏᴜʀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ ── ❀ part one. university au!
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ is so mean. he makes you cry, spits out venomous insults when you try to get too close, but you're so in love with him that it doesn't even matter.
⋆ tw / cw (18+) note that if tags don't show up it will show up in the next part! ; dumbification, slight angst, hurt/comfort (??), smut, praise & degradation kink, slight angst, missionary, katsuki fucks reader in his lap, blowjob, cum-eating, pussy eating, size-kink (unedited).
ac; lapin (hegi)
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ was horrible to you. you knew that the day you made the grave mistake of loving him, confessing to him.
high school, late afternoon with golden rays spilling through tinted windows. your heart in your throat as you stumbled and blabbered through your well-prepared confession you'd rehearsed a hundred times in your tiny bedroom. you didn't even finish before he laughed.
a sharp, incredulous chuckle that echoed off the walls and rank through your ears.
you stood there, frozen, as he cocked his head and stared you up and down like he was reassessing something he'd already thrown away.
"get a grip," he added flatly, briefly scanning his phone for whatever was on his schedule. "you really thought you had a chance?"
when katsuki disappeared from your sight, you couldn't control the molten tears pouring down your face.
from that moment on, you were no longer invisible in the eyes of katsuki bakugo.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ who was insufferable. you should have never confessed to him.
he was smarter than you. smarter than anyone for that matter. he was involved in many extracurriculars. he was good at drums, and you knew that he done boxing outside of school.
and you to him? wouldn’t have made any sense, and that feeling became apparent even more with time.
he singled you out in class when you tried impressing katsuki.
"the answer's 147.19!" you called out eagerly, heart thumping wildly against your ribs.
a scoff was heard from the front corner of the room.
"wrong, dork." he shot you an amused look, as if you'd actually believe you'd done something right. "it's 150."
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ didn't need to utilize brute force to crack your heart. on the day university applications were sent out, katsuki caught sight of yours.
"yuuei university?" he repeated, brows lifting softly. "mechanical engineering?" then, he laughed. it was breathless, disbelieved, as if you'd just told him the joke of your life.
you stood beside him, fingers curling into the fabric on your sleeve, smile gentle on your face as he slung a bag over his shoulder.
"did you just pick the hardest major you could find to sound impressive?" he asked lazily, eyes racking over yours. "or are you actually that delusional?"
you went home crying that afternoon, snot dribbling down your nose as you stared at the low-scores on your practice exam. he was right.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ had a way of making doubt blossom where confidence once lived comfortably in your gentle, fragile heart.
even after you were accepted — after the acceptance email sat glowing on your screen like genuine proof he was wrong, that you'd fought through finals for this spot — it wasn't enough.
on orientation day, he'd spotted you sticking out like a thumb in the crowd, all pretty in the softest, ironed skirt you could find, paired with the glossiest shoes you could muster.
"tch," he muttered, eyes flickering back to the front, already surrounded by a group. "guess they're letting anyone in these days."
you told yourself it wouldn't matter — that high school was over. that maybe your relationship with him could blossom from what had already been wilted. a clean slate.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ made sure university was worse.
he had the same sharp eyes, silver rimmed frames hanging handsomely on the slope of his nose bridge. same posture of ownership, like he belonged in every room he entered.
he laughed when you asked questions with solutions that already seemed to register to those around you. took over group discussions without acknowledging your presence. corrected you publicly, voice sharp and precise.
"don't touch that. do you even know how to use it?"
"no, that's not how it works."
"did you even pass high school physics?"
every insult landed heavier because you knew why, because he remembered your confession just as clearly as you did; with the only existing mystery being why he took it so personally?
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ nearly exploded, brows furrowing, lips curled into a menacing scowl when both of your names appeared side by side on the same group project list.
"you've gotta be kidding me," he snapped to himself, before turning to the tutor, eyes narrowed. "i'm not—"
denied.
for his excellent mid-semester results, his prevailing intelligence spreading like wild-fire across the cohort, the one known for increasing the threshold of the bell-curve, the one who always knew what he was doing. he had no authority.
by the end of the week, he was sitting across from you in the study room, laptop open begrudgingly, eyes lidded in disbelief as he skimmed your calculations.
"...wow," he said quietly. "you're still this bad?"
you swallowed, shaking your head with a soft curl to your lips, cheeks flushing. "no— well, this stuff's just new and hard... i'll get used to it."
he leaned back, legs spreading in those black-washed baggy jeans, lips curling into that familiar grin of annoyance.
"better not fuck up my grade, yeah?"
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ who absolutely loathed dusty afternoons spent at his cafe – the one he ran to when libraries felt too loud, the one he resided in when quiet rooms retched of sweaty underarms on sizzling hot days.
he fucking hated it, seeing you across from him in that leather cushioned chair, legs crossed politely as you stared at him with those gentle, understanding eyes. he hated how you raised your head everytime he spoke, or when your eyes would shrink into kind crescents when he had an idea that was so ordinary to him, but to you, sounded like the most intriguing thing ever.
“...that’s a really good idea, katsuki,” you beamed, fingers moving rapidly across your keyboard to note the idea down. “i can do that for you– yeah! that’s looking great.”
“bakugo,” he corrected coldly, eyes locked in on the way your face flushed cherry plum red.
with a scowl, he had no other choice but to cooperate. atleast you weren’t slacking off. god, that might’ve been the bare minimum of the task, but there was nothing else he could do.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ really hated that the cafe became routine.
he hated that it started feeling inevitable – the sun slipping low and staining the windows with warm amber while the air inside stayed cool and dim. he hated that the barista stopped asking for his name – because he never used to order drinks – and he hated it even more that they already knew yours.
he sat across from you for the nth time that week, wondering why such a group project required this much contact time. his shoulders were tense with irritation, fingers wrapped tight around a paper cup he’d already forgotten to drink from.
and the way you leaned slightly forward in that leather chair, posture performatively neat and attentive. it made his skin itch.
because you always listened, brows lifted in consideration of every syllable that dripped from his tongue.
and the way you nodded before he even finished, fingers already moving, typing things out with a quiet diligence. it pissed him off.
did you think that just because you followed him like a puppy, obeyed every single call he made, listened to every idea he had, that it’d be enough?
“you don’t have to write everything down,” he muttered once, gruff, irritation slipping into his tone. “i’m not gonna forget what i just said.”
you looked up at him then, blinking once with wide eyes, a little smile tugging at your lips once more. “i know. it just helps me think, too.”
he clicked his tongue, gaze flickering away. there were only thirty minutes left and he’d be free.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ noticed when you started getting too comfortable.
you didn’t feel the need to look at him for validation anymore before adding your share of ideas to the shared document. you didn’t hesitate before suggesting alternatives, and sometimes you’d speak first – softly, still, but with a steadiness as if you’ve finally made your mark into his life.
“what if we approach it from this perspective instead?” you suggest one afternoon, voice a little wavery, but bright.
he glanced over your logic, the calculations, your assumptions. it actually made sense.
“hm,” he grunted after a moment, genuinely considering your perspective before leaning back. “fine. do it your way.”
and that pathetic, stupid smile of triumph?
something ugly spread thick across his chest, invasive.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ absolutely couldn’t stand that you still treated him the same.
still with that soft greeting, still following him like a lost puppy to shared destinations. still glanced at him with hopeful eyes when something amused you, like his reaction was validation to whatever soft and mushy feeling you keep safe in your chest.
one evening, as the cafe began to filter out, he caught you staring at him without realizing it – eyes warm, thoughtful, full with admiration.
“what?” he groaned out, elbows perched defensively across his chest.
you startled, cheeks blossoming, you shook your head quickly. “oh– nothing, sorry.”
katsuki hated how he could practically feel your affection oozing into him, untarnished and full of life.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ went home angry that night. angry at the way your competence crept up on him. fuming at the way your kindness hadn’t soured, but instead sweetened into something contagious. he hated that you’d actually grown into someone worthy of his time and effort without shedding the parts of yourself he’d once mocked.
he was angry because it was actually fucking getting to him. you in his routine.
everything cruel he’d said to you was no longer about superiority, and it was now becoming something laced with fear and inner insecurity.
once he found himself at his desk, papers laid clean in front of him with precision, thoughts filled with your soft smile and your polite hands, he glanced down uncomfortably, noticing the strain in his sweats. unexpected.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ who gave in eventually to his erection, fingers wrapped tight around his cock, tip raging a warm pink as he pumped himself from tip to brim.
with his head thrown back, jaw slack, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. every time he tried thinking of something else to get off to – the image would swirl to you instead. all pretty across from him, soft lips caught between your teeth in concentration, that low cut top you wore one time, sunlight pooling on your skin.
with a reluctant vacant hand, he swirled a palm over his tip, panting softly and fogging his glasses up. he couldn’t fucking believe he was jerking off to you. getting off to you. fucking fisting his cock to you and cumming everywhere.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ who was more snappy than usual.
this time, it was in that low, condescending, venomous tone. laced with hatred and everything on that spectrum.
it happened on a night at the cafe that felt too quiet – just the two of you, warm auburn lights of the city stretching across the glossy tabletop, your notebooks and laptops open and untouched.
you were smiling pathetically again, practically sneaking into something far from strictly educational. you were genuinely trying to talk about something other than the group project, absentmindedly tracing circles in the margin of your page, glancing at him like the world had finally softened.
he hated it so much. he hated how easy it was for you. hated how you got too comfortable that you genuinely thought he cared what you had to blabber about.
“stop staring at me,” he said suddenly, annoyed.
you paused, fingers still around your cup. “i wasn’t–”
“yeah, you were.” his voice was flat, sharp and intentionally crude. “you always do.”
your smile faltered for the first time in a while, just a little. “i’m sorry, i didn’t realize–”
katsuki, with cold movements, closed his notebook. “that’s the problem,” he grimaced. “you never realize anything.”
the words landed wrong, awfully wrong. but he didn’t care in that moment, because of how uncomfortable he was emotionally.
at his words, you straightened slowly, fingers curling into themselves. “uh… what do you mean?”
he scoffed, sinking back into his chair, arms crossing. “you follow me around. you nod along. you look at me like i’m” he stopped himself, jaw tightening, consciously selecting the most harmful combination of words. “like i’m something i’m not. like i’m just a figure in that delusional head of yours.”
your throat bobbed, face warm, eyes still present despite his words. “i just… like being around you.”
that softness, that consistent prying into his chest, his mind. that, was what pushed him over.
“that’s stupid,” he said coldly. “fucking stand up for yourself for once. you should know better by now.”
this time, you didn’t know how to respond. just plain, cold, silence.
the cafe noise faded into a deafening dull hum, and all you could do was stare at him, eyes wide, like you’d been slapped.
“...just thought things would play out different, is all,” you whispered, lips tilting to a frown.
he laughed once, bitter. “don’t flatter yourself.”
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ watched your face crumble in real time.
your eyes glossed over first, lashes fluttering as you tried – tried so hard – to keep it together. your lips parted like you wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came out.
it didn’t take long for the tears to fall.
“i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” you said, voice wobbly, syllables messy. “okay– i’m sorry. i’ll try to stop, i promise.”
you were already standing, gathering your things with trembling hands, wiping at your cheeks like you were embarrassed to be seen like this – and not like the other times you were embarrassed to display your admiration and affection.
“i’m sorry,” you choked out again, indefinitely softer this time.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ didn’t go after you.
he watched you leave – watched the door swing shut behind you, watched the space you’d occupied stay empty – and then he sat back down like nothing had happened. like he hadn’t just made you cry. again.
it was better this way, he told himself. distance was what you needed, what he needed. the feeling in his chest would die down on its own. it’d rot into something forgettable.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ he avoided you like the plague from then on.
he left quickly before you could reconcile, opting to take different exits from buildings, sat a few seats away instead of beside you. when group work forced you into the same space, he kept things curt and professional.
no venomous insults, no malicious teasing laced with condescension.
you noticed. of course you did. you always did.
katsuki realized something scary and unsettling. nothing was going to change when it came to you, and how you felt about him.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ hated the way you still showed up.
you still smiled at him when you spoke to him, but this time, it was careful now. practiced and methodical. you were measuring every word before letting it leave your mouth.
you lived true to your words.
you didn’t hover annoyingly around him, didn’t look at him like you used to. and things were finally settling back into natural order. katsuki never felt more relieved.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ who caught you wiping your eyes in the engineering hallway one afternoon – quick, discreet, like you didn’t want anyone to see.
and of course, he didn’t turn around to comfort you. if he didn’t, he knew exactly what would happen.
you’d shove your face into his chest, all mushy and fragile. then, he’d have to say something. he’d have to push you away, or even worse, pull you closer. and you’d look up at him regardless with hope, trust, and that quiet, delusional belief that he cared.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ noticed you at the cafe before you noticed him.
you were already seated when he arrived — same leather chair, same corner with that practiced straightened posture — but you looked off. your shoulders held stiff like you were bracing for something, almost too hinged. your eyes were dull around the edges, spark forced as you stared at the screen in front of you with an intensity that didn’t quite land.
your fingers flew across the keyboard, typing and deleting, typing again. you nodded to yourself every few seconds like you were convincing yourself to even stay awake.
katsuki recognized it instantly. fake concentration, performative.
“…great,” he muttered, dropping into the chair across from you. “you gonna actually look at me or keep pretending you’re busy.”
you startled slightly, then smiled, the motion not quite reaching your eyes.
“sorry,” you said, laughing softly. “yeah. i’m here.”
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ watched you struggle through the session.
you answered when spoken to, contributed when needed, but your responses lagged by just a second too long. you rubbed at your wrists absentmindedly, nails pressing into your skin.
you laughed when he made a sharp comment. laughed when he mumbled to himself about something. it was still you, all attentive, but something about it was uncanny.
“…what’s up with you.” he asked eventually, irritation threaded with his workload.
you nodded immediately. “yeah, i’m sorry. just tired, long day.”
he scoffed, but his eyes narrowed.
liar.
he didn’t see you again that night.
you packed up quickly when the work ended, mumbled something about needing to go, and disappeared before he could say anything else. the chair you left behind stayed empty long after he finished packing his own things.
something twisted unpleasantly in his gut.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ wasn’t prepared for the next day that you came in, practically bawling your eyes.
you were late, and you were never late.
he was already seated when you stumbled into the cafe, breathless, eyes rimmed red like you’d been crying for hours. your hands shook as you clutched your bag, knuckles pale, movements uncoordinated.
“…you’re late,” he snapped automatically.
you opened your mouth, closed it, then your face crumpled, brows knitted together devastatingly.
“shit—” he started.
you were crying before you even sat down. your shoulders shook as you pressed a hand to your mouth, trying—and failing—to keep it together.
“hey,” he said sharply, standing up. “what the hell—”
you dropped into the chair like your legs had given out, tears spilling freely now, breath stuttering, words coming out in messy blabbles.
“i– i think i did something really bad,” you choked out, fingers shaking. “i really messed up.”
“what?”
your hands trembled as you wiped at your cheeks, smearing tears uselessly. “i— i got scammed.”
the words tumbled out broken, ugly, cracking on each vowel.
“the tutor,” you continued, voice cracking. “he took the money and— and he said i wasn’t improving fast enough and then he just— he ended it. and i thought i was doing okay but i’m not and—” you sucked in a sharp breath, glancing up at him beneath your clumped lashes. “i’m failing,” you whispered.
“…failing what,” he asked, dangerously calm.
you shook your head, sobbing. “the math. i tried so hard to catch up but i didn’t realize how bad it was until i checked my grades and i don’t–- know what to do.”
your hands clenched into fists in your lap.
“i didn’t want you to know,” you said softly. “i didn’t want you to think i was useless– so– so...”
something cold snapped into place behind his eyes, something green swirling in his gut.
“you got a tutor.” he said flatly.
you flinched, nodding. “yeah—”
“you let some asshole take your money,” he continued, voice low. “when you could’ve just– nevermind..”
you nodded, tears dripping onto the table. “i was scared– not of you, but of failing...”
he dragged a hand down his face, breathing slow and controlled. of course, why would you come to him? a day ago he wouldn’t have offered you help if you even asked.
but with your pretty lips jutting out, tears bubbling in those soft, sad rounded eyes. cheeks blotchy and puffy.
he wouldn’t go as far to call the feeling inside him pity, but maybe something else… adjacent.
“…how much were you scammed.”
“like around… sixty per session.”
his jaw clenched. “fucking sixty? and you’re still failing?”
you nodded again, miserable, shoulders curling inwards.
“…right,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, completely aware of the situation he was about to put himself in.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ took it upon himself after that.
not with an apology, god no. he didn’t ask if you wanted help — he told you, blunt, final, like it was already decided, that he’d take over. free of charge. your notes migrated back into his hands, hidden scrutiny behind his gaze as he mulled over your handwriting.
before you knew it, your schedule quietly rearranged itself around late nights and earlier mornings. he started bringing printed past papers without explanation, circling questions with a pen and shoving them toward you like it was obvious you’d need them.
he was still rough around the edges, that was to be said without a doubt.
he still snapped when you took too long. still scoffed when you made careless mistakes, annoyance simmering beneath his skin as you asked the nth stupid question of the night. but the insults dulled — caught behind clenched teeth, swallowed down with sharp exhales. he learned when to pause, when to bite down his venomous words. when to start again slower, how to navigate your mind. when to grit through explanations instead of cutting you down.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ found himself in your room more nights than he’d planned instead of the cafe.
sitting on the edge of your bed, papers spread messily between you, his shoulder brushing yours every time he leaned in to point something out. it wasn’t intentional at all.
the room was quiet except for the scratch of pen on paper, the hum of your cheap, rip-off lamp, your soft voice reading questions aloud.
sometimes it was past midnight before he noticed. and he hadn’t known why he bothered staying.
but, somewhere in between those late nights, he noticed the way your confidence rebuilt itself. the way your questions sharpened, the way your eyes lit up when you got something right. the way your hands stopped shaking when you wrote, all bubbly and enthusiastic whenever he spoke.
in a way, it was really getting to him, but this time, it seeped. bleeded through the stubbornness in his heart. because at night once he returned back home, he found himself once more, hand wrapped firm around his cock, fisting himself to the thought of your pretty face.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ watched you after the exam. he’d finished early and expected to leave immediately.
you burst out of the building breathless, faster than he’d expect, eyes bright, searching the crowd until you spotted him. the moment you did, you didn’t hesitate — you ran straight into him, arms around his middle, laughter spilling out as you told him how good that exam felt.
he froze for half a second, arms catching you without thinking. uncomfortably and disgustingly invasive, your joy hit him harder than any achievement ever could. he couldn’t help but push down that pride he felt knowing it was him – not the other pathetic tutor. not anyone else – who helped you.
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ didn’t plan to be in your room that afternoon.
it was supposed to be quick, final edits, finishing touches on the group project then everything would be over. nothing more, just a quick drop by to save you the hassle of getting home so late.
but the air felt different, closer. and it seemed like you noticed it too, or maybe it was you making it that way.
you lingered near him longer than necessary. your touches were ‘accidental’ until they weren’t. a soft peck to his cheek — hesitant, testing, appreciative and slow — that made his breath hitch and his patience finally snap.
“thanks for… dealing with me.”
it just happened…
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ never said when the line blurred, nor in that moment did he care. only that somewhere between tutoring sessions, late nights, and watching you believe in yourself again — he stopped pushing you away, because in that moment – with your breasts spilling through your top, eyes staring up at him like you fucking wanted him inside – he had no restraint.
it felt inevitable, like it had always been heading there, and soon enough…
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ who was so fucking easy.
he has you bouncing like a rabid bunny all over his cock, up and down, slamming your hips right down onto his pelvic bone, pants fogging up his crooked rims.
grip tight on your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh like he's claiming every inch of you as his personal fucktoy. each upward thrust met with your frantic bounces has you mewling into his mouth, ass slapping against his thighs as he took you on your bed.
he didn’t know where the degradation came from, and where it stemmed from, but the way you looked on his lap so fucking slutty and desperate like you’d finally won had him seething whimpered through parted lips.
“fucking look at you,” he sighed out, his voice mocking and pitched a little higher than he’d intended, eyes locked on the way your tits pressed against his chest. “always wanted this, huh? my cock inside of you?”
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ who embarrassingly swells inside of you, his thick shaft spreading you wide, pounding deep into your gummy walls with every slam of your hips.
it doesn’t take long for his balls to tighten.
you felt so good– too good. his vision blurred, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he let you bounce all over him. he was getting close, so fucking close.
the friction felt incredible, warmth engulfing him whole as you let out a needy whine, whispering affection into his ear.
“s–so close, suki! i can’t…!”
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ who senses your rhythm faltering, thighs aching as you struggled to maintain your bounces.
pulling back, katsuki’s eyes scanned over your expression. parted lips, teary eyes, flushed warm cheeks.
“need…need to cum!” you cried out, your bounces turning into lazy, tired grinds.
the sight pitiful, his expression softened just a fraction, hips moving deliberately to compensate. with two beefy arms, he wraps them around you, lifting you up, then slamming you down to the hilt.
“aah! f–fuck! ‘m close, i’m–”
your whining into his neck, blabbering and completely drunk on his cock. so soft in his arms, pliable and needy. with a free hand, he strokes your back almost tenderly, mind swirling with lust as he inches closer and closer to his own climax.
“i’m close to… fuck, you feel so good–”
and with that, you cum instantly, thighs shaking around his side. you twitch in his hold, a loud cry escaping your lips as you clench impossibly around him.
“holy shit, y-you’re so fucking tight– did you just?”
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ who absolutely registers you’ve got a praise kink.
should’ve been obvious by the way your eyes sparkled every time he validated your working out, or that one time he caught your thighs pressing together when he said ‘good’ to some mediocre, bare minimum, correct solution you conjured together.
he hated how much power he had over it, but at the same time…
“that’s right,” he muttered, glancing over your working, leaned over your shoulder. “you did that part clean.”
you froze, then smiled. that faint, soft glimmer in your eyes.
“...yeah?” you asked.
he frowned, seeing the way your cheeks heated up, body tense. “yeah. don’t make me repeat myself.”
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ who realizes he’s just as filthy are you are.
he doesn’t remember, or know how the line blurred, but somewhere along the way his usual degradation faded into sweeter, honeyed words.
without meaning to, his words turned into frequent physical touches. a hand on your shoulder. a hand moving up your thigh. and before he knew it, he was craving what you’ve been wanting for a long time.
nights dedicated to study turned into quiet, muffled whimpers, legs intertwined, cum spilling everywhere.
he should feel ashamed that the measly girl who had a crush on him since high school had finally gotten her way.
“you fucking like that?” katsuki groaned out, thumb pressed against your clit as he hammered into you in missionary. “like having my cock inside of you? taking care of you like this?”
“mmhmm! i–i like it so much!” you cried out, nibble hands moving to his jaw, pulling him into a kiss. “i like you so much…”
worse of all? katsuki would selfishly sink in it. indulge in it, feed into your soft affection.
“you do?” he smirked, hands moving to press your knees to your ears. “i can tell…doing so good for me, aren’t you?”
expectantly, and intentionally on katsuki’s end, he’d feel you clench around him, walls fluttering on his cock as he kissed that soft gummy spot inside of you.
“ngh mhm! just for you…”
♡ ɴᴇʀᴅꜱᴜᴋɪ realized he liked threading sweetness into your ears.
it came as habit, and something he genuinely wanted to do. he was growing fearful that he was truly basking in your presence, and that one day, he’d actually want something more.
he wasn’t too sure if he had the time or effort to invest in you fully like this.
but for some reason, fucking you senseless in his arms and keeping you well–lit under the cafe lights felt easier than chucking a label on top.
➤ summary: Rafe agreed to bet on you with his friends in hopes of getting you out of his system. but when he got hooked on you, the last thing that he ever wanted was you finding out the truth in the worst way
➤ w/c: 6.6k
➤ warnings: the whole bet situation, misogynistic men, creepy men, non-descriptive mention of sex, rafe is literally a lover boy and so down bad, lots of crying
➤ a/n: I am back after such a long break with another long fic (per usual). so happy to get back here and write about my favorite emotionally unstable boy again💘
masterlist taglist
The party in Rafe’s house was loud; you could barely squeeze through people with Sarah clinging onto your arm while you tried to find Rafe. You saw his buzzed head over the crowd, as he was seemingly higher above everybody else, and you tried your best to not trip over random drunk kooks while going towards him.
That other part of the house seemed like a breath of fresh air; your eyes locked with Topper’s, who was talking to Rafe, and you managed a friendly smile as you stepped closer to the circle of his friends, ready to say something. That was until you stopped sooner than your brain could actually process the words that reached you, until Topper started talking to Rafe, who was oblivious of your presence, throwing glances at you like he wanted you to hear it.
“...Like, bro, I know the prize is good, but I didn’t think you would actually spend three months with her.” The words washed over you like a bucket of ice-cold water, you froze in place, furrowing for a second and thinking that you were just imagining things. But Sarah’s quiet “what the hell?” snapped you back into reality.
“I told y’all—” Rafe started, irritation bleeding into his voice as he rolled the bottle between his fingers, jaw tight.
“Shit.” Kelce chimed in, laughing. “Poor girl, she’s already hooked. He doesn’t even gotta entertain her anymore. Game’s over.”
“Nah, Cameron just wanted to fuck.” Another voice said. Your ears started ringing, throat suddenly felt tight from the tears forming in your eyes. All of the guys started laughing like there was something funny about it, when all you could feel was the forming hole in your chest.
“Stop fucking saying that.” Rafe grumbled, clearly not happy about it, yet still not denying the whole bet thing.
Topper leaned in, smirk wide, clearly fueled by the chaos. “Aw, come on, man. Don’t act all holy now. We all saw how she was all over you after you hit it. Was the pussy worth the wasted time, at least?”
Rafe’s hand shot out before he even realized it, shoving Topper back so hard he nearly stumbled into the wall. “I said to shut your fucking mouth before I—”
“You can’t be serious, Rafe.” That was the moment Sarah spoke up, disgusted and surprised by the audacity. You felt all of the eyes landing on you instantly, even though you could swear that they started this conversation in the first place just because of you, just to humiliate you and get some kind of satisfaction from it.
Though when Rafe turned around, the bottle in his hand hit the floor, all the color from his face drained instantly, and his eyes were big and petrified. He shook his head no, walking towards you with hands in front of him, as he was ready to start explaining, apologizing—doing whatever it takes to recover from this mess.
But your eyes, still fixated on him, got filled with tears instantly, no matter how hard you tried to even your breathing. Your vision was blurred, and your face and neck started burning from pure humiliation because these people around you were still gawking at the scene like there was something funny. You didn’t even let Rafe open his mouth before your hand slipped from Sarah’s grip, and you ran towards the exit, pushing through people.
“No, please wait!” You heard Rafe’s voice behind you, his hand briefly catching yours before he was separated from you by the random couple who couldn’t move from his way.
You pushed the wooden door outside, the breeze kissed your wet cheeks while you breathed hard, trying to figure out where to go and what to do. But then he was right behind you again, though this time his presence didn’t bring you peace like it did for the past three months; now it suffocated you, it made you feel disgusted with yourself for ever falling into such a stupid and obvious trap.
“Let me explain—” Rafe started, eyes apologetic, while his hand touched your upper arm to bring you closer.
“Don’t touch me!” You almost screamed, yanking your hand back like his touch burned you.
“Please—”
“No! G-get away from me.” You cried, stepping back, hiding from him, and he thought that sight alone—of you scared, ashamed, and in tears—might kill him right then and there. “You—you made a bet on me. You… slept with me and laughed about it with your friends.” Your voice cracked, shaking with rage and humiliation, tears streaming freely now. You couldn’t let him say a word. You didn’t want to hear his excuses, his apologies—nothing.
Rafe froze, his lips opening, but you cut him off, stepping back and shaking your head violently. “I don’t want to hear it, Rafe! Don’t touch me! Don’t—just don’t.” His fists clenched, his jaw tightening, and his whole body seemed like it wanted to storm forward and do anything to make you listen, but you weren’t giving him the chance.
“Come on.” Sarah appeared suddenly, grabbing your elbow gently but with authority and not even sparing her brother a glance. “We’re leaving. Now.” You didn’t argue. You let her pull you away, your sobs muffled against her shoulder.
Rafe’s voice followed you, desperate and angry. “Wait—please—”
But he was left alone, just looking at you going further and further away from him.
He let out a shaky breath as the reality of everything now fully hit him. This was the end. You would never forgive him for the shit that he’d done—for the lie, the humiliation, the laughter of his friends, and for the damn bet itself. Rafe sat on the cold concrete, swearing at himself and replaying the memories that now seemed like the only thing left that he had of you.
He remembered when he first properly talked to you, not in big crowds of mutual friends, but really talked. That little crush that he secretly had on you didn’t help the situation either. Because of the way you smiled at him and let him sit beside you, while he tried to charm you, or the moment you started laughing and looking at him with those eyes, he knew he was fucked. The whole plan to just get to know you just to prove himself wrong about liking you, and the bet itself, seemed like the most useless thing from that moment on.
He remembered taking you on dates, and not the expensive, over-the-top ones, but coffee dates, picnics at the beach, and walks around the island during the night when you both couldn’t stop thinking about each other and just wanted a chance to talk. It was when he knew the prize didn’t matter anymore, that he had lost it in more ways than one, but it was the last thing he cared about when he could finally spend time with you.
He remembered the way you looked at him like no one else ever had—like you were listening, like you were interested, like things that he said and felt mattered to you. And you could pick up on everything that upset him, making the ache in his chest just a little bit easier with a simple touch of your hand against his.
He remembered kissing you for the first time. And second… and all of the others that came after that, because your lips, your body pressed to his, your hands on his face or around his neck, and your smile when you pulled back? Yeah, that was totally fucking up his mind.
He remembered the sight of you under him when one night those kisses turned into more, drowning in his pillows and leaving your scent there long after you were gone. That look in your soft and trusting eyes when you let him take control, when they studied his body above you with that weird twinkle in them. Your skin was so soft and delicate under his hands, so he couldn’t stop himself from touching you every second.
He remembered how his lips trailed along your chest, collarbones, neck, your face, peppering you with kisses against his own will—because you were intoxicating in the best way possible. And the moment he reached your lips, the way a power stronger than him lured him closer to you. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t get enough of your taste and the feeling of your mouth moving against his.
He remembered the way you felt, the way your nails scratched his back and tugged at his hair, the way you whispered his name, and the way your body was melting into him.
And when you two reached the end? His name rolled off your tongue so sweetly and easily, making goosebumps cover his skin. Your hands tugged him down until his weight dropped on top of you—chest to chest, heavy breathing, and sweaty. Rafe couldn’t move, didn’t want to; with his face buried against your neck and hands holding your body, he cursed himself for ever taking part in that stupid bet or even thinking that sleeping with you would take the edge off.
Because now he knew, more than ever, that he was totally hooked onto you, and it wasn’t just physical attraction—it never was.
Even before getting into his room, Rafe knew that he should stop. Should just tell you the truth and pray that you would forgive him for even trying to play with your feelings, because at that moment the realization that he wanted all of it to be real hit him like a ton of bricks. Yet, the other voice in his head just couldn’t let him ruin it, couldn’t bring himself to risk it. Not right now. Not when you were clinging to him and intoxicating him with your presence, when it felt so intimate and real.
He would tell you. He would confess. Just not right now.
That was the memory he couldn’t stop from playing on the loop. Not because it was the best sex in his life, even though it definitely was, but because he ruined it in the worst way possible, making it seem like it was nothing for him, when in fact it was everything.
When Rafe returned back into the main room, he swore everything seemed and felt ten times worse. From the loud music that made his head ache to his annoying friends as they were pulling him closer into their circle. Top’s heavy arm landed around his neck, and Rafe ground his teeth against each other to stop himself from pushing his friend away.
“Damn, Cameron.” Kelce said, clapping him on the shoulder a little too hard. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”
Topper laughed, wide and careless, swinging him from side to side. “Told you. Three months was generous.”
Some other guys laughed, nodding their heads in approval, praising him like he had done something extraordinary. Rafe didn’t move; he just looked at them with disgust, wondering how he could fall so low.
They took his silence as him being humble, and that was the worst part, because everything inside him was bubbling from the way they treated you like a joke.
Kelce leaned closer and grinned like an idiot, thinking that the way you ran away was a confirmation of the end of your relationship. “Now that she’s really done with, she freaky or just… vanilla?”
Rafe’s nostrils flared at Kelce’s words, hands pushed away both him and Topper, who stumbled back with an amused laugh. He couldn’t even name the things that he felt at that moment, but the need to shut them up was burning him alive—something that he had never experienced before.
“I swear to God, if you say another word about her, I’m gonna break your jaw.”
“Woah, woah, dude!” The laughter stuttered, confused. “We’re just sayin’, you won.”
“I didn’t win shit.”
Kelce scoffed. “Bro, we saw her reaction like ten minutes ago. We know you hit it, so the money is yours.”
Rafe’s hands curled into fists before he pressed them against his eyes, angry all over again with the way they were estimating you. With the way they talked about you, like you were just a body, just something he used for fun.
Were they really that ignorant and just… fucking stupid? He could still see your face, clear as day, the moment he realized you were behind him—the initial shock, disbelief, and then acceptance, all while tears were glimmering in your eyes and the look in them made his blood run cold.
They hurt you. He hurt you. Even if he didn’t mean to and long ago decided to quit this damn bet, he still was dumb enough to participate in it to begin with. Looking back now, Rafe was disgusted with himself more than ever for being just another frat guy and for proving everyone’s point and all the rumors about him.
Disgusted that you told him that you saw a better side of him, yet he humiliated you in the worst way possible.
Topper sighed, annoyed now. “Look, man. No one forced you. You said yes. You played the game.”
“I know that it’s my fault. But who fucking asked you to run your mouth in front of her? You knew she was right behind me.” He snapped again, grabbing a random cup from the table nearby and drowning the strong-smelling liquid.
Kelce rolled his eyes. “Don’t pin that on us. You should’ve told her sooner if you were feeling all guilty about it.”
“I know what I should’ve done, I wanted to do it tonight.” Rafe yelled back, tossing the cup on the floor. “I fucking told you that I was done, that you won, and I don’t need your shit. You—you fucking knew she was standing behind me. You knew! That she could hear you. And you did that on purpose, huh?” He was getting angrier, louder, his usual fiery temper being fueled by the memory of your face plastered in his head and by the way all of his friends seemed like they couldn’t care less about everything.
“Chill out, man. It was supposed to be fun, just a joke.” One of the other guys chuckled nonchalantly, fully oblivious that all of them were just minutes away from Rafe lashing out.
“You actin’ like you’re in love or some shit.” Topper said half-joking, but it made Rafe freeze instantly. His face became deadly still, contrasting with the way his heart started bumping against his ribs like crazy. He licked his lips nervously—a gesture that none of the guys noticed, or, at least, couldn’t interpret in the right way—and then his eyes narrowed like a sudden realization hit him.
“Get out.” He said plainly.
“What?” A few voices asked back.
“I said—get out.” He stepped back, keeping his eyes locked on the group in front of him, then reaching to turn the annoying and blasting music off. All of the other heads turned to him in question, as it was way too early for Cameron's famous party to be over. “Everyone. Get the fuck out of my house. Now.” He screamed louder, making sure that everyone could hear him.
People looked at each other confused, but seeing how dead-serious Rafe was, they started slowly leaving the mansion, whispering to each other and throwing confused glances at him.
“Dude, you can’t be serious, we—“ Topper started, but Rafe didn’t let him finish.
“Am I not fucking clear?”
And just like that, it took a few more minutes for Rafe to finally be left alone. He slammed the front door, turning around and then sliding down on the floor right then and there.
The house was empty now, except for the countless bottles, cups, random confetti, and just a mess left by people he would rather not even see. Now he was alone. Alone with his thoughts, sitting with his head in his hands, he cursed himself again and again.
It felt like you and whatever trust you had in him were his opportunity to do something special—something just for him and not for the crowd and snobs he had been surrounded with his whole life. If he played it right, if he just approached you like a normal human being the moment you caught his eyes, before the whole bet, it could’ve been different now. It could’ve been different if he at least had enough courage to tell you the truth before his friends ran their mouths, if he explained everything to you—that he did bet on you, that he was sorry, that he knew you deserved better, that he still wanted you more than anything.
But he didn’t. And now he was paying for it.
•••
Before you opened the door, you knew who was standing behind it, yet seeing Rafe for the first time since that party felt really weird. By the way his eyes went wide, you figured he expected to be ignored again, the way he was all the other times he came and knocked, desperately wishing he could just talk to you and explain everything. For some reason, this time your inner voice told you to finally face him, because the gnawing feeling and thoughts about everything started to become more than you could handle.
After that night you went through all the spectrum of emotions—from shock to sadness to anger to constant self-picking. You couldn’t believe, and didn’t want to, that all of it was fake. That all the rumors and all the warnings you heard about Rafe were true. Because how could he possibly play it that well, to the point that you truly and wholeheartedly thought that you saw the real him—soft and caring, sweet in the moments when other people weren’t around?
So when the truth came to the surface, when Topper started talking about it in front of Rafe and all of their friends, you felt like you were betrayed. Because, apparently, all of these things were just a play. You were just a bet and an opportunity for Rafe to get whatever prize they agreed on. Meaning that you made all that up in your head, and for these past few days you couldn’t help but feel disgusted with yourself.
“I— I wasn’t expecting you to open the door.” Rafe’s hoarse voice pulled you back into reality, and you blinked a few times to focus on the face that you now hated and missed at the same time. Your eyes studied him just for a few moments before falling to the giant bouquet of flowers he held in one of his hands. It was really massive, definitely the biggest and most expensive of all he ever bought for you. “These are for you.”
He held the bouquet out, but you shook your head no. “You’re trying to buy my forgiveness?” Your voice sounded way too raspy and fragile even for your own ears, and you didn’t miss the way Rafe’s lips pursed for a second in what seemed like sadness.
“No. It's the least I could do. But you like flowers, and I thought you deserved something beautiful after I fucked everything up.”
“Oh, you mean after you publicly humiliated me and laughed about it with your friends?” You shot back immediately, noticing the way he took a deep breath, lowering flowers back to his side and nodding to himself like he knew he deserved it.
“I didn't laugh with them. I kicked them out that night and haven’t talked to them ever since, because— Fuck, just let me explain everything? Please.” You hesitated. Every instinct screamed to shut the door in his face, to protect what was left of your pride. But another part of you—the stupid, soft part that still remembered his hands warm on your waist, his forehead pressed to yours when he kissed you so softly it made you melt against him—stepped aside.
“Just because I want the whole story. Five minutes.” You said, opening the door wider. “That’s it.”
He walked into the familiar space of your house, going into the kitchen and feeling slightly dizzy from the scent that was unmistakably just yours—the one that he got used to over such a short time and now craved like crazy. The flowers were placed on the counter carefully, like Rafe was making a point that they were just for you and he had no intention of leaving with them.
You stood at a safe distance in front of him, your hands crossed over your chest, and eyes waiting for him to start speaking.
“There was a bet.” He finally started, standing almost awkwardly in front of you—something that you had never seen before and that was so unusual for him. “That I can sleep with you. And I accepted it because I was already crushing on you and thought that it would just get you out of my system.”
“Wow.” Hearing it being said by him hurt ten times more than you expected. “So… The main goal was to get me into your bed?” You whispered, your voice much calmer than you felt inside.
He hesitated. “That’s what we agreed on, yes… But when it happened between us, I did it not because I wanted to win anything, but because it was you and…it was just real to me.”
“That’s still fucked up.”
“I know! I know how stupid that was, that I agreed to playing with someone’s feelings just because I was scared of my own.” He groaned, rubbing his buzzed head in a way he always did when everything became too much. You hated that you picked up on those signs.
“Well, you sure as hell didn’t care about my feelings when you hid the truth from me. Now I don’t even know what was true and what you were just acting.” You stopped when a lump in your throat made your voice sound weak. “I feel like everything was just a game, that it means nothing, and that I’m just an idiot who fell for the charm.”
“I was lying to myself, and I was lying to them, but not to you. Never to you.” Rafe’s eyes started shining when he stepped just a bit closer, as if out of habit trying to reach out to you. “Since the moment we started talking, everything that I said and done, every time I held your hand or kissed you, when we were together that night… It was me. These were my real feelings for you.”
“I knew I was done with the bet when we just talked for half an hour that first time and you gave me your number. God— I knew I wouldn’t be able to fake it or to hurt you because the real you was even better than the one I admired from afar. I told them I was done, they knew that I wanted to tell the truth that night at a party. But fucking Topper thought it would be fun to talk about it when you walked into the room.”
Your breath was uneven as you tried to hold back your tears, to not crumble in front of him. You held yourself tighter, unable to speak for a few moments, and hated the fact that despite the heartbreak, despite the pain and tons of self-doubt this situation had brought you, you couldn’t see anything but sincerity in Rafe’s eyes.
“How much did you tell them? Because the things that they said… I felt humiliated, Rafe. They laughed that they knew everything about us, about me, and I swear if you told them—“
“No! Hell no, I didn’t. That wasn’t part of the deal.” He shook his head, and hands flew in the air in defense. “I was supposed to show them proof of us sleeping together, but I didn’t. I swear on fucking everything that they know nothing about us or about you. I didn’t care to tell them a single thing because I was scared they would ruin everything with you. And they proved me right.” You stayed silent, chewing on your lip when relief and another wave of unmistakable sadness washed over you. Rafe’s voice softened when he continued. “I’m so sorry, baby. For lying, for hiding it from you, for the things that you heard from them. You were not just a body, you were the only thing that I was looking forward to every single day. And I know how much it hurt you, so I’m not asking you to forgive me now, but just know that I’ll do anything to win your trust back.”
You started crying again, hating yourself and him for everything that was happening. You tried to wipe the tears as they were rolling down your cheeks, sniffing every few seconds. And Rafe just stood there helpless and heartbroken, because he knew that now he had no right to even touch you.
“You did hurt me. I was blaming myself for it during all these days…”
“I’m so sorry.” He whispered again.
“…And I hear what you’re saying, but it doesn’t fix how I feel right now. I can’t trust you. Not now. I need time away from you.
Rafe’s face fell even though he expected those exact words, even though he knew he deserved it. He nodded, studying you once again and wondering whether it was the last time he had the opportunity to be so close to you.
“I understand.”
•••
When you stood at the fluorescent lights of some creepy-looking gas station far away even from the cut, you didn’t know whether the goosebumps on your skin were from the unusually chilly Outer Banks night or because the atmosphere of the place genuinely petrified you.
You didn’t mean to end up there, but your sudden decision to just go somewhere alone and clear up your mind came to you out of nowhere, and you hit the road when the sun was almost setting. On your way back, everything went well, up until the moment you heard a weird noise under your car and it started swaying weirdly. You managed to make it to the gas station that was nearby, only to find out that you had a flat tire. And you didn’t have a spare.
You looked around you cautiously, seeing nothing except the gas station itself and vast empty space all around you. Not a single soul except for the man that you could faintly see through the front window. Trying to calm yourself down, you tried to think rationally. It was late, you had no spare—and even if you did, you didn’t know how to deal with it—and you quite literally had no idea how to get back to your house safely.
It was probably a bad decision, but with slightly trembling hands and an uneasy feeling, you went inside of the gas station. The middle-aged man behind the counter looked you up and down the moment you walked in, and you knew that it didn’t mean any good. A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his greasy, overgrown hair constantly falling over his eyes, and he brushed it away with weird, childlike movements.
“Evenin’.” He smiled, slightly leaning over.
“Um— I have a flat tire and was wondering if you know someone who can fix it? Like a mechanic, perhaps?” You mumbled, slowly looking around the dimly lit room with half of the lights blinking like in the worst horror movie.
“Nah, there are no car repairs nearby. Phone’s not workin’. But I can take a look…” His eyes slowly looked down your body again, and it made you feel physically sick, as every part of your brain screamed at you to get away from that place as fast as possible. “For a price, of course.”
You blinked at him, mortified, before taking a step back and clutching a phone harder in your hands. “I think I’m good.”
You rushed out of the building, going back to your car and locking yourself inside. Your heart was pounding harder with every second as you cursed yourself for even leaving the house today. Looking down at your phone, your eyes locked on the dying battery that was currently at twelve percent before quickly opening your contacts and scrolling through them.
He was your first thought. No matter what, it was like an instinct that developed over the few months you were together. You spend another minute looking at the phone numbers of your girlfriends who, honestly, couldn’t help you in any way, and… that was pretty much it.
The notification about low battery lit up on the phone, and before you could think about it longer, the survival instinct hit you and you called Rafe on autopilot. Because he was safe, he could help you, he wouldn’t just hang up on you even after all those days you spent without any contact.
“Hello?” His slightly surprised voice answered on the second ring, and you let out a shaky breath from the slight feeling of relief that it brought you. “Are you okay?” He asked, as if sensing your distress even being miles away.
“I’m—” Your breath shook. “Rafe, I’m stuck. My tire blew. I’m at this gas station, I don’t even know where I am, and there’s this guy, and he’s—he’s weird, and I’m scared.”
“What?” The word came sharp, all softness gone. “Where are you?”
“I don’t know exactly. But it’s the road up north, further away from the cut… Rafe, I don’t know what to do, my phone is dying.” You half whispered, resting your head against the wheel and looking down at your phone. Eight percent.
He stayed silent for a few moments, yet you could hear the rummaging and slamming of the doors on the other end. “Up north… Do you remember that diner we stopped at before our date? Have you seen it on your way?”
You furrowed for a few seconds, remembering that night when Rafe promised you to show you a cool place outside of the town. It was dark, so you didn’t know where you were going, and you didn’t care as long as it was with him, but you stopped at the diner to get some food. That night you took a picture of the sign because it was fluorescent pink—the one that you had never seen before… except today on your way here.”
“I did! I saw it, like, fifteen minutes before ending up here.” You breathed shakily. “I’m at five percent, Rafe.”
“Good. That’s good.” His voice was gruff, the engine of the car softly murmuring in the background. “Lock the doors and don’t open them, okay? I know where you are. I’m gonna be there in fifteen, I promise. You—“
The call ended, and you stared back at your own reflection on the screen. Now it was deadly silent, but at least you hoped that Rafe could find you before anyone else could. You stayed in the same position with your head down for a while, thinking that maybe this way you wouldn’t overthink and see the moving shadows outside, that you could focus on your breathing and not the creepy dude that could probably see your car through the window.
The knock made you jump, your heart rate skyrocketing when the face of the same guy looked at you at a much closer distance than you would prefer. The man from the gas station was standing right by your window now, face lit from below by the ugly fluorescent lights, features sharper and meaner up close. He bent down a little, peering inside your car like you were some kind of display.
“Hey.” He said, knocking again, harder this time. “You sure you don’t want help? It’s cold out here. Ain’t safe for a girl to sit alone at night.”
Your stomach twisted. You shook your head quickly, not trusting your voice, and mouthed no. He frowned, eyes sliding over you in a way that made your skin crawl.
“C’mon.” He pressed, trying the door handle. It didn’t budge, but the sound alone made your breath hitch. “I’m just tryin’ to be nice.”
Your pulse roared in your ears. You grabbed your dead phone instinctively, even though the screen was black now, useless. You felt a lump in your throat and tears burning your eyes because, quite literally, you were trapped—there was nothing you could do or say to make him go away, there was no one who could help you and protect you if he decided to do something.
You grabbed the door handle from the inside as if it could help you to keep it closed while he was pulling at it from the outside, and that was the moment when the headlights blinked at you from another car—the one that made your body sink against your driving seat on instinct.
Rafe’s truck roared near your car, gravel screeching under the weight, as he parked nearby, instantly jumping out. The moment he saw another figure, clearly a man, towering over your car, he saw red. His nostrils flared, jaw tightened, and fists clenched and ready to deal with the guy if he started acting up.
“Get the fuck away from her.” Rafe’s voice boomed in the empty space, and the man stepped back with a fake-innocent smile. He was shorter and seemingly more clumsy, so when Rafe shoved him back and stepped between your car and him, the man shrank himself, not being so confident now.
“Relax, man, I was talkin’ with a pretty woman in need.”
“You will be the one in need if you don’t get the fuck away from my girl’s car.”
The man’s eyes slightly widened at the tone of Rafe’s voice. He stepped back with hands still in the air, not looking at you anymore, and instead keeping his eyes on Rafe, who was looking at him like a predator on his prey. And the moment the guy walked back into the building, slow and cautious, Rafe’s demeanor changed instantly—he still felt the leftover of that sudden anger that enveloped him, but when he turned around and looked down and saw your face, he let out a shaken breath.
You unlocked the door, getting out on trembling legs. Your eyes were hungry, taking Rafe in. All those days after he left your house, you spent thinking about the whole situation, hyperanalyzing every detail and trying to figure out your emotions. Yet, no matter any concerns that your mind raised, the one prominent thought you kept coming back to was that you missed Rafe. It was as simple as that. You missed his presence, his voice, his touch, the way he treated you… And now, being incredibly shaken and scared, there was no second thought before you fell into his arms—the only place that seemed safe enough.
You melted against him, you touched him for the first time in weeks, and it made his head short-circuit. He froze for half a second, like his body needed permission from his brain to believe this was real. Then he wrapped you up. Hard and desperate. One arm around your shoulders, the other pressed flat to your lower back, anchoring you to him like if he let go you’d disappear again. Your face buried itself into his chest, nose pressing against worn cotton and the familiar scent that made your throat tighten instantly. Rafe’s chin dropped to the top of your head, his breath shaky as hell.
“You’re okay.” He murmured, not even sure whether he was saying it to you or himself. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Your fingers curled into his hoodie on instinct, and you didn’t even realize you were shaking until he did—until his hand started rubbing slow, grounding circles over your back, like he was afraid that he was not allowed to touch you anymore. Not after the way he betrayed your trust.
“I was so scared. ” You whispered, the words muffled. “I didn’t know who else to call.”
“I’m so happy that you did, bab—” He cut himself off, wincing when the usual nickname almost rolled off his tongue. “I’m sorry.”
You pulled away slowly, shaking your head, and trying to recollect yourself despite the growing pit of your stomach—now not from fear, but from the weird situation that you and Rafe ended up in.
The silence stretched; the distance between you felt awkward when you both locked eyes on each other but didn’t know how to deal with everything. You wrapped your arms around yourself, and Rafe finally spoke up. “I know a guy. I’m gonna call him to tow the car and take care of it, ‘kay?” He didn't wait for your reply before walking a few steps away to make a phone call, talking with a guy in a hushed tone, but he kept throwing glances at you as if to make sure that you were still there and okay.
“He’s gonna be here in fifteen. We can—”
“I’ll pay you back.” You cut him off.
“What?” He laughed, genuinely confused.
“It’s late, we’re in the middle of nowhere, and repairing itself... I know it’s expensive, and I’m not gonna ask you to cover that.” Your eyes kept darting everywhere, suddenly exposed in front of him.
“It’s not your problem. You’re not paying anything because I’m taking care of it.”
“But Rafe—”
“No.” He said firmer, not missing the way your lips pouted. “Now, let’s get into the truck.” You barely had time to react before he was already opening the passenger door of his car, the inside glowing warm and safe compared to the sickly fluorescent lights outside. “Please. It’s cold, and I want you where I can see you.”
The second you climbed in, the warmth hit you, and with it your hands started shaking before you could stop them, fingers curling uselessly in your sleeves. When Rafe got into the driver’s seat, his presence and his familiar scent enveloped you. You could feel his eyes locked in on you—soft, steady, and caring—while he waited for the smallest sign from you.
He reached forward slowly; his fingers brushed yours where they rested in your lap, tentative, asking. When you didn’t pull away, his hand closed around yours fully in an anchoring way that made you suck in a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.
“You okay?” Rafe asked softly.
“I don’t know. I was so scared, and my phone was dying, and…” You stopped yourself to think, to check in with yourself that it was actually what you wanted to say. “The only thing that felt right was to call you.”
“I’m glad you did. No matter what happened between us, I’m here. Always.” He leaned a little bit closer to you, head dipping lower to catch your eyes. His hand squeezed yours twice, and you squeezed it back, making a soft smile appear on Rafe’s lips.
The tow truck’s headlights appeared in the distance, cutting through the dark. Rafe glanced at them, then back at you, reluctant to let go, needing a few more moments with your hands in his, with you finally close to him after so many days without any contact.
“This doesn’t fix anything.” You said softly.
“No.” He agreed. “But I will fix it.”
Before you could overthink it, you tilted your head and pressed a slow, gentle kiss to the corner of his lips. Barely there. Soft. But enough for his heart to make a leap. Enough for his breath to hitch and lips to start tingling from the simple touch.
He smiled and for a second didn’t say anything at all. He just looked at you, eyes flicking from your lips back to your eyes, like he was grounding himself there. His thumb brushed over your knuckles once, slow and absentminded, as he clearly wanted to do or say more but stopped himself to not overstep that fragile line.
“I’m gonna take care of everything and will be right back, okay?”
And when you settled in the passenger seat, a little bit sleepier now, you looked at Rafe through the front window, admitting to yourself that he was still the one for you.
summary: an unavoidable trip to a nature resort has you discovering something new about yourself, all thanks to the handsome owner.
cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, fluff, older!leon, kissing, oral sex, masturbation, dry humping, p in v, spit kink, praise kink, daddy kink, age gap, aftercare
wc: 8.3k
a/n: been going feral over leon since the re9 trailer <3
also on ao3!
You couldn’t remember the last time it had been this cold.
A white puff of air forms from your lips as you stare out at your surroundings. Snow hadn’t fallen yet, but the grass under your feet was wet and slippery, half frozen over. A frown pulls at your lips as you stare out at the cabins, pulling your jacket around yourself tighter. Some of them were lit up, a couple lingering on the porch outside with their arms wrapped around each other.
Your frown deepens, bitterness seeping in and mixing with the chill of the air. This was meant to be your big break, your relaxing trip away from home. Only it wasn’t relaxing to be out in the middle of a forest freezing your ass off with a bunch of strangers for company. Not to mention, you weren’t meant to be here alone. The trip had been planned months ago, back when your boyfriend was kind and caring, and all that other bullshit he had managed to convince you into thinking he was before he had gone and ended up between the thighs of your supposed, and no longer, friend.
A groan escapes you when the memory comes back to mind, and you pat your cheek in an attempt to self-soothe. The booking deposit was non-refundable much to your dismay, and whilst you didn’t exactly want to be here, you’d been too busy wallowing in self-pity to badger an unassuming customer service rep who probably didn’t give a shit about all your woes.
So you’d shoved a few clothes into a duffel bag, along with a few other necessities and made the trip out here, into the freezing – and somewhat beautiful, you could at least admit – wilderness.
Your gaze flits back towards the couple, now entangled in a kiss, the thought of throwing a frozen rock at their heads briefly crossing your mind. Another white puff escapes. You really were pathetic.
You grumble to yourself as you haul your duffel bag to the large, warm-looking wood lodging situated a little way past the cabins, pushing through the doors to find yourself engulfed by heat. It soothes you a little as you poke your head around, examining the large space. There's a cozy fire going, a few tables set out in an open area, a kitchen set off to one side with staff milling around, most probably preparing for the dinner service.
“Hi,” you say tiredly as you trudge up to the receptionist, giving her a wane smile in an attempt to at least appear polite. “I’m here to check in.”
“Sure,” she chirps happily, clicking across the keyboard rapidly, “could I please get your name?”
You tell her, watching with slight bewilderment as her fingers fly over the keyboard again. She glances up at you, her head tilting to look behind you, her brows furrowed.
“I know it’s been booked for two people,” you interrupt. “But he won’t be making it today.” You glance towards a window, taking in the foggy darkness that was beginning to settle in. “Snowstorm,” you explain breezily, forcing a brighter smile onto your face, unsure of why you were trying to explain yourself. “He’s uh– stuck in a snowstorm.”
“Oh, that’s too–”
She’s interrupted by the sound of heavy footfalls, and you glance behind you to find a man trudging his way through the doors, an axe in hand. Serial killer, your tired, wretched mind conjures dramatically as you stand there, rooted to the spot.
“Leon!” the receptionist greets cheerily, smiling at the man as he rounds the reception desk.
He murmurs something you can’t quite catch, and you find yourself leaning forward, curiosity sparking through your veins as you let your gaze trail over his brown hair and broad shoulders.
When he turns to face you, you feel your breath catch. He’s older than you – you figure by the few streaks of graying hair – but he’s… handsome. His hair is a little long, hanging over an eye and you swallow when you spy the stubble covering his jaw. You would keep staring if you could, but he clears his throat and you snap out of your trance, thrusting your hand forward awkwardly.
Leon glances down at your hand, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement before he takes your trembling hand in his.
Warm, you think dazedly as you introduce yourself, feeling his calloused skin against yours.
Warm, warm, warm–
You manage to let go before you latch on, watching with barely disguised curiosity as he disappears back out the doors.
“That’s Leon,” the receptionist explains as she hands the keys to your cabin. “He owns the place.”
“The entire place?” you ask, brows raising incredulously.
The receptionist nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! The forest is huge, a couple of acres, actually. He opened up the cabins after he stopped working for the government!” She winces when she realizes what she’s said, giving you a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have told you that. I’m… technically not meant to know either.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” you reassure her.
She draws a path on a small map to your cabin and you give her a small smile before you leave, following the path.
The cabin is nice. The fireplace is already lit up, spare wood tucked neatly into a corner nearby. You hum to yourself as you unpack, pulling your jacket off once the warmth in the cabin becomes too much. Exhaustion pulls at your weary limbs, guiding you towards the large bed.
You realize it’s meant for two people when you lay down, curling onto your side to find the space next to you empty. You’re unable to stop yourself from wallowing in self-pity and sniffling, the sleeve of your shirt brushing across your cheeks to wipe your tears. You were meant to be over him, meant to have forgotten about the aching memories, but all it had taken was the size of the stupid bed to send you spiralling.
Wallowing a little more, you eventually drag yourself out of bed for dinner. To your disappointment, the man from earlier – Leon, is missing. You wouldn’t have minded staring at him a little more to ease your sadness, to let your gaze travel over him and figure out what secrets he was hiding.
When the night grows colder, you return to your cabin, shedding your worn clothes. A hot bath later, you burrow under the heap of blankets you’d been wise enough to bring with you, sprawling over the entirety of the bed.
It’s warm and cozy, and in the haze of sleep, you think of Leon’s hand.
–
The next morning – against better judgement – you decide to explore the forest.
Drowning in self-pity wasn’t exactly how you wanted to spend your days here, and you’d figured that the fresh air would do you some good. Your nose scrunches as you walk along the marked trail on the map, fingers tugging at your scarf to ward off the cold.
It was still misty when you had set out, the unforgiving chill biting at your skin. Your eyes squint as you stare down at the map, not quite sure which turn you had taken on the trail. Blinking confusedly, you play with the map, glancing around at the surrounding forest, the cabins and main lodging nowhere in sight.
You spin on your feet, sweat beginning to bead across your forehead. Fingers trembling, you glance up towards the sky only to see that it’s covered by the dense forest canopy.
“Fuck,” you breathe out, feeling your stomach churn. “Fuck, fuck, fuck–” you frantically yank your scarf from around your neck when your body blisters with heat.
You were lost.
And it was all his fault.
“I hope you’re happy!” you snap at the sky. “While you’re too busy fucking her, I’m lost in a fucking forest!” Another irritated shriek escapes. “I hate you! Fuck you, you cheating, vile excuse for a–”
Something crunches in the distance.
You stiffen, clamping your mouth shut. You’d seen one too many true crime documentaries to meet an untimely end in a forest in the middle of nowhere. The leaves crunch against the forest floor once more and you stumble backwards, bumping into something firm.
Head tilting back, all you need is a glimpse of shaggy hair for a scream to tear its way out of your throat. The man behind you sighs heavily, as though you’ve managed to inconvenience him somehow, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you still as you thrash wildly like a fish out of water.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low, “stop screaming.”
“Fat fucking chance,” you screech, trying to claw at his arms. “I’m not fucking dying today, you creep!” Your voice is so shrill that it hurts your own ears. “Help! Let go of me, you fucking– Help!”
He grunts irritatedly, clamping his gloved hand over your mouth. Your eyes widen in panic, a muffled squeak escaping you when he turns you around to face him. Your cheeks flush hot with embarrassment when you see who it is.
Leon.
“You gonna stop screaming?” he asks, his grip on you loosening.
You nod rapidly, sucking in a sharp breath of crisp air when he removes his hand. Leon stares down at you, his brows raising and you clear your throat awkwardly, giving him an equally awkward smile.
“Just– um– just testing out the ol’ vocal cords.” You rub your throat.
“Right,” Leon says skeptically, his gaze flitting over you with mild interest. “The uh– not so dulcet tones of you being lost, is that right?”
You blink up at him, eyes narrowing when you spy a smile playing on his lips. “I have a nice voice!” you protest, stumbling after him when he starts walking back through the forest.
“Sure, sweetheart,” he rumbles, “you nearly took out my hearing with all that screeching.”
“That’s because I thought you were a serial killer,” you chirp, glancing around when he stops in a clearing, several wooden logs stacked into an orderly pile.
Leon glances at you, his brows raising. “Serial killer?” he echoes, reaching down to grasp the axe you had seen him with the day earlier.
“Case in point,” you say pointedly, gesturing towards him. “You have an axe and you own a huge forest, Leon. That’s like, textbook serial killer.”
You flinch when he brings his axe down, stepping back when stray pieces of wood fling about. Leon doesn’t say anything more, instead moving the wood unceremoniously. You decide not to interrupt, squirming on your feet as you watch him, strangely enamoured by the swing of his arms, the flex of his shoulders.
It’s hot, you decide, to watch Leon chop wood. There’s hair falling over his eyes messily, but he doesn’t push it away, instead bringing down the axe over and over again methodically. You bite back an indecent noise when he sheds his heavy jacket, the map in your hand crinkling as you ogle the outline of his broad shoulders and thick biceps through the fabric of his black shirt.
Leon grunts sporadically and you force yourself to look away towards the dark trees, squirming a little more when you feel how sticky your panties are.
“Remind me why you’re out here again?” Leon asks, drawing your attention back towards him as the axe comes down against the log, the wood splintering.
“Character building,” you reply vaguely, shrugging.
Leon lets out a low laugh – the kind that warms you – propping his axe up to run his hand through his hair. You swallow at the action, refusing to let your eyes drop anywhere lower than his stupidly handsome face.
“There are better places to do that,” he muses, his head tilting.
“Sure,” you shrug, kicking at a rock, “but maybe I like the great outdoors.”
Leon hums, stepping closer. “In the middle of winter?” he drawls, a smile pulling at his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling. The sight is boyish enough to have your heart kicking up in a wild flutter.
“Especially in the middle of winter,” you shoot back, faltering under his line of questioning.
He smiles knowingly and you frown, distracted by the motion of him removing his gloves. You think you can see a few scars littered over his skin, your eyes finding his when you catch him staring down at you intently.
You decide to hold your tongue, lips pursing instead as you rock on your feet awkwardly.
“You’re nervous.”
“For good reason,” you scoff, “you might chop me up to bits with that axe of yours.”
“If I wanted to kill you, you would’ve already been dead, sweetheart,” Leon replies drily, his fingers flexing.
“Well, you–”
He interrupts you with a hush, Leon’s arm curling around your waist to pull you into him. You open your mouth to protest, but his hand is sliding over your mouth once more, his gaze directed towards the forest.
“Shhh,” he soothes, nodding towards a flash of gray. “Look.”
You have half a mind to ask him whether he’s insane, but the gray thing seems to grow larger until it finally appears through the thick foliage. Your breath catches when you see that it’s a wolf, its ears pricked up as it turns to look at you.
Leon hushes you once more when you whimper, his grip on you tightening. You can feel the warmth of his body seeping in through all the layers you’re wearing, lashes fluttering when his chin rests on your shoulder lightly. It’s difficult to keep your eyes on the wolf when all you can think about how nicely he fits against you, how nice it would to feel his weight against yours, his hips settling between your thighs–
You dispel the thoughts as quickly as they come, stumbling against him when the wolf pads closer, its head tilting in curiosity. The overwhelming and entirely stupid urge to reach out flares up inside of you, to coax it closer and let your fingers run through its soft fur.
“Pretty, isn’t she?” Leon murmurs, his hand stroking over your hip soothingly.
You manage a slow nod, sulkily wishing that he was talking about instead. Leon holds you against him for a few moments longer while the wolf examines its surroundings before it’s gone, padding back into the trees leisurely.
“You okay?” he breathes out, turning you to face him, his hands still on your hips.
“I– yes,” you sputter out, peering up at him. “You have wolves?”
Leon runs his hand through his hair. “They usually don’t get so close. You must’ve startled her earlier.”
“What?” you hiss, throwing your hands up. “It– it could’ve eaten me!”
“I highly doubt that,” he laughs softly, letting go of you to pull his jacket back on, his fingers wrapping around the handle of the axe. “Well… unless you taste good.”
You stare at him blankly, following the line of his broad shoulders when he starts to walk away. Not wanting to get lost for the second time today, you follow after him closely.
“Do you?” he asks, offering you his hand to help you climb over a large log.
“Do I what?”
“Taste good?”
Your breath catches in your throat, fingers tightening around his hand. His words leave your brain scrambled, so much so that you lose your footing, yelping as you lurch towards him. Leon grunts as you fall onto him, trying to grab ahold of you. It only causes you to flail more, both of you crashing down onto the fallen leaves covering the forest floor.
You blink down at him dazedly when you realize you’ve landed on top of him, fingers sliding over the back of his head when he groans.
“Sorry,” you wince, shifting in his lap as he sits up, your fingers rubbing at his scalp gently.
“It’s okay,” Leon rasps, his eyes squeezing shut in pain. “I shouldn’t have said that to you. I thought you uh–” he trails off, letting out a soft laugh, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “I thought you might be into me,” Leon finishes, his eyes fluttering open to peer up at you, “guess I just read into it too much.”
“Oh,” you say, sounding shrill. “Oh! No– I mean–” you stumble over your words, feeling hot with embarrassment. “You didn’t read it into it,” you say finally when you get your brain back in working order.
Leon stares up at you, his brows raising. “I didn’t?”
“No,” you murmur, feeling shy under his intent gaze. “I– I am into you. It’s just… I’ve never been with someone that’s older.”
He nods, his fingers tracing over the curve of your cheek gently. You tremble when he leans in closer, his lips pressing against your cheek gently.
“That’s fair,” he whispers, “it’s a first for me too, being with someone younger.”
You give him a small smile, hands slipping up over his firm chest, arms wrapping around his neck. Leon leans closer, his fingers sliding over your jaw to gently grip your chin. You swallow nervously, gaze flitting from his eyes to his lips.
“You should probably know,” you whisper, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “My boyfriend cheated on me. It’s why I’m out here in the first place.”
“Not for character building?”
You laugh, shaking your head.
“Too bad,” Leon murmurs, cupping your cheek. “I was looking forward to your transformation.”
“Really?” you whisper when he draws you closer, breath hitching when his nose nudges against yours playfully.
“No,” he muses, kissing the corner of your mouth.
Your lips part, a retort sitting on the tip of your tongue, but Leon is surging forward, slotting his lips over yours. A soft gasp escapes you, eyes fluttering shut in surprise before your fingers tighten, drawing Leon closer.
He groans, the sound rumbling against your lips, his hands smoothing over your waist and along the length of your back. You’ve never been kissed in the way Leon does. It’s soft, insistent and wanting, his lips working against yours feverishly as though the next moment might be the last.
The scratch of his stubble against your chin and cheeks has you shivering and mewling, fingers slipping into his hair to tug at the soft strands. Leon jostles you in his lap, shifting you closer until he’s able to kiss you more firmly, his hand cupping your jaw to hold you in place.
You’re dazedly concerned about the fact that you’re making out with Leon with wolves around, but your concerns are soon forgotten as he licks into your mouth, tongue stroking against yours. Whining, you squirm closer, twitching in his lap when he sucks on your tongue lazily. Leon lets out a low, rasping laugh when he hears you, and you whine louder, toes curling in your socks as you pull at his hair harder, desperately wanting more.
He grins up at you when you pull away, eyes lit up with mirth. You let out a petulant huff, pulling his hand towards you again, making him cup your cheek. Nuzzling into the warmth of his calloused palm, you sigh, peering over at him.
“Did–” you sound embarrassingly breathless, “did you want to do more?”
Leon raises his brows, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he pulls you into another soft, slow kiss.
“Yeah,” he whispers, “is that okay?”
You nod, trying not to look too eager, but Leon must see the glint in your eyes because he’s standing up, pulling you to your feet. He says something about his cabin not being too far away, but you’re too busy lacing your fingers together, heart fluttering happily when you see how easily your hand fits against his.
Leon’s cabin is tucked away, past a line of heavily shrouded trees. The main lodging is visible when you step up onto the porch, leaning against the wooden railing as you rock up onto your toes to observe the sprawling expanse of land.
There’s a warmth pressing against your back from behind, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. You sigh, head tilting as you bare your neck to Leon, your fingers tracing over his knuckles when he kisses your neck.
It’s hard to keep your eyes open when he pants into your ear softly, his stubble brushing against your skin as he drags his lips over the length of your neck.
“You like it?” he asks quietly, his chin settling on your shoulder as he looks out at the sweeping trees and dark, misty sky.
“It’s nice,” you murmur, reaching back to play with his hair, “a little dark, but… nice.”
“You flatter me,” Leon says drily, his teeth scraping over your neck in retaliation.
You gasp, fingers tightening around his forearms before he’s pulling you inside his cabin, letting you kick off your boots. He grunts when you push him against the closed door, going willingly when you yank him down using his jacket, moaning into your mouth as you kiss him eagerly.
He’s grabbing at every part of you he can, smiling against your lips when you whine as he grabs your ass, squeezing gently. You paw at his chest, arms slipping around his neck as he hefts you up into his arms, pressing you against a nearby wall as he kisses you.
“I– I wanna–” you whisper, squirming in his arms in an attempt to get him to put you down.
“Wanna do what, baby?” Leon murmurs, pressing closer, capturing your lips in another deep kiss, his hands squeezing at your thighs greedily.
Baby. You nearly swoon right then and there in his arms, the deep, rasping timbre of his voice almost enough to send you over the edge. You squirm a little more, returning his kisses with equal fervor until you manage to pull away with a whimper.
You blink up at him, swallowing harshly. “I wanna suck your cock,” you demand stubbornly.
“I–” Leon trails off, looking a little dazed. “I uh– wasn’t expecting that.”
But his grip on you falters all the same, his mouth opening and closing as he watches you settle onto your feet before you sink down onto your knees.
“Baby,” he tries again, his hand reaching out hesitantly, settling on the top of your head gently. “Are you sure? You don’t have to–”
“Leon,” you say, shifting on your knees to get a little more comfortable on the rug underneath you, “I want to.”
“Okay,” he breathes out, noddily jerkily. “Okay, sweetheart. It’s– fuck, it’s been a while so–”
You smile up at him, biting your lip. “I’ll be gentle, old man.”
“Don’t be a smartass,” Leon rolls his eyes, his fingers running through your hair before they splay out over your scalp.
Your eyes slip shut at the motion, leaning up into it as he strokes your hair lazily. It’s gentle, sweet, and you hazily realize that no one’s ever treated you like this – like you’re soft, like you matter.
Leon’s belt buckle clinks, and you lean forward unconsciously, eyes fluttering open lazily to watch him pull his trousers down. The outline of his half-hard cock sits prettily on his dark boxers, Leon’s hand drifting over it to squeeze gently before his hand settles back into your hair again.
You hum when Leon gasps, nuzzling into his clothed cock contentedly, rubbing your cheek along the thick length. It’s big, you can tell that much just from the outline, drool pooling on your tongue.
“Shit,” he breathes out, his hips bucking when you mouth at his boxers, sucking lazily through the fabric. “Baby, fuck–”
“Can I take it out?” you ask sweetly, your own hand slipping past the waistband of your pants and into your panties to stroke at your sticky folds. You’ve never felt so empty, the ache between your thighs making you rock your hips needily as you mouth at his hardening cock.
“Yeah,” Leon rasps, his darkened eyes watching you, “yeah, sweetheart, go ‘head. Take my cock out.”
You tug his boxers down, throat drying when you see his cock. It’s pretty, flushed dark at the tip, several veins running along the length. You bite back a moan when you see the pre-cum beading at the tip, tongue lolling just in time to catch a glob that falls. Leon mutters a low curse, his hand pressing against the back of your head.
“‘s pretty…,” you whisper, your hand wrapping around his cock, delighted by its thickness and heat, eyes dropping to take in his heavy balls. “‘s really pretty, Leon.”
“Hah– Thank– Thank you, baby.”
His politeness has heat flaring in your stomach, lips pressing against the head of his cock in a fleeting kiss. Leon groans as you kiss along the length of his cock, his fingers flexing against the wall, curling into a fist before long. You take him into your mouth, unable to hold off for much longer, moaning when you feel the weight of his cock on your tongue.
He tastes intoxicating, the silky skin of his cock sliding over your tongue as you wrap your lips around him daintily, letting your lashes flutter up at him.
“Fuck,” Leon says, his brows furrowing in need when you swirl your tongue around his cock, beginning to slurp. “Sweetheart, fuck– look so pretty down there taking my fat cock.”
You preen, batting your lashes up at him a little more, your fingers curling around his thighs greedily, nails digging into his skin. Leon’s hips rock forward when you suck, a hoarse moan escaping him as he watches you hollow your cheeks with wanton intent, his hand slamming against the wall when you begin to bob your head.
“Takin’ me so fuckin’ good,” he snarls, his head tipping forward, eyes squeezing shut.
You watch through the misty haze of lust, your fingers working against your aching clit, rubbing at the swollen bud rapidly as slick pools into your panties. The fabric is probably ruined by now, with how wet you are, a muffled mewl escaping you as you use your other hand to play with his balls. You massage them gently, squeezing and letting your thumb brush over his skin, gagging when Leon’s hips buck too far forward, burying his cock down your throat.
“Shit!” Leon gasps when he hears you, pulling back, pushing his hair out his eyes. “Baby, I’m sorry, you okay?”
“Yeah,” you mumble, cheeks flushed and eyes drooping. You lick your lips. “I– I can take it, Leon,” you say petulantly, leaning forward to nuzzle into his warm thigh, biting into him needily.
He huffs out a hoarse laugh, his fingers cupping your jaw to tilt your head before he’s lowering his head, kissing you sweetly. You whine, hugging his leg tighter with an arm while your fingers slip into your needy cunt, hips rising and falling as you fuck yourself on your hand.
“So pretty,” he whispers, his nose nudging against yours as he wraps his hand around his cock, stroking the length as he watches you writhe on the rug, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “Can I try something, sweetheart?”
You nod, desperate for attention, for his touch. Leon’s thumb is sliding over your tongue, pressing down as you open your mouth wider, eager for his fat cock back in your mouth. But he doesn’t give you his cock. Instead, Leon’s lips purse, a soft noise leaving him as he spits down into your mouth.
It’s filthy, so terribly obscene and yet it makes your cunt throb harder, thighs squeezing together as violent need unravels through the crevices of your brain until you’re moaning and swallowing, tongue sticking out for more.
“Please,” you gasp, holding your mouth open, staring up into his eyes. “Please, Leon.”
“You’re driving me crazy,” he mutters, shaking his head as he watches you bounce on your knees, his thumb pressing down on the soft wetness of your tongue, hissing when your lips latch on unforgivingly, slurping at the digit. “Didn’t think you’d get me this fucking insane.”
You whine louder, a sliver of brattiness breaking through as you let go of his thumb in favor of lurching towards his thick cock again. You manage to get your lips around it, squirming closer until it’s half-way into your mouth, feeling the tip of it nudge against the back of your throat. You’d never taken it so deep, but you’re feeling stubborn and the uncharacteristic need to please has infiltrated your mind, setting your nerves alight.
“Sweetheart,” Leon grunts, muttering out a low curse when he watches you shift, settling on his boot. “Needy fuckin’ girl, huh? Okay, I’ll give you what you want, greedy little thing.”
His hand finds the back of your head, pressing gently as he urges you forward. You moan around him, hips rocking against his boot, holding him closer as it presses up right between your legs, giving you the friction you need, the relief you need.
“Good girl,” he whispers, letting his hips inch forward slowly. “Good fuckin’ girl.”
You whimper, hollowing your cheeks, trying to relax your throat as he strokes your hair. It’s a little uncomfortable, but Leon taps your nose and you mewl, managing to suck in a deep breath before letting you go lax as he pushes in deeper, just enough to feel your throat convulse around him.
Leon moans hoarsely, holding you there for a brief moment before he pulls his cock out of your mouth, brushing his thumb over your messy, spit-covered lips.
You blink up at him tearily, reaching for him when he leans down to kiss you, panting into his mouth.
“Leon,” you whimper, tears threatening to fall over your lash line at how good it feels to be here with him.
“I know, baby,” he croons, dipping his head to kiss your tears, trailing his lips over your cheeks. “You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart.” He kisses you once more, slow and gentle, letting his nose nudge against yours. “You wanna cum? Hm? Go ‘head and rub that needy little pussy all over my boot, baby, go on.”
You nod rapidly, kissing him eagerly as he cups your jaw, letting your hips roll once more, your fingers worming back into your panties to press against your swollen clit, circling the aching bud desperately. The coil in your stomach grows tighter with every kiss Leon gives you, every brush of his lips against your skin.
Through your hazy gaze, you can see him stroking his cock, pre-cum wetting his hands, the slick sounds emanating through the quiet, dark cabin. It’s a little difficult to get your fingers inside of you with how you’re settled on his boot, so you stick to rubbing your clit, grinding against his boot.
“Gonna cum,” you whisper dazedly, rocking harder, eyes rolling back when Leon’s hand slides over your throat, gently squeezing before he’s tipping your chin up so you can watch him fist his cock.
“Yeah?” Leon rasps, “just from grinding on my boot? You’re so dirty, baby.”
“‘m– ‘m not!” you protest, arching into him. “‘m not dirty!”
“No?” he coos condescendingly, licking into your mouth feverishly until he’s devouring your needy sounds, letting his tongue tangle with yours momentarily before he’s pulling back and spitting into your mouth. “But you’re gonna cum, sweetheart.”
It’s all too much for you. Leon’s hand on your hair, the low, rasping laugh that leaves him when you nuzzle into his thigh, the soft kiss that lands on your cheek.
You cum with a cry, shaking and shuddering and wanting, squirming towards his cock despite the violent twitches that rack through your body. Leon’s laugh is broken by a guttural groan when you suck his balls into your mouth, slurping and letting your tongue run over the hot skin.
“Fuck,” Leon snarls, his voice trembling as he strokes his cock faster, “fuck, baby– fuck!”
He grunts as he cums, hips jerking forward unevenly when you wrap your lips around the spurting head of his cock to swallow his cum down. You lap at the head, letting his heady cum pool on your tongue before you show him, batting your lashes up at him in a way you hope is pretty.
He sinks his teeth into his fist as he watches you swallow it down, fingers coming down to stroke over your throat gently before he kisses you, pulling you up onto shaky feet. You flush when Leon cups your cheeks, fingers trembling against his chest.
He smiles down at you, letting out a soft, disbelieving laugh. You smile back, unable to help yourself, leaning into him as he lets his head drop forward, resting on your shoulder.
“That was fun,” you say breathlessly, running your fingers through his hair.
“Fun,” Leon echoes, letting out a snort. “Sure, baby. Think you might’ve sucked my soul outta my cock.”
“Shut up!” you laugh, hitting his chest.
“What?” he grins, holding you in place as he peppers kisses all over your face making you laugh and squirm, his stubble scratching across your skin. “Gorgeous,” Leon whispers, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “You’re so gorgeous. My pretty baby.”
Your heart lurches in your chest, beginning to thud so violently you think it might somehow tear its way out of your chest and find its rightful home in Leon’s scarred hands. He kisses the tip of your nose and you shiver, voice soft when you speak.
“Thank you, daddy.”
You pause when you realize what you’ve said, eyes widening in mortification as Leon’s brows shoot up in surprise. Your mouth opens to apologize, to back-track, to say something to explain why the fucking word daddy has slipped out of all things, but your mind is utterly devoid of thoughts.
All you can manage is an incoherent gargle, the noise making you sound choked.
You’re half-expecting him to turn and pull away from you, but all Leon does is just… stare at you.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, “I don’t know where that came from.” You throw your hands up, growing panicked. “I mean, you were just kissing me and stroking my hair and I felt wanted and so fucking safe and I don’t fucking know why I–”
“Hey,” Leon’s voice is soft when he catches your hands, lacing his fingers through yours tightly. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”
“It is?”
“Yeah,” he nods, lifting your hands to brush his lips over your knuckles. “It’s just…,” his brows furrow, “not what I was expecting.”
Your eyes flutter shut when he kisses you, his hands slipping over your sides until he’s pulling you impossibly closer, deepening the kiss. You think there might be some sort of magic laced into the kisses with how they’re easing the tension in your shoulders, the anxiousness in you bleeding out with every press of his lips and stroke of his tongue.
Leon pulls away with a chaste peck, his forehead pressing against yours. His breath is hot as it fans across your face, and you lurch forward to steal another kiss from him. Leon catches you before you can, his thumb pressing against your lips.
“You want daddy to take care of you, baby?”
You blink up at him owlishly. The way he’s speaking to you – soft, low and deep – is rewiring the synapses in your brain, carving out a place just for Leon.
“Yes,” you whisper, head tilting to let Leon kiss your cheek. “Yes– yes, daddy.”
“Good girl,” he murmurs, his hands cupping your thighs as he lifts you up into your arms.
You’re too distracted by his mouth to notice that he’s carrying you to his bed, lashes fluttering as he lays you down. He leans back to shrug his jacket off and you’re doing the same, pulling at all the layers you’re wearing, discarding them hurriedly until you’re moving to tug your socks off.
“Leave ‘em on,” Leon says, pulling his shirt over his head. “They’re cute, baby.”
You’d disagree if you weren’t so distracted by his chest and abdomen. There’s a dusting of hair on his chest and you swallow, letting your gaze travel down over his muscled abdomen spattered with scars. You bite your lip, following the trail of coarse hair that lies below his navel, whimpering when you see his cock hard again.
Leon’s crawling over you, capturing your lips in another deep kiss, his hands brushing over your bare skin.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, staring down at you, “so fucking pretty for me, sweetheart.”
You mewl, fingers sliding through his hair as he mouths at your breasts, back arching when he sucks one into his mouth, his tongue swirling over your areola and flicking at your hardened nipples. If his cabin is cold, you don’t notice, not with the way he’s rubbing against you, the hot heat of his mouth making your eyes roll back as he tugs your nipple with his teeth.
“Daddy,” you whisper, bucking your hips, “daddy, please.”
“Use your words, baby,” Leon murmurs, switching breasts, kissing over the soft skin reverently, his hands squeezing at your thighs. “What do you want from daddy?”
“You!” you gasp desperately, tugging at his hair as he laves over your breast, sucking it into his mouth lazily before he’s letting it slip out of his mouth with a muted pop. “Want– want you to fuck me, daddy.”
“Yeah?” he says, hand sliding between your thighs to cup your pussy, his thumb sliding through your puffy folds to press against your aching clit. “Want daddy deep inside this pretty, little pussy?”
“Yes– ah– yes,” you whine, voice hoarse and broken, hands pawing at his broad shoulders as he slinks lower, head settling between your thighs.
A sharp squeal escapes you when Leon’s mouth latches onto you suddenly, his tongue gliding through your folds, lips sealing around your clit as he sucks it into his mouth. Your legs kick out, hands pushing at his head at the overwhelming sensation, but Leon doesn’t let up, wrapping his arms around your thighs, palms resting on your lower stomach to hold you in place.
You wail, toes curling as you thrash, back arching involuntarily when he fucks his tongue into your aching cunt. The motion has his stubble scraping deliciously along your skin – scratchy and rough.
“Daddy!” you squeal, “‘s too nghh– much!”
“You can take it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice muffled by your pussy as he laps at your cunt, working his tongue into every now and then until you’re shaking and yanking at his hair desperately. “Be good for daddy.”
You whimper, nodding to yourself as you reach for his hand, heart fluttering when he gives it to you, letting you hold his hand tightly. Broken moans and gasps fill the air as he laps at your pussy, over the slick folds, drinking down the taste of you greedily. He groans into your pussy, the sound travelling through your sensitive flesh, making you twitch.
Leon’s tongue swirls over your clit, flicking against the sensitive bud until you’re squealing louder, your feet slipping over his broad back in an attempt for purchase, only to find none.
“Fuck me,” you say dazedly, pulling at his hair, pouting down at him. “I said– hah– I wanted you to fuck me, daddy.”
He huffs out a laugh, peppering your clit with soft kisses until you whine and squirm again.
“You’re being bratty, sweetheart,” Leon muses, letting his hips roll between your thighs, his fat, heavy cock dragging against your slick pussy. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, groaning when you slip your hand between your bodies, guiding his cock against your pussy.
“Sorry, daddy,” you mumble, not sounding very sorry at all as you let your thumb brush over the head of his cock, mewling happily when Leon whimpers, pre-cum dribbling from the tip of his cock and onto your clit, coating the swollen bud.
“I– fuck– I don’t have a condom on me,” he says, kissing your neck.
“You can pull out,” you offer, peering up at him when he reappears, an arm wrapping around his neck as you roll your hips, feeling the head of his cock nudge against your empty cunt. “Just want you inside, daddy. It aches.” You pout a little more.
“Yeah?” he murmurs, pushing your hand aside to grasp his cock, stroking it once before he presses it against your aching hole. “Okay, baby, take my fat fuckin’ cock then.”
Your eyes widen when his cock starts to push forward, scrabbling at his shoulders when you feel the stretch of his cock pressing inside.
“‘s big,” you whisper, staring up at him, gaze flitting about his face. “Daddy, ‘s too big.”
Leon smiles, his cheeks flushed prettily. “Thought you wanted me to fuck this sweet little cunt, sweetheart. Hm? Should daddy pull out and kiss you instead?”
“No!”
The refusal slips out of you quickly and Leon laughs when he sees the flare of panic in your eyes.
“Sorry, baby,” he says, kissing your cheek. “Daddy’s being mean.”
You pout, pulling him down for a bratty, sloppy kiss as Leon lets his cock sink into you deeper, feeding inch after inch into your until your pussy flutters around him, desperately trying to accommodate his size.
Leon lets you adjust for a moment before he’s drawing his hips back and snapping them forward. You gasp, the sharp noise ripped out of your throat as he watches you, brows knitted together as he fucks his cock into you, setting a pace that has you seeing stars already. He brushes your messy hair out of your face, hand settling on your hand as he drops his weight down onto you, pushing your legs up so that they wrap around him, your ankles locking together tightly.
There’s drool leaking from the side of your mouth, Leon’s tongue catching it as he feeds it back to you, spitting into your mouth filthily as you babble incoherently, eyes rolling back.
“Perfect fuckin’ pussy,” Leon growls, his hands squeezing your hips, so hard that you can feel the bruises beginning to bloom. “Good fucking girl, taking daddy’s cock like a fuckin' champ.”
You preen at the praise, managing to draw a gasp out of Leon this time when your pussy clenches around his fat cock, his hips jerking forward when you claw down his back in delirium.
“Daddy– love daddy’s cock,” you slur, feeling his chest press against your breasts, the weight of him so comforting that you coo, legs tightening around him to hold him closer to feel his cock pounding into you with abandon, balls slapping against your ass. “Daddy– ah! daddy, daddy!”
“Daddy’s got you, baby. Doing so fucking good for me,” he snarls, mouth slotting over yours messily, his fingers moving to grip your ass to hike your hips up a little higher.
The new angle has him hitting deeper and you’re squealing, so loud that you think it might be enough to scare off the wolves outside. Leon groans and grunts, shifting his hips until he’s able to hit exactly where you need him, his fat, girthy cock carving its way through your pussy.
You can vaguely hear his bed creaking with every thrust, head tilting as Leon whispers sweet nothings into your ear, his fingers finding your clit. Every brush of his skin against yours has you crying out, the heat of your bodies becoming blistering.
“My perfect girl,” Leon whispers, his fingers splaying over your jaw as he watches your wanton expressions. “My pretty, perfect girl. All for me, hm? Tell me, baby, is this all for me? All for daddy?”
“Y– nghh– yes,” you whisper dazedly, feeling your body rock as he thrusts into you, driving his hips deeper and deeper. “All for you, daddy,” you tremble underneath him, “no one’s– ahh– no one’s ever made me feel this way.”
“Oh sweetheart,” Leon says, his brows furrowing as he watches you pucker up your lips for a kiss. He gives you what you want, letting his lips brush over yours, his hand tangling into your hair. “Tell me what you are then, pretty baby. Tell daddy what you are.”
You blink up at him, lower lip trembling for a moment before Leon kisses you again gently, his nose brushing against yours in silent encouragement.
“‘m daddy’s pretty, perfect girl,” you mumble out shyly, smiling faintly when he kisses your cheek.
“That’s right,” he soothes, brushing his fingers over your clit, beginning to rub faster, in tight, little circles. “Such a good girl for daddy, hm?”
You nod, giggling dazedly when he peppers your cheek with kisses, toes beginning to curl when he grinds his cock into you briefly before he’s fucking you again with long, deep strokes.
He’s moaning into your skin and you whine back, heels digging into his ass when he buries himself to the hilt in your fluttering pussy.
“Gonna cum, sweetheart,” Leon rasps, trying to pull back, his hands settling on your waist as he tries to detach from you. “C’mon baby, you gotta let daddy go.”
“N– no!” you protest, shaking your head at the thought of him wasting his cum when he could cum inside you. “Want it inside, daddy… want your cum inside,” you sound embarrassingly desperate. “Fill me up?” you try, “please?”
“Fuck,” he breathes out, running his hand through his hair as he glances down to where his cock is still buried inside of you.
You blink up at him, arching your back a little, squeezing your breasts before letting your hand drift between your thighs to rub at your clit.
“Please?” you whisper, your other hand reaching to scratch at his abdomen, grazing the coarse, dark hair below his navel. “Fill me up, daddy. ‘m so– so empty.”
“You’re a bad fucking influence,” Leon rumbles, grabbing your chin. “If you want daddy’s cum, you’re gonna have to take every fuckin’ drop.”
You smile at him hazily, lolling your tongue out playfully. Leon’s groaning and rolling his eyes, but he gives you what you want, spitting down into your mouth, letting his tongue glide over yours before he’s moving his hips again.
He seems to be close with the way he’s groaning into your ear, his movements stuttering with each consecutive thrust, fingers digging into your skin tightly. You kiss him sweetly.
“Cum, daddy,” you mewl, peering up into his eyes. “Wanna watch you cum, daddy.”
“Too fuckin’ good to me,” he rasps, his fingers playing with your clit.
Leon’s hips stutter forward one final time, a low whine leaving him as he cums, inching forward to bury his cock into you. You keen when you feel his cock throb, eyes rolling back when his hot, thick cum spills into you, your own thighs twitching as Leon rubs at your clit a little harder.
“Let go, baby,” he manages through rough pants, “cum on daddy’s cock, pretty girl.”
You cry out when he thrusts into you once more, clinging to him as your orgasm hits you, thighs shaking and body twitching as you cum. Leon kisses you lazily through it, his hands stroking over your sides as you ride it out, sagging against the sheets limply.
Leon pulls you into his side after he pulls out and you frown when you feel his cum beginning to leak out of you, pressing your thighs together stubbornly until the heady fog of lust fades and you realize that you’d let Leon cum inside of you.
You watch him when he leaves the bed, silently appreciating his broad back as he stokes the fire before disappearing through a door. He reappears, a warm, damp cloth in hand and clad in a pair of sweatpants and hoodie.
A yawn escapes you as he sits down on the bed, letting him clean you up with a kind of reverence that has your gaze clouding over again. Leon helps you get dressed, forgoing your panties as he helps you into a pair of his boxers, dressing you in his warm clothes, pulling you into his arms soon after.
“You okay?” he murmurs, kissing your cheek. “That was pretty intense.”
“Yeah,” you say, curling into him as he pulls the blankets up over you both. “But it felt good,” you flush a little, burying your face into his chest. “It felt good with you, Leon.”
He laughs, kissing your forehead, rubbing his hands over your back soothingly until you relax against him a little more and come out from where you’ve been hiding.
“Are you okay?” you ask, leaning into his palm when he cups your cheek. “I’m sorry if I was too much–”
“You weren’t,” Leon interrupts, tracing the curve of your cheek. “I told you, you’re perfect, baby. And yeah, I’m okay,” he grins down at you, “think you left a little ache in my joints though.”
You huff out a breath, trying to feign annoyance but he looks so boyish when he grins that you can’t help smiling back. You squirm closer, kissing his cheek before pecking his lips, nuzzling back into his warmth.
“So,” you begin, letting your hands slip under his hoodie to feel his bare skin, “what’s the story with the scars?”
“There’s a few,” he murmurs, nosing into your cheek, “all bad, I’m afraid.”
“Worse than serial killers?”
He snorts, hugging you closer. “Yeah baby, worse than serial killers.”
You bite your lip, eyes softened with affection. You kiss him again, your lips lingering against his like a promise.
“At least you’re here,” you murmur when you see the flicker of apprehension in his eyes. “Alive and warm and um… in the middle of a forest with a pack of wolves?”
Leon lets out a low laugh, his eyes boring into yours intently.
“And with you,” he adds quietly, holding you tighter.
Synopsis. Toji Fushiguro - strong, hot, and your steadfast personal knight. And his duty to the crown means that Toji should…help the princess he’s always loved with obtaining an heir, right? Right?
Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!princess!reader, knight!Toji, ROYAL AU, childhood-friends-to-Iovers, arranged marriage, Naoya gets NTR-d, PlNING, oraI (fem rec.), spítting, improper uses of armor, thigh ríding, dry húmping, matíng presses, BRÉEDING, dúmbifícation, marathons, D slipping, he’s BIG, size kínk, tummy buIges, cúmflation, slight exhíbitionísm, forbidden Iove, not actually unrequited, Undressed by Sombr references, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 11.1k (wow)
A/N. TO HAVE THE EYES OF THE GIRL I WON’T FORGEEET-
“Q-quite a grand affair- wasn’t it, sir?”
Toji lets out a gruff, noncommittal grunt in response, seconds away from rolling his damn eyes as he listens to the newly-stationed recruit babble on and on about ‘seeing a royal wedding up close.’
Toji Fushiguro has always known that he didn’t deserve you - no one did.
No prince, nor duke, but particularly not that prissy, pompous Zenin heir you’d supposedly been betrothed to since birth. What was his name-
“Naoya!”
Ah, yes. Toji’s scarred lips curl when he watches the prince slam the staggering mahogany doors of your royal room open, stomping down the winding hallway in all his sour-faced glory. Not quite Prince Charming if you asked him.
“Ijichi-” He sends a sharp nod to the bespectacled knight, signalling him to follow the heir. As much as he hated the brat, it wouldn’t do to widow you so soon- especially not on your wedding night.
And with that, Toji goes where it’s most important - to you.
As the metallic padding of his armor clanked! with each determined step, so did the ringing thought that if anything - absolutely anything - had happened to you, he would kill that damn Zenin boy. Prince or not.
Treason or not.
He didn’t climb and elbow and fight his way through the ranks of knights to become your very own personal guard for nothing. From the very moment he’d met you, his duty was to you.
As was his heart.
Though, that last sentiment didn’t matter much - not when he was nothing but your lowly protector.
Completely out of place in the decadent, dimly-lit chamber of your bedroom; it was sprawling, and the entire Keep where knights slept would take up about only half the size of your chamber. It was obvious that this place was readied for the newly-wed couple - a faint mist of flowery fragrance clouding the air, white sheets so sheer that they looked like phantoms fluttering in the moonlight, and you.
You, seated on the center of your plush mattress, still dolled-up in your gauzy ivory wedding dress. Looking as angelic as ever- though, when have you not?
To Toji, it was routine to snap his jade eyes away from whom he never could have.
Throat slightly rusty with hoarseness as he whispers, “My princess?” Before shaking his head free of any more of those stupid notions of ‘his.’ “You alright, princess? Must I slay a haughty royal neck tonight?”
That, at the very least, seemed to get a watery chuckle out of you as he’d wickedly hoped. Then you’re finally turning-
And oh, Toji thinks he might do very well to fulfill his promise of bringing you the head of your so-called new husband.
Because right there - in the corner of your gorgeous face that he’d grown up admiring through every year, every emotion - was a singular, silvery tear track. Glittering in the rays of moon, Toji can’t stop himself from the way his body viscerally wrenches a step forward-
-before you hastily wipe away the evidence of your sorrow before he can. Fighting to keep your sweet voice even, “Oh, don’t bother, Toji. Naoya just seems to be having a…bad day?”
He narrows his eyes- you were unhurt, at the bare minimum. Though, that won’t stop him from bribing the kitchen staff into overloading that damn Naoya’s meals with a bucket of salt from now onwards.
“Tch, the worst date to have a ‘bad day’. Don’tcha think, princess?”
“You’re telling me.” Throwing your hands up in exasperation, the silky sleeves of your wedding dress ripple as you huff. And Toji takes a few guilty moments to memorize the vision, one he never thought he would see.
It’s only with how long you two had known each other that you’re not bothering with any plastic court manners as you pull your knees to your chest. Groaning in quite an unlady-like way, “And all because I simply asked him to help me take these damn laces off-”
“The bastard ran out because of that?” Toji suddenly interrupts, jaw slightly sagging as he dares to take a peek at the mass of ribbons and strings knitting the back of your stuffy dress together.
Honestly- years in the royal palace and he still didn’t understand what it was with you people and these damn layers.
Your embarrassed silence was enough of an answer, and Toji’s bowing. “If I may-” Letting his gloves drop to the polished marble floor with a clunk! “No, I will if he won’t. Turn around.”
Slightly yelping, you’re letting yourself be tugged closer to the edge of the bed once Toji walks his way ‘round. Gruff, grouchy, and yet he was still making gentle work with your frilly back - unplucking you free, one by one.
“He said this was a woman’s work.” You sigh over the whoosh–! of creamy white ribbons being loosened from your outer corset. Lips twitching, “And I asked him if he’d rather I spent my wedding night with a woman, then.”
“Ya think? Anyone would be better than that pig-headed, brutish, fucking-”
“Language, Sir Toji.”
“Tch.”
As the last of your stringy restraints are untied, you have to bite back a moan at the roughened padding of Toji’s fingertips. Dexterous digits digging into where your muscles were tender from being cooped up like this all day, “You’re…surprisingly talented at this- practiced much, Toji?”
“Been watching you get dressed since I came to this palace, princess, don’t underestimate me.” He’s growling, and if the very tips of his ears burned at the thought of being the one undressing you - on your wedding night, of all things - then, well, he’s only glad the flickering chamber candles were too dim for you to tell.
“O-oh shut up.” You’re scoffing at the way Toji leers. Eyes darting anywhere but his and falling on- ah, your bed.
Your very un-mussed, very un-desecrated bed.
“Oh.”
Toji perks alert instantly, “Did I hurt-”
“No no–” Waving him off, “It’s just…the bed.” And as his face tilts in confusion, you feel a slight twinge of envy at the way he wasn’t aware of this particular royal custom.
Sighing, you pinch the plain sheets between your fingers. “The sheets- tomorrow morning, the courts will check and see that the marriage hasn’t been consummated. Of course, they’ll blame me for not trying hard enough to secure an heir. And I don’t trust my lovely husband to be over with his tantrum by then, so…”
Oh.
Oh.
The realization strikes - as do those words slip-
“I can help with that.”
Toji thinks he’s about to pass out- no, he thinks he’s already dead.
Because, surely, he was in heaven right now?
Or as close to heaven as he possibly could be - because with only a nod of yours, within only a few minutes he’s between your legs, kneeled at the very foot of your bed. The circles of his nostrils flaring in sweet, sweet anticipation the nearer he’s dragging his straight nosebridge in a meandering line towards your hot core.
Sniffing a deeeep few lungfuls of your body, your cunt’s saccharine aroma. Baritone so primally guttural n’ wet, “And yer sure? This isn’t just you talking out of- her?”
You’re whimpering once the honed, gleaming edges of his canines punctuate that last word by sinking into your drenched panties, gnawin’ until he lets it fall back with a sharp snap! that makes your heated skin sting.
You’re so wet that your inner thighs were gluing together with a thin sheen now, letting off the most sticky plap! of flesh-on-flesh as Toji throws one leg over his broad shoulder. The other pushed and pushed and pushed to spread apart with one of his rugged palms.
Hips squirming restlessly on your ancient bedsprings, “I’m positive. H-how bad can it really be?”
“Oh, princess, it won’t be bad.” The edges of Toji’s lips stretch at the way he hasn’t even started, and yet, you were already stuttering oh-so-cutely. The thickened curve of his thumb thumps against the top of your cunt, dragging a sultry touch down, down, doooown your sopping slit.
His eyes widen at the way it makes that flimsy fabric of your undergarments drench with a lil’ puddle of slick. And Toji feels his mouth water, “But don’t you take me for some priggish, posh prince that won’t eat out such a pretty pussy.”
“H-how crass!”
“Heh- if you think that’s crass…” Your knight doesn’t finish his sentence, only hooking a roaming index underneath the hemline of your panties.
Toji bores his half-lidded eyes straight into yours when he tugs- when he rips your starchy white underwear off. Absolutely nothing against his monstrous strength as your personal guard— “Skirts up.”
And you’re barely registering his grunted words fast enough to pull your numerous inner layers up to your heaving chest, barely on time before Toji jerks his head slightly back and spits.
Straight onto his target of your pussy, it cakes such a warm layer of sap that trickles down n’ in between your puffy folds.
“Messy giiirl–” He’s more than happy to spank the pad of his thumb down on your swollen entrance and smear the glossy mess. “Hidin’ this away under all those layers. How dare you.”
Prying the edge of your cunt open just enough so that he could sneak a teasing look at your sloppily soaked hole.
Toji’s scorching hot breath hits your skin in gusts once he’s leaning closer, nibbling on your fleshy pussylips until you whine. “O-oh my- s’it always this rude when one does…this?”
“No.” Gurgling out those syllables right where you were the most sensitive, he’s toying with you. Playing. Driving you mad with the tickling sensation of his scarred lips latching nose-deep into your pussy, “Just me.”
You buck, you keen, you spray him in even more gooey wads of slick that slip n’ slide riiight down Toji’s throat. And he stays there, maw agape so that you could watch each slithering trailway he drinks up like a man parched.
Like he was thirsting for water for years before coming across your leaking pussy, Toji spanks the underside of his palm against your cunt and makes you still.
“Now now-” Non-dominant hand latching to your waist to help you hold still, your knight snarls. “Enough runnin’, tell me what you want, princess.”
You claw desperately at the shaggy black strands of his bangs, a shrilling noise escaping you that you’ve never made before. Pulling him- “Want it, Toji. For you to do the…thing.”
“Ah ah-” Oh, he was having sooo much fun making his pretty royal beg for him like this. “The what? Didn’t you take all those ngh- elocution lessons, hm?”
Pulling away, in response your breath hitches with what sounds like a strangled sob, and it’s enough to make his aching cock twitch. Mindlessly humping the bulging outline of his girth against the cool wood of your bed frame, “Like my mouth?” Rubbin’ the line of his scar up and down your cunt, “My scar?”
Nodding and nodding because that’s all you can do, he watches on with a hooded gaze at the way your legs twitch with need.
Lengthy tongue flopping out even further, your mouth drops ever-so-slightly as you take in how long he was. And he was going to use that? Slathering the very edge of his temperate muscle over your folds, “Then uuuuuse- your-” Pokin’ his nubbed end just back in between your soppy lips to make you bawl- and right out again. “-words.‘
“P-please!”
“Hmm–?”
“Please-” Tears bubble up by the corners of your eyes, and your chin drops down to your chest as you wail out the rude, un-ladylike answer he’s been dying to hear these past few minutes. Past few years, really. “-e-eat me out?”
He was ruining you.
And did your command even have to be a question with the way that Toji was instantly diving his face between your trembling legs like his life depended on it.
Swirlin’ the textured buds of his tongue smack-dab on top of your swollen, sensitive folds to give you a goood, long lick. Once - just a taste before he pulls away with a short ‘fuck’, before surging back in.
Twice, before- thrice, he was addicted.
Smack after smack of his dewy wet lips that were simply drippin’ wet with all your juices, Toji’s gluing his maw against your core and sucking you all in.
He’s fighting to keep his verdant irises from rolling all the way back, he couldn’t even bring himself to even breathe before smushing his handsome features between your legs.
Gulping, “So fuckin’ sweet, princess. Sweeter than any wedding cake.” Toji’s knees go weak at the syrupy wet taste of you splashing on his tongue. “N’ I haven’t eaten allll day.”
And it wasn’t anything innocent - nothing sweet about it - you’re feeling the slimy tip of his tongue ease out further from between his puckered lips and swipe the dewy droplets of slick back into your hole.
Filling up your entrance with his fat girth until the only thing you were cutely clenching ‘round was his tongue. Your mouth shapes into a soft circle as he starts thrashing his dextrous tongue all the way back n’ forth. “Ngh- ngh, fuck, Toji. It f-feels so…”
Fuck- not even the gossip of the court ladies talked about it being this good.
“Ohhh– what’s that? Using such expletives, where are your manners, hm?”
You’re fisting the expensive coverings of your bed as the tender, velvety underside starts scraping along just where you were fountaining out beads of slick the most. Toji’s high cheekbones hollow out with a slurp as he pumps his tongue in furiously. “How can I have manners when- oh fuck!”
Surprising yourself with the sheer carnal need that was seeping into your voice, your hazed pupils travel in circles inside of your eyes in synchronized tempo with his swirlin’ tongue. Rough, rugged.
“Tha’s it- that’s it.” Toji has the audacity to knock his pointed chin against the base of your cunt and snicker, spitting out yet another stringy wad of saliva that makes your pussy glisten damply. Splat! “Any louder and the entire hah! palace is gonna hear, princess.”
“And whose fault is that- oh!”
“Yours.” He answers, simply.
Already having located your swollen, perky clit and giving it a playful bite. Your spine arches back into the soft blankets as you see fucking stars, clawing through his sweaty scalp. “I-I should admonish you for cheek, Sir Toji.”
“Go on, then.” His gravelly tone was dangerous, sounding oh-so-vulgar from down below once Toji’s plastering his mouth in an open-mouthed smooch against your cunt and prying your pussy further open.
Breath hitching, his prolonged middle finger tugs on your swollen folds and slips just the plush pad in. Groaning at just how wet n’ ready you were for him, “Tell me to stop.” Stretch-stretch-stretching your snug entrance around his bullying digit, “Hmm– command me, princess.”
Sloppy and aching.
Eating you out like he was starved, you’re barely given the time to catch your breath.
Damn near crying out by the time he’s scouring your glossy folds with the curvature of his finger. So big that Toji’s reaching every geysering nook and cranny without even trying– “I-I– fuck! More-”
He gasps, “More?”
“M-more.” Your chin slaps stupidly against the treacly puddle of drool on your chest, one you didn’t even realize was there before. Hazily lidded eyes blinking down at him, “More, please?”
Even when you were this gone, you still used your adorable manners.
And that fact was enough for Toji to slip his free hand between his legs and massage the mountainous plane of his palm down on his throbbing length. Snaking a hand between his trousers, he silently thanked the wedding dress code for making it so that he didn’t need to wear his full metal armor today.
“My cute princess wants more. You- do you even know what you’re haaaa- asking for?” Toji pants - he heaves. Your cunt singing out a carnal squelch! as he’s crowning just the tip of his nimble index past your filthy hole.
Nearly the entirety of his upper weight crushing your body to the bed, movements jittery with desperation. He’s suckling on your clit like his favorite gummy whilst stretchin’ out your glutinous insides as if he was trying to mold you to his each shape.
Tracing your mushy channel in zig-zagged lines, the bed creaks each time you’re bucking to follow his lecherous movements. “D’you even know what I can do? How much I can streeeetch this tight pussy out?” Squeezing in another finger, he’s rawly opening up your cunt with crazed thrusts. “How much I’ve yearned-”
And more to shut himself up than anything, Toji stuffs his mouth full of your pretty lil’ clit. Craning his neck to let him drag his unfastened mouth over n’ over in slobbering drags.
Letting your restless hips ride his features, “O-ohhh Toji– it feels so good.” You mewl, your entire body burning after each knocking thrash of his barreling fingers.
He had three- three of them inside you. Slick, glissading, searching.
“Promise to hah- scream my name, princess.” He pipes up, still salivating all down your slit with ribbony wires of spittle that start formulating a puddle beneath you. Sexily-placed scar rubbing a lecherous massage as the curling tip of his tongue draws a few hearts on your clit. Like he was strangely…distracting you. Before-
“T-Toooji! There! There-”
He strikes your g-spot, mercilessly.
Whack after whack he’s pushing until the knobbled bumps of his knuckles are rawly red, poking into your deepest depths.
“Yeahhh- just like that, atta girl.” Toji utters on your tender, wet pussy and you see stars. Circling cartoonishly around and around your head while he keeps on probin’ your favorite spot.
A place you’d only read about in those steamy romance novels your attendants smuggled, and now your knight was treating it like some cute glossy button he kept on squishing. The steady pushes of his digits bruising a few circumferences onto that spot, he was leaving your head feverishly empty.
And you can feel his smug smirk on your pussylips, faltering ever-so-slightly when he’s twitching in his hands.
Oh, Toji could cum from just this.
Forced to dab the heavy padding of his thumb over his weeping divot, he knits his dark brows and tries to make sure that this was real. That he really had you like this - all whimpering and drooling with both pairs of pretty lips, the crevice of your mouth opening with the loudest, most broken sob of- “Feels so strangeee–” Hips jutting, “I’m close.”
“F-fuck.” And if his voice broke on that last line, you were too far gone to recognize it. Like a madman, he’s twisting his mouth to now drink in all of you.
Everywhere from the puffed-up nub of your clit, to where your sappy entrance was bulging with all of him. All his rummaging size that dug against your delicate sweet spots, Toji was kissin’ you everywhere and anywhere.
Until his mouth burned, and your thighs quaked. “G-gonna…I’m gonna-” You’re croaking out, throat turning husky every time his tongue rolled over your clit, snaking up and down your folds.
“Cum- cum on my tongue, princess.” Toji bores his dilated green gaze straight up at you as he grins. Lovingly. Pussydrunken. “That’s an order.”
And then you cum- and it’s right all over his mouth like he’d hoped.
All down his tongue. Pooling at the back of his raping throat. Thick, splashing waves of sap that he’d love to drown himself in - to drown himself in your sweet, orgasming pussy.
Toji’s riding you through each peak of your high on the dot, slashing his tongue in a slanted drag across your clit repeatedly. It’s such a primal back n’ forth that leaves your hips slamming back into his mouth.
Voice wavering, it takes you a few seconds to blink away the blotches of pure white staining your vision. “Th-that feels so–” Still suffering from each ravaged shake that wrecks you, “Wait- are you…”
And as your vision finally clears just the slightest bit, you’re catching the sight of Toji’s beefy arm disappearing underneath your bed posts. Moving to and fro angrily–
“Nothing to w-worry about, princess.” His smoky croon makes the line of your spine shiver, lavishing your cunt with another polish of his mouth. Allll the way up to your pulsing clit, he gives your g-spot another merciless thump. “Nothing to worry about at- fuck-”
He might be the strongest of all your knights, but he can’t handle this.
Can’t handle you looking so damn dazed on his tongue, twitching with even the tiniest graze over your sweet spots. Tearing out of your pretty pussy all for him - that he can’t help but reach his high.
And Toji wasn’t going to let it go to waste, no- in a quick split-second, he’s forcing himself from his kneeled position at the edge of the bed and hiking a meaty thigh beside your hips. Straddling you with all his bulky bodyweight, grabbing ahold of his reddened fat cock as he cums.
“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck–” He’s nibbling down on his rosy lower lip and still can’t hold back the sheer amount of moans that escape him.
Your eyes widen at the voluminous droplets of seed dribbling from that circular end of his shaft, throbbing and glittering with wiry strands of cum clinging to him. “Th-there’s so much, Toji.”
Head slouching forwards- “S’all for you, princess.” Toji’s orgasm hits him like a damn carriage, and it’s pure adoration to keep on creaming himself to the way you looked underneath him that he isn’t simply collapsing on top of you right now.
Whimpering, your cunt starts throbbing needily once more at the splatters of syrupy ivory sap staining your sheets now. Making a mess.
Husking, “S-s’all-” Still airy n’ half-lidded, Toji moves as if he’s in a dream when he creeps his cherry-red tip towards your plush lips. Inch by inch. Toned hips moving forward, toes curling as his angry cock cums even more– “-for you.”
“Oh- mmmm—” You’re looking up at him through your lashes once the last few pearly droplets of seed trickle down to your maw like a white gloss, mouth all full. Toji’s mushroom tip was as pink as a strawberry and just as massively thick, scraping your jaw with the puffy edges of his veins.
Finally stealing a proper look at him, he just looked so attractive with your slick sparkling on his chin. Plastering a wet gleam all the way from the tips of his cheeks down his sharp jaw.
Just dripping wet - he was wearing the mess he’d made of your pussy like a medal.
“Oh. Oh.” Toji’s dark pupils dilate, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d have said he had heart eyes. Shuffling further down to give your soaked mouth a looong, thorough kiss. His first, in fact, that he’s been saving for either you or no one. Not that he would tell you that. “Congratulations on the wedding.”
You’re whining, as if you’d just remembered what today was. “And what about the problem of an heir?”
“O-one thing at a time, princess. Besides…”
Toji didn’t have to finish his sentence for you, too, to register what his keener ears had picked up. The distant thundering of footsteps-
“They’re back.”
And just as soon as he’d arrived, he was gone.
A fever dream that never happened- or, at least, Toji would never believe it happened if not for the cloying treacly taste of you still sticking to his lips. And if Ijichi arrived alone, with Naoya still in the throes of his tantrum, and sleeping over at some other ward of the palace - well, he may have just cracked a smile.
“What a great affair today- eh, Ijichi?”
“Y-yes, sir!”
.
.
.
Naoya accepted your explanation of using oils to trick the court into thinking the marriage was consummated, but what wasn’t accepted was the fact that weeks had passed and you still weren’t with child.
With an heir.
And right now the pressure from the court was crushing–
“You must understand, my lady. You’re already at that age, and our majesties aren’t getting any younger!”
“Quite right quite right, an heir- if we can have an announcement before the upcoming ball-”
“It is imperative we have a newborn soon. Our enemies will see this as a weakness-”
“Right, and I believe Naoya will attend to that.” You’re throwing a bored glance at the way your husband lounged near the end of the council table. Stood tall, and aloof with power. And you didn’t mean just the matters with your kingdom’s enemies, Naoya hadn’t even tried to touch you since that night.
To which you’ve been quite grateful, frankly.
You cringe at the thought of what this arranged marriage may come to, and the fact that there was certainly no way Naoya could even hold a candle to how good Toji was-
No, subtly, you’re shaking your head. You couldn’t be thinking about these sorts of things during an official advisory meeting - especially not when your personal knight stood guard right beside your bejeweled chair.
“-and his highness Naoya was so passionate on your wedding night.” Tuning back into the important conversation at hand, you’re almost regretting it.
The elder that’d just spoken up sounded almost giddy with excitement, and you’re realizing - at his red-blotched cheeks - that he must have been part of the group to assess your bedsheets on the morning after your wedding night.
Plowing on, almost conspiratorial, “I mean- the way those fine silks were torn- surely you must try harder, my lady, to replicate that night. Otherwise we might have to consider additional royal consorts.”
Beside you, you’re feeling Toji’s towering figure stiffen- recreating that night with Naoya was the last thing he wanted. And he’s growling out through his helmet before he can control himself, “We have no ongoing wars. We have no rebellions. I’d say we’re quite at peace without rushing the princess, minister.”
“And who gave you permission to speak, knight?”
Oh, you don’t have to look up to know who seethed.
The shards of vicious ice cutting through his voice was enough for you to already envision the glare that Naoya was sending Toji’s way. “And you’re one of the lower-born ones- a peasant, are you not? Aren’t you the one that had to get on your knees and beg to be able to take training?”
Toji grits his teeth so hard he tastes rusted metal, “I am.”
“So it is much above you to even breathe so loud during a meeting such as this- is it not?”
“It is.”
“Then why do you butt in like some- some lover when we talk of her duty-”
“Because my duty is to the princess you impotent lout.” Toji’s voice was thunderous, making the long wooden table tremble and the court advisors to hold onto their breath. You were quite sure you saw at least one faint.
And Toji would let anyone mouth off against him - but one word against you and he would stand up to the king that knighted him himself. Nevermind some arrogant prince who couldn’t count the blessings he had.
A prince who, he was sure, was on the verge of bursting right now.
Face an unseemingly shade of red, veins popping, mouth spitting with what were surely punishments–
“I will remind you, husband-” Your voice speaks up, with all the regal authority that half this court wouldn’t be able to muster up. And every head snaps to you as if watching a particularly complex jousting competition. Your eyes narrow down at Naoya, “-that you are not king, yet.”
It didn’t even matter if he was - you would still not allow him to lay a hand on your steadfast knight.
And there was nothing more to say.
Gingerly, the senior advisor, Gakuganji, is slamming down the tiny golden gavel to adjourn the court session. And every huffy elder nearly tumbles out of their seat to escape the stifling tension between you three.
“You-” Naoya declares, as he stands up. With a jolt, you realize that he’s glaring venomously at none other than Toji. “I might not be king but I am next in line. And you shall do well to stay away from my wife-”
Those razor-sharp eyes now falling on you, and even though Toji’s body moves- his heart can’t help but ache at the fact that he had no right to stop the future king - your husband - from daring to look at you with anything but love. Suspiciously, “-or else.”
In a flutter of velvety capes, Naoya is dragging his court entourage off - each one undoubtedly buzzing to gossip outside about the scandal of your knight as they slam the door behind them.
And then, you’re alone.
It’s tough to be alone with someone as princess - always in the presence of elders, guests, or subjects - and this is the first time the two of you have been together in a room, unsupervised, since…that night.
Toji’s mouth runs dry at his blatant disrespect- not only did he have to embarrass you, but he had made you fall within Naoya’s line of sight so vile. “My p- princess, I am sorr-”
“Touch me.”
Fuck.
It’s only once your face breaks out into a tentative smile that he’s realizing he might have just said that out loud. And you’re standing- walking, cornering him, “Well…if you really want to, Sir Toji.”
“But your husband…”
And he didn’t really care for that prince, he only cared for what they might say about you if anyone saw. If anyone knew-
“Since when—” You’re drawling, eyes dipping lower. He really was oh-so-sculptured in his armor, all broad lines and chiseled curves. And it made the thin silk of your dress rub lewdly when you’re clenching your thighs, “-have we cared about him?”
Suddenly, you’re getting a demonstration on why exactly Toji Fushiguro was the fittest of all your knights - the one chosen specifically for you.
Because your back hits the frigid coldness of the table before the recognition hits you- as soon as you blink, as soon as you can gasp, Toji’s lifting you clean off the ground and sprawling you out so prettily.
Right then and there in the middle of the meeting hall.
The velvety fabric of your dress draping across half the chairs, legs flying up into the air in such an unroyal way until Toji’s grabbing ahold of your ankles. Stretchin’ them out to lock around the back of his neck with one big, beefy hand.
You ogle the way his plates of armor shift as his biceps flex from underneath, pushing apart your too-many layers and twisting your undergarments just to the side. “Toji wh-what are you…”
“Sayin’ those things and expecting me not to lose it.” Comes out the answer - rough, hoarse. Like every syllable was wrenched from the back of his smoky throat, sensual. “Maybe I’ve been too- nice- princess.”
You’re whimpering, hips bucking needily off of the flat surface when Toji punctuates the very end of his sentence by rovering the blunt, glinting hilt of his sword between your legs.
Safe. He would always keep you safe. Letting that scalding coldness drag down, down, down between them–
“Oh- fuck!” Before pressing down so meanly on the slope of your throbbing pussy with his metal shaft, you’re seeing stars once he’s nudgin’ apart your puffy folds just enough to locate your clit and massage.
“Seems like we’ve taught my lil’ princess some baaad manners, huh?” He’s snickering, ‘round and ‘round go the gyrations of decorated hilt.
And you’re so wet that every swerve of his blade leaves the barren air ringing with a muffled squelch! Thighs twitching further apart, he takes the opportunity to clunk his muscular thigh up on the ledge and let it grind just teasingly against your cunt.
Watching in awe as a puddle of silvery sap starts polishing his knee-plate, “Why don’t you get yourself off, princess? Hah- use me.”
“S-so crude.”
Latching onto the broad deltoids of his shoulders, Toji’s bending and bending you all the way in half like a parchment. Smooth fringes of his knee sinking in past the plush of your thighs and draggin’ up your slit.
The metallic surface of his armor squeaks when you prod up into it sloppily, riding his knee. All the way up to his thigh-
“And this, princess–” He gruffs out from above you, scorching hot pants sending goosebumps down your neck. Your hamstrings buuurn when he pushes against you, mounted, almost like he was fucking you- just with clothes and armor unfortunately on. “-is called a mating press. Never taught that one in elocution classes before, huh?”
A mating press- oh, Toji had you in a mating press, and he was rutting down into you until your joints popped in protest.
Wrangling the fronts of your knees until they hit your tits, he’s lavishing his tongue on the crook of your neck and biting.
“Oh, what I would ngh- give to have you like this.” Scarred maw tickling your skin, he’s humping you like he’s in heat. “Would absolutely ruin you.”
“S-so why don’t you-” You’re whimpering once he’s gripping a good handful of your left ass cheek, usin’ the lewd leverage to motion you in a manhandled pace. You’re not just being angled, he’s lifting you almost into midair so that you could hit the most perfect spots on your pussy against his thigh.
Crushing the front of your perky clit against his muscles, he snarls when your riding becomes more erratic. His ears burning, “Don’t- haaaah- don’t tempt me, girl- m’already so-”
He doesn’t even have to finish his sentence for Toji’s mossy eyes to drop and for you to realize exactly what he’s talking about.
The firm, rock-hard outline of his cock that was peeking out through the gaps in his armor- you don’t even consider what you’re doing before you’re undoing one of his tight laces to let the metal drop and show you all of his bulge.
“Oh, shit-” Toji gasps, eyes sprinting to the back of his skull when you tug down his black trousers to palm his throbbing erection. “Oh shit oh shit-”
“I-I thought these were padding-”
He smirks, “Heh- not for me.”
And, truly, you hadn’t gotten a good enough look at Toji’s fat, veiny cock when you had the chance to on your wedding night. Because he was just so damn big that you’re finding trouble wrapping your hand around his entire girth, palm tingly where you could feel all his prominent veins pulsing across.
Zig-zagged patterns that Toji hunches over and makes you feel-
“M’not fuckin’ breeding ya.” He spits as soon as he lifts his dripping knee off with a sopping plap! Though, he still keeps his sheathed sword hilt positioned on top of your clit. “Just let me…just…”
Toji couldn’t even begin to explain how filthy it felt to be doing what he was doing.
Holding you all spread apart for him while he fucked you- all without putting it inside like he so badly wanted to. Just lazed, sensual draaaags of his lengthy shaft straightly across your slit. All the way from where his pointed mushroom tip poked your clit, to the innocent smooch of his balls against your cunt.
Bass voice hitching with a crack, “I can’t- I-I can’t I can’t-” It sounded as if he was losing it- Toji’s given an inch and he takes a mile. Rearing the bulbous end of his cockhead to slip underneath your panties- “M’gonna go fucking crazy like this.”
“F-fuuuck- feels like you’re ngh- really fucking me, Toji–”
“Don’t say that- ohhh, don’t say that, princess.” Warning you from above, Toji’s free hand grabs a handful of your sopping soaked underwear so that he can wrap the useless fabric around his shaft whilst he grinds down on you. Faster. “S’fuckin’ dangerous, might just end up giving birth to a heh- Fushiguro.”
Mewling whines, “I-I don’t mind-”
The only thing you can get out before Toji crashes his mouth into yours and makes you shut up before you made him even more feral. Vulgar groans departed into your lips as he thrusts across your pussy, barely audible over the sluuuurp of your two juices mixin’.
“Now whaaat have I said about talking out- of- her-” His sensitive pink slit scratches the nub of your clit along with his blade haft, and that makes you see white.
Again and again and again- so close. Toji was just so unintentionally sexy as he pushed you closer n’ closer, meaty thighs sticking against yours, beads of sweat splattering down onto your body, and it only made you even wetter to imagine how much better it would feel if he actually–
“Oh-” Your knight gruffs out, stern lips twitching into a smirk when he snaps his eyes down to your furiously fluttering pussy. “-you’re cumming, princess.”
You- Clenching your eyes as you throw your head back and mewl. You were.
And you didn’t even realize it until Toji was pressing one particularly prominent vein between your bloated pussylips, letting the gleaming curve of it dig back n’ forth against your cunt and grind you through your high.
White-hot bolts of fire sparking, spine arching into his armor.
“O-oh please–” Such pretty noises of pleasure escape your lips, and right now you’re too far gone to wonder or even care if someone might hear from outside. Toes curling, “Toji Toji Toji- Toooji—!”
Chilling metal hilt scraping your pretty clit, “That’s it- thaaat’s it- might not get to stuff you like I want to, princess. But you-” Darkened green eyes stare into yours seriously, “But you’re cumming for me.”
Toji keeps on staring right into your eyes as he fucks himself against your pussylips- straight into his own high. Forcing himself to milk out every drop, to cream all over your puckered lips with a froth of sappy white.
Hissing, it’s all he can do to stop himself from throwing his head back at his orgasm - not wanting to miss a single nanosecond of your expressions.
You’re blubbering out stupidly, “Will it always ngh- feel this good, Toji?”
“I can’t always have you, princess.” With a saccharine-sweet squelch! he dabs the thick end of his thumb into the pool of white that’d collected near your entrance. Letting it drip a few speckles of cum on its way to plop! right between your pouty lips. Making you suck.
It’s all Toji can do to not keen as he responds, “And- and when you…” He gulps, and in all the years you’ve known him, you don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound so pained. Sage eyes narrowing, he gazes into yours as if he was trying to memorize each blink. Each twinkle. Each shade. “-when you have children, please- please don’t let them have…”
Your eyes, the ones he’d never forget. The ones he’ll see till his dying day. He could handle watching you grow your family, raising heirs while he stands by your sides as he always has.
But if he has to look at them and be looked at through your eyes- ones that never knew him as you did, he doesn’t think even the strongest knight could bear it.
It’s what he wanted to say.
It’s what he would’ve never forgiven himself if he said- because who was he, really, to demand such a thing from you?
So it was only because the universe had finally taken pity on poor Toji Fushiguro and his hopeless love that they decided to spare him this. Because just before he could dare finish that sentence, there’s a soft gasp from the other end of the doorway.
Your blood crystalizes into ice, and Toji’s immediately covering your body- shining blade honed in on the faint figure of Ijichi, who’d very obviously been handed the task of bringing you two back to court.
“S-sorry for interrupting!”
With a bow so low that his wiry glasses clatter briefly onto the marble floor, Ijichi shuts the door fast enough that your mind - still reeling from your recent orgasm - starts to wonder whether he might even have been a figment of your imagination.
Until Toji breathes out a ragged sigh of almost relief, “I have a new recruit to teach about knocking, princess.” Before staring back at you - and that ivory puddle of cum between your legs, and he grins. “Keep that there.”
.
.
.
Toji Fushiguro knew you had a penchant for wandering off- it’s how he met you, after all.
That starry-eyed lil’ girl, just a few years younger than he was, who was roaming around the bustling streets of the town market with absolutely no sense of danger or emergency. Seriously- why the hell were you entertaining that hawker trying to sell you glass as real pearls, when you were obviously wearing the real thing?
And even from a distance, it was obvious that you were out-of-place. So Toji, with all his wizened fourteen years as an actual townsfolk, was the one to help you.
“-from the greatest depths of the greatest sea, I tell you, little miss! And only for you I will give you the low, low price of-”
“Absolutely nothing.” Toji had snarled, signature scowl on his face - he was the most feared of the neighborhood boys for a reason. “That’s what tha crap’s worth.”
Pawing a hand on the silken sleeve of your dress, it’s only after he’d tugged you away from the shop and by his side that he’s remembering something you nobles (even badly disguised ones) had called ah- etiquette.
But no matter, it was too late for that now, and you weren’t complaining either. Only peering up at him with a questioning gaze as Toji pulled you closer to his dirtied undershirt with a hand on your shoulder, “Scam the rich not the kids, fuckin’ conman.”
That seemed to draw a reaction from you, “Oi- who’re you calling a kid-”
“And who’re you calling a conman.” Indignantly, the older man eyeballed the two of you menacingly, “Who even are you, little twerp- I can’t imagine you’re her boy-”
“Gods yeah, I’m her- boy.”
The words made his ears hot with blood, Toji wasn’t popular with anyone in the neighborhood - all finding him too frightening and big - let alone with the daughter of some aristocracy like you. But you weren’t correcting him, either!
“S-so–” The hawker seemed to have believed him, at the way his tannish cheeks were boiling bright red more than anything. It was enough embarrassment for him, and Toji’s turning to tug you away, “-you better- stay away from my girl!”
Hell, that was worse than embarrassing.
Toji’s noticing that damn near the entire market turns at his cracking voice and wishes the ground would swallow him whole.
Even more so when he’s out of earshot of the marketplace and you speak up- “So, my…boy, huh?” Shit- he was still holding onto your hand. You giggle when Toji lets go as if you burned, finding the older boy hilarious. He turns to you and oh- oh, his breath catches at your smile. “Guess that makes you the future king- you seem quite a lot better than that Zenin boy, anyways.”
“Future…king?”
It’s only then that he hears it- the galloping of horses so powerful that they could only be part of the palace’s special forces. The call of ‘princess! There you are-’
“-out of it.” Wafts Ijichi’s tremoring voice through his little reverie. Tone slightly raised over the humming orchestra, “Toji, sir- sir!”
Toji jolts as he’s brought back- right, here he was. Stationed guard inside the ballroom of one of the most important annual functions of your kingdom, to bless the first few months of the newly-married couple.
He’d zoned out just as your father, the king, had introduced the two of you, and Naoya had led you by your hand for the honored first dance - nothing worse than seeing you in the arms of another.
He’d rather live in his memories with you, than a real life without.
And that brought him back to Ijichi- whispering, though Toji wasn’t sure if it could count as whispering if half the surrounding nobles could likely hear. “Is this because of the other week when I caught you and the princess-”
“You will shut your mouth, Ijichi.” He cuts him off, tightly.
“Yes, sir!”
Bored eyes refocusing back on the middle of the dancefloor, it seems the first dance was finally, torturously over. And Toji’s licking his dry lips as his gaze instantly finds you, as they always can’t help but do.
Always looking at you.
Two parts of the same heart when they meet yours- and Toji feels a part of his break at the sad glimmer in your eyes when you’d wandered to the side of the polished floor, smearing one of those aching faux smiles he’s learned to distinguish. You wanted to leave.
How could you stand there like that?
So bothered and beautiful in your flowing gown, looking as if the rays of the chandeliers above were bouncing off of your sparkling dress - like they, too, knew they wouldn’t shine half as bright as you. And where was your husband-
Oh.
Toji feels something ugly twist at the sight of Naoya talking with a court lady, a smizing smile on his lips. Too close. Too hurtful. And it’s a damn miracle he didn’t slay the heir right then and there.
“Ijichi-” He hisses out, suddenly. Nodding as the other man yelps into rapt attention, “Hold my station- I have fuckin’ important business to attend to.”
The new recruit almost looks as if he was about to argue his superior orders, that is, until he follows Toji’s line of sight to meet you.
“Understood, sir. Please take care of the princess.”
It takes Toji almost fifteen years to reach you, and only three steps.
“Toji!” You gasp, seeing your lifelong friend bound up to your side, pointedly away from his station. “What are you doing here-”
“Do you want it to be him?”
Eyes boring into yours, hands itching for your own. He can apologize and grovel at your feet later for cutting the future queen off, but right now he just needs to know. And you already know, too.
Your eyes darting to the middle of the dancefloor, where the string quartet had started up a new romantic melody, and Naoya was dragging a giggling noble lady into a dance.
You could feel the eyes on you, and not just Toji’s. “Consorts. I told him I didn’t want- and then- about the heir- I think he just wanted consorts from the beginning. That’s why…but even though we’ve never consummated, our marriage is a contract so I can’t.”
“Do you want it to be him?” And Toji never repeats himself - not to eager new knights, generals, or those court elders - always listened to.
But he would echo those very words to you as many times as you wanted until he was heard.
Your voice was almost a whisper- “No.”
There comes your answer, and there comes that familiar scarred grin of his.
“Then come with me.”
.
.
.
“M-mm right there, Toji–” Your cries rip through the empty atmosphere of the knight’s quarters, right in unison with the rickety creak! given off by Toji’s shabby bed as you buck your hips in tandem.
The glossed walls of your cunt scouring for the touch of his roughened fingertips, scraping and stirrin’ right between your pussylips and hitting the bottom deeply. It’s driving you mad how easily he’s spotting your sultry g-spot, clawing at his ruthless wrist-
“Impatient giiirl.” He croons out cockily from above you, words huffed through clenched teeth. And Toji’s pressing his capped knee against your restless thigh to make you take it- “Unless you want my fat fuckin’ cock to hah- stretch the princess out then take it.”
You’re whimpering, spine arching off of the clammy blankets when his middle finger flicks your sweetest spot. “I-is it always that big that you have to stretch it out this much.”
“No.” Comes the answer - and Toji’s free hand toying with your left hand. Particularly the diamond ring on it, one he’s unapologetically plucking off of your finger and pushing onto his own - his thick pinky finger being where it would fit.
Before slipping the banded digit past your dewy wet folds with a pryin’ squeeeelch, the noise is so loud and lewd that Toji groans as your greedy cunt swallows his fourth finger inside. “Jus’ me, princess.”
Just what- your brain can barely even compute past the stretch. The firm ridges of your knight’s lengthy fingerpads barreling straight past your elastic hole.
Opening you up so much on his digits that it takes you a few breaths, a few seconds staring between Toji’s meaty thighs for you to understand what he meant- oh.
He was just that big.
Whimpering, the chilling royal insignia creeps along your gummy walls and presses deep into your tender areas. Splotchy puddles of sap dribbling down Toji’s wrist, “Chatting to me from there too, huh? So loud- they’ll hear us at the ball, princess.”
They wouldn’t - the Keep too barren with every knight stationed, and the music of the orchestra too loud. You’re sure that the royal event was so bustling that no one’s even noticed you were gone, yet.
But you mewl anyway, “Th-then- ngh! Then just wan’ you inside, Toji- please.”
Oh, the sound of your cute begging makes Toji’s ravaged, aching cock twitch. “Ohhh- I wanna fuck those manners outta you-” He groans, head slouching backwards once he’s assessing your driveling cunt.
Faster, harder.
Toji’s fingers carnally itch your pussy like he was crazed, pumping feverish in n’ out like he wasn’t even letting your slick, bulging folds get used to the stretch. Just watching with a leer as you struggle.
Gruffing, “Open those pretty legs for me wider- yeahhh–” Toji’s sweaty, armorless body nuzzles the insides of your sheeny limbs. His bulky legs spread apart until his heavy erection throb-throb-throbs by the side of your inner thighs.
“Wh-what are you-”
“Shhh watch.”
You can’t do anything but gawk once he’s rovering his free hand over your tummy- doughy thumb pressing down on the button of your clit, index streeeeetching upwards.
He was measuring you. Measuring just how far his cock would go inside you.
Once the curve of your knight’s index draws a horizontal line about halfway down your stomach, he grins. “There-” X marks the spot, and you yelp once the stern point of his finger taps right there. “-m’gonna fuck an ngh- heir into you there, princess.”
“Th-then do it, Sir Toji.” You huff, brows knitting with impatience.
“Well…” He drawls, and for a second you think that Toji’s about to pull away and leave you all high and dry. But, really, he’s just tugging on his snug white undershirt, dampened and clinging onto him with sweat in a way that made it look painted.
Your mouth waters as you peek at the curly black happy trail which was lining the middle of his abs - so toned and tense that you could count exactly eight. Maybe more.
A pearly droplet of sweat clings onto one of his shaggy bangs, and drips- slithering between Toji’s pectorals, his bumpy core, disappearing into where his heavy cock was fat n’ throbbing.
In the dimmed lighting of Toji’s bedroom, you can already make out just how red and pretty his bulging tip was, curved just slightly right and weeping fat globules of frothy pre. It collects in a sleek mess over your pussylips, damn near ten inches of veiny shaft settled between your slit and waiting.
He was weighty.
“-if my queen asks.”
And Toji knows you. He waits just until your mouth opens to snark back- before kissin’ your glistening entrance with the edge of his mushroom tip and pushing—
“O-ohhh fuck–!” You’re letting off a shrill wailing whimper, hands reaching somewhere- anywhere for you to hold onto for dear life while Toji fit himself inside your tight pussy.
Slurring, you grasp onto the rippling muscles of his deltoids and claw such red, red lines. “Shoooo big-”
Toji’s leaning himself closer, he’s slouching. He’s swabbing his plump, swollen tip deeper-
“A m-mating press.” Barking out a sudden laugh - octaves higher, wild like he was still in disbelief. Toji snakes his beefy arms underneath both your thighs and lifts you up until your ass cheeks are almost off the aged mattress. Folding and folding- he really was pushing you into a mating press. “I have you in a mating press- you. Like I’ve always dreamed.”
Before the words have even left his mouth, he reaches down to swab your bloated folds with the edge of his thumb. Straightly smoothing your pussylips and watching how you gulping down each solid, rummaging inch.
“And yer taking me-” Gasping, just the slightestshift closer leaves his pointed cockhead gliding off your walls and burying even deeper. Snagging his tender veins on your orifice and making him hiss, “-taking me allll up inside. O-oh, you’re so fucking- tight-”
It’s the first time you’ve ever been stretched out this much. Toji’s so damn big that it’s like your soppy walls were clinging to him like a second skin.
Not even thrusting properly, quick, rapid half-ruts that make him feel more like an animal. The curves of his spine bowing against where your syrupy pussy was being stretched out, “But will it even fit, then?”
“M’gonna make it fit.” He growls, slowing down the mindless cadence of his hips to a lazy tempo that makes you keen at the sensual lightning bolts of his veiny shaft.
Feeling every twirling coil and pulse shoveling through your entrance.
Possessively, Toji’s guiding one of your sweaty palms within his. Placing it right down on your tummy and pushing on the back to make you press- “Here- feel.”
“Oh-oh!”
You’re seeing white- the walls of your pussy being sagged by his cock’s weight.
Toji was making you massage where his pounding shaft was creating a lil’ bulging outline. Feeling every mazing bump where his slimy tip was snaking to your deepest depths. “Feel the way you’re sluuuurping me up s-so good. S’like you’re made for me.”
Crying out- you can’t keep yourself from planting your feet flat and leaning into his touch. “Don’t tease me and j-just put it all the way in, To- fuck!”
“Awww, but I’ve waited years, princess.” He snickers, kneading harder on the cylindrical ridge of your cute tummy bulge. And oh- Toji can feel that precise moment he’s bottoming out.
When he’s bubbling out a fat wad of precum that smears against the very back of your cervix, the edge of his ballsack hitting your cunt. Finally. Finally.
Panting- seething through his teeth at the gooey warmth, “Princess- princess princess- oh, princess, m’finally inside you.”
Experimentally, Toji reels his hips all the way back - all the way until the cherry-red end of his cocktip was sticking to your hole like adhesive. Before slamming right back in- “And again.” Another. “And again. And again and- hngh- again.”
“Shit- shit shit shit y-you really are all the way inside.”
You caress the mean bulging swab of his cocktip against the top of your tummy, confirming to your melted mind that he wasn’t actually thumping your damn lungs - even though it might feel like it.
“Of course I am-” Toji doesn’t end his hoarse declaration with any punctuation. He’s finishing it with a quick splat! of saliva gluing your lips shut, “You’re mine.”
With a hand on your tummy to balance himself, he leans just the barest inches backwards until he can do the same to your puckered pussy. Splatter! It’s so wet and gleaming with moisture that forms the most sinful pool, “All mine. And I’m yours.”
And now he’s fucking you like a madman, drilling the split-ended circle of his orifice against your mushy walls until you sob.
The size of him was insane. It was stretching you out so good that all you can do is flap your mouth-watered tongue wetly inside and yeowl. “Ngh- feels so good- feels so full inside with you, Toji.”
“Yer gonna feel ngh- even fuller when I fuck a baby into ya, girl.”
He scoffs once an especially hard thrust leaves the base of his cock stinging, and you shoved up to the headboard. “And n-no running.” Before you know it, Toji’s maintaining a rude chokehold of your neck and using it to drag you after every recoil. “How m’I gonna fuck a nghhh- baby into ya if you run, hm?”
Fuck- Toji’s jackhammers were vulgar - almost vicious.
Every spank of his v-line let off aggressive paps! that made your eardrums pop. Your lips wobbling each n’ every time his bulging tip was stirrin’ around your insides to pinpoint every sensitive orifice.
You feel the thin line running down his plummy tip scrape right along the bundle of your g-spot, dolloping out a stream of precum as hello. Grumbling, “Hmmm– how cute. Hope our heir’s just as cute as ngh- you.”
“Gonna be j-just as rude as you.” You’re mumbling, and his absolute favorite moment was whenever your hips would be so stimulated that you’re perking away from his thrusts.
All the better for him to tighten your airflow and bring you back down- humming at the erotic jiggle of your ass cheeks against his chiseled pelvis. “Heh- then I guess I’ll be the fun parent, meanwhile you…”
And fuck- fuck, he almost doesn’t finish his sentence with the way your tight, circular-shaped insides clench.
A glittery gloss of slick dripping down the sides of your pussylips, Toji’s scarred lips curl once he drags your pliant body back to his again. Relishing in the harsh smack! against his abs, “You can sit there while I give you a pretty lil’ heir. Make my h-hah! pretty lil’ princess all round n’ glowing. All-”
He doesn’t know what not to do. He’s touching you everywhere - anywhere.
From the underside of your thighs to the perky nub of your clit, Toji brandishes his thumb against your nub and watches you quake.
“-all pumped- full- until you can’t take anymore. S’my damn duty. I’ll wash them- dress them, put them to sleep, feed them- don’t have to do a nghh- damnnn thing. Just- get- pregnant.”
With the fringe of his muscular thigh lifting to keep you from running, you can only throw your head back and trill at the dual knocks of his cock against your g-spot, fingers against your clit. “I’m close- close- haaah not gonna last, Toji.”
“Already fuckin’ know.” He could feel the way your cute insides were clamping after every sweet ba-dump! of your racing heartbeat. The heavy curve of his balls begging him to milk himself on you, “Cum for me. Cum on my cock- fuck! The mama needs to cum if we’re gonna get you pregnant, princess.”
“Please- mm–”
“Deep breaths, deeeeep breaths.” With every heaving deep breath, his rams only grew deeper, too. Before ultimately Toji spreads his sweat-sheened thighs wider and groans— “Cum.”
It’s impossible not to listen - not when his fat, vein-decorated cock was splitting you open just so. Swervin’ your sticky walls apart and shoveling himself all the way near your throat whilst you reached your high.
“It’s sooo- oh.” Your vision dazed with stars, and it took so much out of you to even grind your hips down and meet his sloppy tempo. Keening, “Cum…inside.”
Oh-so-dumbified that you didn’t even realize Toji was already finishing himself off on your dripping wet cunt until he’s guiding one of your hands to feel your driveling pussy. Letting that saccharine white sap slip allll the way between your digits and wad up.
Nodding, your eyes just kept on criss-crossing after every knot of seed that bundled up near your cervix. Sloshing like waves against your womb-
“Oh look.” He’s manhandling your own hand to tease and sluuuurp down your overstuffed slit, pushin’ back in the knots of creamy white that leaked out. “Even she agrees- oh, aaaand you wanna know what else she’s sayin’?”
“Wh-what?”
Gruffly leaning in closer, Toji’s skin was so burning hot against yours that you feel your slam-impacted flesh break out in a fresh layer of perspiration. “She says it’s gonna be a girl.”
It was unsteady, animalistic the way that your knight- your lover was creaming out every ounce of cum on your pussy. Squishing it past your tight hole and letting his base slather in such a thick ivory ring, you whine. “O-oh, fuck, m’so sensitive, To- ah!”
But he wasn’t letting go of you that easily.
Fuck how electric skitters of your orgasm left your legs thrashing weakly, oh-so-overstimulated.
Toji hisses at the springy recoil of his knobbled tip against the entrance to your womb, rugged fingers dragging you back-
“How about…” Pressing down, your pretty bulge wasn’t simply filled with his cock anymore. It was jiggling around with the inflation of his masses of cum. “-we make it twins?”
.
.
.
And it could have been Toji simply greedy for a second round, for a lucky third, a fourth- but the only thing you’re sure of was that his wooden bed was brokenly sagging on one side by the time early day had begun breaking through the shutters of his drafty windows. Lighting your eyes ablaze once you’re lolling your head forwards and slamming your grinding hips down onto Toji’s.
You don’t know who’s more ruined now - him or you.
Whimpering at the slight scratch of his tufted happy trail, your thighs twitch weakly at the sensation. “H-haaa- just a little more- mmm a bit more, Toji.”
He sounds utterly fucking gone as he coos up at you, eyes half-closed. “You’ve been saying that for ngh- aaaages, greedy girl.” And yet, the cracked bedframe protests when he’s bucking his hips in tandem to puncture your battered g-spot with a spank. “G-gonna milk me d-ry–”
Toji’s voice was breaking, he was whimpering.
You gasp, “Did you just-”
“Shut up.” His veiny shaft enters your hole mercilessly- and each time you thought you were used to the textured stretch of his sheer size, he always manages to surprise you. “Sh-shut up and-”
Toji can’t even tell you to take it because you were- over n’ over until his bulbous, weighty balls were all tender, and each time your hips swerved in that wiiide heart shape left him drooling. Hypnotized.
A creamy circle of cum brands on his hilt and Toji gulps, “Get pregnant.”
“That’s what we’re doing.”
“Yes- yes, I want- no. I need it.” It wasn’t just enough to have you riding him, Toji’s rutting up in half-dazed ruts until he was seeing stars. “Need you to- get- pregnant.” One hand pawing at the bulging cumflation on your tummy, the other clinging onto your hips to make you bounce. “Get pregnant get pregnant- get- pregnant.”
He wasn’t just animalistic, he was feral. Filthily streaking your walls with a wisp of pre, every slight gush only makes his slip n’ slide probe deeper.
Blinking back fucking tears when your sopping wet walls clamp down - just the tiniest bit, but he was so damn fucked-out. He’s gasping, feverish, bucking-
Only to make the fleshy tip of his crown slip out of your sloppy entrance with a loud plop!
“N-no-” Toji’s lips depart a murky pant, entire body shuddering when one of his hands clasp his ravaged n’ red cock. “No no no no- no- inside, need it i-inside.”
“O-ohhh fuck the stretchh–”
Maw dropping, voice hoarse with calling his name - if the ball hadn’t heard you before, then they sure as hell were now.
Whining, you’re cumming on Toji’s cock for the nth time in the past few hours. Well, ‘cumming’ was an understatement - you’re downright drenching him in sparkly bucketloads of your squirt.
Letting it drip down the sides of his ripped, flexible hips, showering him in a thin spray of your cloying wetness. You find it easy to use that sticky moistened texture as a way to glissade your front down his abs and ride him to insanity.
Milking Toji’s fat, bludgeoning cock until he was wrung dry.
Hitting and hitting the goopy spots inside you that clamped down on him the tightest, and yet, all his achingly hard tip could do was flinch. Jolting with a few sparks of pleasure once he’s hitting his wave of bliss. “Shit- shit, ya fucking milked me sucked me- hah- dry. Sucked me all dry.”
Cumming.
Cumming and cumming so hard that Toji half wonders whether he could cum again. The softened smooch of his ballsack makes his head feel numb, teeth grit as you just keep on riding him in slight motions repeatedly. As if you couldn’t stop anymore.
“I-I love you.” Toji breathes, voice cracked. Holding you tight against him, “I’ve always- always loved you. I’ve loved you so long that I’d tear down any world where I don’t.”
“Toji- I love you, too.”
Toji feels the scouring end of his mushroomy tip skim deeply into your womb, letting it brand its spongy circumference and stay there while he babbles. Hopelessly pussydrunk. Hopelessly in love. “Run away with me…?”
Took him long enough.
.
.
.
“My princess, I told you not ta handle heavyduty tasks when you’re-”
“And I’ve already told you, my Sir Toji, that reading a book isn’t heavyduty.”
“Just let me read it to ya.” Toji rolls his shoulders from a long day out in the field. And you’re roaming your eyes over him appreciatively, all this extra manual labor had only made your husband more naturally swole.
He trudges up to where you were sprawled out serenely across your cute cottage couch, tucked safely away in a kingdom where nobody would find you. None of your furious, heirless ex-husband, or those nosy elders.
Well, almost nobody-
“Ijichi wrote to say he’ll be visiting this week.” You’re tittering over Toji’s dramatic groan, poking his beefy biceps whilst he lays across your lap, restful. “Oh, c’mon, our daughter loves him. Speaking of- you should get her from the garden, it’s getting dark.”
Waving an airy hand, though his heart swoops as it always did when he thought of you and his little daughter, his exact carbon copy - except for that one feature, of course. “Builds immunity.”
His little family.
Including-
“I hope…” Gently, oh-so-gently as if this was a dream on the verge of shattering, Toji lays his palm across your swollen tummy. Awe striking through him at the slight movement beneath your thoroughly stretched-out stomach- and your daughter chose that exact moment to barge inside, sprinting to cuddle right on top of him.
Looking at you, and you’re finally looking back. “-our son has your eyes, too.”
A/N. Daddy’s been listening to this song and going THROUGH it- Anyways, this was supposed to be PWP what HAPPENED?
I got so insanely carried away, but again, I just cannot write a short story. I also never write smut so stfu (ᵕ≀ ̠ᵕ ). There will absolutely be mistakes, this isn't entirely proofread, and I cba rn so I'll do it later.
Summary: Duty weighs heavy when the clan expects you to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the one you’ve spent years convincing everyone you loathe. Your father is the clan’s greatest warrior, closest friend to the Olo’eyktan, and their bond sealed your fates together long before you could draw a bow. You grew up running wild with the Sully children but the flawless eldest son always seemed to shadow your every step and you’ve perfected the scowl reserved only for him. The clan believes it and they accept your envy. Everyone except the parents who watch with quiet amusement, because they see what you both still refuse to name.
Or in which; you’re the warrior’s daughter, bound by expectation to the perfect future leader you claim to hate. You insist it’s true and everyone believes you. Except, parents always know their children best.
enemies to lovers, holy slowburn, slight soulmates (but not really?), childhood rivals, forced proximity, aged up Neteyem, so much smut!!! as always, my terrible gramma
Your composure is a facade. He knows it.
He knows it because he sees it.
In the way your scowl falters just a fraction as you swirl colorful insults through velvet words and he finally bites back. In the way you push against him when he even tries to offer his help – because the basket you’re lugging looks absurdly full, and yet you still let him walk you the rest of the way to the village.
You snarl at him when he even attempts to correct your bow arm, and it used to make him flush with something sharp and ugly – envy, maybe? – because you didn’t have a problem with authority, he knows because you seem to take his fathers criticism’s just fine. When anyone else rectified you, you adjusted.
It was only ever a him problem.
Because when he corrected you, you hissed at him like his correcting hand was tipped with arrowheads and poisonous herbs.
You had a problem with Nateyam.
As a teenager, it used to irk him to no end. Because as the firstborn son of the Olo’eyktan, he was meant to carry himself like the leader he would one day become, like an authority the clan respected without question and trusted to guide them through storm and calm alike. Yet the one thing expected of him above all else, the one duty his father never let him forget, was simpler and far more aggravating.
He was supposed to get along with you.
You – the daughter to the clan's most formidable warrior, his fathers right hand man.
You – who did not listen. Who did not trust him. Who always – always – questioned him.
It may as well have been written in the stars by Eywa herself that the two of you were fated to fold neatly into the same position as your father’s. And yet you resisted with every breath possible.
You rebelled, and scowled, and cursed at the mere mention of his name. You made it clear you wanted nothing to do with the Olo'eyktan's first born despite your role, and that made it so exceedingly hard to get along with you. It left his skin flushing that embarrassingly dark purple colour which made his mother chuckle whenever he spoke of you.
He tried to make sense of it. Of the way you rolled your eyes at his advice, or scowled when the two of you were paired in training once again and he couldn’t recall doing anything wrong. Not really.
You fought as normal children had, argued and competed as two eldest children to high-ranking parents would, but never with anything sharp enough to leave a lasting wound.. Nothing that should have haunted him like this.
However, he wasn’t a young boy anymore and time had an ironic way of sanding things down. He noticed what once felt like a raw hatred you wore like a book written in some foreign sky-language, suddenly became much more legible as his years grew to start with a two, almost as if he learned how to annotate his memories of you with the clarity he lacked as a teen.
One in particular he remembers most vividly. That evening by the central fire, where you were seated opposite him, and the air still carried the echo of that afternoon’s argument. He sat closest to the basket of ripe utumauti fruits, something he always recalled being your favourite through the years of shared meals, and he remembers the way it sat just beyond your reach on the woven mat.
When you asked for it low and casual, he didn’t think twice. Of course he picked it up and of course he leaned forward to pass it, because why would he not? He sat the closest, and both your siblings and his own had been too occupied in animated conversations with each other to notice.
He also remembers the way you had slapped his hand away with a guttural scoff, almost as if he was utterly ridiculous for even offering. The sting on both his knuckles and his pride had his brows furrowing instantly and that familiar anger, the kind only you could kindle so effortlessly, surged hot beneath his skin once more.
But it was only when the soft snickers rose from nearby – his mother and yours, seated side by side and watching the exchange with far too much interest –that he noticed.
You had still taken the basket.
“Hey!” He remembers the way your fathers voice cut from just to the left, “Play nice.”
And he’d assumed, as always, that your father was less than impressed at his daughter’s rude manners toward the Olo’eyktan’s son. But the reprimand softened almost immediately, chased by a low chuckle that started only after Jake failed to hide a snort of his own beside him.
The two men were already leaning into one another, shoulders touching, Jake’s head tipped low as one hand, holding a piece of half bitten meat hung limply by his mouth, trying and failing to hide his laughs through a mouthful of food.
The nudges of your sister's elbow into your side was the last thing he remembered noticing, sharp and mocking but quickly followed by the look you shot her. It was a silent warning in that strange language he’d never understood as a boy – the one you did with your eyes alone, but one he was now, uncomfortably, starting to. Because you ate your fruit without ceremony, eyes trained forward and stubbornly refusing to drift his way, yet the basket sat firmly in your hands all the same.
That was when Neteyam stopped letting it irk him. When he realised why everyone else around him seemed to find that mean spirit you reserved only for him so humorous, despite his distress. You were composed, yes, but he finally understood why.
Your composure was a lie.
And once it stopped irking him, once it settled into something he thought he understood, all the memories of you persistently adorning that scowl that seemed to exist only for him suddenly lost their bite. For a moment he felt like he had maybe started to figure you out.
But recently, something had changed, subtly at first, then all at once. What was once harmless irritation had suddenly sharpened into something more volatile. You didn't just brush him off anymore, you snapped before he'd even opened his mouth, and flinched away the moment he so much as reached to steady the basket. It was as if every breath he took was a disruption, and his presence had become something you could no longer tolerate in silence.
That mean spirit wasn't funny anymore, because now it was relentless.
Which was why, standing across from you now, he didn’t brace for your signature fang baring scowl. He expected it in a way that made him sigh with knowing fatigue, and yet a little bit of smugness all the same.
“Why must you always be so difficult?” The words surfaced in that defeated tone he reserved only for you and your impertinence for him.
Your body shifted back and you leaned against your heels to glance over your shoulder at where he stood behind you. You were still kneeling over the stump of braided vines you had been meticulously shredding into winding fibres with your knife.
“I am not.” And there it was – that scowl he expected. It twisted your face into that familiar snarl, upper lip curling to flash the set of fangs he saw more than his own. “You just insist on hovering.”
“We were sent out here to collect fibre together. You ‘insist’ on making it a one man job.”
You didn’t look at him again, instead, turning back to the vines where your blade already resumed its steady work, as if his presence were nothing more than a distraction.
“I do not need a partner to cut fibre,” Your response was flat as if it were such an obvious observation, and then you sighed, a long drawn out exhale to yourself. “So ridiculous.”
The scoff that followed was harsh and hidden under your breath.
Despite its low delivery, the sound didn't slip Neteyam’s ear, and he raised an unassertive brow at what he thought he heard, the corner of his mouth tipping low in confusion. “What is?”
His confusion hit you like a sudden gust of wind, and with a growl that spoke as if you couldn't believe he dared asking, you quickly shot up with a whirl, tail whipping fast with a force Neteyam had to step back to avoid. You were facing him completely, now.
“That our fathers insist on sending us out here together like we are still little children. I do not need a partner and I certainly do not need any partner of mine to be you.”
The words landed harsher than the scowl ever could. For a moment he only stared at you, really observing your features twisted with perplexed anger, yet comically softened by what he could only describe as a pout in your lip. He took in the way your stance squared and the way your grip curled around the knife with agitated force.
You may not think you acted like one, but great mother, you looked like a child right now.
“Right, you are not a child.” He said at last, voice level. “But maybe our fathers would not feel the need to treat you like one if you stopped acting as one.”
“Excuse me?”
The grip on your knife tightened, handle creaking under the pressure of your grasp that almost splintered the wood. The corner of your mouth twitched up once again in that scowl that bared the top of your right fang to his watchful eyes, and your tone was so even it almost made him falter.
Neteyam held his ground, though. And instead, he replied carefully in an attempt to diffuse that constantly building tension just a little.
“You make an enemy of me in everything we do, as if we haven’t been paired together since we were barely old enough to hold a blade. If you wish to be met as an adult, you cannot bare your teeth at every word spoken to you, Fang.”
That age old nickname rolled like honey off his tongue but struck your ears and curdled into venom. Your fists curled so tight your claws bit crescent marks into your palms, and the muscles along your jaw tightened until you felt the throb of it.
Fang. You despised when he called you that. The way he reduced you to nothing but the sneer he so often deserved.
With a slow drawn out breath that carried no warmth, you bared the edge of a laugh that held no humour, letting your mocking reply land bitter and sour on your tongue.
“Perfect Olo'eyktan's son, always so composed and responsible. Maybe I would enjoy my time with you more if Eywa hadn’t shaped you so stiff in the tail you forgot how to bend, Tawtute.”
For a heartbeat, the words hung between you like a knocked bowstring waiting to snap with release. Then Neteyam’s jaw tightened, because he always hated when you commented on the human in him, as if it made him less Navi. Less than you.
A Tawtute, a sky-person, as if it were an insult. Spoken like a curse, when all he’d ever done was try to prove it wasn’t.
He let the silence stretch a moment longer, before taking one deliberate breath to regulate his reeling thoughts, choosing to ignore your bait. Low hanging fruit as his father would call it.
“You forget how many times that stiffness kept you from getting hurt.”
You turned back toward the vines with a scoff, knife biting down harder than before. The fibres split unevenly, curling away beneath the force of your hands. “I do not need to be helped by someone who can barely hold their bow arm high enough to knock an arrow. I do not listen to you.”
“Yes,” Neteyam scoffed a humorless laugh, “you never do.”
He sank down into a squat then as well, finally turning his attention to the pile of finished fibres you had shoved aside. His hands were quick to gather a few filaments between his pointer and thumb, testing the strands between the fingers as he twisted the two together, before giving them a short, sharp tug. They held for one, and held for another as he stretched them further, then finally faltered with a snap as he pulled them taught enough.
His mouth twitched down.
“You cut angry,” He observed with a growl. “Uneven. Wasteful.”
You spun once more, this time in your squatted position to meet him at eye level, the knife still gripped between your four fingers almost as a threat. “You waste them with your stupidity! Of course they break when you only weave two fibres!”
“They need to be thick enough for bowstrings, to hold knocked arrows in new bows.” He countered.
You sneered with a slight hiss, leaning further into him. “Then don’t use them.”
“Oh no, I will.” He smirked, as he finally began his job, looping the fibres together, securing them with practiced ease. “Someone has to make sure we don’t come back empty-handed.”
You shot him a glare. “I said I do not need your-”
“You do not need my help,” He finished for you, clearly way too amused now. “I know. You have said it at least five times since we left the clearing.”
He leant closer as he spoke, not directly into your space, but just enough that you had to shift your stance to keep working without him intruding. His looming shadow falling over the stump you worked on, over your hands and the blade that suddenly seemed to falter under a different kind of pressure now.
“And yet,” he continued, eyes never leaving the strands as he calmly coiled the fibres, “you keep cutting while I bind. Funny how that works.”
You stopped your movements, sending him a glare out the side of your eye, one that had your lashes feeling heavy and jaw slightly agape.
“Get out of my way.” You spat, but it was as if you couldn’t convey the weight of anger you meant to land. Your tone was weak and almost a little desperate.
“You always rush when you are angry,” he ignored your demand - if it could even be called that - with a tone that was almost conversational. “Your tail gives you away.”
Your eyes flashed with the realisation that he had even been looking long enough to notice your tells, and your cheeks suddenly flared with something warm and hot that turned you purple.
“Stop watching me, Tawtute.” This time your voice really did sound desperate.
“I can’t. You make it difficult.”
You were close enough to see the faint curve of that infuriating smile he loved to wear, and to feel the heat of him radiating that smug confidence he wore like a headpiece.
Years of success at keeping him as far away as one could be from someone they worked with on a near daily basis, you felt had suddenly dwindled into an endless array of interactions where he always managed to dominate the conversation. Reduced to this. To the way he always stood too close now, and spoke too smugly, as if he had suddenly decided that he finally had you all figured out.
Despite your lack of response, he broke the silence, voice dipping just enough to grate, “You know, for someone who insists she doesn’t listen to me, you react an awful lot when I speak.”
“Because you are provoking me!” You snapped in a low growl.
“You glare like you are about to strike me." He replied, entirely too amused.
“Lucky I am working, because you would deserve it if I did.” The words landed like a pathetic cry, and suddenly it felt like you were deficient of every insult you had ever known, reduced to the same childish fury you’d sworn you’d outgrown.
“Oh are you? Would not have guessed, with the way you are looking at me like a Yerik in the firelight.”
Eywa, if you didn’t look angry before.
“Neteyam!”
This time, you hissed it like a venomous mantra, fangs bared and legs snapping up to your full height as you leaned into his space, close enough to let the words bite the air. Your ears pinned sharp against your braids, and his jaw set as he met your glare without yielding, tension pulling tight between you like that drawn bowstring–
“Oh good, you’re fighting again.”
A sudden unexpected third voice had both your heads spinning towards the break in the clearing just a few yards East, where a very unimpressed Lo’ak tread carelessly down the path with a barely-contained giggling Kiri besides him. Kiri moved with a balled fist pressed against her pursed mouth, supported by an arm crossed along her chest in an attempt to hide her amusement.
“It’s more like flirting again.” The words Kiri muttered were small and meek but Eywa, if they didn’t hit large.
Both you and Neteyam froze at the intrusion, then stilled at the implication, a beat passing before you each stepped back in the same beat of time. He rose to his feet far too quickly besides you, your eyes blown wide in something too closely resembling horror, while Neteyam merely rolled his, tired and resigned, straightening back into the perfect son like it was second nature once more.
“Stop being a skxawng, Lo’ak–.”
“–We are not flirting, Kiri.”
The words collided in the air, yours to Kiri a hiss and his to Lo’ak a sigh, overlapping with a defensive tilt that had the other two chuckling harder.
Lo’ak’s mouth twitched. “Wow." He stated. “Touched a sensitive nerve.”
And Neteyam, the all mighty responsible son he is, didn’t reach for the bait Lo'ak hung so low for him, instead, he crossed his arms with a sigh at his unexpected presence. “What are you doing here?”
The answer came before either of them could speak, as a sudden fifth voice came echoing from the brush of leaves. A small, blurred figure soon came dashing out of the tree scape, making a b-line straight to the centre of the clearing in a full stumbling sprint. She was headed directly towards where you stood in a pout next to Neteyam.
“Dad said to come get you two because you’re taking too long!”
Kiri and Lo’ak's eyes grew wide. And with a quick exchanged glance of horror, at the same time they barked. “Tuk!”
But she ran right past them, as if their voices fell silent to the wind.
Lo’ak lunged forward, catching her by the arm just before she could skid to a stop at your feet. The glare he sent her sharp and immediate enough to make her shrink in on herself, ears drooping as she braced for the scolding she knew was soon to come.
“Dad told us to come get them,” He corrected, gesturing between himself and Kiri. “That wasn’t an invitation to follow.”
Tuk's round eyes glint up with that innocent reasoning you just couldn't deny, her pupils glossing over as she pouted heavy in protest and twisted her head to look at you and Neteyam.
“But Dad said you’ve been out here alone long enough!”
Tuk protested, twisting free of Lo’ak’s grip with a determined wriggle and darting straight to you. The moment she was within your range, she grabbed your forearm with both of hers, tugging urgently as she looked up with those wide, worried eyes.
“He told mom that if you and Neteyam keep fighting like this, you’ll probably end up at the Tree of Souls by tonight!” She paused, then her voice pitched higher with pure betrayal. “But you can’t! You promised you’d help me braid my new beads tonight!”
For a heartbeat, the clearing went unnervingly still. You stared still as stone down at Tuk, mortification burning hot beneath your skin at the implication that flew right over her head but knocked you right up yours instead. And besides you, Neteyam fared no better, looking as if the world had briefly knocked him off balance too, His eyes widening just enough to betray him before he could pull himself back together.
In stark contrast just a ways away, Lo’ak let out a sharp bark of laughter, doubling over with his grip on Kiri's arm, just as she finally outright lost the battle she’d been silently fighting, turning away from the set of two dazed and angered eyes with a hand clamped over her mouth.
She shook with quiet, uncontrollable cackles, restraint entirely gone, fed by the matching looks of mortification plastered across both your faces. The two of you looked ridiculous.
And Tuk, sweet innocent Tuk, oblivious to the chaos her words had detonated in the once silent clearing, glared up at Neteyam's shell-shocked face with furrowed brows and that pouty sneer.
“Stupid Neteyam.” She declared, voice ringing with righteous indignation. “You can’t take Y/N anywhere tonight. Eywa heard it - she’s with me today!”
She punctuated the proclamation with the scrunch of her nose and a quick, defiant flick of her tongue, poked in his direction.
For a split second, Neteyam only stared at her, still caught somewhere between the weight of what had just been said and the very real presence of his little sister. Then he blinked, jaw tightening as the annoyingly-older brother instinct finally won out over shock. With a sharp, almost automatic motion, he reached out and pinched her tongue between his fingers. An act that had Tuk squealing and flailing in protest.
“Oi!” Tuk yelped, recoiling instantly, clutching her tongue with a gasp.
Neteyam let the sound settle before he spoke. He shot you a brief, weary glance, as if checking whether you’d reacted at all, then turned back to his sister, composure sliding firmly back into place. His voice level and measured with a delicate care he reserved specifically for her.
“That is entirely enough out of you. Someone needs to give you a lesson about eavesdropping." He glanced back at his brother and sister, motioning a hand to the two still giggling. "Time to take you home before we all get scolded.”
Tuk’s ears drooped immediately, shoulders curling inward as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, fingers still hovering protectively near her mouth. She opened her lips as if to argue, then thought better of it, gaze flicking between Neteyam and the ground with exaggerated remorse.
That was when Kiri scoffed, the tension finally cracking as ahe straightened, still grinning as she shouted. “He's right, you’ve caused enough trouble. Come on, teylupil.”
She didn’t wait for her to comply, instead walking to grab her, planting two steady hand on each of her shoulders, then began steering her away with decisive finality, already turning her toward the path before she could wriggle free.
“But I didn’t do anything!” Tuk protested.
“Tell it to dad.” Kiri laughed.
Tuk craned her neck back toward you one last time as Kiri dragged her away, voice pitching higher with urgency. “Y/n, don’t forget my hair-!”
“I know,” you cut in quickly, the words tossed over your shoulder like a promise already made as the two disappeared down the winding path in a lingering bicker.
Lo’ak remained a heartbeat longer. His gaze flicking between you and Neteyam, something quiet and knowing glinting behind his eyes as his mouth twitched with barely restrained amusement.
You caught it quickly, and shut it down even quicker, face smoothing into neutrality as you turned away, dropping back into a crouch before the stump as if nothing had been disturbed in you.
“We will collect the threads and follow.” Your voice came out flat and deliberately ungiving, spoken without the fault or fracture he was clearly waiting to see. Whatever reaction they had hoped to draw out of you never came, instead, your expression smoothed into something unreadable, as if nothing at all had happened in the last few minutes.
When he didn't get it from you, Lo’ak redirected his attention to Neteyam with a long, assessing look. He was waiting for the reaction you refused to give, and when he found nothing but the faint quirk of Neteyam’s mouth, he huffed a quiet laugh and finally began his own descent toward the start of the winding path back to the village.
“Dad’s pissed.” He called over his shoulder. “Try not to be too long.”
The brush swallowed him soon after as well, laughter and murmured whispers dissolving into the low hum of the forest. And then the clearing fell still again.
You let out a slow breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, shoulders rolling as the tension finally bled off. Remembering yourself, you turned back to the stump, your hands moved quickly now, rough and efficient, gruffly snatching clumps full of fibre from the scattered pile. You stuffed them into the woven basket Neteyam had brought, as if keeping busy might quiet everything still coiled tight beneath your skin.
For a moment, Netayem watched. It almost seemed like that armored composure of yours was taut as rigid as usual, as if nothing in the last five minutes had made you falter for even a moment. To anyone else, maybe, it did appear as so, but he knew you well enough to see the way your jaw clenched so tight he’d envisioned you cracking a molar, and the harsher than necessary grip in your fingers as you haphazardly tossed the fibre around. Not to mention the stutter in your tail’s path, the tell he’d learned long ago as the one that always surfaced when you were lying.
It left him releasing a chuckle he couldn't contain, a deep, rumbling sound which made your ears twitch sideways in annoyance. You paused in your frantic movements, head snapping to the side in a motion which left your glowing amber eyes glaring daggers at his towering form.
“What?” You spat, tired, irritated and painfully obvious to him – embarrassed.
“Still upset about what Kiri said?"
Your jaw clenched, fangs peeking as you whipped fully around to face him, rising to your full height at the implication. The basket thumped forgotten at your feet as the tension tipped to a peak beyond your capacity, and you stalked towards him with an almost predatory sway.
"I am not angry about that ridiculous–” You cut yourself off, taking a moment to collect the basket off the ground, along with a breath of humid air, allowing it to sit in your lungs before releasing in a desperate attempt to somewhat self-regulate. “Do not flatter yourself, Tawtute. Flirting? With you? I'd sooner make Tsaheylu with a thanator."
His eyes gleamed with mischief, but it wasn’t the boyish, innocent kind he wore when messing with his siblings. This one was the kind he wore only where you were involved, deliberate and cocky, slipping neatly beneath the cracks in your composure because he knew where to press.
The careful, responsible mask he wore all the time loosened just enough to reveal the tease underneath, a glimpse of something warmer and far more dangerous than his jabs at you ever were. He didn’t crowd you with his body so much as he crowded you with his unyielding certainty, leaning in just the smallest amount, voice dropping into something that felt like it belonged in the a dark room rather than under the open light of tree canopies.
“Funny,” He murmured, and Eywa, the way he said it made your spine want to curl. “Your tail is flicking like it does when you lie. And you react so much when I get close, almost as if... as if you enjoy it.”
Heat hit you so fast it was humiliating, up your neck, across your cheeks, down your chest - anger and something you refused to name twisting together until you couldn’t tell which was which. Your hand shoved into his chest on instinct, a firm press meant to reassert space, meant to remind him you were not something to be read and teased apart like the vines beneath your knife.
But his skin under your palm was solid and warm, his breath even, his posture maddeningly steady. You hated that he didn’t move. You hated that the push didn’t become a shove, that your body betrayed you with restraint and a split-second hesitation that had nothing to do with strength. Your pulse seemed to jump when he watched you like this.
“Back off,” You snapped instead, aiming for venom and getting something too light, too strained. You lifted your chin as if height alone could restore your pride. “I do not enjoy anything about you hovering like a skxawng who thinks he is Eywa’s gift to the clan.”
You couldn’t handle it anymore, the way his eyes bore into yours like they read every thought, so you moved to leave the clearing, to be as far away from him as can be.
Neteyam didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on yours, unblinking, the gold in them catching the filtered light until they looked almost feral. The smirk was gone and in its place was something colder as he took one slow step forward, crowding you until the basket handle dug into your hip and the scent of him, warm skin, crushed leaves, the faint sweat from the summer heat, filled every breath.
“Gift?” He repeated, voice quiet and flat, the kind of quiet that made your spine prickle. “I am the one stuck dragging your half-finished work back to the village every time you storm off. That sound like a gift to you?”
Something in his words snapped the tension in a way that almost had a stifled laugh escaping you. The image of perfect Neteyam, future Olo’eyktan, the ever-responsible son, trudging behind you with a basket full of your messy fibers and a everpresent moping frown to match struck you as absurdly funny considering he was the one who always offered to do it anyways. That short, sharp laugh escaped before you could stop it, low and mocking, cutting through the thick air between you.
“Poor you.” You sang, voice dripping with false sympathy as the anger flipped into something crueler and entirely more enjoyable. “All that dragging must be so exhausting for such meek shoulders to carry.”
His eyes narrowed, the feral glint sharpening into irritation, but you were already moving. You jerked the basket from where it pressed against your hip and shoved it hard into his front, the woven edge leaving him doubling slightly from the sudden jab to his ribs, a smack that landed with a satisfying thud.
A few loose fibers fluttered to the ground as he stumbled back a few steps and caught the basket on reflex, fingers curling tight around the rim. The motion finally giving you the space you longed to breathe once again.
“Except, you came here knowing you were going to do it anyways. So, there,” You said, stepping back with a grin that showed too many teeth. “Problem solved. You can carry it all the way home anyways, like the dutiful son you are. Try not to strain yourself complaining about it later.”
Neteyam’s jaw clenched hard enough that you could see the muscle jump beneath his skin, his ears pinning back flat against his skull. The feral edge in his eyes flared hotter, and for a second you thought he might actually snap, toss the basket aside and give you the fight you both pretended you didn’t want.
Instead, he gripped the handle tighter, knuckles paling and barked, “Fnawe’tu skxawng!”
The insult landed far too humorously for you to care, Instead you tilted your head back with an overly delighted smirk, very amused by his irate slurs and the way his facade cracked. “You call me the stubborn idiot? But you carry the basket anyway. Funny how that works?”
He exhaled through his nose, blood boiling at the way you managed to throw his earlier words back at him. The sound was almost a growl, and he took one deliberate step onto the path after you. “Start walking, Fang. The sooner we get back, the sooner I am rid of you for the day.”
“Perfect!" You grinned, but the grin quickly dropped. "Twelve whole hours before you find another excuse to follow me around tomorrow.”
You barely glanced back to see if he was following when you took off towards the village, because you already knew he was.
The clearing was loud with voices and laughter, bodies packed close as food and weapons were passed around in uneven circles, and it felt like the whole village had decided to breathe in the same place at once.
Someone had dragged a fresh kill in not long ago and the smell still hung in the air, mingling with roasted meat, crushed herbs, and the faint sting of smoke from the fire that kept getting fed as if it might swallow the night. Nets of fruit were being unknotted and handed off, cups passed between hands, blades checked and re-sheathed in the same idle rhythm people used when they were safe enough to relax but still too wound up to sit still.
You were wedged between a few of your friends near the edge of one of the many circles, packed close enough that their shoulders kept bumping yours when someone laughed too hard or shifted in their seat. Ki’tiri had been retelling an exaggerated recall of her day on patrol, her eyes gleaming with irate exasperation as she animatedly spoke of the moment Lo’ak decided to start throwing stones out of boredom, nearly nailing Mo’at on the head from the overhang.
Tuk sat too. She had found you the moment you settled onto the woven mat, darting straight to your side to claim her usual spot and spend her evening meal with you instead of her siblings or friends. It's something that had become so common during communal mealtimes that your friends had come to expect the young Sully girl attaching herself to your side like a second tail. It was as if the decision had been made somewhere in her head and the rest of the world simply had to accept it, and now she perched happily at your side like she belonged there.
Her small hand gripped your wrist with the possessive certainty only children had, and she fidgeted with the jewels decorated across your fingers, twisting the woven strands carefully as if she were inspecting treasure. The beads you’d braided fresh not even a few weeks before clinked softly each time she moved, and every now and then she would lean her head against your arm and sigh, pleased with herself like she’d taken down a Thanator.
“Will you make these for me too?” She asked – more like stated – for what had to be the third time tonight, thumb brushing the tiny knotwork with awe.
“When you stop trying to steal mine..” You murmured back, and she grinned, utterly unbothered by the threat.
You let yourself settle into it for a moment, letting the noise wash over you because it was easier than thinking after long days training, because nights like this were meant to feel simple and unwinding. You were halfway through listening to your friend complain about yet another act of stupidity Lo’ak had attempted on their patrol together, when Tuk’s fingers suddenly stilled on your ring, halting and tightening hard enough that the movement forced you to glance down at the girl with a concerned furrow of your brow.
“What?” You muttered, eyeing her of an answer before she spoke it.
Tuk’s eyes flicked past you toward the centre of the clearing, eyeing something in the distance that left you searching the vicinity in hopes of catching the focus of her gaze. Her mouth fell slightly, an almost angered look settling across her face before she scoffed, turning back to you in a huff that had her drawing closer.
“Neteyam is with that noisy woman again. An’aya.”
She spat the name in that high-pitched mocking tone children did, and at first, you didn’t react. Not outwardly, at least. But something in your chest tightened all the same, small and sadistic, as if it even mattered at all.
You followed Tuk’s gaze without meaning to, your eyes slipping past the firelight and moving bodies until they found him almost instinctively. Neteyam sat just beyond the centre of the clearing, leaned back against a stack of supply crates, relaxed in the way you only ever saw when he was amongst people he trusted, his shoulders were loose and his attention tilted toward the woman beside him.
An’aya was speaking animatedly, hands moving as she spoke and laughed so easily, and Neteyam had angled himself toward her without thinking, one knee bent beside his chest, head dipped slightly so he could hear her better over the noise.
It irked you. And it irked you more that it even irked you in the first place. Because you hated him. You told yourself it irked you because you hated that he was enjoying himself. Right. Of course.
But the irritation still sat heavy and ugly in your chest, coiling tighter the longer you watched, and you hated that too, hated that your attention wouldn’t let it go, and that your mood had soured so fast despite being so fine just a moment ago.
There was no reason for it. None that made sense. You hated that stuck up tawtute more than anyone else and you argued with him so much you made a sport out of it. So why did your chest tighten when he didn't brush away the hand she put on his shoulder?
Tuk noticed the shift in your mood right away. Her nose wrinkled as her grip tightened again and she leaned in closer, glaring openly now.
“I don’t like her,” she muttered, voice fierce and final. “She talks too much. And she sits too close to Neteyam. And she laughs at his jokes even when they’re not funny.”
You attempted for even a minuscule moment to draw yourself back, to brush it away and forget it ever made you feel anything by resorting to your usual self regulation habits – insulting the man.
“Nothing Neteyam says is funny.” But not even that seemed to work to calm you because that irrationally confusing feeling still clawed at your chest.
“That’s not true,” Tuk called out immediately, tilting her small face up at you with those wide eyes. “You laugh at him all the time! Just not when he’s looking.”
She leaned in closer, voice dropping into something hurt and almost bordering a whine. “He’s supposed to sit with us.”
“That is not how this works.” You snapped the reply too quick, eyes diverting from the scene to pick up another piece of utumauti fruit as if it never bothered you.
Tuk’s eyes rolled at the response she should have predicted. She never understood why you acted so weird about it, when it was obvious to her that you liked her brother - because that was just what people did when they liked someone. They got weird and sharp and pretended they didn’t. She didn't see it elswhere often, but she knew it because that was what you and Neteyam did.
Your friends had gone quiet at the sudden stir occurring just beside them. Ki’tiri quickly noticed the shift in your mood and tilted her head, studying you now with open curiosity.
“Why are you angry?” She cut in plainly. “Did he do something again?”
“No." You replied stark. “How could he? Neteyam is all the way over there.”
Ki’tiri exchanged a quick, knowing glance with the friends beside you. “I didn't even mention his name." And the corner of her mouth lifted as a chorus of light giggles sung around the circle.
You answered with a quick, harsh warning glare, a motion that had the laughs slowly dying but the smiles still lingering in a knowing gleam. Ki’tiri leaned in again, allowing you the dignity of ending her teasing, feeling almost a little bad at how astoundingly purple you looked.
"You’re getting upset,” She stated simply and not unkindly. “You do that only where Neteyam is involved.”
“I am not upset.” But you were too far maddened for that to be convincing. “And he is not involved. I have been sat here, and he has been there this entire time.”
The lie hung heavy and brittle as you clicked your tongue. Tsk.
"Yeah, sat with that healer girl." Mikatxi interjected low and humoured.
Your chest tightened, sharp and sudden, like the threads Neteyam pulled too taut in the woods and before you could bite it back, the denial tore out of you, louder than intended and edged with fury.
“I do NOT care who he sits with!” You hissed, voice cracking on the volume. “He can sit in her lap for all the stars in the sky care! I would not notice if Eywa herself told me!”
“Seems like you do…”
“—What is going on!?”
The voice carried across the fire, calm but accusatory, and edged with something that made the fine hairs along your arms rise. In your bladed fury, you let your voice spike too high and missed the one pair of eyes that had locked onto you from beyond the fire.
Neteyam hadn’t stood, he hadn’t even moved from his spot. But he had leaned forward with a watchful, almost concerned eye, braids swinging low and hand hanging off his elevated knee as he observed with what you knew was that stupidly disingenuous concern.
The way he intervened like he was already rehearsing for Olo’eyktan burned you, as if he believed he could snuff out any simmering flame with his big, proud words simply because his blood said so.
And that wasn’t even half your problem. The problem was that An’aya followed his gaze immediately, curiosity sparking as she turned to see what had drawn his attention, blinking and glancing between the two of you, clearly lost by why he interrupted her mid sentence.
That alone was enough to make your teeth grind. Because what was your relationship with that skxawng any of her business?
“We’re fine.” You called back, sharper than necessary, your eyes not even bothering to glance his way once. “Try having your own conversations instead of monitoring everyone else, tawtute.”
Neteyam’s mouth tightened just slightly at the insult, a breath leaving him slow and measured as if he were counting to three in his head. He didn’t rise, not yet. Only tipped his chin and let a quick “Eywa help me,” fall to the air before pushing himself to his feet at last.
He crossed the space between you in a way that had your fist tightening in anticipation for yet another argument, only fueled by the image of An’aya hot on his heels like a second tail of his own, close enough to the boy that it felt intentional whether it was or not. Tuk sat up, planting herself more firmly at your side like a guard animal half her size.
“I said we are fine,” you warned as he stopped in front of you.
Your friends ogled at the two of you, already bracing for the next round of your endless bickering.
“And I said I was just asking.” His voice was calm but firm, and his eyes began searching your face for something, as if he could find whatever it was if he looked hard enough. “You are upset.”
You sputtered a short sudden laugh but your tone held no humour. “Right, I forgot I am only allowed to feel some way once you have approved of it first. I forgot I need my warden to tail me through the village and make sure I am behaving. Shall you go report my mood back to our fathers now?”
Neteyam’s jaw flexed, his calm finally straining at the edges.
“That is not what I am doing. You know I do not–”
“You do!" Your outburst came hard against his sentence, not having the patience nor heart to hear his excuses. “My tail flicks too harshly, and it is enough to call council with our fathers! Tell them to rest easy, golden son. I am not about to reign war over one evening meal.”
Neteyam sighed, rubbing a hand over his face like he was bracing himself. “Well, you don’t have to turn everything I say into a fight.”
“And you don’t have to turn everything I do into your problem to solve. The mantle still sits on your fathers head, you are allowed to have a personality until then.”
An overdramatically long groan suddenly sounded to the left of you, and both your eyes snapped over to Tuks exaggeratingly agitated from, as she sighed in that childish way she did.
“Stop fighting!” She begged, voice whiny with pure childish exasperation. “You guys always pretend like you don't want to talk, and then Neteyam comes and you fight forever because he won’t leave you alone, but then you don't tell him to go away, and it's annoying!"
“Tuk!” Both you and Neteyam barked simultaneously, horror gleaming in both of your eyes because that was so obviously not true!
“That is what happens." She insisted stubbornly. "You do it all the time.”
"No!" You rejected. "We argue because he hovers!"
An’aya, from the shadow of Neteyam’s shoulder, suddenly appeared forward, finally establishing her presence with a smile that was not wide nor warm, but enough to show she was not very fond of the girl her friend had been talking to.
"Maybe, if we did not worry about what you might do next, Neteyam would not be expected to hover and act like Olo’eyktan already."
Your head turned slowly toward her, blood finally boiling beyond that point that only Neteyam’s presence could push it to. Because who was she to imply you were a burden he had to shoulder, a mess he had to trail behind and fix every time you existed too loudly for her liking?
And especially who did she think she was inserting herself into Neteyam’s problems as if they were her own. ‘If we did not worry’ — as if she had any right to speak for the frustration he supposedly felt?
You let your eyes trail to her far too self-satisfied form, sneering with the scowl you usually only reserved for that gawking fool besides her. But if she insisted on acting as his equal, she could be handled like him too.
“Oh, is that your healer’s wisdom speaking, or are you only borrowing the golden son’s voice while he is too busy ogling to use it himself?”
Her smile faltered and her chin lifted a fraction as her eyes narrowed in something mimicking offence. And then your gaze snapped to Neteyam, fury bright and uncontained now that the girl he had dragged to your circle had suddenly felt all too comfortable insulting you in front of all your friends.
“Maybe our fathers should stick her as your new training partner since she is already so good at handling me."
"Fang—" Neteyam's voice was eerily low.
"—Now that my guard dog has a guard dog.”
And then he stiffened. “Enough.”
But you didn't stop. “Is this what you tell people about me?”
Neteyam opened his mouth to speak, visibly caught off guard by the sudden accusation.
“That is not–” He started for the umpteenth time but again you didn’t let him finish.
“I would think you respected me even a little, enough, considering all my father has done for you and your family. Enough considering you always like to remind me that 'we are partners.' But you let your women speak to me like I am beneath you.” You scoffed softly, the sound carrying just far enough to be heard.
“A leader, they say you will be.” You continued, words mocking. “Tell me how this is keeping the peace. Seems your peace is built on my silence. Both your peace and our fathers.”
You rose without haste, the motion deliberate enough that the space around you seemed to shift with it. The ground felt steady beneath your feet, solid in a way your chest had not been for the last several breaths, and for the first time that night you welcomed the clarity that came with deciding to leave rather than be dismissed.
“Y/n, no– please don’t be mad,” Tuk whined, the plea tumbling out of her in a rush as she reached for you, fingers brushing the edge of your wrist but failing to catch hold. Her face pinched with genuine worry. "I didn't mean to make it worse."
“You did not.” You said shortly. “This is not on you, Tuk.”
And then you turned and left without a word, the sudden absence of your presence cutting through the clearing sharper than any insult you had ever sent him, and for the first time Neteyam did not know whether you were just angry or actually hurt by what had happened.
It was confusing because you had never let any interaction between the two of you get to you like this, yet now that you had chosen distance in place of where you would usually just choose name calling, he couldn’t help the feeling like he’d missed something far too important while it was happening.
The noise resumed all too quickly behind you, laughter reclaiming the air as if nothing had shifted at all, but he stayed where he was, unease settling low in his chest as he watched your retreating form saunter away, hips swaying with jolting anger and body tempting his eyes to never shift.
He didn’t know when he started noticing things like that. The way your hips rolled as you walked, the flex of the muscles along your thighs with each step, and the way the line of your back shifted as you moved.
It sat wrong that he noticed these things about you, because he didn’t notice them on anyone else. More than anything else, the fact that you hadn’t looked back sat even worse. And the fact that he felt that hollow pull, tight and wrenching in his chest because of it, sat the worst of all.
“At least you don't have to worry about watching her anymore." An’aya’s voice cut in beside him, light and coaxing, like she was trying to pull him back by the wrist.
Neteyam nodded absently, already half elsewhere, the hollow feeling in his chest refusing to settle. Even as he turned back toward the fire, his attention lagged behind, tethered not to the laughter or the conversation resuming around him, but to the quiet space you’d left behind. To the quiet, unwelcome understanding that this time, you hadn’t walked away to cool off – you had walked away because he had apparently crossed a line he didn’t even realise he was dancing.
One delicate, purposeful step after the other. Neteyam watched your sultry hips as they worked against the motion of your legs, swaying against the gracefully deliberate rhythm of your strut. Every step was intentional, not a single wasted motion and certainly no hesitation, each one drawing a slow, tightening circle around him. You eyed him like prey and circled him like a predator.
He, too, circled your figure. Less graceful in his approach, his steps heavier and more grounded, but just as analytical with his eyes all the same. He told himself he tracked your figure because he had to, that he noticed how dangerously alluring you looked in your stride because he was being tactical, certainly not because he found it mesmerising.
Partnered again. You almost rolled your eyes had it not been for the undivided attention you locked onto his solid figure.
You suspected that they were doing it on purpose now, because whenever given the opportunities, your fathers paired the two of you as if it was something written into the roots of the forest itself. As if Eywa refused to separate you.
Jake’s voice cut through the air before either of you could make a move.
“Enough posturing,” he barked from the edge of the ring, arms crossed, gaze sharp and unimpressed. “This isn’t a mating dance. Someone's going to have to make a move soon enough. Engage.”
The command barely left Jake’s mouth before you jolted.
You didn’t rush him all at once because that was never your style. You shifted your weight and pivoted to your right instead, just as your tail came down with a sharp snap to the left, a deliberate ploy to feint him around you with sound.
Neteyam stuttered for a moment, nearly diving left and falling for the bait, but caught himself immediately, because of course he did. His jaw tightened as he corrected, blocking you by widening his stance, shoulders settling into a space much larger than you had accounted for.
You collided with his chest, steadying yourself with a tight hand clamped around his forearm that flexed under your grip. It was a successful motion that kept you upright, but your proximity to Neteyam left you vulnerable to an open hand palm against your shoulder, knocking you a step back. It was a warning shot, not meant to land hard, but it angered you all the same.
“Good feint, Y/n. Nice recovery, Neteyam.” Jake called out.
Your eyes never pivoted from Neteyam, but Jake's words riled you further, knowing he got praise for the first hit.
"Is that all you have?" You taunted, circling again, your breath steady despite the fire igniting in your veins. "Afraid to hit me for real, golden boy?"
Neteyam’s ears flicked at your taunt, but his expression stayed infuriatingly calm. He rolled the shoulder you’d nearly landed on earlier, circling with you, mirroring your steps like he’d memorized every rhythm you’d ever moved to.
“Well, would not want to mess up that pretty face.”
You flared your teeth in a hiss at his words, fangs bared and all, as the implication of them did not evade you. The idea that you were too feminine to fight. Bullshit.
It was bait, you knew it deep within, and yet you lunged for it all the same.
You dropped low, striking dirty with a sweeping leg that made contact with his ankles while your hands aimed for his torso. He leaped back to counter, but you were faster, leaping with a twist and raking your manicured claws down his ribs just to watch him hiss.
You landed in a crouch behind him, tail lashing with triumph at the hit but he countered instantly, arm hooking yours, using your momentum to flip you over his hip, but you held tightly, and this time you both went down. You snapped right to the ground, landing with a splat and a breathy groan, which he followed taut behind with, and soon you were caged beneath him as his braids fell around your face like a curtain.
“Careful,” he murmured, voice rough, eyes dropping to your mouth, “keep rubbing up on me like that and people may talk.”
Damn his Sully tongue and their dirty human minds. Only they – only he, were rash enough to say such vulgar words.
Heat flared in your face, nothing else but pure rage, and you answered with a growl, driving your knee up sharp between his legs. Not hard enough to hurt, you think, but just enough to make him block instinctively and give you room to twist.
You both rolled again, a tangle of limbs and snarls across the dirt, kicking up dust around you until you came out to a stop, this time you were on top, straddling his waist, thighs clamped tight, hands slamming his wrists into the dirt beside his head.
“I will kill you!”
Neteyam’s eyes blazed up at you, all traces of amusement gone. His ears pinned flat against his skull, jaw clenched so tight you saw the muscle jump. He bucked hard beneath you, trying to throw your weight, muscles straining as he fought your hold.
“Get. off. of. me.” He snarled, voice low and dangerous through his squirms against you, wrists twisting against your grip. “Why must you always turn it into this?”
You dug your nails in deeper, refusing to budge, chest heaving with anger. “You started it with your filthy mouth. Think you can say whatever you want and I will just take it?”
He arched again, harder this time, nearly unseating you from his lap and you slid to settle on his chest. His breath came in harsh pants now, struggling under the weight of you on his lungs, but his eyes still burned up at you with pure defiance.
The shift gave him a perfect view of you, sweaty and furious as you loomed above him, your braids wild, chest heaving and skin gleaming with a sheen of sweat. A deep flush crept up his neck and face at the sight, dark purple blooming across his cheeks and he prayed to Eywa it looked like it was from a lack of air to everyone watching.
“I am trying to win a damn spar, not handle your tantrum.” He said through short breaths. “Yield!”
“Force me, Tawtute,” you hissed, grinding your knees harder into his sides.,“or keep dancing for your sempul like the skxawng you are.”
His face darkened at that, a fresh wave of fury rolling off of him. He surged up with a grunt, flipping you both violently in a cloud of dust that kicked as you grappled. It was a flurry of elbows and knees jabbing at whatever body parts they could reach, claws scratching, fangs baring, and hisses sounding out like a tussle of five years olds.
He landed a sharp elbow to your ribs and you responded by snatching at his long swinging kuru braid and tugging at it, pinning him for a split second before you broke free with a snarl.
The spar had turned ugly so fast, no one had time to register what it was until it already had become it. There was no technique or poise left, just primitive fighting and petty aggression mixed with ragged breaths and dirt covered bodies, every strike fuelled by years of building resentment.
And Jake was done watching it.
"That's enough!" he barked again, the sound cracking through the clearing like a whip. He dragged a tired hand down his face, exhaling through his nose before turning on you both with an outstretched arm that sliced downward in a sharp, commanding arc. "Get off!"
His voice was so demanding and final, it had you cowering in your skin and scampering clumsily off and away from Neteyams heaving figure mirroring your own. You subtly brushed the dirt clinging to your arms in an attempt to salvage even an ounces worth of dignity, but it wasn't working, because your hands still shook and beneath it all, that ugly vulnerability lingered heavy as Jakes eyes beat down on you.
Jake continued.
"It was funny at first, cute even, when you two were teens and it didn't matter. But by Eywa, you're adults now. You have responsibilities and the clan is going to depend on you."
The authority in his voice pinned you both in place.
"I'm sorry, sir," Neteyam spoke with a breathy compliance, eyes trained downwards in a way that almost left you scoffing at how pathetic he looked - at how quickly he folded under the pressure of his father despite talking so big against you moments ago. It took everything in you not to roll your eyes while being lectured by his father about acting mature.
So, you muttered through gritted teeth, "Yes, sir," forcing the words out while fighting every instinct that screamed at you to glare at Neteyam instead of Jake.
Jake’s gaze flicked between you. “You two are going to be the leaders of this clan some day.”
As he spoke the words, there was a pause as he immediately noticed the sudden way the two of you began shifting apart, blue faces crawling into flushed purple ones. It only took him another moment to realise the implication of his words, and he saw it. Of course he saw it. Eywa, the two of you couldn’t even look at each other at an implication he didn’t even mean!
Realization dawned on his face, and he let out a long, exasperated sigh. "And this – this right here – is exactly what I mean. Every little thing between you turns into a problem. You don’t know how to keep things contained when it’s the two of you.”
He jabbed a finger toward Neteyam, ready to correct your misunderstanding.
"You will be Olo'eyktan one day." Then the finger swung to you. "And you will be the clan's head warrior. His right hand. His most trusted." Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sooner or later, you have got to get along. The People need to see unity, not... whatever the hell this is."
He said the line so defeatedly, as if his two greatest proteges had become his two biggest failures in that moment, and it left you deflating in embarrassment at the notion that your rivalry with his son had turned into something beyond comprehensive words. Instead, reduced to “hell” - to some weird sky people word.
Shameful.
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. You stared at the ground, heat crawling up your neck, wishing the woven walkway would just open and swallow you whole because it was almost like your own father had just admitted that you were acting a fool.
As Jake Sully, the man who raised you almost as his own in the proximity of your father and their strict training regimes, was sighing down at you and his idiot son with weary frustration.
You knew he didn’t mean it cruelly. This was that strange sky-people thing he did, where he slipped into what was described as the “military” tone, meant to correct rather than offend. That didn’t make the cut sting less deep, though.
You were mid deliberation when you suddenly heard it, the tiniest huff of breath from Neteyam’s direction. Not quite a laugh, but close enough, and it had you glancing up at him with the scowl you reserved only for him.
Neteyam wasn’t looking at his father anymore. Now he was looking right at you, glaring through the corner of his limp braids, head still hung low as one side of his mouth twitched upward in that infuriating half-smirk he saved just for you too.
His amber eyes glinted with something resembling a shocked amusement, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe you were actually compliant. Like your mortification was the funniest thing he’d seen all day.
You knew you shouldn’t. You knew this was a horrible time. But in that moment it was like something inside you finally snapped with finality for the first time ever.
Where you usually would have met him with snark, now you were meeting him with red vision and a complete lack of respect.
Your ears flicked back, pinned taught to your hair like an animal on its prey only moments away from pouncing. Tail lashing once almost like a whip.
“What?” you hissed, so low it was almost swallowed by the breeze, meant only for him, but almost so quiet that Neteyam nearly missed the fact that you had spoken entirely. “Something funny, Tawtute?”
He caught your words all the same, the perfect, golden son act completely slipping away, traded for a smirk that widened a fraction larger at your beyond irked facial expression. “A child, Fang.” He taunted, hitting right where he knew you hurt most. “You look like a child scolded by her elder. It is quite damn funny.”
That was all it took.
You stepped forward, voice rising despite yourself, despite the voice telling you that only awful consequences would come from acting out right now. The worst part of you could not have cared less that his father wasn’t even through with lecturing the two of you yet, the bigger part of you so enraged, so encompassed by Neteyam and his stupidity, his audacity, that you just-
Did. Not. Care.
Your figure snapped upright, tall and menacing, body twisting to face him fully as your large blearing eyes glossed over, unblinking and fear-provockingly wide.
“Open your mouth again, Tawtute, and I swear to Eywa and everything she deems sacred, I will slam you down and make you swallow every sorry sound you choke in front of the whole clan.”
Neteyam’s smirk froze, then vanished almost as quickly as it came. His ears were the ones to flick forward now, sharp at the ends and persistently alert. His golden eyes that had been mocking you a heartbeat ago had darkened into molten amber pits, pupils narrowing to slits. The perfect son was gone entirely.
His tail lashed once, hard enough to slap the air as he twisted his body entirely to tower over yours. It was the first time in all your years of knowing him where he had ever intimidated you, because it was the first time in all the years you’d known him that his size truly registered. Tall, and broad, and built like the future leader he was meant to be.
Your gaze dropped before you could stop it, tracing the sharp lines of his frame all the way down until they stopped to linger on the bold stripes that curved low around his hipbones and disappeared beneath the edge of his loincloth. They had always stood out more than anyone else’s, as darker, thicker, more prominent than the others. The Tawtute genes, you told yourself, that’s why they were like that, no other reason, certainly. A flush crawled up your neck, hot and confusing, and what would have been disguised as pure rage to any onlooker.
It pressed in on you though, close enough that the heat of him brushed your skin. Because, it didn’t feel like pure rage alone. Your mind could try to convince you, but your body would do otherwise, betraying your thoughts with that persistent betraying flicker of your tail.
And Neteyam noticed. Of course he noticed.
“Keep staring like that, Fang,” he said, leaning in until his breath stirred the loose strands of hair at your temple, “and I will give you something to actually choke on.”
The words hit low and vicious, a promise wrapped in threat and before you even processed which arm had lifted first, your hand, with pre-curled fingers was already moving toward his chest to shove him back as hard as you possibly could. A hiss so guttural and sharp tearing from your gaping mouth, decorated by the furiously purple hue that painted your face like a white canvas.
His own shot up just as yours had, catching your wrist mid-air in a grip like the metal on the ships the sky people flew. Not painful, but almost entirely unbreakable.
For one suspended heartbeat you were locked there, with his fingers around your wrist and bodies inches apart, both of you breathing hard, tails thrashing in mirrored fury. The space between you felt suddenly too small, the air too thick.
Then Jake’s voice cracked through it like a whip.
“I said enough!”
He was on you in two strides, one massive hand clamping the back of Neteyam’s neck, the other seizing your upper arm and hauling you both apart with force that made your feet skid on the woven mat.
Jake’s eyes were wild, ears pinned flat, chest heaving.
“You two are done,” he growled, voice shaking with barely-leashed anger. “Done acting like feral animals that can’t control their emotions. Grown adults and I’m still treating you two like I did when you were twelve.”
He exhaled sharply, making the decision at that moment.
"You're going out to the eastern watchpost. Tonight. Just the two of you." He held up a hand when you both opened your mouths to protest. "No arguments, not a goddamn word. It's an hour ride so that's plenty of time to cool off and you'll spend the entire night there.”
Jake was not having it. “I want the supplies inventoried, the platforms repaired, and I want every corner of every ridge scouted for any signs of human activity, and you're going to do every moment of it together. You'll eat together, sleep in the same goddamn hammock if you have to, and you'll come back tomorrow morning acting like the future leaders you're supposed to be."
He released you with a shove toward the rookery.
“Go saddle your Ikran’s.”
When the two of you hesitated, Jake snarled “Now! And if I hear one more word out of either of you before you’re out of my sight, I swear to Eywa I’ll tie you both to the same tree instead.”
Jake's voice sounded so tired and the clearing had gone deathly quiet. Neteyam’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing and he was the first to turn without even so much as a glance in your direction, stalking toward the rookery with rigid shoulders, his braids swaying with each step, and every taut line of him vibrating with a restraint he almost lacked.
You stood frozen for half a breath longer, heart hammering against your ribs, wrist still burning where his grip had been. Then you turned too, spine straight with the kind of discipline that fooled everyone but the Sullys, because Neteyam and Jake could both see the bruise that adorned your ego, they just both knew better than to comment on it this far in.
The young warriors scattered around the training grounds let their conversations die and bows lower as you both strode past. Your ikran sensed the rage rolling off you and answered your call with shrieks and flared wings, and an agitation that mimicked your own. And you mounted without glancing at Neteyam once, attaching your queues to the end of your Ikrans with what was probably a little more force than necessary. He did the same and Jake watched it all with a tired stare as Neteyam banked east first, cutting through the darkness like a blade, before you followed silently behind him without a glance back.
Jake finally let out the breath he’d been holding, dragging a tired hand down his face. The forest answered him with the soft rustle of leaves and distant night calls of your fleeting Ikrans, nature utterly unconcerned with the problem he’d just sent walking into it. He had broken up enough sparring matches to know the difference between anger and whatever that had been.
Eywa help them, he thought. Because I am officially out of patience.
Behind him, the rustle leaves and heavy approaching footsteps had his ears perking up, expecting the presence before the sound of a low chuckle could startle him. The sound of a man who had already arrived at the same conclusion and was simply waiting to see if Jake would catch up.
Jake turned to find your father standing there, arms crossed, tail swaying lazily behind him as his eyes tracked the two figures disappearing into the trees. There was concern there, yes, but there was also something else that Jake had seen displayed on his face every time your families met and you and his son fought. Something almost… entertained.
Your father watched the treeline a moment longer before he spoke, his expression thoughtful rather than amused, though the hint of it lingered all the same.
“You finally snapped.” He said, eyes not glancing at Jake, but to the sway of trees that shielded your retreating forms in the distance. “Only took till the moment they stopped trying to fight clean.”
Jake let out a slow breath and rubbed at the back of his neck, because that had been the exact moment his stomach had dropped, when the spar had stopped looking like training and started looking like something feral. “I told myself it was just their temper getting the best of them,” he admitted. “That they’d settle once one of them landed a solid hit, but I’ve never seen them go at it like that.”
Your father hummed softly in agreement. “Even anger has rules.” He said. “What I just saw forgot them. No form. No distance. Just hands… wherever they could reach.” Your fathers eyes finally glanced over to Jake, a knowing smirk leaving him chuckling at the revelation.
Jake snorted quietly, humour slipping through despite himself and soon they were laughing low in unison. “My son knows better than that.”
“As does my daughter,” He replied, and there it was, that note of worried pride that always crept in when he spoke of her. “Which is how I know they have reached a point where the body starts answering questions the mind refuses to ask.”
“You’re worried.” Jake observed.
“I am a father,” he simply replied, and then after a beat added, “And I have eyes. I know Neteyam is fond of her.”
“He wont–,” Jake moved to start comforting his friend, shifting to place a hand on his shoulder when your father let a short snort leave him.
“I do not worry about Neteyam, I worry about her,” he said, with no effort to soften the curve of his mouth. “Neteyam has always known where the line is even when he pretends not to, and I have watched him choose restraint around her provoking comments time and time again. When it would have been easier not to.” A pause, then quieter, “That matters to me. It is her who has no restraint.” He ended with a chuckle.
Jake’s smirk lingered, but it softened at the edges, tempered by something more careful in tone. “Yeah, well, they have both been very good at lying to themselves.” He let a beat pass before he chuckled. “Well, maybe not your daughter, she can’t lie to save her life.”
“It really is her we should worry about.” Your father laughed. “If I were foolish enough to wager,” he suddenly turned, clapping a hand to Jake’s shoulder, “I would bet they return insisting the night was torture, then flinch every time their queues touch because they finally know what they’re used for.”
This time, the laugh Jake let out was almost too loud for his liking, glancing around in hopes that no one had heard the less than tasteful wording.
“I’m not taking that bet,” he said, then hesitated, the amusement fading just enough to let the doubt through. “I expected you to be angrier with me for sending them off together.”
Your father snorted. “You did the same with Neytiri,” he replied. “And you didn’t exactly handle it with grace.”
Jake grimaced. “That was different.”
“No, It was not,” he said lightly, his gaze flicking back toward the trees, “and Neteyam’s trying too hard not to cross the same line. My daughter has never been good at pretending there isn’t one.”
Jake exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, rubbing yet another exhaustedly stressed hand down his face at the implication of his words. “I’m not gonna sleep tonight.”
“Good,” Your father said quietly. “Someone should keep watch. In case they burn the forest down. Let us just hope we do not share the name Grandfather and time soon either.”
Your feet hit the platform before his did, heavy with a careless thump that transitioned quickly into long strides against the creaking wood, riddled with the intention of getting as far away from Neteyam as possible, who was landing close behind you. There wasn’t anywhere far to run off too, especially in the dark of night on a foreign base you had visited not even twice before, so you settled towards the end of the platform on a pile of large crates that rattled against your weight.
Neteyam dismounted much slower than you had, gently detaching his queue, before petting his Ikran three times, signalling its dismissal to perch elsewhere. It left with a shriek, chasing your own which had scattered the moment you landed.
Moonlight filtered through the canopy above, adorning everything in a bleary silver and deep shadows illuminated by bioluminescent blues. The base was rickety and barely large enough to accommodate a few people with all the supplies stolen and housed from the sky-people around. The wooden branches sagged and the leather tarp frayed, neglected and unkept for what seemed to be decades. But it was going to have to work considering you were banished here for the night.
Neteyam didn’t look at you right away. He took the first few moments to busy himself checking over the boxes, silently counting the stock in the typical Neteyam way that forced him to be a stickler for the rules, to listen to every authoritative voice, to be the most stuck up Na’vi to ever grace Pandora's blue planet.
It took him a second of a forced and uncomfortable silence before he finally broke the tension, his voice low and failing to hide the tinge of irritation behind it despite his attempts to at least try and get something done. “We should start with inventory. Get it over with.”
You didn’t move from your position on the crate farthest south. And you almost laughed at how pathetically authoritative he attempted to sound, because you knew his blood still seared hot with boiling anger at being scolded not even an hour ago. Instead, you tugged at the string of the bow you had picked up from beside you, slowly swaying the one foot you left dangling as you fidgeted with the fraying thread.
“Do it yourself.”
Your voice – so dismissive and blunt in tone – had Neteyam’s pointy ears pinning back and deep amber eyes snapping at you in a quick, sharp warning.
“Do not start.”
You took the first moment since he entered to direct your attention away from the flimsy bow, finally looking up at him with an all too unimpressed glare. “Too late.” You sneered, your typical fang glaring snare on full display. “You started it the second you opened your skxawng mouth back at the training camp. Even children know to be silent when Toruk Makto speaks, yet somehow you can not manage to get that through your thick skull?”
“My thick skull?” Neteyam’s big eyes bore straight through your own, blown wide and non-blinking almost as if trying to read you for an answer he wasn’t going to find. He looked absolutely exasperated and a breathy laugh that held no humor escaped his lips as he shook his head. “Thats rich coming from the one who is sat on a crate of knives, doing absolutely nothing.”
“We are only here because perfect son could not bite his golden tongue long enough to remember his father was still speaking. You listen to him when we're here but not when it counts back home. I thought you were supposed to be the smart and disciplined one.”
“Kind of difficult to concentrate on a lecture when the woman threatening to make me choke is attempting to swing her claws into my chest.”
“I only reacted because you–!”
The words stuttered in your throat, dying in your mouth as heat flooded your face in a violent wave, remembering what led to your outburst in the first place. Remembering the explicit words he let slip from soft yet smug lips like he had any right saying it in the first place.
–Because you speak lewd words that should only be muttered between the most established of mates.
“–Because I what?” Neteyam’s voice was softer now, but the smirk that followed was anything but gentle. It spread slow and lethally arrogant across his face, eyes glinting with a new light that felt almost predatory, as if he’d just found the one loose thread that would unravel you completely.
“Because–” Your face was so flushed, you could hardly bring the words to the surface. “–Because you- you have a vulgar mouth! Y-You speak filth just to provoke me.”
“Vulgar?” Neteyam's eyes glinted with something completely different from the irate exasperation from earlier, it was like his entire demeanor had calmed, replaced completely by that arrogant smirk, like he was the only one able to translate the book the two of you had been trying to read your whole lives. “Me? I think I recall you mentioning something about slamming me down on my back.”
A sharp gasp tore from your throat. The words hit like a physical blow, twisting your earlier threat into something raw and unmistakable. Your face burned hotter, if that was even possible, violet spreading across your cheeks as you instinctively looked him up and down.
“That is not what I speak! Why must you keep bringing up those words?” The words tumbled out too fast and breathless to be convincing, and you almost kicked yourself for the delivery.
“Because you are the one who said them, you just don’t like what they mean.”
He began stepping closer. His strides were so deliberate, as if planned in advance, and unhurried, as if you were not another moment away from clawing out his eyes.
“They meant nothing,” you shot back, chin lifting in defiance. “You twist everything.”
The sound of Neteyam’s footsteps drew your eyes to lock on his figure, tall and looming as he strutted one slow step at a time closer, and you found your eyes doing that traitorous thing they did a lot now, wander. Wander down. And down.
It started with his face, as you watched the sway of his braids while he strode with that infuriating arrogance, brushing the sharp lines of his jaw with a clatter of his beads. Then it was his impossibly round eyes fixed right on you – which they always seemed to be when you were around – unblinking and heated through a downwards gaze. They were eyes that masked what you knew to be such a conceited personality as so deceivingly innocent.
Soon your gaze fell to the wide frame of his shoulders and the firmness of his chest, and it dawned on you that you’d only just noticed how much broader they had become over the years spent together, carved from tireless hours of drawing bowstrings and traversing the harsh landscape of Omatikiya forest, lean with muscle that shifted under blue skin with every stride he took closer.
Your eyes wandered again until they finally fell right to where they seemed to stop at a lot now; his lower body, narrow hips marked by the most vibrant stripe pattern you’d ever seen on any man – on any Na’vi you’d laid eyes on. They were darker and thicker, more pronounced and unlike any others, they trailed off and disappeared so low into his loin cloth it almost felt purposeful in the way they pulled your eyes. Like they were specifically made to draw your eyes and your eyes only, and hold them there by design.
Those lines were unnatural in their perfection and it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that they made your face so hot and your heartbeat feel as if it could move to places it should not be, and it especially wasn’t fair that it wasn’t a you thing, it was a him thing. You only liked it on him.
You told yourself for the hundredth time – that it was the Tawtute genes making everything about him just a little too defined, a little larger. Not that you were staring, of course, just studying. Because he was different and you were always curious, you told yourself. But your tail flicked once, another betrayal that told you that was a lie, and you prayed the shadows hid it..
The shadows did not hide it. And of course he noticed.
Neteyam slowed, stopping just close enough that the space between you felt inconsequential. He wasn’t touching you, at least not yet and somehow it still felt as if he had pressed his entire body against yours. As if you were suffocating beneath him.
His gaze dipped and it wasn’t hurried, but it wasn’t subtle either, following the same path yours had just taken; down the line of his chest, over the sharp cut of his hips, to the stripes adorning his body next to the band of his loincloth before lifting again, eyes glinting with the most unbearably smug sense of amusement you’d imagine possible from a single man at the realisation he had just made.
It was silent for a beat, air heavy with tension before Neteyam spoke.
“You must really like my loincloth.”
Your ears shot straight up and outwards, standing tall and perky as if alerted by a lingering predator, eyes blowing wide as you shot your head up to meet his gaze head on.
“Shut up–!”
“–You know, my mother makes them–”
“ –I don’t care–!”
“ –Shall I ask her to make another? She does adore you–”
“–You do not know anything–!”
“–I know exactly when you lie.”
The words were being sputtered so fast, they crashed into each other in an overlapping, frantic mess. To any onlooker, it would have almost sounded as if you were talking in unison.
Your tone was desperately sharp, doused in mortification and hidden in anger. And his was flooded with pure, unadulterated tease, knowing very well how every word he spoke rolled down your ears and crawled beneath your skin. You blushed so often around him he could almost mistake you as a purple Na’vi now.
The overlap fell apart as abruptly as it had started. You glared at him, chest tight, ears still rigid with embarrassment and fury, daring him to say one more thing. He didn’t…
At least, not right away.
His gaze dipped instead, unashamed and bashfully amused, tracking back down to where yours had been just moments ago. His mouth curved like he’d found something amusing he was excited to explain. But you knew he was only rubbing the fact that he caught you staring in.
“My mother uses five beads on each knot,” he said smugly, and you followed his fingers as they brushed against the small carved beads on the loincloth’s cords. “She says it is the number of balance. Five for the senses and all.”
Then he suddenly looked up at you, those overly round, innocent eyes portraying that innocence all too well. “Seems it is not working, you do not look very balanced right now.”
If you were in half a mind with any common sense, you would have scolded him once again and shoved him as far back as your arms would allow in hopes for a little space and clarity. Unfortunately for you, however, that sense was ripped directly out of your already fumbling grasp the moment your eyes followed his hands to where he gripped that damned loincloth you really couldn’t escape.
They were larger and longer than others, scarred from weaponry and cliff climbing, and calloused in places where the overuse was notable. His fingers grasped the thread of the cloth, and as his grip tightened, the purple veins littering the surface of his skin protruded along with it.
Watching the way his fingers curled, and the way his veins pulsed, it sent heat crawling up your throat and pooling behind your ears. Every flex of a tendon, every faint flicker of those tiny freckled lights, felt like a private taunt aimed straight at whatever composure you had left.
You swallowed hard, forcing your voice steady even as it came out breathier than you wanted. “Five is a greedy number anyway.” You muttered, eyes still traitorously fixed on his hands.
His gaze followed yours until it landed on his hands – on the way your eyes lingered there too long, and the way your breath had betrayed you before your mouth ever could. A slow smile curved across his lips, smug and knowing.
“Greedy?” He echoed softly. Without haste, he lifted those hands, the ones you couldn’t stop staring at, toward your face. “Is that what you think this is?”
His long fingers spread deliberately to parade all five fingers to your wide, helpless eyes, and began wriggling them in slow, teasing beats as if he, too, were suddenly fascinated by the anatomy you’d just mocked.
“Tawtute.” He uttered, his voice dipped low with smug delight. “That is what you call me.”
He let his hands hover close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his palms, close enough that if you stuck your tongue out just slightly, you’d be able to taste the skin. Close enough, that the fact you had even entertained that thought made you sick to your stomach with dizzying confusion.
“Txampay tawtute.” He purred, eyes half-lidded and glinting as he drank in the flush climbing your neck.
Then, unhurried and impossibly sure of himself, he leaned in. His body now crowding every inch of air yours occupied, chest nearly brushing yours, until he reached past your shoulder and caught your wrist in one smooth motion. He brought your hand up between you to display the four fingers you always had, and his golden eyes gleamed as if it was the first time he had seen it. Slowly, he lifted his own hand to mirror yours, five fingers spread to contrast the four of your own just across from his, hovering directly opposite it.
“Demon blood.” He muttered, though he wasn’t offended. It was more a statement, or amused even, awaiting a reaction.
You watched, breath caught, as he hesitated for a single heartbeat, watched in your peripheral as his eyes bore into your face, searching for any flicker of protest or resistance. A sign that never came.
And once he realized that, he dipped one long finger down between the gaps of yours. Then another, and another until he slid each one of his fingers between your own, interlocking your hands like he was claiming every unoccupied space he could find.
“Do you call me tawtute so often because you think about how my hands would feel on you?”
Then he guided your joined hands, fully intertwined, up and back, lifting them slowly until your knuckles brushed the rough-woven wall behind you. He pressed them there and the motion brought him so much closer, it was as if he had taken up all the air, because why were you suddenly finding it so much more difficult to draw a breath?
“Neteyam.” The name came out like an unsure whine, nothing like the sharp hiss you’d wielded against him a thousand times before. Because the last place you had ever imagined yourself being was here, pinned beneath the steady weight of his gaze, his body, his five greedy fingers laced so perfectly through your four and it confused you that no fiber of your being was begging to reject it.
You watched with greedy eyes as his face twisted from out of your view, head shifting down towards the crook of your neck and the frantic rate of your breath betrayed every last pretense of calm. His mouth stopped just on the cusp of your left ear, and you felt the warm, velvet skin of his lips brushing the sensitive shell of it, tied with the cherry on top by the soft sway of his braid against your cheek and the smell of him. That intoxicating scent which smelt of eclipse leaves and sweet hearth vines.
They had been your favourite scents for as long as you could remember, and it was only just dawning why that is now.
He took a beat, his breath warm on your skin before he spoke. “I know you hate me.”
You did. You hated him, the Olo'eyktan perfect first born. The boy that followed you like a shadow through the winding roots of Hometree. The child you had been measured against since the first time a blade had been pressed into your palms.
“Neteyam learns quicker,”
“Neteyam already wields a bow,”
“Neteyam never loses his temper.”
You had heard it from your father your entire life and you hated him for being the excellence you couldn’t be. You hated that he wore it so smug. And more than anything, you hated that he actually tried to soften it and make space for you beside him instead of behind. He was so good to you, and you hated that he never got mad when it counted.
And now – now – you couldn’t reconcile that boy with the man standing close enough to steal your breath, hands steady where your resolve should have been. You couldn’t fathom how you were letting him do this. How the same Neteyam you’d spent years resisting, spitting at, and training like Eywa herself had told you to do so in order to best him, had slipped past your defenses without even raising his voice. All it took was him invading your space closer than he ever tried before and your resolve dwindled.
“I know you think you hate me.” He repeated, but this time you could hear the smirk that crept up his irritatingly gorgeous face. “But you never look at me like this when you say it. And this–” his free hand drifted down, fingertips ghosting along the tense line of your hip until they found the base of your tail, “--this is the most still your tail has been all night.”
The gentle, knowing stroke along the sensitive underside made your spine arch involuntarily before you could stop it, so far into him you could feel the press of everything below his loincloth against your lower belly and it made you whine. A guttural, involuntary sound you didn’t mean to make, nor had you realised escaped you until Neteyam’s glowing amber eyes widened alongside his smile.
You struggled to find your voice, with the overwhelming feeling of Neteyam all around you, touching every inch of your skin, all consuming and intoxicating but when you did, it was breathy and weak.
“Do not–” you stuttered, pausing your words to find breath.
Then your voice came again, interrupting his thoughts in a moment where his grip faltered slightly around your fingers and tail. You sounded so primitive and defeated, it was like the entire forest in a ten-mile radius had stilled.
“–stop.”
Neteyam stilled, mind reeling and eyes searching every inch of your face in desperate search of an answer to an unspoken question you sparked within him. Do not? Stop?
Do not stop?
He gawked at you, ogling at every inch of your face in hopes of an answer. Your eyes, droopy and half-shut, turned sideways as if too ashamed to look him in the eyes. Mouth just a touch open, drawing long and heavy breaths, and your beautiful blue skin, flushed that purple colour he was becoming so fond of seeing, gleaming with a layer of warm, sleek sweat.
You looked absolutely ruined. And he absolutely detested the idea that you might have been telling him to stop – truly stop – his advances because now that he had a glimpse of such a sight, he cursed the idea that he may never see it again knowing exactly what you looked like underneath him. So he waited with baited breaths, a wait you did not make him stand long for, and then you delivered.
“Do.. not.. stop.” You spoke between heavy breaths. “Neteyam, please.”
And then he saw it. The way you had been pressing up against his right thigh, locked between both your own thighs and rubbing against your core, just close enough to create friction. The sight and the plea shattered whatever thin thread of control he’d been clinging to as he finally realised what you meant.
A low, guttural sound rumbled from deep in his chest, a half growl, half reverent thanks to Eywa herself, as he surged forward, releasing your tail momentarily, only for the hand to sweep through the air, landing right on the back of your neck as he pulled you towards him with a roughness he rarely displayed.
And that's when it finally happened. His mouth crashed against yours, hungry and possessive, swallowing the next broken gasp that spilled from your lips. His fingers curled into the sensitive skin just below your hairline in a way that made your knees weaken, and had you not still been sitting on this crate, you were sure you would have faltered and folded to the ground.
His tongue pushed at the seam of your lips, coaxing them apart with a devastating hunger, as if he had been waiting far too long to claim this moment, only clarified with the roll his body made to press into your own. The muscles of his abdomen elongated and protruded against the skin, screaming at you to touch them, to feel them, as he pushed your intertwined hands further back into the wall.
That was when his hand around your neck finally began its descent downwards. It started at your shoulders, brushing against your collarbone and lingering just a moment around your breasts. He swirled against the curve underneath the soft fat and the trail left hot tingles in its wake, sending blood rushing to every nerve the pinpoint of his fingertips lined.
It continued on, searing down the arc of your waist, against the curve of your hips and drew a curl to stop just a few paces below your belly button, and yet not even a breath above from the band of your loincloth.
Your breath hitched as those fingers paused there, so achingly close, tracing lazy, maddening patterns just above the thin strip of woven fabric – the only thing left between you and completely surrendering to the man who haunted your every waking moment. Neteyam pulled back from the kiss, only far enough to watch your contorting face, the molten amber of his eyes now nearly non-existent, replaced almost entirely by his pupils, blown wide with lust and a restraint that was seconds from snapping.
He could feel the heat radiating from you, and could tell you were trying to resist whatever thoughts were happening in your head, unsuccessfully so. He could see it in the way your thighs tremored ever so subtly, and in the way your hips shifted restlessly against him, as if seeking friction but hating who the friction you seeked came from. A low, approving, yet humoured growl rumbled in his throat as he pressed his forehead to yours, breath ragged.
“You are always so responsive.” He murmured, voice gravelly, lips brushing yours as he spoke and fingers still working their patterns at the lowest part of your belly. “Every touch… you light up for me.”
“You always think you know what I feel.” The words spat harsh but breathless, trying desperately to deny him the satisfaction of winning.
But Neteyam just laughed, stating flatly. “Your freckles glow, fang.”
And your flush deepened knowing your body was betraying your mind.
“Stop talking. I still despise you.”
Neteyam took the opportunity to lean back, making enough room to have a full view of your body without disconnecting your lower bodies. Finally his hand strayed from your belly, sliding to the left of it before stopping right at the rope that knotted your loincloth into place. He glanced down at it expectantly, then up to meet your eyes, his own glinting with mischief.
“Funny way of showing it.” He commented.
Then his fingers pulled at the string, and all you did was let your head fall back against the wall in response.
The knot gave with a soft tug, the woven cord loosening until the loincloth sagged against your hips, and you felt the cool air kissing at your newly exposed skin. It left your sighing, and Neteyam actually laughed at the sight of you.
His next move was to grab at your right leg, lifting it high until it settled on top of his right shoulder. The motion had you shifting forward slightly, nearly hanging off the edge of the crate now. Once it was placed, he leaned down, meeting the slant of your body against the crate until his face met just above yours.
“No fangs now, huh?” He taunted, voice dripping with smug triumph, his breath hot against your lips as his free hand slid up the thigh draped over him with the most reverently possessive grip.
Your eyes narrowed, a spark of fury cutting through the haze of pleasure. “I’ll silence you.”
Before he could fire back another cocky word, you flexed the leg hooked over his shoulder and shoved hard. Your heel dug into the muscle of his back as you pushed, using every bit of leverage to force him downward and surprise flashed across his face for a split second before he dropped to his knees in front of you, left hand disconnecting from yours and instinctively reaching to grip your hips as a means to steady himself.
There he was – all mighty Neteyam, son of Toruk Makto, future Olo’eyktan – kneeling between your thighs, directly in front of your exposed core, with amber eyes flicking a mix of shock, defeat and drooling hunger.
You let your head rest back against the wall again, eyeing him through the brush of your lower lashes and fingers threading roughly into his braids to hold him exactly where you wanted him.
“I told you I would make you swallow your sorry sounds.” And with a sharp tug forward, the control had been shifted to your hands. “Now swallow.”
The low, involuntary groan that vibrated through his chest and into your core was the only answer he managed before his mouth obeyed. His head moved first then his tongue dragged slow and deliberate, tasting you like he’d been starving for years and refused to rush the meal. But the grip you kept in his braids, tight and unforgiving, told him exactly who set the pace.
Heat slammed through you, ugly and mixed with the pure rage of having him under you. You hated him for making your body clench like this, hated the way your thighs shook because his tongue felt so damn good, but hated it more that you questioned if the reason he felt so good was because he had done this before. Hated that the idea made you jealous.
You were a mix of pleasure and shame – that Neteyam was on his knees, eating you out like he had no choice and that he was disgustingly good at it. And when you rolled your hips forward, demanding more, he gave it without hesitation, lips sealing around you, tongue curling deep and relentless, then it dawned on you that he was worshipping your clit like he was singing a prayer.
Your thighs trembled around his shoulders, the leg still hooked there locked tighter, heel pressing between his shoulder blades to keep him exactly where you wanted him – on his knees, serving the woman who’d sworn to hate him forever. And he did it so well you had been reduced to a moaning, whining and squirming mess beneath his hands that were holding you down.
“Eywa, shit– Y/n– ” The name slipped out raw and whiny, and the vibration of his voice had you absolutely feral, snapping in an instant. But not to your end. No.
Because the only thing you could think about was why he felt so good. Why he was so talented at everything. The idea of him having experience with this, of him doing this to someone else, made something vicious twist in your chest.
So your hand in his hair tugged hard, snapping his head back and away from your core to glance up at you with daze in his eyes and your slick dripping down his chin.
He blinked up at you, lips swollen and shining, breath coming in rough pants. For once, the smugness was gone, replaced by raw, hazy want and a flicker of confusion at the sudden stop.
You stared down at him, chest heaving, jealousy burning hotter than the aftershocks still pulsing between your legs, and the words came sharp, cutting through the air like an arrow.
“Who else?” You spat, voice accusatory and ugly with envy, fingers tightening in his braids in a visceral way you couldn’t help.
“What?” He sounded so breathless, and so confused, eyes still foggy from being buried between your thighs.
“You move like this is not new to you.” You snapped, the words spilling out jagged. “People do not learn that by accident.”
“Fang, what are you–”
Then your mouth spat the words like the answer was so obvious, like you had been just waiting for the name to be mentioned. “ –It is An’aya, isn’t it?”
“An’aya!?” He said it like the name didn’t belong here at all. Because it didn’t. Because twenty seconds ago he was face-deep drowning in what he deemed to be his new favourite flavour, and now he’s thinking of a girl he’s barely spent more than 10 minutes alone with.
“You lie with her too!” The accusation came out sharp enough to feel final, as if it wasn’t something to be debated and you had already made up the answer.
Neteyam stared up at you for a beat, eyes wide, mouth still wet and open like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or groan. Then the laugh won, short and completely disbelieving as the weight of your words settled into him. He searched your eyes, stern and glazed, angry with something he knew you barely understood and it dawned on him. Holy shit.
“You are jealous.” He said it so incredulously, like it was the best revelation he made all week. A rough laugh tore out of him, head tipping back in your grip, the sound raw and disbelieving. And it was like you couldn’t even deny it, all you could do was sneer your usual fang baring scowl and snap your head away with a tsk of your tongue.
“An’aya?” he rasped, grin sharp and crooked, chin still dripping with you. “Eywa fang, you think I have ever touched her? Ever wanted to?”
He shifted forward on his knees, hands sliding up your thighs as he finally raised to his feet off his knees to meet you at eye level. His face was inches from yours, grip firm but not pushing and you watched as that aggravating amusement melted into the softest look you think he had ever sent you. His smugness fell, the cocky edge dulling into something so honest.
“I do not lie with An’aya. Just you, fang.” He spoke so slowly, voice low and steady, and almost gentle despite the filth of the moment. “I only ever think about you.”
The words hit harder than they should have. Heat flooded your face, your chest, mixing between the jealousy and the flattery until you couldn’t tell which burned more. You didn’t know if you believed him – or more so didn’t know if you wanted to believe him. So you picked your arm up to pinch the side of his ear, using it to drag his face impossibly closer. Your gaze flickered between both his eyes, searching for something, an answer to a question you weren’t even sure you knew what.
For a split second, something in your grip faltered. The idea that he might be telling the truth was somehow worse than the lie. So you tightened your fingers on his ear for a beat before yanking his head back with a force meant to hurt.
“Prove it,” you snarled.
Neteyam’s breath hissed through his teeth at the sting, but the look he gave you was pure lust, not a single trace of softness left. In one brutal motion he tucked one hand under your ass, and the other around the curve of your waist, before spinning you around so fast the world tilted for a fraction of a second. Your chest slammed against the crate, palms scraping metal as he kicked your legs wider and pressed his full weight into your back.
You heard him before you felt him, the quick tug and rustle as he worked the knot of his loincloth free behind you. Something involuntary dragged your head back, forcing you to peek over your shoulder. The fabric fell, and it was like every silent inkling you’d ever felt bite at you, every reflexive moment that told you to study his stripes despite never knowing why, finally dawned on you why it had always been so urging.
Those large, vibrant stripes were only a preview into what the loincloth hid. They tapered lower and thicker up the base of his cock, before finally crawling into a thinning stretch that ended just beyond the tip of his head, which was slick with precum and the most angry, swollen shade of red. Red. Like a Tawtute.
And it was in that moment you realised that all those little characteristics that made him slightly different – the broader shoulders, the extra finger, the sheer size of him below the cloth and the way his tip skin flushed pinker than any Na’vi you’d ever seen – weren’t the flaws or accidents you convinced yourself was the reason you fixated on them. They were proof that he had Toruk Makto’s blood running through him, the son of a leader, born to be a leader. And right now that blood had him hard and leaking for you, the girl who’d spent years calling him sky-demon scum.
The realisation twisted hot and ugly in your gut, hate and want braided so tight you couldn’t pull them apart but that was so swiftly disrupted by the feeling of him pushing forward, the tip of his achingly large cock making contact with your swelteringly wet entrance, and it had you absolutely unraveling at the mere contact of it.
You couldn’t help the moan that slipped out of you at both the stretch he gave with just the top of him, barely even a quarter full, and at the sight of him ogling down at the space between you, at the way the tip of his cock looked barely swallowed inside of your warm hole, his fist gripping at the base.
Neteyam caught the sound, eyes snapping up just in time to see you bury your face in your arm and he laughed that irritatingly smug laugh that vibrated through his chest and into your back.
“Already moaning for me, Fang?” He murmured, voice thick with satisfaction and lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. “You can’t even pretend to hate me anymore.”
“Do not…,” you hissed with a breathy sigh, the words cracking despite your best effort to sound venomous, “…dare assume you know what I feel.”
He hummed, amused, like your denial was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.
“I do not think I'll have too.”
Goosebumps rose in its wake, your hips stuttering back despite yourself before you could correct it. His hand tightened on your hip, holding you steady, while the other slid up your spine in a slow, deliberate path until his fingers closed gently but firmly around the thick base of your kuru, the long, sacred braid that cascaded down your back.
The feeling of his hand around your kuru had your entire body jolting, a sharp, electrifying shock racing through every nerve in its wake. You spun in his grip with a surprise he’d never seen on you before, eyes blown wide, breath caught, and all that sharp defiance from before suddenly fractured by something he had never seen painted so vulnerably on you.
You looked so unsure, so confused, so conflicted, staring at his hand like it was both a threat and a gateway to something new.
At your face, Neteyam’s expression softened too, the smugness fading completely as he brought the end of your braid up between the two of you, turning it so the the wispy ends of your braid went limp to expose the pink tendrils beneath. They snaked in the air, searching the air as if awaiting what was yet to come.
His own kuru hung over his shoulder, and he used his other hand to grab at it, settling it so close to yours that the tendrils already began reaching for each other, drawn like magnets, but far enough that they did not touch.
“I will not force this, and I will not continue with this if you say no. I honestly don’t think I can.” he said, voice low, rough with restraint but steady. “Tsaheylu with me… or we stop right here. Your choice, Fang. Always your choice.”
The words hung heavy. You hated him for giving you the out. Hated him for making it feel safe to say yes even though you really thought you would have said no. Hated how much you wanted him, and wanted to know what it felt like to be bound to the one person you’d spent your whole life trying to push away.
Your chest rose and fell fast. The tendrils of your kuru twitched, brushing the air toward his and you didn’t speak as you watched them try to connect. Slowly, deliberately, you reached your hand up to wrap around his forearm, watched as the hand that held his kuru faltered at the intrusion and met his eyes as he searched yours for answer.
It didn’t come as a verbal one, but your mind had been made the moment you tugged his arm forward to allow his kuru to connect to yours. And in an instant the tendrils met, wrapping and fusing, snapping the bond into place.
A gasp tore from both of you at once, backs arching, eyes fluttering as raw sensation flooded through. The pleasure was intense and overwhelming, but more than that: every buried feeling, every unspoken want, every flash of anger and longing and need crashed together in a single, shared current that left you both moaning messes.
He groaned your name like it hurt and you whined his so helplessly, fingers digging into his shoulders and the world narrowed to just the two of you.
Neteyam moved first, hands sliding under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he spun you both around and sank to his knees. He laid you gently on the cool floor beneath him, settling between your legs, face-to-face now with his forehead pressed to yours, kuru still joined, the bond pulsing with every heartbeat.
He slid back into you slowly, eyes never leaving yours, letting you feel everything – his awe, his hunger, the years of wanting you he’d hidden behind every smirk and fight. And you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, and for the first time with there being no crate, no wall, no anger between you, nothing but the bond, neither of you could deny the truth that lingered between you for years anymore.
The bond made it unbearable in the best way because you could feel everything.
You could feel every slow drag of him inside you echoed back through the link. You felt his pleasure at how tight and wet you were, your helpless clench around him, and the ache that flared harder with every inch he gave. You felt the way your body gripped him like it never wanted to let go, and he felt it too, a low, broken groan rumbling from his chest as his hips finally seated flush against yours.
“Fuck–” he breathed, voice ragged, forehead still pressed to yours. His eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide, the golden amber almost gone. “You feel… I can feel you everywhere.”
You couldn’t answer with words. The bond carried it for you: the rush of heat, the ache, the impossible fullness of him stretching you open while his emotions poured into you
He started to move, slow at first, deep rolls of his hips that dragged the thick length of him along every sensitive spot inside you. Each thrust sent a wave through the bond, pleasure looping between you until it built on itself, amplifying, stealing your breath. Your nails raked down his back, leaving red lines over his stripes; he hissed and answered by snapping his hips harder, driving a sharp cry from your throat.
Through the link you felt how much he loved that sound, how it made him throb inside you, how close he already was to losing control and you responded by sticking your mouth to his neck, and sucking hard in an attempt to quiet yourself.
“Tell me,” he rasped, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, keeping your faces close, noses brushing, “tell me you feel it too.”
You did. Eywa, you did. The anger was still there, flickering at the edges, but it only made the pleasure sharper, almost as if the bond was burning it clean and turning years of hate into something so much more overwhelming.
“I feel you,” you finally gasped as your mouth left his neck with a slimy pop, and you noticed the angry purple mark that sat in its wake. Your voice cracked, legs tightening around his waist to pull him impossibly deeper. “All of you. Don’t stop–!”
The next thrust ended with another broken sound from you, a half-moan, half-word that slurred through your tongue almost incomprehensibly.
“Mmm– ’tayem–”
Neteyam’s rhythm faltered for a heartbeat, then picked up again, faster now with a cocky triumph you felt flooding the bond like heat. A low, smug chuckle vibrated against your neck as he nipped the skin, sucking and pinching at it with pride.
“I got you that good, huh?” He murmured, voice rough but dripping with satisfaction, hips rolling deep and deliberate. “Got the stubborn Fang stuttering my name?”
You tried again, desperate, the pleasure coiling so tight you could barely think.
“Ma– tayem–”
He laughed again, breathlessly arrogant and loving every moment of this – loving that you, always so sharp-tongued and composed, always throwing insults at him and trying to embarrass him in front of your families, was reduced to this, such a moaning, whiny mess you couldn’t even get his name correct.
“Ca not even get your words right,” he teased, smirking against your lips, eyes gleaming down at you with such amusement. “If only everyone could see you now.”
“Ma ‘teyam.” You managed it this time, much clearer and insistent of every syllable that trembled out of you on the next thrust. And he froze.
Not completely, his hips still rocked shallow and instinctively, but the rhythm stuttered hard, like someone had yanked his hips backwards and held them still. His eyes widened, searching yours through the haze, the cocky smirk smacked off his face in an instant as the meaning finally slammed into him.
Ma ‘teyam.
Your Neteyam
The bond flared hot with it, your claim, raw and unfiltered, pouring straight into him. A ragged groan tore out of his chest, half between shock and something much, much deeper, like a stirring pot of pleasure and disbelief and possession all tangled together into two bodies merged as one. His forehead dropped to yours again, losing every trace of that smug control because the words were echoing through the link like a vow, and it broke him.
A low, guttural groan ripped from his throat, deep and wrecked and his whole body shuddered as the realization hit him harder than any phrase ever uttered to him. His hips jerked forward once, hard and uncontrolled, completely unlike his usual poise, as he buried himself to the hilt inside you, and that was it. He came with a broken cry of your name, voice cracking on the syllables as he spilled hot and deep, pulse after thick pulse flooding you.
The bond amplified everything and you felt every throb of his release as if it were your own and that made yours follow soon after, the overwhelming rush of his pleasure crashing into yours, the way his heart slammed against his ribs, the dizzying mix of disbelief and euphoria that Neteyam was now claimed by you in the most intimate way possible, solidified by the way your attached kuru still hung besides you, your deep purple marks decorated his neck, and your bodies lay against each other, sleek and fucked out.
His forehead pressed hard to yours, eyes squeezed shut, breath coming in harsh, uneven pants against your lips. His arms trembled as he held himself above you, hips still twitching with aftershocks, grinding slow and shallow as if he couldn’t bear to pull out.
“Fuck… fuck–” he gasped, voice hoarse and trembling, nothing left of the smug warrior who’d been teasing you since you got to this forsaken watchpost. “You… you said…”
“That I despise you?” You murmured, eyes fluttering closed as you breathed him in, beyond exhausted, tail finally curling loose and lazy behind you. “I do.”
A broken laugh tore out of him, warm and disbelieving, his nose brushing yours as his breathing slowly began to steady. “I don’t even need to see your tail to know you lie.”
And as if to prove his point, he brought his hand around to the place where your kurus joined, stroking the exposed, sensitive nerves gently with his thumb. The bond hummed softly at the touch, sending a lazy ripple of warmth through you both and your tail flicked once, then curled deliberately around his thigh, holding him close.
He felt it, of course and a quiet, satisfied hum left his chest.
“See?” He whispered, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “Even your tail is done fighting me.”
You opened one eye, glaring weakly up at him. “Do not get used to it, skxawng. The second we are back with the clan, I am telling everyone you cried after your father yelled at you.”
Neteyam snorted, shifting his weight so he could prop himself on an elbow and look down at you properly. His braids fell forward, framing his face, and the bond carried the soft glow of affection he was trying, and miserably failing to hide behind his usual smirk.
“Then I will have to tell them how the almighty daughter of our clan head warrior begged for me to–”
You slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes narrowing. “Finish that sentence and I will bite you again.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, laughter muffled against your palm and you narrowed your eyes as you spoke once more. “I could still push you off this ledge. No one would find the body till morning.”
“Maybe so.” He conceded easily. His hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, thumb brushing the base of your kuru in a way that made your spine shiver despite your best effort to stay at least a little defiant. “But then who would keep you company on patrol anymore? You would miss arguing with me.”
You huffed, shoving at his chest. “I would finally earn peace.”
“Peace is boring.” He countered, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to the inside of it, soft and infuriatingly gentle. “And you would miss my family interrupting us every five minutes, thinking they will catch you slipping in the act. My dad likes messing with us too much to let you go.”
You snorted, but the sound lacked real venom. “Your father likes me because I am not afraid to yell at you when you are being an arrogant teylupil. That is not the same as liking me.”
Neteyam’s grin turned softer, eyes crinkling at the corners. “He likes you because you are strong. And because you force me to be stronger. Even when you are threatening to skin me alive.”
You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, but your tail betrayed you again, curling tighter around his leg like it had decided it wasn’t letting go anytime soon.
“Flattery will not save you,” you muttered, dropping your head back to his chest so you didn’t have to look at that stupid, fond expression on his face. “When we get back at dawn, we say nothing. We walked the perimeter. Inventoried the stock. End of story.”
Neteyam arched a brow, amusement flickering through the bond as his eyes flickered around at the area even messier then it was before you two had arrived. “You think they will believe that? Nothing has been done here. And you look…” He brushed a thumb over your neck, tracing where his mouth had been earlier. “…thoroughly ruined.”
You swatted his hand away, but there was no real heat in it, not like before. “You look worse, Tawtute. Like you lost a fight with an Ikran.”
He laughed, full and unguarded this time “Then let them think what they want, I already won.” he whispered when you parted.
You rolled your eyes, but your tail tightened around his leg again, betraying you.
“I still despise you,” you muttered into his neck.
