thank you to my lovely @coralbae for the idea, go read her stuff otherwise I'll follow you home
Who needed a real man when premium sex bot G0J0 S4T0RU was under you with vibrating fingers and a self-lubricating hole? The hole was a discussion for another day, but as of right now? Satoru was under you, glitching in a way he'd never done so before. What went wrong?
You remembered the day you bought him, giddy and paying no heed to the odd looks the delivery man shot your way. Sue you, a girl had needs.
He carted in the crate your new toy was in, grunting with effort and leaving before he could witness your debauchery first hand. Within minutes of opening the crate, you powered your latest toy on. With a voice as smooth as butter, Satoru flashed you the smirk that made you buy him in the first place.
"I'm Satoru Gojo. Do you want to play with me?"
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
Satoru was everything you could have ever asked for and more. It was with him you learned that you could squirt. It was with him you found out you were fully capable of finding a man's prostate. But then something — you don't know what — went wrong.
So there you were on top of him, hips swivelling after you had sank down onto his robo-cock. He was far from small, stretching you out with glowing veins massaging your walls from the inside. Satoru pulsed inside you like he was made of actual flesh, causing you to flutter around him.
"Don't move, 'toru. Lay there 'n let me ride you for once," you panted, looking down to see your belly bulging with an imprint of his cock head. Satoru obliged, flashing you a crooked smile when you pushed him onto his back with a hand on his chest.
He was cute, lower lip caught under pearly teeth as he tried to play it cool. His pre-programmed personality kicked in, melting him into something more docile than the teasing bastard you first came across. "Yeah . . . yeah, of course, baby. I'll just sit back and look pretty."
But the second your pussy swallowed him up whole as you lifted yourself up and dropped down with wet plaps, something inside Satoru flickered and began whirring. The sound of skin meeting was filthy — your mixed fluids frothing and dripping down the base of his cock as you grinded against white tufts of synthetic hair.
Satoru's breath hitched audibly, his hips twitching upwards despite your previous request. "S-shit, feels so fucking good—"
It was all too much for the poor bot, who was feeling himself overheat. Your eyes widened as you figured out what exactly was going on. Circuits flickered, his motherboard frying as he began to fuck up into you. Satoru's hips rolled up once, twice, until he spread his legs.
"W-wait, 'toru—" you blurted out, hands scrambling to dig into his bulky shoulders. But there was no use bargaining with the man whose system had been overridden with the urge to stuff you full.
The air was thick with the scent of sex as Satoru whimpered into your mouth after dragging you down. "Sorry, baby — fuck— my hips are movin' on their own. C-can't help it."
Satoru was truly fucked, snapping as he planted his feet firmly against the mattress. He ignored your protests as his cock nudged against that one spot inside you with expert precision. Your own hips moved against his, trying to match his clumsy yet determined rhythm. A vibrating finger found your nipples as your tits bounced against his, eliciting a strangled mewl from your lips which Satoru was more than happy to swallow up.
"Greedy pussy's swallowing me up," he croaked, tongue dragging up your cheek to collect the salty tears streaming down. The error kept looping, Satoru's hips unable to stop moving until you had came first with a spasm. It was only then the glitch fizzled out — barely — as his balls heaved, your pussy milking out each glossy rope of cum from his cock.
When your joint orgasms finally died down, you collapsed on his chest — truly spent. Satoru could only smile weakly under you.
"Looks like that error's fixed. Wanna troubleshoot to see if I have more?"
☆ thinking about nanami kento who is slightly obsessed with your ass
-> NSFW (18+), established relationship, reader gained weight (and loves it), p in v, slight crack because i can't help myself, gojo cameo, nanami's downbad for his wife (as he should) , ass fondling // wc 2.1k // sukuna vers., toji vers.
respectable. professional. maybe a little high-strung but still, an honorable man.
all words his colleagues would probably use to describe the character of your husband, nanami kento.
and they weren’t wrong—he really was a good person.
but he always wondered if they’d still view him the same way if they saw how he was in the comfort of your own home.
the way his eyes would shamelessly trace your lower half as you ambled aimlessly around the living room, gaze heavy and deliberate as you reached up to replace a book you’d been reading, his oversized shirt you’d borrowed riding up to expose the plush softness—worn-out underwear straining to contain the skin hiding underneath.
maybe it was relationship weight-gain (he was a really good cook) or just maturity redistributing the weight on your body. whatever it was, your husband loved it.
however, it was like you didn’t even notice, unbothered by the way your pants hugged tighter on your hips or how you had to jump up into your jeans.
he felt kind of…perverted for finding pleasure in the way your ass recoiled in your leggings, eyes flicking up to your confused expression as he was abruptly flung down onto the gym mat—gojo’s triumphant yell ringing out into the gymnasium.
“what are you doing to him?” the masked sorcerer elbowed you lightly in the ribs, eyes narrowing as if he could peer into your head and read your thoughts.
“doing to him?” you echoed, face a mixture of confusion and amusement. you could practically see the steam pouring from nanami’s ears as he stormed over to where the two of you were speaking.
“yeah, are you like sucking the cursed energy out of him or something?” he actually sounded curious, brows creasing under his blindfold as you spluttered behind your hand.
“don’t even dignify that with a response.” spat your husband, palm clasping over gojo’s shoulder as he dragged him back to the padded arena.
“—hey i wasn’t done talking to her!”
—
a couple hours had passed from when you’d gone sparring, quiet drive back home leaving a slight distance between the two of you.
he really did seem out of it during training today, you thought, unusually so. normally he’d hit his targets with laser-precision; hard, fast and unyielding. but today it seemed like his head was somewhere else.
it was almost time for bed, body soft and scented with your favourite lotion. you slipped on your favourite sleep set, a long-sleeved cropped cotton top with the bottom half being a matching pair of shorts.
you heard him enter as you continued to rifle through your wardrobe for the bottom half, soft musk of his cologne filling the room.
if you were more focused you would have heard the sharp inhale of his breath, bare ass perked up (you hated wearing underwear to bed) as you continued to look through the bottom draw.
it was perfect, he thought, he could just walk over, spread both cheeks apart and sink himself into your heat.
fuck.
“y-you looking for something in particular honey?” he called out, sat on the edge of the bed furthest away from you—restraint dissipating as the seconds passed.
“just trying to find—got it!” you spun around, dangling the cotton shorts you’d managed to fish out from your drawer.
he wasn’t sure what was worse, your bare skin exposed or the way these shorts clung to you; every slight dimple and ridge of cellulite on your ass accentuated by the thin material.
“wanted to ask you about something ken,” you slid into the sheets beside him, face turned upwards to look at him. his jaw was clenched slightly, eyes drifting around the room as they focused on everything but you.
“…did i do something wrong?” your voice was quiet, but your words felt like a slap. the thought of him making you feel like you’d done anything wrong made him feel sick.
immediately he turned towards you, brown eyes dark with concern as he ran a hand over the crown of your head.
“of course not sweetheart” he murmured, voice tight with regret as you snuggled into him; body warm and soft against him.
he had to come clean. if even gojo had noticed his… preoccupation, then it was hardly a surprise that you had as well.
“what it is honey—” he began, voice wavering slightly as he tried to find the best words to describe his thoughts.
you’d never seen your husband this speechless, worry creeping in as you watched his face scrunch in thought.
that was until you saw his ears turn pale pink, a soft blush running across from his cheeks up to the harsh point of his nose.
he only blushed like this when he—
“am i turning you on right now?” you spluttered, body leaping up to get a better look at your husband.
his gaze was low, fixed on a crease in the blanket as you took in his flushed appearance; eyes dragging down to find a tent forming in the loose flannel of his pyjama pants.
now, you were no stranger to your husbands libido, but his shame around it was definitely new.
“yes.” he breathed, large palms grappling around your waist, pulling you to come sit on his lap.
“i’m always attracted to you, you know that.” his hands slowly moved down to your hips. “but recently i noticed something that makes me feel…even more so.”
his hands moved down to the curve of your ass, soft groan leaving the side of his lips as you leaned into him, giving him more access to the fat that hung from underneath your shorts.
your husband had always been reverent of every part of your body, but tonight was noticeably different; back arching slightly as he continued to play with your ass, fingers digging into the skin as he slowly pulled both cheeks apart.
“…fuck.”
almost impulsively you began to grind down onto him, thighs spread out over his as you moved against his erection; head drooped into the crook of his neck as he continued to squish the exposed skin.
“i don’t know what it is…” his voice was vacant, eyes blown-out as if he was in a trance “but something about—”
“my ass?” you deadpaned, humor of the situation making you feel at ease. he really let you think you’d done something wrong when he was just a horny son of a bitch.
“well, yes.” how embarrassing, he was now degraded into sounding like a middle schooler debating about whether ass or tits were better.
“i noticed.” you huffed, body breaking away to reach into his pants. you licked your palm and grabbed his cock harshly, strangled groan caught in his throat as you gathered the beading pre-come from his pretty pink tip and used it to jerk him off—abdomen tensing underneath his shirt as you grinned up at him.
truth was, you really did have an inkling that he felt some type of way about your recent weight gain.
you sat back on your haunches and flung your shorts off into a shadowy corner of your room (probably never to be seen again).
you paused. this was your favourite part, sinking down onto his thick cock—feeling the way your spongey walls had to expand to make space inside of you, the first thrust making you feel so full.
using his shoulders, you carefully manoeuvred yourself over and guided him in, walls fluttering as each inch slid into you.
you tried to be slow, legs cramping from the weight of holding yourself up over him. you could see the beads of sweat forming in his hairline as you continued to sink down onto him, drawn out groan leaving both of your lips as he finally bottomed out.
“you noticed?” he rasped, hands sliding back up to your love handles as he began to thrust up into you, your arms looped around his shoulders to give you something to push up against.
“yesrightthere—of course i noticed” you giggled, ass jiggling in time with his thrusts. “couple weeks back, gojo told me—”
“do we have to talk about him right now” he hissed through gritted teeth, the wetness that had gathered making an audible sound as you continued to move against each other.
“yes because its—shit— relevant…and kinda funny” your nipples had begun to pebble from underneath the thin fabric of your top, rough texture against his shirt making you even more sensitive. “anyways, he told me that everytime i—ohmygod—turned around you’d go all googly-eyed—”
“what does that even m-mean?” his pace had slowed slightly, thought of you and gojo discussing this deepening the flush on his cheeks.
“y’know, you’d look how you did this evening—faster please ken” you pinched his chin, dragging his gaze back down onto yours. “don’t get all moody about it okay? he actually thought it was super cute!”
cute. he thought he might actually die from embarrassment if you continued talking.
“m’not moody.” he mumbled, pace speeding back up causing your eyes to roll back into the base of your skull.
“we actually bet on it—how long it’d take for you to crack.”
“crack?” he repeated dumfounded.
drool was spilling out from your mouth, thrusts making your mind hazy, the twenty-one questions your husband was asking you seeming impossible to answer.
“admit that you’re an ass guy. or something like that, i don’t really—fuuuuuuuck--remember...gojo kept asking these really perverted questions so i just left it thereeeee.” your voice was becoming hoarse from the sharp moans he was pushing out from your body, grip on your waist tightening slightly at your last statement.
“what did he say?” his pace was becoming hard to match, coil tightening in your lower belly as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to finishing.
“fuck it’s not important right now baby—” you whined, soft lips dragging down the column of his neck as you sucked a hickey just above his pulse point—shiver wracking through his body as you continued to suckle and spit over his collarbone. “jus’ some weird shit about what your balls smell like.”
“oh.” he murmured, filing away that information to do… something with it?
he could feel your body tensing around him, facial expressions telling him that you were close.
moving a hand from off your hip, he snaked down to start circling your puffy clit, loud groan leaving your lips as you melted into his touch.
“darling, the neighbours…” past the fog of embarrassment and lust he was now realising how loud the two of you were really being, your elderly neighbours probably clutching their pearls at the shamelessness of your actions.
“don’tcareimaboutto—” you were cut off, guttural groan escaping your lips as you gushed around him hard, walls fluttering around his thick girth as he continued to fuck you through the orgasm; legs trembling around the wide expanse of his thighs as he gripped the underside of your ass and held you down—forcing you to feel every inch.
he was coming close up behind you, the way your walls were sucking him in making him feel breathless—few quick thrusts being all he had left until you felt ropes of his cum spurt up into you, your combined release dribbling out from where your bodies joined.
the two of you were silent for a few moments, bodies slumped over one another.
“nothing wrong with being an ass guy” you began, throat sore from…everything.
“…not an ass guy.” he sounded dejected, hands gently lifting you off from him, thick globs of your release continuing to flow out.
“okayyyy honey” voice dripping with faux complacency.
“try not to be a pervert and help me clean up will you?”
—
“did he wear a condom or not?”
the glee in gojo’s voice was somewhat disarming, debrief of your successful bet becoming a lot more intimate than you’d expected.
“…i don’t see how thats relevant?” you retorted, tolerance for gojo’s antics beginning to diminish.
“so that’s a no—” his tongue stuck out slightly as he scribbled down what you told him, hand pulling out a couple crumpled notes from his back pocket.
“congratulations on your win—” he winked, fabric of his mask creasing slightly as he flipped to a new page of his notepad.
“how about you continue your winning streak…wanna bet on how long it takes for you to get pregnant?”
“excuse me?”
a/n:: is it even a nanami drabble if I don't add gojo in there 😭 guys this series/theme/whatever you call it is soooo fun to write and i want to do it for all my faves...eventually.
☆ synopsis - you try to pay for a dinner date, how do they react?
☆ featuring - gojo, nanami, sukuna, geto, and toji
SATORU GOJO
you slide your card across the counter like it’s the most casual thing in the world, but of course it isn’t. satoru is watching, perched on the edge of his chair, shades still on because he refuses to take them off in public. the corner of his mouth quirks, that lazy grin that says he’s already decided this is the cutest thing he’s seen all day.
“ohhh, trying to pay for me?” he drawls, voice thick with mock offense. he leans forward, resting a perfectly tanned elbow on the table, chin in his hand, and watches you like he’s savoring a dessert. “you really think i’m gonna let that slide?”
you flush, because yeah, you are trying to be polite, independent, whatever, but his grin is way too distracting. “i just thought—” you start, but he cuts you off.
“nah,” he says, waving a dismissive hand, sunglasses slipping just a little so you can catch that mischievous sparkle in his blue eyes. “you can’t pay for me. that’s… that’s my thing.”
“your thing?” you echo, eyebrows raised.
“yeah. my thing,” he insists, leaning back and stretching his arms like he owns the space, which honestly? he does, and it’s kind of adorable. “i let you be cute, i let you pick where we eat, and then i swoop in like a hero with my wallet. it’s the gojo package deal.”
you groan, a mix of frustration and amusement, because he’s impossible. “i just… wanted to contribute—”
“contribute?” he interrupts, leaning forward again, smirk spreading, voice dropping an octave like it’s a secret confession. “you’re contributing by being here. you’re beautiful, smart, fun to talk to… that’s your contribution, and frankly, it’s better than cash.”
your cheeks heat, and he notices. of course he notices. nothing gets past those 6 eyes of his.
he leans even closer, hand brushing yours casually on the table. “see? i’m flattered. you think i don’t see how thoughtful you are? but i gotta protect you from financial responsibility. it’s dangerous.”
“dangerous?” you giggle quietly, trying not to cackle in the middle of the restaurant.
“deadly,” he confirms, tone utterly serious, shades slipping fully down for a dramatic reveal. “people who let me pay for them get stuck in my orbit. permanent orbit. no refunds.”
you can’t stop yourself from giggling. “so… i’m in trouble?”
“ohhh, honey,” he purrs, leaning his forehead against yours lightly, hand lingering over yours, “you’re already in trouble by looking that good.”
you roll your eyes, laughing, but inside your chest is fluttering because this is classic gojo energy: flirty, infuriating, and completely irresistible. he taps the card with a finger and stands, leaning down to whisper, “let me handle this one, okay? consider it an investment in us.”
KENTO NANAMI
you reach for the check, sliding your card across the table with the polite little smile you’ve practiced. nanami doesn’t even look down at it at first — just his eyes on you, calm, measured, like he’s already made a judgment. the corner of his mouth twitches.
“absolutely not,” he says finally, voice flat but firm. not harsh, just… unshakable. the kind of voice that makes you stop mid-motion because you know he’s not bluffing.
“well,” you begin, cheeks warming, “maybe i could help pay this time—”
“don’t be ridiculous,” he interrupts, calm, precise, authoritative. his tie is slightly loosened, sleeves rolled, but he’s still immaculate, still untouchable in that way that makes your chest flutter. “you don’t pay for me. that’s not how this works.”
“but you work all the time—”
he leans back, adjusting his glasses, expression neutral but eyes softening just a touch. “i work for a living. i work so i can spent my hard-earned money on nights like these. on nights with you.”
you reach for your card again, and he sighs — a long, low, controlled sigh — before placing his hand over yours.
“stop,” he says. “if you try to pay for me again, i’ll consider it an insult to my judgment. and that is unacceptable.”
“an insult?” you tease, trying to grin. “so you do care?”
“i care enough to ensure you’re not burdened with details like this,” he explains, softening slightly. “i don’t want you thinking about money. i just want you to enjoy yourself. the money is my job. your job is to eat, relax, and be happy. understood?”
you laugh softly, shaking your head. “you’re infuriating.”
“i’m responsible,” he corrects, leaning forward slightly, hand sliding off yours to reach for the check himself. the movement is calm, authoritative — smooth. “and i will pay. always.”
you watch him. the neat lines of his suit, the faint crease of his brow as he signs the receipt, the way he folds everything so cleanly — it’s hot in a way that makes your stomach twist. and his eyes meet yours briefly, holding yours steady, commanding, grounding.
“there,” he says finally, sliding the receipt back across. “done. no discussion. enjoy your meal, your company, and this evening. i’ll worry about the rest.”
you grin, flustered but amused, because of course he’s right. of course he’s completely unyielding, but that extra care — making sure you just enjoy yourself — sneaks under the steel and makes your heart skip a little.
SUKUNA RYOMEN
you slide your card across the table with a polite smile, trying to do the grown-up thing, but sukuna’s eyes snap up from his plate like you just insulted his entire existence. the king of curses is flaring.
“what… are you doing?” he asks, voice low, amused, but there’s a dangerous edge there — the kind that makes people flinch.
“i… i thought i could pay,” you mumble, cheeks warming, because, well… it’s just dinner, right?
his eyebrows shoot up. “pay… for me?” he repeats, tone dripping with incredulity. “you… you? don’t be ridiculous.”
you bite your lip, trying not to laugh because, yes, it’s ridiculous — and yes, he looks exactly like he means every word.
“i just wanted to help,” you protest, sliding the card closer.
“help?” he scoffs, leaning back and crossing his arms. “you think a woman should pay for a meal? the mere thought is laughable. absurd. impossible. let me make this simple for you: i will pay. always. it is expected of a man.”
your cheeks flush, half from embarrassment and half from the heat of his gaze. there’s that dangerous smirk curling his lips, the one that tells you he’s both amused and enjoying your fluster.
“but i want to—”
“no,” he interrupts sharply, cutting you off mid-word. “i do not want to hear this again. a woman’s place at my table is to enjoy herself, to eat, to drink, to look beautiful while doing so. everything else… logistics, payment, these are my concerns. do you understand?”
“yes,” you whisper, heart racing, because that tone, his authority, it’s the kind of dangerous confidence you can’t help but be drawn to.
“good,” he says, voice dropping to a low purr. “i am generous, but i do not tolerate nonsense. next time, do not attempt such foolishness. you may as well have spat in my soup.” he leans forward, resting a hand lightly on yours, thumb brushing your knuckles — a small, possessive gesture that makes your chest tighten.
“you make it sound like such a big deal,” you murmur, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.
“a big deal?” he echoes, a mock laugh rolling off his tongue. “i am the king of curses. everything i do is a big deal. including allowing you to sit across from me while i eat. now be quiet. enjoy the feast. i will handle the rest.”
TOJI FUSHIGURO
you slide your card across the table, expecting the usual protest, the big “no way, i got this” energy you’ve seen from guys online. instead, toji leans back in his chair, elbows resting on the table, a crooked grin on his face, and just… watches.
“about time,” he drawls, voice lazy, like he’s been waiting decades for this exact moment.
“what?” you blink, caught off guard.
“you’re paying for once,” he says, shrugging as if it’s no big deal. “thought you’d never do it.”
“i thought you were gonna stop me?” you argue, folding your arms over your chest. “isn’t that what you're supposed to do?”
toji snorts, leaning forward, resting his chin on his fist. “nah, not really. i’m broke anyway. if you wanna pay, i won't put up a fight.”
you blink at him. “… seriously?”
“yeah. don’t act surprised,” he says, waving a hand. “so really… thanks for finally covering me.” his grin stretches, half teasing, half lazy approval.
you groan, shaking your head. “i was trying to be polite! this isn’t a charity.”
he shrugs again, because that’s literally his entire stance on life: minimal effort, maximum impact. “doesn’t matter. you offered, so i’m taking it. you’re cute when you're mad at me. you get a wrinkle between your eyebrows when you glare. did you know that?”
you can’t help laughing at him, exasperated. “you act like you're so nonchalant— as if nothing ever gets to you.”
“because i am,” he says smoothly, leaning back again. “but i like when you get all flustered over nothing. it’s entertaining.”
you roll your eyes, but your stomach does that stupid little flip, because yes, he’s relaxed, but there’s a spark in his eyes — that lazy, amused glint that says he’s enjoying this way more than he lets on.
“so… you’re just gonna sit there and look pretty while i pay?” you ask, smirking.
“yep.” he leans forward, elbows on the table, resting his head in his hands. “unless you want me to stare at you while you fumble with the card. that’s fun too.”
you snort, sliding the card toward the cashier. “fine, enjoy it, you lazy bastard.”
“oh, i will,” he says, eyes following your every move, still leaning in just enough that you can feel the heat of him. “and maybe i can return the favour when we get home, yeah?”
SUGURU GETO
you slide your card across the table, trying to be all independent and polite, but suguru just leans back in his chair and lets out this quiet, amused laugh.
“what’s so funny?” you snap, cheeks heating.
he shrugs, still smiling lightly. “nothing, it’s just… you. it’s kinda funny watching you try to take care of me.”
“funny?” you blink. “you think i can’t pay for dinner?”
he chuckles, calm and easy, shaking his head. “no, i know you can.” he taps a finger against the check like it’s a little prop in this casual scene. “but do you really have to? come on, you’re with me. let me take care of it. it'll save your brain from thinking about numbers or receipts or… whatever.”
your lips press together, flustered, because yes, you can pay, but somehow hearing him say it this way — relaxed and teasing, with that soft, amused tone — makes your chest flutter.
“i’m not a child,” you argue, trying to keep your dignity.
“that's right, you're not a child,” he says with a grin, leaning forward just enough that it feels like he’s leaning into a joke you made, “you’re my competent, clever girl. but that doesn’t mean you have to always do everything yourself. especially when it comes to money. let me do this for you — consider it a favor.”
you roll your eyes, though there’s a little laugh escaping your lips despite yourself. “a favor, huh? from you?”
“exactly.” he leans back, hands folded over his stomach, eyes calm and warm. “i’ll handle it — it's what i’m here for. you just need to sit here. eat. enjoy yourself. laugh at me if you want, but don’t worry your pretty little head about the money, alright?”
you huff, still pretending to be offended, but the warmth spreading through your chest betrays you. “that can't be fair.”
“oh, don't pout. you'll make me feel bad.” he says, shaking his head slowly, still grinning. “… fine, if you really want to, you can save your heroic gestures for dessert. deal?”
you nod, smiling, because of course it’s a deal. he has such a way with words, and he somehow makes it so you don’t even mind letting him take the reins.
Synopsis. How many rounds till you’re begging to tap out? Well…
Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, marathons, overstím, manhandIing, rough s, headIocks, FÉRAL JJK men, dúmbifícation, running from it, ratio technique, use of jujutsu techniques, chokíng spítting, p talking, true form Sukuna, dp, Choso with píercings, GOJO’S POWERS, creampíes, cúmplay, slight cúmfIation, pet names, swéaring.
A/N. OvuIation started…
♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 4 rounds
It felt like it’s been decades. Eons.
And Toji’s still rendering you dumb with his vulgar, sloppy strokes.
Over and over he had you riding him dry, probin’ into tight orifices so deep that it has your thighs tremoring over his muscular waist. Glued to him. Driven wild. With your spit-glossed mouth hanging agape, voice coming out in panted puffs- “P-please, oh, ngh-”
“Tch, dirty girl.” He’s snarling from underneath you, rough palm coming up flatly to cover your mouth, pushing those wads of saliva back in. He snickers as you gurgle nonsensically, “What? Got something to say t’me?”
You nod, “S’been like f-four rounds, how are you still hck! going?” Almost on cue, the red, squelching end of his shaft throbs.
“Hm…” Toji pretends to think, and his other hand slide-slide-slides down the front of your tummy. Pushing down just as his plump tip bullies into your tightest spots—whack! “But I don’t think we’ve made Megumi a big brother yet, mama?”
His heavenly restriction didn’t just increase his strength - it increased his stamina, too. And you were bearing the brunt of it.
And like he’s proving his point, the doughy mountain of his palm presses gently- almost playfully.
Making you gush out cobwebs of syrupy white sap, your entrance letting go of everything he’d stuffed into you from all those hours prior. He mockingly pouts, “Look at that. She’s all empty.”
“Is that why you’ve been s-so…” You’re lost for words, because now not only was he smashing into your cunt at a rude pace- he also had his hand clawing down your front. Feeling his thick, veiny cock bulging inwards. “-insatiable?”
“Heh, maybe,” he grins. And it’s one that looks so devilish, looking up at you through shaggy, sweat-covered bangs. “And the other part of it is that m’fucking addicted to this sweet pussy. And m’not sorry about it.”
And he was fucking you like it, too.
Like he was scraping his puffy veins into spots you didn’t even know you had- banging his wet, blushin’ cockhead against your cervix n’ still reaching for more. Toji could bottom-out on your pussy and still want more, more, more-
“I-I don’t even know if I can- oh.” You’re completely breathless, head throwing back as your hips start gyrating back into his thrusts.
It’s a small, slurping rhythm that makes his raven brows raise in interest. Looking down at the way your bouncing figure-eights make a line of cum start streaming between your legs. “Would you look at that, four rounds n’ she still wants- hah, more. She’s a greeeeedy lady, I know she’d love a fifth round, wouldn’t she, doll?”
One of his calloused thumbs runs down your slivery slit, gathering up the dampness and popping it into his mouth. You whine as his scarred lips raise into a sleazy grin.
“What? Don’t think so?” He’s letting off raspy groans, abs flexing after each jackhammer. Poking into your sweetest spots.
You don’t know whether you’re nodding, you don’t know whether you’re shaking your head- maybe begging. But, instantly, both of his large hands latch onto the small of your waist. A firm grip on you. Unyielding.
And Toji’s just so strong that he doesn’t even have to try to raise your poor, twitching body up, up, up on the glazed inches of his cock—and then slam you back down again. Manhandling you. Roughening you up.
Both of his big, beefy arms swell with veins n’ strength, and you’re ogling just how unintentionally sexy he looks as he’s sliding his throbbing girth into you repeatedly - green eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, nose crinkled.
The burrowing head of his cock finds itself pushin’ sensually against your g-spot, like a button. And Toji spits, seething, breathy, “Yeahhhh–just like that, mama. I told you- I told you she could t-take it.” You’re so far gone that you don’t even revel in the fact that the squeezing of your slicked, gummy walls made the Toji Fushiguro stutter.
And every driving bash makes cum splosh ‘round you like a whirlpool, his incessant cock pushing those knots even deeper. “Gonna make her- gonna- fuck, you’re not leaving this bed until you make me a daddy.”
Something about those words itch such a carnal part of your brain - especially when you’re being fucked exceptionally stupid like this.
It twinges, and you can feel the bubble building up from your drippin’ wet pussy. “Toji- oh, don’t talk like that, I think m’gonna c-cum.” But the only problem was that you didn’t even know if you could cum. Orgasm after orgasm.
“Don’t know if you can?” Shit- you’d clearly spoken that last part out loud, too cockdrunk right about now. And your husband certainly disagreed. Toji scoffs, “Don’t know if you can? Don’t- hah, underestimate your husband.”
And one of his filthy thumbs was glued back between your swollen folds, smearing them apart so that his pursed lips can spit. A targeted wad of saliva that still connects to his sneering lips for a few seconds.
It makes you shiver- as you’re opening your mouth to shrill, he’s then shutting you up with yet another pearly streamline of spit. This time straight into your maw. “There- a lil’ motivation.”
That pummeling pace of his only grows wilder, shoving into your g-spot and down the spongy layer of your womb. He was damn near rubbin’ himself raw on your velvety walls.
You can barely even control the lines of tears that streak down your cheeks, explosions of pleasure each time he was delving between your pussylips like a madman. “Oh my god-” Your back arches cutely into his touch, your skin stinging where it was coming into contact with his scruffy happy trail. “I think I’m- fuck, I might-”
“Cum f’me, doll?” Toji interrupts your cracking whines, slightly looking up at you through his lashes. “Please?”
And it was that- overstimulated, oversensitive, and having Toji pleading for your sappy pussy to orgasm all over his cock that you finally do. Your eyes immediately shuttering, a cry ripping from your throat at the intensity.
Spearheading your tight walls with his girthy circumference- it was just too adorable how your cunt kept clinging onto him. Pulsing after each graze of his veins, those lightning-shaped lines that opened up your hidden crevices.
He’s flicking his thumb over your clit to elongate the peaks of your high, roll after roll of his hips accompanying it. You don’t think you’ve ever cum harder in your life—“Oh, Toji that felt s-so–” And then your breath catches, and so do your gyratin’ hips.
Because you’re feeling the split, pre-trickling end of his shaft suddenly flinch. Suddenly jolt. And it feels as though Toji’s slathering all your insides with his gluey cum- except you don’t feel any of it gushing out.
And your jaw drops, hastening to blink your vision back into your murky peripherals. “Toji, baby, did you just-”
“Cum dry, yeah yeah—” He’s gruffing out, though there’s a note in his baritone voice that sounds like it’s shaking. “Consider it me being- ngh, nice to this overfilled lil’ pussy here.” Emphasizing his point with a glissading motion upwards, letting his thick cum from before dribble down into a puddle. “M’being such a good husband, aren’t I?”
Hiccuping, still facing the zaps of electricity from your high running down your spine. “Y-yes-” You yelp then- faced with the sudden thwack! of his globular tip hitting your cervix, almost harder than before.
“And I’d make an even better dad to our kids.”
♡ NANAMI KENTO - 8 rounds
“Do you need to hold onto me, darling?” Nanami whispers huskily against the tender shell of your ear, and before you can even answer, he’s tightening his hold.
Tightening his…headlock.
Strong, beefy arms dangling your limp body off of the bed as if you were weightless, his chiselled abs pressing into your back. Nanami was bent over you until you were struggling against the pure pressure of him, the pure pressure of his pummeling cock.
He dips his hips into you from behind, round cocktip swabbing your squishy insides. “I’ve- hah, got you, my love. Your Kento’s got you.”
“O-oh, fuck, Kento.” You’re babbling out near-incoherently, having his slick, vein-covered shaft rudely piercing in and out of you. He was just so big that each thrust had you spilling out sploshes of drool in a puddle underneath, gnawing stupidly at the pillows.
And his stamina—oh, his stamina was both the best and the worst thing.
Because your sweet, loving husband could go on for hoooours. Probin’ you with his constantly rock-hard cock, aching and ravenous to plunge inside you over n’ over. And he didn’t even realize this inhuman effect he had on you-
Lovingly, tenderly murmuring to you, “I’ve always got you, y’know?” All the while his vicious hips were slamming into you so hard that you can feel the line of his golden happy trail start to rub your skin raw. “My beautiful wife.”
“N-ngh, please-” You mewl out through your tears, your maw gaping open with a sheen of slick saliva that dribbles all down his forearm. A decoration he gladly accepts. “I don’t even know if I can, ngh, cum anymore-”
Nanami hums thoughtfully from behind you, brows knitting into an expression of concern. “Then we can stop, darling-”
“But I don’t want to-”
The words depart from your dumbstruck lips before you can even register them - you can’t help it. The probin’ sensation of Nanami’s cock just made you overly honest, each time his thick, pulsing veins massaged your sweetest spots.
Just following your cockdrunk words, your husband hears the loudest, most lecherous sluuuurp! that makes him look down in slight surprise.
Coming to find that you’d clenched ‘round his bulky base even tighter, with your swollen folds just drenched in a layer of shiny slick. You were swallowing up each solid thrust so well, and he couldn’t help but gulp as he’s thumbing apart your pussylips.
Huffing out a groan, a gasp, burrowed cockhead twitching.
He finally utters, after a few more repeated slams, “Then- then if I may…” And before you know it, you’re sinking down into the cushy mattress because Nanami has set you free of his primal headlock.
For one second. Two. Right before he’s gripping onto your two wrists and and hoisting you back up, at an even deeper angle that lets the curved end of his shaft maze right into your cervix. Direct hit after hit.
Nanami’s pounding straight into you in midair, like he’s furious- like he’s taking it out on your teary cunt. And you can only blabber out in whines, your voice breaking at the back of your throat. “Shit- shit, Kento, it feels so—ngh.”
“Don’t need to do anything, my love.” Hitched, he grunts, using every ounce of that manhandling strength to plunge into your dribbling orifice. “Don’t need to stay up- don’t need to fuck back- fuck, just let me do it alllll. Let me make you feel good.”
And he was.
It was always around this eighth round that something in the stern, sensible Nanami Kento snapped. Something in him was primal- and he was letting his cursed energy seep into you like no other.
Each whacking jackhammer striking your g-spot so precisely that you’re starting to believe it might be his ratio technique. Zaps of electricity simmering under his palms, you yelp, “You’re- hah! you’re doing that- thing- again-”
So gone that he doesn’t even realize. Not until you’re moaning and bucking underneath him like so–
It’s then that he chuckles darkly, refining that stream of cursed energy to accurately bash in your favorite hidden geysers. “And doesn’t it feel so gooood, my love?” He doesn’t think he could control his jujutsu technique right now even if he tried. Plump, puckered kisses being pressed into your sweetest spots inside.
You squirm your hips, unable to take the sheer pleasure of him probin’ your fragile areas; to which he’s instantly responding by letting go of your wrists.
You’re whining in disappointment, just about to swivel your head around to look at him- when Nanami’s forcing your head back down with the heel of his foot. Attaching onto the crown of your scalp, he’s weighing your wriggly hips down with his own.
Pushing you down.
Bending you in ways you don’t think you’ve ever even heard of before - it might just be the roughest out of all those rounds. Because his velveteen length lodges meanly up against your soft cervix, bruising a cute lil’ circle of his fat tip.
This changed angle was just perfect for him to spearhead his red, raw shaft between your folds. And it didn’t matter how overstimulated he was, he shoves his cock into you ruthlessly.
“Eight.” You hear - almost distantly, almost faintly - from behind you. Nanami’s guttural breaths coming out in heaves each time he’s pushin’ his way inside. A thin line of his sweat trickles from one temple and hits the back of your arched spine. “Eight rounds.”
Blinking tearily, the pressure on top of your woozy head only seems to grow- and so does the one down there. Especially when one of his thickly padded fingertips comes to tease your throbbing clit. Hard. Nanami breathes—oh-so-serious, oh-so-ruined
♡ GETO SUGURU - 5 ½ rounds
The sloppy squelches echoing from the in-betweens of your legs were just so sinful—they’re bouncing off the walls and ringing in your ears.
Making your squirm as Geto plunges his long tongue between your pussylips like an animal. He’s lavishing the swollen forefront of your cunt, licking up each knot of cum that dribbles out. Glide after sensual glide.
You’re seeing sparks behind your eyes- and he’s only getting up after making sure that you’re licked allllll clean. Glissading the honed tip of his tongue in a few circles ‘round your clit just for good measure, Geto stands and wipes the mess off his lips. “So…”
You can barely even react- barely even register his fluid motions as one of his pale, strong forearms reach out and grip your throat in a chokehold. Finishing off, “-ya still want another round, gorgeous?”
“P-please-” You’re babbling out, and if this was any other time then you’d have felt embarrassed about the hitched, whiny way your words kept coming out. Hips thrusting off of the creaky mattress-
“P-p-please what?” He’s rolling his eyes, seeing your animalistic jerks and immediately pinning one palm down your front to keep you still. To tease you. “Speak up, girl.”
But the problem was that you couldn’t - not when you could feel Geto’s plump, puckered tip resting between your pussylips. Slide-slide-sliiiding back and forth playfully, you could count each of his throbbing veins in your head.
And when you’re not reacting fast enough for him, he plucks both your jittery legs and throws them over one of his broad deltoids. Pinning them close to his tensed core with strong arms, Geto’s starting to sink his way inside—“Or s’this you tapping out, hah?”
The stretch- oh, the stretch is so incredible that you can feel it all the way down in your toes. Curling.
Rimming your first ring of muscle to the maximum, with his curvaceous globe pinpointing its way inside. It felt as if you were being molded to his sheerly massive girth- “No- ngh, not tapping out.” Completely talking from your needy cunt. And he knew that.
“Good.”
Geto doesn’t hesitate- he doesn’t even stutter before immediately reeling his powerful hips back and delving the entirety of his thick, aching cock. Bulging your poor insides like never before, you’re whining at the sudden intrusion.
“F-fuck!” Mouth watering, your tastebuds sizzle with the sensation as if he’s poking into your very lungs. Spearheading.
And he doesn’t wait for you to even accustom yourself to the size of him before moving—rapid, hard half-thrusts. Not even pulling all the way out because his savagely needy cock couldn’t handle it, positively craving that carnal part of you.
“Yeah- yeah yeah yeah–” He’s whispering underneath his breath, slightly broken with how many times he’s done this throughout the night, yearning for more. The drivelling end of his shaft hits your cervix with a thorough bash! and you can feel your legs grow weaker, eyes rolling to the back of your head.
And Geto can too- fuck, he’s tugging upon both of your trembling legs and wrapping them ‘round his motioning hips. Making you feel the pull and flex of his obliques, “Don’t you think you’re going anywhere- fuck, don’t you dare run.”
“I’m- I’m not—”
Only pulling you in further with his incredible strength, until your sopping wet cunt hits the front of his soaked happy trail with a pap! of skin-on-skin. “Then where are, ngh, we going, huh?”
You could barely even grind your bouncy hips up n’ down without him chasing after. Desperate. Shivering as he then removes one hand to slide a thumb down your sloppy slit, listening to the watery noises you let off. “So jumpy- I needa fuck that out of you, gorgeous-” Suddenly, a dopey smile breaks across his face. “Though, I guess I a-already am, huh?”
“Ngh- fuck, it feels t-too good—” He was rendering you practically immobile, unable to think about anything but the bliss that takes over you after each scrape of his ruby-red slit down your g-spot.
Perfectly angled- Geto was just so good at teasing you with his hips. His cadence is not too soft against your sweetest spots so it leaves you satiated, but not too hard so that it leaves you wanting more. Just toying. Probing.
You’re attempting to pathetically fuck your hips back to him in pursuit of more friction, but he snaps a hand to your neck and holds on firmly. Each of his five fingers digging into your throat.
Geto raises a sassy brow, “I said where are- hah, we going?” He’s pushing against the entrance to your womb and you’ve never felt so gone. So sensitive. It just makes you so much wetter, gushing out of you like a sheen—“oh?” Cracking a sleazy grin, “Aren’t you embarrassed? Being s-sooo fuckin’ wet? Bet the entire association can hear, the way you’re like a damn, mmm, waterpark f’me.”
Harder and harder- he can’t stop.
One hand squeezing your airway, the other clawing down your stomach.
Pressing dooooown just as he’s sliding his incredibly thick, veiny cock inside- it’s enough to make you flatly anchor your feet onto the bed and push off. And attempt to escape - only to be dragged right back by the hand on your throat, like some whiny lil’ ragdoll. “Fuck- nghhh, fuck- it’s almost too much-” But you wanted more. How could you not?
“And the way you’re clinging t’me? Cheh-” Geto continues, as if he never even realized. As if he’s so far gone that he doesn’t even register when he’s pulling you back, “-she’s in love.”
Flabbergasted, you’re looking up at him with a gaped mouth- only to find that Geto’s is parted, as well. His heady eyes half-lidded, mouth swollen, eyes teary, blushing. You’ve never seen him like this.
And you could’ve sworn that the dark pupils in his peripherals had taken on the shape of hearts by now. Staring right at you with a loving gaze, it only takes a few more vicious pumps before your eardrums suddenly fill with a loud snap!
Heads whirling to the source of the noise to find that the bed was tilted unevenly on one side - it was broken. He broke the bed.
And by the way your boyfriend was looking at you- you were next. Scooping you into his powerful arms in one motion, you’re being laid flat in the same position on the fucking floor. Right next to your bed, Geto’s heavy weight pressing you into the frigid ground.
His hand once again finds its position at your throat, and - instead of moving himself - he uses the leverage to pull you down onto his cock in a sloppy drag. “Oh, you’re not going anywhere, gorgeous girl.”
♡ CHOSO KAMO - 6 rounds
“F-fuck—” Choso whispers in a hoarse pant, his baritone dipping even lower. “Fuck, ngh, it feels so good…”
“Aww, baby—” Your voice is nearly drowned out by the damp squelches being reeled out of your cunt, over and over as he just slides his blushin’ pink tip between your pussylips.
The fatness of his crown lodges a little against your entrance and Choso whines at the way you clench around nothing. Missing out. Surging his blood manipulation technique even harder to, well, get harder. “Won’t be long, baby–” Practically giddy at the wetness pouring from your swollen core. “Promise it- ngh, won’t be long.”
“Cho, baby, you don’t have to force yourself- we can do other- hck!” Your breath hitches when he gives your slick-glittered pussy a firm spank. Just to make you shut up - don’t even think about it.
He’s insisting oh-so-sincerely, “But I can- and I want to…” It’s just been hoooours of running his poor, overworked cock raw on your velveteen walls. And the sole problem with your pussy was that it was so easy to get addicted. He was addicted. “Promise I can- promise I will.”
One of his ringed fingers scrapes down your front, drawing an invisible line- he pokes right where he’d now memorized your sultry womb was. Pressing in. A target.
Sensually, you feel him mark a little ‘X’ on that spot, like a treasure map. “Promise I’ll be r-riiiiight here- hngh!”
And then he’s sinking in with ease - so overstimulated that the first red, swollen inch being pumped inside your cunt is enough to make him tear up.
Big, bulbous tears that run down his handsome face. Dripping from the point of his chin and onto your skin underneath, he just looks so pretty like this. Long lashes shimmering, puffy lips wobbling, his brows scrunching together as he’s holding you down and pushing his girth all the way back into you.
“Yes…” he whispers, more to himself than you. “Yes yes yes- just like that- l-luckily number s-six, ngh.” He’s been saying this for hooours now, and you’re starting to wonder whether the one begging for mercy should be him and not you.
The round orifice at the end of his shaft mazes its way inside like a searchlight, perfectly fitting against where your g-spot was- and the worst part of it all? Choso was pierced- with a studded Prince Albert’s piercing on his mushroomy tip that dabs your nooks n’ crannies. And makes you clench.
You throw your jittering arms around him and squeeze him with your clingy walls so tight that a ragged groan leaves the back of Choso’s throat. To muffle it, he’s burying his face into the crook of your neck- and you can feel him pant, feel him wrench out a broken whisper of your name.
Right before Choso Kamo bottoms out and cums.
Just from the primal feeling of being back inside you - he’s squirting out thin, wiry ribbons of cum that stick to the base end of your pussy like glue. Smearing around until the puckered folds of your cunt start to spray out with all that ivory sap. That’s when Choso’s snarling down, spitting.
Thumbing away the excess before he’s plugging your entrance back up, fucking each n’ every drop back inside. “It- fuck, look what you’ve done- made me cum like this. Just from putting it inside.” So overstimulated that he was barely even leaking out half the volume he did in the first round, and yet it’s never hit so hard.
His orgasm making him ride out peak after peak on your sopping wet pussy until Choso’s jolting at the feeling of him cumming dry. Red, bulging cocktip jolting but nothing was coming out anymore, just enough to slosh ‘round the mess he’s made inside.
But that didn’t mean he was going to stop. Not even close.
His bursts of jujutsu technique are growing even wilder- and Choso hasn’t even finished pounding out the last of his high before his buzzing energy starts to envelope the both of your glissading bodies. Coating it. Making his hot length bulge harder-
With a grumbling grunt, he’s then starting to rut into you like a madman. “It sh-should be illegal for a pussy to feel this- ngh, good, y’know?”
Until the bed was singing out in creaks and so were you, until your eyes were rolled all the way to the back of your skull. With his free hand clamoring over to the top of your scalp, Choso pushes you down following each recoil of his honed thrusts. Lower lip jutting out, “It’s u-unfair. I’m just addicted. My cock is just addicted.”
“I can- ngh! Tell-” You attempt to give him a teasing smile, but the only thing your mouth can do is open into a cockdrunken ‘oh!’
He’s using the moment to his advantage, simply spitting a glittery wad between your lips. Then gently lifting off one hand to push your mouth clothed - he was serious. So serious, in fact, that you could feel the cursed energy simmering through his body.
Making his long, hard length even harder. Puffing up his zig-zagged veins until the pattern was all you could feel on your walls, memorize. Swelling his flared, mushroom tip up even more- you swear you could feel him probin’ all the way into your lungs.And he was just making you take it. All with a wobbly smile, he’s so pussydrunk by now that he can’t stop himself from confessing. “Oh, baby, you have no idea. I can’t…I can’t stop.”
♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 9 rounds
The King of Curses doesn’t think he’s seen anything hotter- anything cuter.
With your eyes criss-crossing each time his dual crowns plunge furiously into your pussy, your hands grappling for purchase anywhere. Everywhere. Ultimately resting on the generous surface of his pectorals, you’re squeezing them for dear life and he can’t help but snicker.
Perking his hips further upwards to probe your clenchin’ innards, “Keh, what’s this?” You’re the one riding him, but he’s the one driving you positively wild.
With his matching, vein-covered cocks sliding up against your tight walls and each other. You’re so far gone that you barely even realize that Sukuna’s noticed your little hold, a clawed hand coming over your own. “No milk’s gonna come out of there, brat.” He’s rolling his eyes as you drool stupidly all over his pecs.
“N-none at all?” You’re starin’ up at him with wide, disappointed eyes. And your hips bounce down even harder to hit his muscular pelvis with a spank! as if you were trying to disprove what he just said.
“Someone’s still eager after nine rounds.”
And he’s taking a few sultry nanoseconds to simply admire it before manhandling your body underneath his. Flipping the two of you over. Throwing your wobbly legs over his shoulders.
He’s got you bent in half underneath him in a proper mating press before spearing the fat girths of his lengths deep inside you. “Unless…” Sukuna puffs out, through a sleazy snarl. And out of his four hands, two of them rest upon your sensitive tits. Squeezing. Groping. “We could try n’ get you pregnant, lil’ human. See how you like it, huh?”
Something hitches at the back of your throat at his suggestion - and Sukuna was certainly fucking you like he meant it.
Letting the sharp, black-tinted edges of his nails scrape your skin gently each time he was teasin’ your tits. Roll after roll of his calloused thumbs to peak your nipples, making you whimper, “Yeah? How about it? After nine rounds you’re- ngh, bound ta be pregnant. Don’tcha think, brat?”
“B-but—” Clawing your own hands up his pectorals- this position just gave you the perfect view to grab a greedy hold. You were just so gone by now, by this nth round, that you didn’t even know what you were babbling out. What you were hoping for.
And Sukuna’s realizing, too, letting his spit-slicked lips open with a chuckle. Your smaller, human hands sliding up n’ down his chiselled body – thoroughly ripped, Herculean.
He’s so much bigger than you, folding you even further in this lewd mating press to kiss his forehead against yours. Grumbling, “What’d I say, brat? Are you that- fuck! that pussydrunk already?”
“N-no…”
“Mhmmm, I don’t believe ya.” And he had damn good reason not to - especially when you were whinin’ and shaking oh-so-vulgarly underneath him like this. With a few more vicious paps! of his bulky base sticking against your folds, he’s cooing, “Why don’tcha tell me your name then? Hmm? If you can, we’ll go, heh, another nine more rounds.”
You don’t think you’ll make it to one more round.
But you’re nonsensically babbling away anyway, because the textured feeling of his shafts delving in and out of you just felt so good. Thoroughly overstimulated, you mewl- “I-ngh, fuck, Kuna…”
“Nuh uh, brat- that’s me.” Sassily rolling his four crimson eyes, “Try again.”
“I’m- fuck!”
“Ah ah, wrong again.” Oh, he was enjoying this. So, so much. Any time he’d ask you a question and expect you to answer, he’s pummeling you with a few more repeated jackhammers that evaporate any words left in your lungs. On your tongue.
Now lolling out stupidly with your wads of spittle as he’s rubbin’ your g-spot raw. Sukuna’s both girthy and incredibly prolonged, so his strawberry-red crown drags against your most favorite hidden crevices without even trying.
You’re spitting out a slew of profanity at the sudden bliss, right along with a sheen of sticky saliva that he’s covering with one of his overlarge hands.
Rumbling underneath his breath as it keeps drippin’ after each long swiiiipe down the velvety end of your cervix. “I asked for yer name, silly girl- not, tch-” Snickering at the wet mess you were making from both pairs of lips. “-this.”
“C-can’t help it—” You’re throwing your hips off of the springy mattress, angling yourself further onto his pressurized cadence.
“Oh, so ya can speak? Maybe I should give ya another nine rounds, then- how about it, brat?”
With mocking interest, Sukuna hums. And the slit of the cursed mouth across his stomach grins wide open, slithering out the end of his lengthy tongue almost like a snake. It’s so monstrous- perfect to slather over your hardened nipples, sucking. Rolling. Teasing.
You’re whining your head off at a fever-pitch, your velvety channel clamping ‘round him maddeningly. Enough so that his fat, bludgeoning cocks knock against each other and the entrance to your womb, too.
So primal. So carnal. And if you were any more dumbstruck on his lengths then you might not have noticed- the way that Sukuna stutters. His hips dipping ever-so-slightly too low, like he didn’t want to even pull out.
And that makes you gasp your maw open with a shrill, “M-maybe you won’t last- ngh- nine-”
“Y-yes I will- fuck!”
“Mhm—”
Ah, always so mouthy, his favorite lil’ human. It makes him so much fucking harder, though he won’t admit it- he doesn’t have to. You’re feeling it. The way his flared mushroom tips swell up even further, making your eyes damn near pop out of your skull at the sensual sensation.
You’re fluttering them tearily, blinking back your vision from the sudden barrage of stars that cloud it. And that’s when you see it- when you can feel it throbbing achingly inside of you.
Ryomen Sukuna had his true form.
And yet, not many got to see his true true form—with the usual four arms, dual cocks, devilish eyes, and his cursed mouth. But with the addition of two large red horns. Bigger. Somehow even sexier.
Your jaw drops and you can only gasp- “Oh.”
He’s narrowing his glowing blood-red eyes with a grin, and barely has to use even a fraction of his strength to manhandle you down further. “Let me show you how the king fucks nine fuckin’ rounds then, human.”
♡ INO TAKUMA - 3 rounds
Ino didn’t know what’d gotten into him. He didn’t even know what had made him this way- one second simply dryly grinding his aching erection between your pussylips.
And the next, he had you flat on your back- your legs thrown over his lean shoulders, the backs of your thighs against his abs. Feeling each ripple n’ flex as he’s shovelling his red, heated length into you. Over and over.
He’d said it’d bate after one round, and then after two—and here you were at three, with your overstimulated boyfriend showing positively zero signs of stopping. No matter how sensitive his thrashing cock was, no matter how ruined.
“I can’t seem to stop-” He’s spitting, between his puffy lips. A slight tear lines his blushing cheek, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so wrecked. “I can’t- fuck, I don’t think I can ever stop fucking this pretty pussy—”
You’re whining as his thumb drifts between your teary slope. Up n’ down to let the honeyed mess smear everywhere, “Please, ngh- oh.”
“It’s your fault.” Ino snaps, though it’s half-hearted. His head lolls behind, unsteadily as if he was trying to hold himself back from it. “This pussy’s fault- yours. Fuck! Why do you have to feel s-so damn good.”
By this point, you didn’t know which one of you two was more utterly drunk: you or him.
You’re clawing your hands upwards towards the mahogany headboard, and he’s stopping you in your sinful tracks. Instead, pinning both your wrists down with one of his hands. He whines, “Where’d you think you’re g-going, pretty?”
“M’not going- ngh, anywhere.” Crying out, and your back arches against the silken bedsheets. Creating the perfect view of your tits for him to lean down n’ smother himself into.
Pink, pretty lips latching over your left nipple as he sucks, “Mmm, don’t lie to me- you’re not g-going anywhere tonight. Nowhere.” He was feral at the thought - absolutely shattered on those tiny, wild ruts you were giving that made his crowned cock edge even deeper. Inch by inch.
And you don’t think you could escape even if you tried. Because your boyfriend was simply moving at a vulgar pace, with the most rapidfire strokes from the plumpness of his mushroom tip, all the way down to his base.
It didn’t help that his solid length was so looooong, dragging out big stretches on your poor entrance. He’s knocking up against the end of your treacly pussy where you’re sure a bruise had started to formulate- and grins, “See- see? She doesn’t want me to- ngh, go anywhere.”
Huffing, “Don’t think I want you to go anywhere either- fuck!”
But you can’t even finish your sentence before you’re cut off with a sudden mewl- at the feeling of his ravenous cock starting to enlarge. Pumping itself bigger. Thicker. The line of his slivery slit scrapes near your womb and you think you’re seeing damn stars behind your lids.
So much so that you start to wonder whether you can even take it.
And almost as if he could sense your cockdrunken thoughts, he’s surging his toned hips forwards. Till the scruff of his happy trail rubs up against your clit, and you’re left drooling from both corners of your mouth.
He swipes it away with the fatness of his thumb, then immediately slips it between your ajar lips with a wet plop! Almost as if he was shutting you up. Fucking you stupid.
Swabbin’ the velvety insides of your mouth, muffling your moans so that he can better hear the saturated squelches emanating between your legs. “Don’t hck! just say things like that…fuck.” Beautiful brown eyes slightly bulging, voice breathy. “It’s gonna make me cum.”
You puff out in tears, “B-but I want it…”
“Mhmmm—but if I cum, then s’gonna end.” Oh, you’re realizing that he’s holding himself back. That he was dangerously close; with the hard twitches of his bulging tip, with the way his leaking precum seemed only gets more wadded. But if he reached his orgasm, then it was going to be over - and by the looks of it, he never wanted it to be over.
Letting the sloppy drags of his length scrape against every inch inside you, Ino’s following the pathway to your g-spot.
And kisses it with immense accuracy, a soft peck. Once, twice, thrice. Ino feels you clench around him at the zaps of pleasure and groans, “And you’re not leaving here until- hah- until this bed breaks, sweetness. Until I make you cum at least th-three more times.” The round tip of his index draws a line down your middle, resting where he could feel he was bashin’ into your sponged cervix. “Until I’ve filled you up a-allllll the way here. S’that alright with you?”
You nod and nod and nod.
Clamping your gluey walls down- you squeeze on his sensitive shaft and he drips down tears. It just feels too good.
As a gift, almost, he’s wadding up your snug insides with a few webs of silky precum. Drivelling into your deepest spots, such incredible volumes that it’s then leaking out in a sheen between your thighs. Sticky. Shiny.
Ino looks down n’ catches the display, his breath hitching at the sight, “Next…” You wait with bated breath, wondering what filth he’s going to spill out now. “Next- soon, that’s gonna be my actual cum, pretty.”
♡ GOJO SATORU - Infinity
“Please-” He’s rasping through the minute gaps between his clenched teeth, into the clammy skin of your neck. Throaty. Ragged. “P-please…”
And without even finishing his sentence, Gojo’s rutting his red, ravaged cock inside your cunt once more. Just a singular half-thrust and it’s enough to make you whine shrilly, dizzy being compressed under the entire weight of him hunched over.
His washboard abs plastered against your back, his ripped front hunched over primally. In a way that felt almost animalistic.
A flash of Gojo’s cursed power travels through his body and into yours and shocks your body with a slight bolt of electricity. Kinetic. You’re yelping- at both the zapping feeling and the way it leaves his blushin’ tip flaring even wider inside of you, “Oh my god- o-oh, what time is it even, Toru- hck!”
It’s a wonder you could even piece that sentence together. And his muddled mind can only think that he needs to fuck that ability out of you, fuck you stupid.
“Fuck me s–fuck.” You’re echoing.
“Oh? Did I say that out loud?” He’s questioning, faintly, only after a few more heavy thrusts. The bulbous crown of his shaft reaches in deep, and he’s so addicted to the way it makes even the very bottom of your sweet cunt clench ‘round him.
Holding on weakly to the side of your hips as he pins you down and drives into you with a constant, ringing sluuuuurp. “I don’t- hah, I don’t even know what day it is, sweetheart.”
“Fuck- fuuuuuck, ngh.” You’re entirely blaming his powers- and thanking them, too. That reverse cursed energy being the only reason that neither of you two have broken a bone by now. Especially you. “And doesn’t seem like- fuck—”
“What? That m’gonna stop?” For a second there, you think that he’s almost considering it. After so long that you’d almost whine in disappointment if he did. Every slick, flooded orifice inside you clinging onto him like adhesive.
And Gojo - oh, Gojo can tell.
His oversensitive peripherals water a little with an oncoming burst of his Six Eyes. And with it, he’s seeing exactly where you’re feeling the most pressure in your body, exactly where you want him the most.
It makes his ruby-red shaft perk up n’ thrash against the spongy layer of your cervix, dribbling out a few knots of precum that whirl in with the layers upon layers of sappy white cum inside. Grumbling, “Oh, baby, you’re silly if you think I’ll ever s-stop~”
He sounded so drunk. So gone. And you can’t help but believe him.
The lights in your bedroom had shattered and been so for quite a while- you don’t even think the sprawling city outside had power. Yet, you could still make out the utter carnal desperation in his heart-shaped pupils as they bulge- gasping once you clench.
You’re whining, “Fuck- fuck, don’t think m’making it out of this one- a-alive, ngh.”
“My wife, I’m not making it out alive.” He half-chuckles, the constant drilling pace of his hips leaving his own pelvis reddened. Stinging. You wonder if it almost hurts by now. “Can’t believe you’ve done this-” One of his hands holds your chin up, the other snakes down to squeeze your clit. Electric. “-can’t believe you.”
“Wh-what did I do- ngh.”
He doesn’t answer at first, first simply pryin’ your bloated pussylips to let out a stream of syrupy white cum. Glistening down his wrist and onto that golden wedding band on his ring finger, “You fucking broke the strongest, my wife—”
And he’s fucking you like it, too.
Just furious pump after pump that lets his red, wettened cockhead stick straight against your womb.
And you can be damn sure that he’s using his Six Eyes to let that lil’ divot bash into your g-spot, precisely. So hard that you start to feel him form a little bruise on that particular splotchy area, “And I-I won’t let you go until- ngh—” The hand on your chin unlatches and glides down to press against your tummy, on that lil’ bulge of cum that he was able to pound in just because he’s Gojo Satoru. Putting on the pressure until knotted white webs of his squelch out. “-until m’breaking you, too.”
He said it so lovingly. But he was fucking you so damn rudely, such unapologetic thwacks! of his heaving balls against the forefront of your cunt.
And just when you don’t think he could get any meaner, Gojo’s fizzing out his reverse cursed energy to get his oversensitive cock to grow slightly harder. Bigger. Thicker.
Squeezin’ out your walls from either side with his vein-covered shaft, he’s grinning at the way you’re twitching and helpless underneath him. Just babbling away, “I don’t think I’ll- last, fuck!” Sobs crawling out of your throat at the way his softened fingertips start buzzing on your clit.
And he huskily chuckles out like he already expected it, “Mhmmm, I know.”
“You- you know?”
“Yeah- fuck yeah, relax, sweetheart. Because we’re not stopping for a ngh- loooong time.” As if on cue, your toes are curling in pleasure. With the pupils of your eyes swirling comically at the way his jackhammering cadence accelerates.
And you swear - if you’d been aware enough to actually make note of it - Gojo was fucking counting down underneath his breath. A low, primal ‘three–’ his feet anchoring to bulge your cervix with his cockhead, ‘two’, with the sliding motions of his fingertips growing faster, ‘one’- just as you reach your high.
It shatters through your body in shockwaves, peak after peak of your high- and you’re so sensitive that the mere feeling makes you collapse onto the spit-drenched pillows below. “Fuck– c-cumming…”
Gojo’s following you- just melting into you while his scarlet tip pierces overtime. Dragging you out through your wave of euphoria, each strobing thrust leaves you seeing white. Your veins bubbling, perspiring where his smoking hot body was collapsed on top.
And Gojo was so focused on the process of elongating your orgasm, sinfully, that he doesn’t even realize when he is. Fuck, you don’t either.
Not until you realize that the bed was slightly hovering off of the ground, and so was most of the furniture in your room.
Not until you recognize the faint blue glow emanating against the headboard were flickers of lightning cascading down Gojo’s stinging skin.
Not until the skin of your shoulder gets drenched with a tiny splatter of something- and for a second, you think it might be saliva, just so pussydrunk on your cunt that he was drooling. And he was. But more than that, you’re peeking up to find that it was tears.
Gojo Satoru was overstimulated so far that he was crying the moment his long, cutely pink shaft was bursting out in miry wads of cum. So much of it sploshin’ out and sticking to every inch inside you, and his vein-covered shaft was constantly plunging each drop of it inside.
Fucking it straight inside you- “I didn’t even-” He’s gasping, finally realizing just as you do. And he can watch in real time as the plush sides of your walls squeeze him dry. “Didn’t even think to- fuck!”
The sheer volume makes you feel bloated, and it sprays out like a puddle underneath you. Which Gojo has the audacity to rover his powerful hand over and push each wad back in.
And as you whine sensitively, he simply shushes you, “What comes after infinity, my wife?” Breathless. Barely keeping himself together.
You’re blinking up in slight confusion, and it takes every muddled brain cell inside your lust-hazed mind to come up with an answer at this moment. “M-more infinity?”
“Exactly.”
You are definitely not making it out of this alive.
— Sylus's instincts flare when you are ill, needing to nurse you back to health, whatever it takes... he fails to notice that his boys have his instincts too.
ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: a sickie fic that took my left shoe and ran away fr me. what was supposed to be the fam nursing mama to health becomes a deepdive into Sylus's oversights as a father. phew. enjoys! ❀-urs
important heads up for context of this story: lucian and kyros are (my headcanon) sylus's twin boys. 2 turning 3 years in this one! ᡣ𐭩
sylus & his family | sylus x reader | fluff, mild angst, comfort. sick!reader, husband!sylus, dragon babies just wanna see mama
tw: imagery of illness/migraine symptoms, vomiting, (past) emotional trauma
Sylus’s hackles rise at the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut at noon.
Lucian and Kyros, positioned on their bellies on the carpet by his feet, pause their coloring with a curious glance. Turning their heads to the sound, they rise to go see who it is. But before they could rush off, Sylus holds them steady with his evol and strides ahead of them.
The big twins were out of town on a mission he’d expected to take a week longer.
You are supposed to be at work. You’d left early that morning. In a panic, having risen a few hours too close to the time you’re expected at the Association. Kicking him by accident when you wrestled against the comfort of your warm duvet.
He had no fight against you wriggling out of his persistent hold, no matter how much he whined at your absence, and was forced to accept the hasty kiss you plant on his lips before rushing out of the bedroom. You promised to be home by dinner.
He had half a mind to go after you and pull you back for his own selfish reasons, but his boys waddled into the bedroom to take your space and curl up against him. Cementing him in a warm pile of baby fat and the scent of blueberries.
Anyway, you’d said dinner.
So it was a surprise to him to see you at the door just before lunch. Toeing your shoes off, your coat half off your shoulder and your workbag dangling in your loose grip. You meet his gaze from the wall you lean against for extra support, and offer him a smile that lacks it usual depth.
He clocks it immediately. Zooming in on the details of your features like a machine built to know you. The sheen of sweat on your brow, the heavy droop of your eyelids, the paleness of your lips. It was as if something inside you had made itself at home where it was not welcome.
Black and red tendrils dissipate from pudgy bellies when his sons start to complain at not being able to reach you.
He confirms your condition in the way you squeeze your eyes shut briefly at the excited squealing and tittering of your children. The usual melodies feeling like a clap of thunder in your skull.
Sylus is able to move only an inch towards you. And you are already shaking your head and mouthing his least favorite words. “I’m fine.”
Your arms are cooked pasta around Lucian’s waist. Your knees trembling rocks holding back a landslide as you lift him to your height. You are reluctant to reduce the support and give Kyros your other hand as he guides you in the living room.
All the while Sylus stands at the ready to lighten the load he worries you refuse to lend him.
The smell of your living room is a balm to your aching sinuses, clean linen and fresh citrus blossoms. The warmth of the filtered sun through the windows is a live wire through your shivering bones. And the heat of your husband’s body as he slots himself between you and the corner of the couch is exactly what your numb skin has longed for the entire morning.
“Go upstairs.” he whispers in your ear. Unkempt hair in your eyes, features taut and tired— he suffers at the look of you. Lends you his strength to tidy you up with featherlike touches.
Your neck twinges when you shake your head.
“Boys.” you reason, pressing the weight of Lucian closer to your chest as he talks about his new doctor’s tool kit toy.
Kyros’s hand had made its way beneath your sweater and onto the skin of your belly, rubbing circles gently. For his own sensory need, unknowing how helpful it is for you too.
Sylus understands, but frowns in disapproval anyway. “Beloved…”
“Mama, hot.” Kyros murmurs, continuing his gentle ministrations. “Otch! Hot.”
“Oh no.” Lucian adds too, unintentionally slapping his hands on either sides of your face a touch too hard, making you wince. Sylus doesn’t mean to scowl, but he does. “Mama, tick?”
“Gentle, please.” their father almost begs, peeling the tiny hands that squish your skin off. You sigh gratefully at him, your skin beginning to feel uncomfortably tender.
“No—no tick, pease.” says Kyros, climbing up the cushions to get up close to your face. Sylus is quick to intercept his hand, mold his against the little one silently, to guide gentle combs through tendrils of your hair. “Mama, well.”
“Just a little dizzy, baby.” you reassure him— but the hypo-nasality of your voice and the light pop! from the top of your spine does little to your case.
Your family’s face remain unchanged—frowning in worry, staring in concern.
You swallow. The back of your throat feels dry no matter how many times you do so. Only Sylus can see the strain on your face and he’s digging his nails into his palms to keep himself from overreacting.
Instinct tells him to switch on survival mode. As if you’d come home with a bullet wound or a broken leg. His muscles itch to take you away, hoard you, encase you in a bubble of safety until you feel better once more. Claiming it his single-handed responsibility to nurse you back to health.
He’d done it before. Confident to a fault, he’ll do it again.
Lucian protests when Sylus lifts him out of your arms, while Kyros frowns at him in confusion. To placate their watery eyes and erupting sobs, he quickly says, “Go show mama your drawings.”
Their mind shifts. Papa is suddenly correct, and they rush off to collect the loose leaves of doodle-pressed papers scattered around the room. Lucian also hops off to retrieve his doctor set.
Buying Sylus the time and space to draw you near his orbit and cage you in his embrace.
“I’m fine, really.” is what you say and it drives him mad. He’d puff a cloud of smoke through his nostrils in another life with the way he scoffs.
He is calmed by the way you curl against him anyway; your clammy back to his middle, your heated forehead against the curve of his neck. You are driftwood in a raging stream with the tightness at which hangs on to you.
“I don’t appreciate it when you lie to me,” he says slowly. Not understanding why you insist on still acting tough. “Even if you mean well.”
Sylus sighs, “Haven’t we agreed? You can lean on me.”
His sentiment contests your fever as it melts your heart twice as fast. You run your fingers along the blunt stubble on his chin. “I know. I am.”
But you aren’t in the mood to get scolded. Not when every breath is like shards of glass through your mouth, your nostrils are vestigial and your brain pounds behind your heated eyes.
You sigh, your gaze trailing after your scampering children. “Don’t scare them.”
Hardened by experience, the rational side of Sylus’s brain knows you are fine in the grand scheme of things. With a paracetamol, a good sleep and hydration, you’ll be back on your feet at a normal temperature in no time.
But the side of him that feels— the one you bring out with little to no effort— it aches at the sight of you still fighting against your already protesting body. It makes him calloused to anything else that doesn’t involve benefitting you.
So, intentions far from ill but single-minded, he grumbles. “They should know.”
And ever patient you, with a heart so big and generous, push back. “But they don’t. Not yet.”
You take his hand. He frowns at your searing touch. A kiss is pressed onto his knuckles and he is ice beneath it at your request. “Gentle.”
One breath through his nose is sighed out his mouth and he nods. Gentle.
He doesn’t let you go when the boys return. Subtly keeping them from climbing back onto you as they present their scribbles with calculated stretches of his limbs coming in between you and them.
The boys are none the wiser.
They flit around you like humming birds wearing white coats. Lucian has the plastic heart-shaped stethoscope plugged to his ears. Kyros holds a baby-blue otoscope he insists is a hammer.
They ping-pong from being art curators and doctors. One talks about his drawing, while the other assesses your condition with a plastic medical tool.
“Dis ‘Pisto with hat.” Says Kyros, as Lucian bends over Sylus’s arm barrier to stick his stethoscope on your chest.
When Kyros is knocking your knee with the otoscope-hammer, Lucian narrates, “Dis mama, dis papa, dis Wookie and Kee-wan. And ‘Pisto have shoes. And Kee-wo and me—Woosian have cotton candy.”
The little ones show you their interpretations of the world through whorls and zigzags of color. When you try to listen closely and your mind doesn’t drift off, you catch that Kyros has drawn a field of flowers he sees in his dreams, and Lucian’s new fascination on distant planets. And that your temperature is “three-six” on the plastic thermometer, and you get a shot of “coffee” on your shoulder.
But you can only do so much. Powerless, thanks to Sylus’s weight on your arms and his lulling scent in your nose; beckoning like home, like rest.
Soon, your eyes droop and your head bobs back onto Sylus’s shoulder. Just as Lucian is telling you of the beach and Kyros is explaining how m’s can look like birds.
Sylus seizes their attempts at waking you back to attention with a look, which they take positively. With understanding nods, mouths rounded in quiet “oh…”s, they step away from poking you back awake.
Little fingers are raised to little lips and they murmur shushes and lovely things in your silence. And later, they tail after their father like minnows in a stream when he lifts you down the hallway and carries you to bed.
-
Kyros knows what papa is saying is important. He knows also, that whatever papa is saying, that papa is right.
And that he should listen to papa.
But the door to your bedroom is open.
“Make very little noise, because mama’s head…”
And he hasn’t seen you in an hour (which feels like a million years if he knew how to count past five).
“… go play on your own for a while…”
And he wants to know if—
“Papa.” He blurts right in the middle of Sylus’s very important reminders. Sylus turns to him patiently, taking his hand in his and massaging his palm in acknowledgement. “Roro eep with mama.”
Sylus frowns. “No, angel. You can’t.”
“Ah-huh. Can.” He nods, disagreeing with Sylus and tugging his arm back. Sylus steadies him, catching his shoulder and maneuvering him away from the door.
“Kyros.” papa says, voice deep and strong. Kyros is startled by the tone. “Mama is going to be okay.”
“But… tick.” He frowns. His eyes water, catalyzed by the sternness that has befallen this exchange. “Feel better. Need—need huggies.”
Sylus swallows nails as he stares back at his son. “Mama needs quiet right now. To rest.”
“I quiet.” He insists, pushing fruitlessly against Sylus’s embrace. “P’omise.”
Lucian, placing his own foot in the mix, chimes in. “Please, papa?”
But the decision is made. Sylus nudges Kyros to his brother, who welcomes him in a consoling hug. They stare helplessly at papa who stands and turns away. “Maybe later, hm?”
He shuts the door.
And with a heavy heart, they listen to papa.
𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ
The first time you stir from your fevered haze, you notice that you are out of your work clothes and are wearing one of Sylus’s shirts. His scent refreshing and comforting, engulfs you in a phantom hug.
The glass of warm water on your dresser is almost knocked over in the dark, but you successfully drink it along with the pills in a small dish just to its left.
Then you lie back down, drape an arm over your eyes, and drift off.
Or at least try.
It wasn’t quite a sleep— you could hear your heartbeat in your ears, too conscious of the distorted sound of your breathing, and the persistent pulse in the back of your left eye feels like how pebbles do beneath your boots.
Not to mention it was too cold, but you were sweating and shivering all the same.
Frustration holds hands with sickness; you feel your insides gang up on you to attack. When the nausea hits, you sit up blindly and scramble out of bed into the bathroom to hurl out your already empty stomach.
Sylus, the shadow you married, is already holding your hair back as soon as your knees touch the ground. “Easy.”
The headache is maxed to a hundred on its own richter with each seize and each gag. Your one hand waves Sylus away, asking him to go, to save whatever dignity you had left in his eyes.
But he refuses. A statement he makes as he stays.
When it passes, you lean back on your calves and try to get a grip of the spinning world around you. Sylus is already getting something damp and cool to press to your face.
Disgusting, you think as you brush your teeth and wash your face. But the act leaves you feeling better than you started off, paradoxically.
“Sy—“ you rasp as he guides you back to bed after you’ve cleaned up.
“Not a chance.” is all he says, lifting your shirt and slipping on a fresh one. His again.
“You’ll catch it.” you murmur.
He shakes his head, a ghost of a chuckle in his words. “It’s not that bad.”
He finds it a wonder how you’re akin to a soggy piece of lettuce right now, and still have the wits to tease him. “You’re a doctor now?”
The chuckle materializes as he tucks you back beneath the covers. “Yes. Family medicine.”
“Ooh, well look at you—AH!” you yelp, blocking his kiss with your palm as he targets your forehead. “No!”
“What do you mean ‘no’?” he gasps, swooping in for another with a impudent grin. You duck out of the way with a chiming giggle. “Doctor’s orders.”
“Stop it! I’m gross.”
He pauses at the declaration and shoots you a dangerous look. “I’ll warn you not to speak of my wife that way.”
You sniffle in disbelief. “Sylus!”
He dodges your hands expertly and successfully lands a peck on top of your head before bouncing back up to his feet with a victorious grin. You harrumph, tossing a pillow square at his face. He lets it land and laughs.
“You’ve broken your fever,” he says lightly, bending to brush sickly sweaty hair out of your now glowing face. Taking a moment to caress the plump of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.
Great. At least that was out of the way. But your mouth still tasted weird, and there’s a little creature knocking albeit politely at the back of your eyeball.
You groan. “The last time I was this bad was—“
“—The twins.” he smiles fondly, recalling the earlier days of your pregnancy. “You’ve done well keeping yourself healthy for three years then.”
“Maybe I’m pregnant again.” you joke.
He freezes. His world tilts. Are you? You couldn’t be— could you? Had he been so busy, miscalculated—
Your hand squeezes his tightly. His face is a picture you wish you could paint, one that makes your heart flutter. “I’m not.”
The thickened air thins and he releases the breath he hadn’t noticed he’s held in. His brows knit together as he breathes. “Don’t… don’t do that.”
You search his expression for anything negative, but find only a plucked sense of excitement and wonder in his shining eyes. “Too many kids?”
He almost laughs at your assumption. “No, not at all.”
“Then—“
“Not enough.”
The grin he flashes you lingers with mischief and allure, sharp lower fangs almost twinkling at you seductively. Heat crawls up your face and you’re sure this isn’t the fever. You shove any part of him you can reach with all your might in hopes to relieve the tension.
“Go. Watch the kids. You’re a headache.” you say. Turning on your side to dismiss him… or, really, to hide the flush on your face.
He leans in, the weight of his hand on your hip. Takes the opportunity to kiss you again. Your head, your cheek, your shoulder—before leaving you to drift off.
This time— you sleep. And sleep is smooth, quiet and deep.
𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ
Sylus can’t figure why his boys are extra rambunctious now, when he specifically asked them not to be.
Usually self-sustaining, Lucian and Kyros are perfectly trained to entertain themselves when the adults are too busy. But today, it’s as if all training has flown out the window, and Sylus is suddenly caring for three people and not just you.
While striding in and out of your shared bedroom, the chances that he’d have an encounter with a silver haired little boy was a hundred percent doubled.
He’d caught Lucian by the scruff of his shirt and turned him around. Two giant stuffies in his arms, far larger than his on height along with him.
Kyros had dragged books and your favorite couch blanket to your door. Sylus had to physically dig through the row of indoor plants to find him and his stash and send him away.
And at some point, Lucian snaps first. Crying when Sylus carries him off to the kitchen on his way to refill your bottle of water.
“Wanna to see mama!” He performs a full-blown tantrum in the space of his father’s one armed embrace. Pushing and shoving the unmovable force that holds him captive. “Let me go! Let me go!”
And Sylus only grumbles. A hair away from losing his own composure. “Lucian, mama is sick.”
“I doctor mama better!” He shouts now. Fueled by the expression on Sylus’s face giving absolutely nothing away. Just sheer indifference. Done with the conversation before its even started. “Let me go!”
“Lucian!” Sylus seethes. Done. Firm. Final.
Lucian freezes. Shock flooding sobering his nerves.
And then helplessly, he sobs, leaning into Sylus’s chest. Earlier shouts and shoves now faltering in the face of his father’s anger. And that hurts him more than being denied.
“I sorry.” He murmurs. No flourish, no drama. Just sorrow and regret. Sylus’s shirt is clutched in his small fists, a lifeline to keep his father tethered to him.
And Sylus is thawed in a flash. His shoulders hunch at every sniffle, his arms curl closer at each hiccup.
Then Sylus crumbles too. Bending at the waist and burying his face in his son’s hair. “Just… wait, okay?”
Lucian nods, smearing snot and salt onto Sylus’s sweater. “Love? Love Lucian, papa?”
Sylus has to clench his jaw to keep himself together. For now he finally realizes how his actions are being received by his children. And though he means well, the struggle between what he thinks is best for you and indulging in his children is like finding a shadow in a fog.
And he bears the back-breaking weight of it as he looks into glassy red irises. “Yes, of course I do.” He nuzzles his nose, wipes tears away with the swipe of his thumb. “I love you. I love Kyros. But mama is sick right now. And I just… she needs rest. So, wait, okay?”
Lucian doesn’t fully understand. But he listens still.
Sylus finds Kyros sitting by your locked door, wrapped in your blanket from the couch.
He can’t find it in himself to feel anything but endearment at the look of him. Not after the spat with Lucian still a stone in the pit of his stomach.
“Kyros.” He sighs.
“Mama need blanket?” Kyros asks, rising from his seat.
“No, angel she has enough.” He says, setting the tray of medicine and snacks to the side and picking Kyros up.
“One more!”
“No, Kyros.”
“Pease?”
Sylus shakes his head. The look in Kyros’s eyes is pitiful, but Sylus’s resolve is stronger today. Running on fumes from the stress and worry of it all, fluttering lashes and big puppy eyes just won’t make him budge.
So when Kyros’s face changes from pleading to anger, Sylus is take a back. “What are you doing?”
“Hmph!” the little boy takes a breath, mouth posturing into cry but no sound comes out. In fact, no air comes out.
Sylus turns rigid.
“Kyros,” he keeps his calm, rubbing his back with one hand and blowing steady streams of air on his face. But his heart races just beneath the surface. “Breathe, come on now.”
Kyros heaves again, taking in more air but not exhaling it out. Sylus blows again. “Please, angel. Come on.”
And with another puff of air, Kyros breaks out of the spell and cries. A loud wail that sinks into silent, frustrated hiccups. Sylus has half a mind to join him.
“Wanna go the inside!”
“Only sick people in the bedroom.” He states again, standing firm while gently rocking him side to side. Fumbling with clumsy fingers as he tries to reassure the hearts he keeps breaking.
“Wait for mama to feel better, okay?” He asks of him, pleads, holding his crying child to his chest. Drowning in the sorrow of causing both of them such pain in a day.
When he’s settled, he takes Kyros to Lucian in their bedroom. Sitting with them for a while to jumpstart a play sequence before slipping out to check up on you.
And in his act of righteousness, he fails to see the pile of your favorite things gathered by the doorway of the twins’ bedroom. Awaiting patiently to be transported to your side.
𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ
You vomit again. Sylus sticks with you until the waves of nausea calm and you tread the waters of dreams once more.
Once your breathing is even and your pupils no longer shift beneath your lids, he goes to check on your boys.
He thought they’d given up after that with the silence that followed after a while. But he clearly didn’t understand how persistent your children actually are.
“Papa.” Lucian frowns up at Sylus, large eyes twinkling with unshed tears at the wetness of his shirt. He’d tilted his sippy cup a little too much and spilled all the sticky fruit juice on his tummy. He intercepts Sylus just as he exits your bedroom.
Sylus exhales through his nose, assures him it’s okay, and gives him a change of clothes.
“My tummy cold.” Lucian tells him, guiding his father’s heavy hand to his middle. Then he heaves, “Blegh. Eugh.”
Sylus’s voice rumbles with amusement. He rubs his belly in soothing circles until he’s a little warmer and kisses his forehead.
“Better?” He asks. But Lucian doesn’t seem too happy when he nods and asks to be put down.
But just as soon as he places him down, Kyros waddles up to him with a tissue up his one nostril. “Pa.”
What is going on?
Sylus picks him up slowly. Seeing no urgency or panic in the little one’s eyes, so he’d rather not introduce the emotion to him. “You okay, angel?”
“A-choo.” He says. Says, like a script he’d planned and produced. Like someone behind Sylus had cued him with an action! The rolled up tissue flies out of his nose unceremoniously, dry as a feather.
And then it clicks.
“Oh.” He nods, understanding fully what his two clever little copies were trying to do. “I see.”
Lucian, who hadn’t gone too far away, who was idling “subtly” in the corner of their bedroom pushing a wooden car back and forth, looks at Sylus just as Kyros does.
“Are you two… sick?”
Kyros bobs his head vigorously, and Lucian is giving thumbs ups from where he sits.
“Poor angels. Sick too when mama is sick?” Sylus pouts, playing along, smothering the wheezing laughter clawing its way up his chest.
“A-huh. And—and tick babies go in— the inside room.” Kyros supplies, leaning his head on Sylus’s arm, really selling his story all too well. He points towards the direction of your bedroom and squeezes his eyes. “Achoo. Achoo! Pease.”
“Uh! Me too.” Lucian grunts, rushing over to drape himself dramatically over Sylus’s legs. Squeezing his eyes shut, hands over his very-much-okay-belly and moaning in pain. “Ow! Tummy achy!”
The laughter is far too strong to suppress now, and he gathers his boys to his chest in an adoring embrace. His caring children, he wonders where they get it from. He makes a show of a loud, defeated sigh as he brings them down with him, backwards onto the bed where they chorus his giggles in return.
“Miss mama so soon?” He asks, tilting his head forward. He brushes their bangs out of their faces to look into their eyes.
Too little to be filled with so much worry.
But understandably so— they’d never seen you sick before. Don’t know how to process seeing you act differently from their usual, put together mother figure.
And the way he carries himself doesn’t help to reassure them either. Briskly trudging around with a dip in his brow, quick and urgent. A sudden obstacle between them and their mother; equally as worried, equally as distressed. It wasn’t until the fever finally broke and he heard you joke with him once more that his lungs had regained its full capacity.
His boys haven’t had that closure yet. Their last image of you was your fluttering lashes and loosening grip on their crayon-scribbled sketchbooks. To them, it was a cartoon-swoon into an endless slumber— sudden, unexplained, too odd to feel alright with.
And here Sylus was, keeping them from seeing you. Barely providing them with an explanation outside of “mama is sick”. Underestimating how much they understand and how much they actually care.
Guilt gnaws at his heels. Faced with failing to calculate balance between caring for you and helping your sons.
Gentle, you asked him. And instead he dismisses them outright. Preferring them out of the way instead of letting them offer their helping hands to usher you to health.
He combs his fingers through their hair, marveling at how much they exude you while looking so much like him.
A wish he’d made when they were born—grant your prayer for them have his features, but let the world be kind and bless them with your heart.
“I’m sorry,” the words are brittle glass beneath a roaring flame. Broken. Fragile. The talons of his mistake dig deeper into his chest as they continue to wear their innocent hearts on their sleeves. Hearts he’s been taking for granted.
How could he have been so excited at the prospect of having another one with you earlier, while all day he kept pushing his first loves away?
“I’m sorry for hiding mama from you.” He says, cradling soft cheeks in the hard edges of his palms. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Your heart, your beautiful heart— resonates in twin chests. So easy to love. So quick to forgive.
Kyros is the first to touch his face, mirroring his own movements and brushing his own silver hair out of his eyes. “It okay. It okay, papa.”
Lucian follows suit, cradling Sylus’s cheek with his palm.
His jaw trembles. He bites his lip to steady it. He’d found tears closer to the surface since having sons. Thinks it’s still one of the strangest feelings to have evoked so easily. But he’d also learned to stop being so surprised by the wonders his little ones do for him.
“Can go the inside room?” Kyros whispers when he finally sits them all up. Unaware of the mountains Sylus has conquered in his mind in that little moment they shared.
It was a battle he was never meant to win.
He shakes his head in defeat. He eyes the pile of yours and their favorite things by the door. “One thing before we go.”
𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ
The next time you wake is after hours of a soul-deep slumber.
Gone is the stiffness in your neck, and the dryness of your throat. Thanks to the heat-pack cradles your skull. On the bedside, a humidifier fizzes out your favorite scent.
This time, you do not wake to a pounding skull or nausea.
This time, you wake to the sound of the whispers that sent you to sleep the first time. Shushes. Lovely things.
Something hard rests beneath your fingers, it crackles and crunches when you flex. It takes a while for your blurry vision to make sense of it—and the nest of things around your bed—but when the picture comes to clarity, you cant help but smile.
Whorls of spirals in a shape of a flower in an obscure vase. A little queen made of circles and boxes and sticks wears a crown and lies in a heart-shaped bed.
And in spiraling, elegant handwritten script it is says: Feel better soon, Queen Mama.
“Took an hour to do that.” Sylus’s weight dips the mattress as he draws near to you. He moves various stuffies and plushies aside just to make space.
He catches the moisture from your eyes with his finger and finds no resistance this time when he leans in to kiss your forehead. “Boys were debating what color flowers you’d like.”
“For an hour?” Your mouth tugs downwards despite your joyful disposition. Sylus nods, curling around you like a beast and guiding your head to his chest.
He gestures to the red whorls overpowering the rest of the colors. “Lucian was very persuasive.”
You finally crack a smile. “How were they?”
“They take after you.” Is all he says, nodding towards the other edge of the bed where two curious heads with two pairs of careful eyes wait. Little crocodiles in the water.
Waiting, testing whether to approach or retreat.
Now, when have they ever held themselves back like this?
Your heart aches when you realize Sylus’s small movements— his one finger held up and cueing them to hold, his brows raised to prompt them to ask.
“How’a you, mama?” Lucian asks softly, his voice unused to speaking at such a volume. One hand comes up with the end of his plastic stethoscope, hovering, waiting to be used.
Kyros rasps, “All better?”
“Mhm.” You coo, and with one gesture from you to come nearer, they’re already overriding protocol and clawing at the beddings, climbing over the edge. Sylus uses his evol to nudge them up the incline. And they close the space between you.
You sit up against Sylus and watch each twin assume a position. Lucian balances himself on the bed and backs up bum first to sit on your lap and Kyros squeezes himself in the nonexistent space between you and Sylus.
Just before you’d fallen asleep, you remember their little voices telling you about their drawings. The presentation you so rudely dismissed with your slumber.
You have every intention to apologize, but Kyros is already starting a new story. In hushed tones and a practiced volume you can only guess is their papa’s doing.
“Papa make mama better— ‘ike, ‘ike eepy beauty.” Kyros says, pointing to the little queen on your ‘get well soon’ card.
You shoot Sylus a look and he promptly avoids your gaze. “Is that how the story goes?”
“Ah-huh! And—and papa too be da dragon that,” Lucian curls his fingers into claws and swipes them around to fill the space words cannot reach. “Roar! Roar! Go ‘way, little twinnies!”
You gasp, pressing a hand to your chest in melodrama. Not at all surprised that Sylus had barricaded the bedroom to give you space. And though you don’t think you’d have minded the little ones, you appreciating his thoughtfulness nonetheless. You didn’t think it was possible for your heart to swell more than it already has. “Oh no! How did you get through?”
“Hat twicks!” Lucian grins proudly. He taps his finger on to his temple, while his twin nods in affirmation, echoing, “Mm. Twicks.”
When you tilt your head in confusion, Sylus clarifies. “Mind tricks.”
“Mama sickie and—and go in the inside room.” Kyros says, playing with the fabric of your sleeve as he explains. Partly in fascination with the fabric, and partly to make sure you don’t drift away again. “So—so Kee-ro and Woosian sickie too!”
“Sickies!” Lucian cheers, tapping Kyros’s foot with his hand. Kyros’s delayed tap back to the back of his head tells you it was supposed to be a high-five.
You hum in understanding, letting each emotion on your face be clear as day. Corners of your mouth lifting at how adorable it must have all been to witness.
“And papa cry.”
What?
You gasp—wish it was an overreaction for the littles, but it wasn’t— and your head snaps to Sylus. His palm cradles your nape instantly, steadying you before the headache could return.
His eyes are blown wide, pupils shaking as he begs his son—don’t with just a look. But Lucian wasn’t briefed for this before he came into the sick room.
So he misses it, and blurts anyways, “He say—say sowee.” He reaches out to pat your face like he did Sylus’s earlier. Soft, syrupy-warm fingers tapping to soothe against your skin. “Sowee be hide mama.”
“Oh.” you swoon, nuzzling your nose against the column of your husband’s neck. While he drops his head in defeat, shoulders hunched as if he’s bracing for judgment. One that never comes.
Instead, you say, “Papa’s a good castle dragon, no?”
Both of them nod, heads bobbing with effort from the waist enthusiastically to drive the point home.
Fingers once drumming against the skin of your arm, Sylus reaches out to tap each child’s forehead. Activating them like sleeper agents with his command. “What else wakes the sleeping beauty?”
Their postures straighten, eyes alight and in a blink of an eye they are climbing up the blanket, over your limbs, exclaiming. “Kissies!”
Your shrieks are pleasant and warm as you receive a sloppy wet kiss on both your cheeks from each of your children. A sweet barrage of happy “mwa! mmmwa!”s are reimbursed back to them by your own kisses pressing onto the marshmallowy round corners of their face.
You overdose in their giggles and screeches as they roll around the sheets, finding home once more in your presence.
Sylus watches with the intensity of a hawk, but softened features of a father nursing his own wounded pride. Holding himself back from joining the fray, swimming in his spiralling thoughts—
For how could he have missed this? Deprive you of the most effective cure of all?
Soft lips press hard on his cheek, and he snaps out of it. Blinks to ground himself back in the moment to find you in focus. And offers you a halfhearted smile.
One you don’t buy.
“Doctor…” you says slowly, testing the waters for you know they run deep. You try again when he only scoffs in mild amusement. Evoking more from him with a softened, “My love.”
And as parched earth does touched after a drought, he crumbles.
“They begged to see you all day.” He confesses, watching distantly as Kyros and Lucian finally do what he’d been wanting them to do. Just play. Entertain themselves.
“They snuck into the plants. Lucian cried. Kyros even did the breath holding thing—“ he breathes through his nose. A wince in disguise. “I told them no, not now. Wait—until you’re better. Wait until I’m not busy. Wait… because I thought I would be all you needed.”
He winces now for real. The reality of his words said out loud like nails on a chalkboard; crashing cymbals on a porcelain floor. A humorless scoff, filled with disdain and disbelief chokes him. “How cruel.”
You consider him. The man who’d spent the whole day at your beck and call, catching you before you even fall, nursing you from sickness to health, all the while keeping your children entertained no matter how ridiculous it had gotten—still, still finding impurities in his actions.
And while he could be right. While he could have hurt them in the process of figuring it out—you can’t help but think it inevitable. “Sylus, you’re figuring it out.”
He grumbles, “I should have known.”
Damns himself with his voice of venom, “But I dismissed them. Forced them to understand without helping them understand.”
Acting exactly like the ones he despised, the ones who cast him out when he knew nothing else but to live.
“You asked me to be gentle with them.” He breathes.
Yet despite it all, gently, you take his trembling chin in your fingers and turn his face to his sons. Grounding him, reminding him where he is. Where he stands. Who he is. “You are.”
“I didn’t…” he holds his breath. Swallows the confession, but it rises up anyway. Needing to be said. Needing to be witnessed, to be heard. “I didn’t know what to do.”
That’s what he hates the most.
All the power, the strength and certainty in every area he chooses to stride; for all he has conquered— here he is. Helpless, scrambling, grasping at straws to make decisions where it matters most. With you. With his family.
“Oh, Sylus.” his hands are bound together by yours, fingers burrowing in each space. You guide his forehead down to press against yours, letting him feel you here with him.
“Now you do.” you whisper kindly. So kind, terribly sickly kind to him so monstrous.
For the first time, faced with greed he now feels shame holding.
He squeezes your hands tight as if asking for penance.
Flipping it on him—you say, “They didn’t understand. But now they do… because of you.”
He glances back at his children at your command. Play fighting across the expanse of the bed, gasping giggles and lifting little fingers to little lips when their volume gets too high, pulling each other away from you when they stumble too close.
Lucian pauses when Kyros clutches his eye, catching his brother and quietly apologizing. Planting kisses on his hair, squeezing him tight in an embrace.
Echos of his own words. Mimics of his own actions. Lessons they’ve learned from him.
“No one wants you to know everything. Not with us.” You assure him, combing disheveled bangs back to reveal his tired eyes. “We just want you.”
He stares at you. Reverently, wistfully— takes your fingers to his lips and presses hard, worshiping you for breathing. Thanking you for being.
“Gentle edges and all.” You say, the last nail to his coffin. For he has died again and again in your arms, but you bring him back to life each time.
He nods. Scars tender and seen. Swallows the lesson, digests the truth. You are well, and so are his boys. And whatever mistakes he makes on the way of keeping you this way, he will spend the rest of his life making it up to you. No matter how hard the storms wreak havoc, he swears to emerge victorious.
Until his wings are clipped. Until his soul is dragged thin. He will keep figuring it out and making things right.
His children offer the levity he needs when they stumble over each other to catch him off guard. They squeeze themselves between him and you, and heal him with kisses as well. The little ones settle themselves within the nest of huggable tokens and memorable trinkets they gathered under Sylus’s command.
For they hoard his words; they treasure his verses.
They do not tally his sins. Only his love.
𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ
Later, when the headache drags you under once more, Sylus does not fight it.
With a finger to his lips, he slips out of bed to make you dinner. Kyros follows, Lucian stays.
Kyros is slow in his movements when he plucks an egg from the fridge. When he squeezes the lemon into the soup. When he arranges the spoon and chopsticks on the wooden tray.
Lucian lays silently beside you, caressing your hair gently until he too slips on his dreams.
And when you wake the last time, Sylus is there, waiting for you.
And so are your children, with their own breakfast trays and silicone bowls with the octopus grippers to hold them in place. With their spill proof bibs and messy cheeks, already elbow deep into the soup that is served.
Clumsy hands overshoot spoons into their mouths, trying their hardest to do it on their own. Making space for Sylus to feed you instead.
“I can eat by myself, you know.” you inform him, but open your mouth for another spoonful anyway.
He smiles, shy and boyish, caught in his own indulgence. “I doctor you better, sweetie.”
You snort. “I wouldn’t mind being sick if it means this.”
He nods, watching Kyros tilt his bowl into his open mouth and Lucian’s fingers dive to retrieve his sunken spoon. A captured beauty in making their mess, with no hurry to be put away.
Your laughter, despite your exhaustion, melts something in him—peeling back the old ache layer by layer, until he can finally let go.
“Now, I know.”
✧˚ ⋆｡ read more with the little twins here || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡
Synopsis. Dearest gentle reader, The Ton are aflutter - and so are our hearts - for, this season, Lord Geto Suguru seeks a wife. Yet be warned, dear reader, whispers abound that Lord Geto has an eye for a particular lady that bites - you. And his lordship knows how to bite back.
Pairing. Geto Suguru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!viscountess!reader, viscount!Geto, BRIDGERTON AU, enemies-to-Iovers, regency AU, he’s a rake, scandal sheets, The Ton, PlNING Geto, oraI (fem rec.), fíngering, spítting, p talking, síxty-nine, chokíng, he’s BIG, making it fit, full neIsons, arguing during it, tummy buIges, pressing down, manhandIing, dúmbifícation, teasing, PÚSSYDRÚNK GETO, creampíes, overstim, proposals, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 9.4k
A/N. Hehehe I told you babygirls I’d do it-
“Are the young ladies of this season truly so easily won by a pleasing smile and absolutely nothing more?”
A chuckle. “So you find my smile pleasing, My Lady?”
A few gasps. “I find your opinion of yourself entirely too high.” The scandal sheets were practically writing themselves. You could envision it already: ‘The Rake and the Spinster—the most unpromising match of the season!’
Of course, it was entirely Viscount Geto Suguru’s fault.
All because he simply had to saunter up to your little group at this evening soirée; he simply had to leave them swooning with a mere bat of his lashes. Feline eyes meandering down your body, you could catch the exact moment that his lips curled for a fight.
“And-” You sniff, hand urging to pull back as he presses a lingering kiss on the back of your palm. “-only in your most fantastical dreams would I be ‘your’ lady, Lord.”
You can feel Geto’s grin curl on your skin, “For now.”
You balk—what was that supposed to mean?
Geto huffs out in priggish laughter like he could read that exact sentiment on your face. Instead, turning back to the group surrounding you two, clutching feathered fans and flutes of champagne like it would hide the way they were listening in.
And oh, were they listening in.
The twirling couples on the dance floor were ebbing themselves closer and closer towards your corner of the gathering just to overhear. Dukes upon ladies upon elderly merchants were stuffing themselves behind the draperies and seasonal lilies - all to bear witness to your brush with him.
It was common knowledge among The Ton that the viscount of the Geto Estate and the viscountess of yours - well, you - would rather trek through mud than even bear to stand in the same room. Something about old family disputes and a few business dealings gone wrong - as long as you two didn’t have to speak to one another, then all was…tolerable.
Which was impossible when it just-so-happened that you both were debuting yourselves in the market for marriage this season.
Coincidentally.
And it’s a wonder that you can stare up into his handsome face and not want to slap it. Scowling, “If you believe that for even one second I would consider being bedded by you-”
“Of course not.” The dark-haired man waves off, baritone lilting into that teasing purr it does whenever he knows he’s about to leave you seething. “The Ton might know me to be a rake, but not even I should fall so low.”
A few whispers pluck up, even louder than the orchestra. But you only raise a challenging brow, meeting Geto’s half-lidded gaze head-on. “Is that why you stare at me so?”
“Hm?” Geto tilts his head, and his long, long braid of inky hair sways behind him. Leaning in with an almost-believable look of confusion, “How so?”
“You’re aware how so, Lord Geto. You’re doing it at this very moment.”
“I fear I am befogged, My-”
Another step.
Out of pure pride, you physically stop yourself from taking a step back- “Not-”
Another.
“My Lady.”
And another.
Geto Suguru was fully in your line of vision now, obscuring your sight of the wide-eyed aristocrats around you both. And you could hear your etiquette tutor screaming bad manners at you inside your head as you freeze, almost chest-to-chest with the most alluring bachelor of this soirée. Perhaps even this season, though the sane part of you would not admit that.
And you could take in each and every detail of him.
From the broad, towering stature of his body, fitting out his intricate black n’ gold suit so sensually, at least a head above most of the audience- to the strands of raven hair framing his cheekbones. He had plush lips that were so rude, and delicate features that might have been carved by the devil himself. You almost understood why it was claimed that several ladies fainted each time he stepped into a room.
Geto Suguru was beautiful.
And he was staring down at you like he knew of his effect, so close that you could count each inkling of grey in those amethyst irises.
“Enlighten me.” Geto hums, scorched breath heating your face. His tone dips low—“How do I look at you, pretty lady?”
You have to force your larynx to strangle out, “Like- like you wouldn’t mind if I boxed your ears for calling me that.”
He looks like he expected no less of you. “What a dangerous mouth.” And could not be any happier than he was now. Before you can even think, Geto sweeps your right hand into his and plants a second, soft kiss. “Yet, indeed I would not mind, My Lady.”
Somewhere behind you, you’re hearing a few elderly ladies laugh fondly, as if the pair of you were the sweetest courting couple.
And Geto straightens his tall figure back, tipping his head in a bow. “I bid you the most excellent season.”
You narrow your stare, “And to you, Lord.” Under your breath- “Uncouth fellow.”
Under his- “Bluestocking.”
“Rake.”
“Prude.”
“Cease it.”
He bats his lashes innocently, volume raising just a pitch. “May you find a husband just as…charming as you, pretty lady.”
You smile back, “And may you find any wife at all, Lord Geto.”
His dark brows raise, cheeks tinting red just slightly—before Geto waltzes back into some other corner of the heavily-decorated hallway - surely to sweet-talk more débutantes than he can possibly remember.
You’re left, slightly breathless, as you turn back to your little group. Now tittering amongst themselves as the crowd begins to disperse, whispering.
This season was undoubtedly in full swing.
“Well…” You’re starting, more to cut through their nonsensical rigmarole than anything. You tip back your glass of champagne in one gulp, “With that blessing, I believe it is certain that I shan’t find a husband this season.”
Oh, how mistaken you were.
.
.
.
Dearest gentle reader,
While you may have been reading Shakespeare’s ‘Romeo & Juliet’, the most fortunate Ton attending last night’s soirée were living in it. And where scandal waltzes, Viscount Geto Suguru is most sure to ask for a dance.
Handsome, alluring, and sly as a cat; this author’s reliable informants have whispered that only one feigns allergy to his lordship’s charms. Yes, gentle reader, our one and only headstrong viscountess found herself pulled into the midst of Lord Geto’s courtship, despite their famous family feud.
Those who happened upon the interaction shared sordid details of the blossoming couple’s plans to—forgive my forwardness—bed, and the viscount’s notorious flirtations. Gentlemen, this author kindly suggests that you surrender your bouquets, because witnesses claim that Viscount Geto was all the viscountess could speak of all night.
Of course, his lordship was no better with her. It leaves no question why both heads of estate have debuted in unison.
I, for one, cannot contain myself at the thought of perhaps the most promising match of the season.
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
.
.
.
“Quite the news this fine day, don’t you think?”
“Of course you would be the type to read a washrag such as those papers.” You don’t greet Viscount Geto Suguru at the horse races, and he doesn’t seem inclined to greet you, either. “Does it help memorize your prospects?”
Whether it be out of pure petty regards, or the fact that the crowd surrounding you two was gawking at the conversation, you were unsure. And you find your fist clenching into the fabrics of your silken riding robes, realizing that so many onlookers had scrambled and piled to seat themselves next to you. And that left only one open seat - next to him.
With as much of a dignified huff as you can muster, you sit next to Geto and swear you hear a few gasps from behind. Training your eyes firmly on the ready line of horses ahead, perhaps if you pretended that he was a tree stump you were seated beside and nothing more-
“How should you know they’re washrags unless you’ve read them, too?”
Your head snaps towards Geto- only to find that he was already looking at you. Rosy lips curled till there was a dimple at the edge of his smirk, eyes twinkling.
You sputter hotly- “Wh-what?”
He’s repeating, despite it behind a rhetorical question. “How should you know they’re washrags unless you’ve read them, too?” The viscount tips his high hat back so he can twist his features with mock curiosity, leaning in. “Does it help memorize my prospects, My Lady?”
“Your prospects are of no concern to me, Lord Geto.”
“Is that so?”
“My Estate was simply in uproar at my association with such an ignoramus fellow such as yourself, of course.” You’re looking down at him somehow, even though he managed to tower his frame above yours. Shoulders against shoulders. Scoffs against scoffs. “My poor ears had no choice but to be punished with those fibs this morning.”
And it was quite true…almost.
With the mantle of head falling on you, your family weren’t ones to question your choices in dalliances. No matter how…questionable.
So when you’d been delivered your copy of Lady Whistledown’s society papers, you’d expected to see yourself in it. Perhaps a line or two about the altercation with Geto - at most, a paragraph.
But finding the story spun to last the entirety of the scandal sheets left your poor Estate rumbling at the impact of your scream. Hell, one of your attendants had sent urgent summons for the palace healer - and your friend - Shoko.
Only for her to smack a cold washcloth over your forehead and threaten you to stop reading.
Too late; you’d already flipped through all there was to - and so had half the kingdom, certainly. You had not found yourself in the middle of Geto’s courtship, you had not talked about plans of bedding.
And you had most definitely not spoken of him all night - it was miffed complaining! Only complaints! You two were far from the most promising match of the season. And at this rate, you would find yourself unwed and squabbling with a certain viscount till you were aged.
In fact, the reason you found yourself early at the horse races was for the sole purpose of forgetting that those papers ever existed - and Geto.
Unfortunately for you, he seemingly had the very same idea. And here was the pretty, buttoned-up problem, startling you out of your whirlwind of thoughts with two fingertips tracing the shell of your ear.
Pointer and middle, tracing the shape like a frigid breeze.
“Poor ears. Poor ears indeed.” Geto tuts, and you could catch the snicker threatening to break across his maw. “So it was merely a soirée tale that you were speaking of me all night, My Lady?”
Something at the pit of your stomach lurches, and your words come out higher than they usually were. “But of course. Surely you can’t be that involved with yourself to believe that you were all I could think of all night?” You’re sure that you’re being watched now, instead of the awaiting race.
And at his shrug you find yourself almost incredulous - almost wondering. “Why, then am I to believe that you spoke of me all night, like the papers claimed?”
Another infuriating shrug - and you don’t know whether it’s the mere action or the absence of an answer that leaves you biting back an audible groan. A strange part of you almost wanted to know.
“Fear not, you will find out, I assure you.” Almost like he was reading your face, Viscount Geto glances at you - then back at the race.
You hated to admit it, but he had chosen the perfect seat. It was in the very first row, with your line of vision optimally falling upon the kicking horses, readying for sprint. It was one that you would have chosen yourself - and, often, you did. Except for the days that Geto Suguru had arrived first to the races, and you had to situate yourself yards away, of course.
The dark-haired man stands up and continues, “In a bet.”
“A bet? And I am to trust you?”
“Believe it to be but business.” Strong arm stretching out to point, you reluctantly follow his finger to the stark white stallion in the far corner of the starting line. Keen eyes yellowish, long mane coiled. “I wager that the Geto Estate’s Rainbow Dragon shall beat yours in this race. In the rare instance I lose, I shall share the answer you seek.”
You, of course, would never be left behind. And you stand up yourself, toe-to-toe.
You’re staring at your own estate’s horse - your short-haired, cream Manta Ray. It would be a close one. You’re feeling anticipation bubble up inside you as the announcer raises his pistol to the sky, finger tracing the trigger in a signal to start. “And if, heavens forbid, you win?”
Geto’s lips curl up in a smile. “The two of us shall cross that bridge when we come to it, pretty lady.”
.
.
.
Dearest gentle reader,
Yesterday’s races ended in a sweep-all for the Geto Estate’s Rainbow Dragon, as my avid horse-racing readers may already be aware. But like all good gossip of the season, it doesn’t simply end there!
Lord Geto Suguru was witnessed not only basking in the victory of his stallion - but also his latest blossoming courtship. The Ton was positively abuzz at the presence of the viscountess, and it is rumored that the very special pair were discussing the announcement of their engagement. Why, this author has her pen at the ready if the lord and lady wish for a certain set of papers to report on their romantic activities.
However, some of my informants swear that the couple was seen in a muddy squabble towards the end of the race, and it is certain that agreeing upon wedding decorations is difficult for even the most fated of matches. Isn’t it a passion that just makes one swoon?
But patience is a virtue, dear reader. And, for now, we will have to wait to see this wedding come to fruition.
Until then, I suggest you don your finest silks, tinker your most exquisite embroidery, and practise those curtsies - for this author has reason to believe that Her Majesty’s watchful eye will soon gaze at The Ton in search for her new Diamond of the season!
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
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It was not a bridge that should have been crossed.
It was a bridge that should have been deconstructed, made a mull, and absolutely burned.
At least, Viscount Geto Suguru imagines that’s what you must have been pondering that day after the races. After all, there’s not much else that would provoke the notoriously level-headed viscountess into storming away so fast that you’d nearly planted right into a spectacular pool of mud.
(You had, in reality - and so had he, in his valiant attempts to save you. But there was a silent understanding between the both of you to pretend that didn’t quite happen, and that neither had been drenched in clumps of mud that day.)
But it was all to be blamed on his immediate request upon winning the wager, as if he had kept this in mind all along. His request: for you to join him at the upcoming Royal Diamond Ball.
Join him.
Not simply as a reluctant acquaintance, not even as an unlikely cordial friend. But on Geto Suguru’s arm.
But that was a week ago. And here you were.
Your fingers quivering on his firm, bulging bicep through his velvet jacket. Being escorted inside the ball by the very man you’ve despised for so long.
It was gorgeous, and even more. Spirals of florals cascaded from each nook and cranny of the enormous chamber, lit with flickering candles that illuminated the ballroom like miniature suns. It was Spring, diamonds, and the thrill of heady romance. The dazzling silks of each débutante fought for attention - and yet, it was stolen instantly by you.
It was like the orchestra had suddenly drowned their music underwater the moment you two made your grand entrance; every dancing couple misstepped, every mouth gaped mid-sentence or mid-bite, every pair of eyes snapped to you.
You swear, by the far end of the royal ballroom, you could see Her Majesty the Queen straighten upon her throne to steal a closer look.
Fuck.
“Why, as expected, we’re all The Ton shall gossip about for weeks, My Lady.” Geto’s confident croon graces your ears, and he suavely leads you to one gilded corner.
Standing beside you, he bears no hesitation before leaning in- shoulders brushing shoulders, the viscount’s deep voice curling around your eardrums. Slow. Almost sensual. “You shine everyone else down, pretty lady.”
“Shamming it with flattery won’t win me over.” You’re massaging your temples, weary.
“I could never lie to you.”
It had been a week of this.
A week of having the notorious Geto Suguru make each of your attendants swoon with his mere presence inside your Estate. A week of him driving you positively crazed, teasing you with that coy mouth until you snapped. A week of him observing you, hard enough that once Geto had presented you with a dark blue satin gown for tonight, studded with tiny diamonds - it had your perfect measurements.
It was tailored to you, and it tailored him to you.
And he was proudly running his thumb down the sleek fabric of his waistcoat, the same shade as your dress. Long hair tied back, medals dazzling. “I believe I always have been honest with you, My Lady. In every instance but one.” Silently, he stares at the dancefloor behind him as the orchestra muses out a slow, romantic waltz. Then back at you, with an open palm and a deep bow- “May I have this dance?”
“You wish to dance with me?” Almost balking.
He pretends to give a sweeping look around the hall, “I see no other prettier lady, nor one I would like to dance with.”
“And I see no gentleman I wish to dance with. At all.”
“Oh, my apologies.” Geto edges closer, and you already know the next words to befall from his mouth won’t bode well for you. “I have failed to realize that you are frightened.”
Scoffing, “Frightened of dancing with you? Oh, please-” You’re carefully watching the playful raise of his dark eyebrows. The way his palm curls open in your direction ever-so-slightly - yet, still not completely, as if he was the one almost frightened.
And you can only nod. “Fiend seize it- but only because it wouldn’t do well for you to go without dancing the entire night, your prospects shall be rather put off.”
“I am honored by your benevolence, My Lady.”
“Charmed.”
“Smitten.”
“Cease.”
Tentatively, you’re led to the middle of the ballroom.
Where Geto was slowly - almost agonizingly - stepping into your heated proximity. His near-trembling hand falls upon your waist, the other clasping your hands.
And, sweetly, you’re being twirled. Your feet instinctually find their rhythm with the lilting melody, forming little boxes as you’d been taught during dance classes upon classes - never touching, constantly orbiting each other.
“Curious.” You’re the first to speak, staring into Geto’s lowered, questioning eyes, “I believed you would be more…” Trailing off at the gentle, gentle drag of his hand down the back of your bodice. “-uncouth.”
He tugs you even closer, “Would you like me to be?”
“It would be better if we leave the scandals to the wed.” Squirming in his arms, you somehow manage to burrow yourself even deeper. And you can feel the whispers, the eyes-
“Should you wish us to be?”
Breath catching, “What?”
“F-forgive me-” And there’s something you can’t quite understand in his pupils as he looks away, though that only displays the burning rouge of Geto’s high cheekbones. “I jest-”
“You find amusement in enraging me, don’t think I haven’t noticed, Lord Geto.” His predatory eyes widen. You dare to tuck a palm onto his cheek and make him look at you, an action that sets the gallery alight with whispers. “But right now, I do not believe you jest. Or should the reputed rake of the season fear speaking his mind with a prospect?”
It was in the way his face was scarlet, in the thud-thud-thud of his heart beating through his chest. And in the way that you had made Geto Suguru of all people stutter.
The crowd bustles ever-closer, craning their bedazzled necks to spy a better look when Geto tucks his sizzling face into the crook of your neck. Whispering, “Of course I fear you.” Scandalous, and yet, neither of you could bring yourselves to care at this very moment. “Of course. Oh, you’re no prospect, you’re the bane of my existence.”
And then the viscount hums gutturally - drinking in your scent, your slight gasp. He lets it all out into the skin of your throat—“But no. No, I do not jest at all, My Lady.”
.
.
.
Geto Suguru has been in love with you since the very moment he laid eyes on you.
All those years ago. Since the moment he’d attended the horse races as the all-new viscount of the Geto Estate- only to wind up seated next to you, the equally fresh viscountess who won the race that day and didn’t hesitate to goad in his face. To challenge him. To scoff at his flirtations.
But, right now, he believes himself to be almost as deeply in-love with the pretty, pretty wet noises he was pulling out of you.
“N-ngh, mmm, Lord Geto-” Skirts pooling around you. Thrown over the armrest of a couch in some hidden-away gazebo of the royal gardens. “Fuck!”
All Geto has to do is drag the rough, honed edge of his thumb between the swollen lips of your pussy before you’re gushing. The slimy stream of slick that makes the viscount lick his lips greedily, “You utter my last name even whence I’m between your legs, My Lady?”
Barely - just barely - you manage to raise your head mere inches off of the dampened cushion.
Whirling it over your shoulder to where Geto was kneeled on the floor from behind, “W-would you rather I call you a hngh- ‘buzzard’ or a ‘chit’, then?”
“Now, isn’t that simply hurtful—” He’s crooning out, and something in his voice was dangerously husky. And the next few syllables escaping his smoky throat were barely even audible past the embarrassing squeeeelch of your thin undergarments being tugged to the side. Snapping the side of your thighs- “What do we say, hm?”
“S- oh! S-” Strangling out moans at the feeling of the chilly night air tickling your slope.
He’s edging even closer, tendrils of his breath heating up your wet pussy. He was so ravenous that specks of Geto’s dewy drool dripped down onto your legs. “Yeeees–?”
“Cease it!”
The very moment that response is being mumbled from your lips, Geto’s departing something from his - a large, sticky wad of spit that splashes between your sultry pussylips. He’s sticking a thumb between your folds and watching as his mess webs up your entrance.
“Forgive me, I must clean that mouth o’ yours up, pretty lady.” Before striking your cunt with yet another wet hit of saliva. “Again.” And another. “Again-”
You’re whimpering, spine arching into the perfect curvature on top of the loungechair. And Geto only swabs his thumb on the fleshy insides of your pussylips, teasingly. Grunting, “Such a wanton mouth on ya.”
“Please-” You could feel his flicking lips reaching closer, mere millimeters away just to make you sob in need. “Please- I only have so much patience-”
“I’m well aware-” And before you know it, your pussy’s being stained with another knotted glob of saliva. And as you moan, he’s snickering- “Consider that revenge for the harm you’ve done to my- oh, heart. And this…”
The way that he’s then easily sinking in nose-deep was just pure greed.
Raw, primal; the minute that Geto’s scratchy taste buds hit the front of your cunt, he’s slickly slipping and easing his tongue in everywhere. Anywhere.
Poking n’ prodding.
Lapping up every ounce of slick clinging to your pussy like he was a man dying of thirst- and he was addicted to your hot core. Oh, he was addicted. Your knees drag on the couch cushion once Geto takes ahold of your waist and hauls you deeper down onto his handsome face.
“Mmmm–” His glossy, puckered lips slurp at the wet folds of your pussy. You’re feeling the underside of his tongue slither down to flick at your clit and makes you drool - from both sets of lips. “She’s more hah- honest than you. Aren’t you, pretty lady?”
The straight line of his nose bridge tucks in even deeper, in such a lecherous way you feel so stuffed. “I-I’m not-”
“Not you.” And you could almost hear the roll of his hazed peripherals.
The smug, sleazy grin across his face as Geto tickles your glistening hole with his tongue. You were clenching ‘round nothing, feeling such a delicious streeeetch once he’s pumping inside. Muffling out- “Her.”
And the Lord Geto Suguru that you knew was suave. He was smooth.
But the man between your honeyed legs was simply messy– just thrust after aching thrust of his maw. Geto’s attractive jawline was stretched so wiiide open, damn near swallowing you whole. He flattens his tongue just to pry apart your walls - again.
And again. “Aren’t you?” And again. Letting off some of the most sinful noises that make your heart race, “Aren’t you, pretty lady?”
Calling your treacly pussy by that nickname that drove you wild.
“Who’d have thought that you’d be oh- hiding suuuuuch a gorgeous, gorgeous lady under all that snark and mouth.” Almost grumbling at the fact that he wasn’t granted this chance earlier.
“Heavens- you’re f-fast-” And Geto’s rovering his gaped mouth all over, not leaving even an inch of your outer pussy.
Mercilessly, he’s thrashing his textured tongue on the roof of your cunt and you have to throw your hand behind you and shove back at his forehead.
Unsure whether you wanted to hold him or push him away.
But you didn’t have to choose - Geto’s making the choice for you.
In a swift instant, he’s fighting against your strength and gnawing down on the thin fabric of your underwear. Murmuring, “And- these-” Soon enough you’re hearing the sharp rip-rip-riiiip of him tearing your undergarments with his mouth. “-skirts.”
“Suguru–!” You’re trilling out, watching as Geto spits out the tattered remnants of your panties.
Quickly, both his hands smear open your bloated pussylips. And he doesn’t waste a second - not even a nanosecond - before diving deeper.
All bared open for him, he’s flopping out his lengthy tongue to soften up your tight hole. Making you feel his flicking, wet crown with thrust after thrust- “You’re so- soooo fucking wet.”
“You’re- hah!” Choking on both sobs n’ whines as his perky tastebuds sizzle against the sweet spots of your walls, Geto was fucking you with his tongue the way he was aching to with his cock. “-talking f-far more than you should, Lord Suguru.”
“And what shall you do about it, My Lady?”
He was about to find out.
Oh, he didn’t have a clue.
The viscount was practically stunned as you immediately lurch your hips away, chasing your pussy with a pathetic whine.
But you’re holding firm- dragging him up by the intricate, posh lapels of his jacket. You’re helping Geto impatiently lay himself down on the couch, face straddled between your two thighs. Backwards.
So his mouth was hovering underneath your pussy, and yours was gulping impatiently as you struggled with the buckles of his dress pants. Such a lewd sixty-nine position that made him crane his head up n’ lick between your tender folds with a whimper, “Mmm, let me partake in my dessert at once, My Lady.”
“Patience is a virtue.” You tut, finally succeeding in undressing his lower half. And oh-
Oh, fuck.
You gape.
Geto Suguru…was huge.
About eight, perhaps even nine solid inches that throbbed even fatter the more intensely you were staring at him. Huge and pretty- the first thing you’re making out is the ruby-red cap of his shaft, glossy with a syrupy layer of precum.
Your needy thumb wipes it off, only to have Geto’s leaky orifice weep out even more of his sticky sap. Drip-dripping down the ridges of his thick cock, travelling between his four prominent veins, disappearing into his slightly unruly tuft of jet black at the base. They looked like they’d positively ruin you from the inside out.
And Geto was bucking up like he wanted to do exactly that.
“‘Nough-” He’s cutting himself off with a gasp, “Enough admirin’, fuck! Just- oh.”
So, so sensitive. You’re blowing your heated air down on the mushroomy tip of Geto’s erection, and watching as he sprays out in pre.
Grinning, “Language. Seems like someone was on the verge of cumming in their pants, Lord Suguru.”
“I’ve fucked my fist raw to the image of your furious face at the- hngh, races that day, My Lady. Have mercy.” He’s babbling out, such pure honesty from just how pussydrunk he was. With your pussy mere millimeters away and dripping like a waterfall into his mouth.
The top of Geto’s tongue spanks down on your teary slope the very moment that he perks his hips up. Pre-glazed tip swabbing your lips like those shimmering lipstains you’ve seen some other nobles wear.
He feels the hot cavern of your mouth plop! down on the thickness of his cockhead and titters, “I should do well to wax that chatty mouth of yours shut, yes?”
The only response you can force your body to even do is to bully your hips down in a lewd attempt to suffocate the rude words spilling from Geto’s mouth.
Pushing down. Dragging your cunt sloppily. You think he might sputter, you think he might even choke out a slight protest- but what you certainly didn’t expect the viscount to do was to anchor your grinding hips with his two hands.
Shoving you deeper down his ajar maw. And you swear you feel him gasp out a little—“S-suffocate me.”
Groaning into the flared ridge of his dick, you’re swirlin’ your textured tongue around a few times. Before having done enough damage - because Geto was simply left rutting his hips primally. Unlatching, “Wh-what-”
“Suffocate me, My Lady.”
He doesn’t stutter, he doesn’t even set himself free for air—he’s only forking his tongue between that first rim of muscle. Licking up your walls, reaching for your heart. Again n’ again until it’s all loosened up enough for two of Geto’s slender, doughy fingertips to bludgeon against.
Pap after slimy pap of his fingerpads, “Open up, pretty lady.” Wheezing against the outer part of your pussy, “Since you like- ngh- talkin’ so much- fuck! Open those pretty lips up for me, I beg.”
Sensually, ever-so-sensually, his knobbly digits are stirrin’ inside.
He’s pricking his crowned fingers against each and every spot inside you, half-thrusting back just to fit even deeper. And it sounds out just deafening squelches.
Spurred on - you couldn’t fall behind to Viscount Geto. In a split-second, your lecherous tongue dangles out, tracing the pulsating veins simply covering his cock.
The patterns of his length scrape spots inside of you that you weren’t even aware existed, and Geto didn’t have to fuck his mazing cock up into your mouth to have you choking. To have you cryin’ at the probe of his merciless cockhead.
“H-hck!” Sobbing out, you’re suckin’ a few inches of his ramrod erection like your favorite ice cone. And he was just so big that the insides of your cheek streeetch out farther than you ever knew possible, “Two can play ngh- games like so.”
“Just like I claimed. How daaaangerous this unlady-like mouth of yours ngh- is.” As his middle and his ring finger pump into your velvety insides, Geto twists his thumb ‘round to press on your throbbing clit.
All at the same time.
Watching with a grin once you’re shrilling out in utter pleasure, white flashing behind your eyes. He’s spitting once more, letting a fragile string of spittle connect your cunt to each lick after lavish lick. You whine, “P-please, My Lord.”
Ah-
Geto’s glassy eyes roll to the back of his skull.
He keeps trying to breathe- but his body won’t even let him. Geto’s suffocating himself on your pussy, cock twitching right near the back of your throat.
You’re relaxing your neck to lodge him even deeper as you constantly moan and moan those very same words - My Lord - and he feels like he’s on the verge of fainting. Fast.
He has to do something. Faster.
Before you can brace yourself, the viscount swiftly slips off the family signet ring on his left hand. Pushing it onto the index finger of his right and bullying it between your folds.
Making sure that your cunt walls feel every frigid groove, “F-fuck! Feels good, huh?” At your dazed moans, “Accept my betrothal and I shall don more than one ring. And if you can- hah, take me on, pretty lady, you can take this-” He’s bucking up meaningfully, buttery tip bruising the roof of your mouth. Watching you flutter ‘round his ring, he can’t help but lap at your sloppy hole once more. “And then….fuck…”
And then he’s pumping his ravenous fingers inside even harder. Rough enough that the mountains of his knuckles sting, being slammed red on the folds of your pussy.
Geto’s cocktip pummels the soft back of your throat and you buck down in need- accidentally rovering his ringed fingers ever-deeper. Pushin’ his golden ring against the splotchy area of your g-spot, “O-oh my god, Suguru—”
“Th-there.” He’s breathing out, raggedly. Eyes widening. And as soon as Geto discovers your most favorite spot, he’s obsessed. “This is for the way you’ve been- been driving my screws loose for, ngh, years.”
He’s jerking his slick-soaked wrist into the perfect angle to swab your cute insides, you’re just crying out prettily after each scratch of his fingerpads. “This is for all the horse races I’ve oh- lost to you.” Pump after pump. He spits once more on your wettened pussy and growls, “And mm- this is for the way you make a fool of me, without even trying.”
“C-can’t help it-” Gurgling, the deepest corners of your throat were all flooded with the caramel salt taste of his precum. And yet, you were indignant despite the dizzying movements of his tongue.
Another slap of his scratchy underside, Geto was rovering his mouth so deep that you’re struck with the point of his chin. Almost punishing. “This is for how insatiable you leave me.”
“Please-” You’re jerking atop him at the flashes of bliss, hands struggling to cup his swollen balls. They’re so heavy in your palms as you massage, struggling out- “I believe I’m…”
“Ohhh— what’s that?” And it takes a few more squelching noises, a few more nods of Geto’s flushed face for you to realize that he wasn’t even talking to you. It was back to your sopping wet pussy, plugging each orifice up with both his fingers n’ his flicking tongue. “Yeah- yeah, and this is for how long you’ve held this pretty lady out from me.”
“Please-”
Three-more repeated slams, you’re pushed so close to the edge by now that even the slightest motion makes your pussy weep. Geto huffs at the pearly slick coating him, tongue gifting a fat thrust just to feel your cute clenches. “And this is for making me fall in, ngh, love.”
“I shan’t last-”
“Why don’t you apologize, viscountess Geto?”
You’re practically ripping yourself off of his strawberry-red tip, your maw stupidly opening ‘round a few wanton syllables- “I’m s-sor-”
And, in reality, Geto doesn’t let you apologize. Of course, he doesn’t let you.
Why should he make you apologize for putting him in a position like this? One that was precisely where he carnally desired to be.
Your voice breaking mid-sentence, within a few seconds he’s forcing in a fourth finger and straightly rummaging your g-spot. Racing straight towards where your hot, puffy core needed him the most. And you’re feeling the four thud-thud-thud-thuds against your bundle of nerves, skirting down your slippery walls to reach for your womb.
It’s enough to push you over the edge, your abdomen bursting with white-hot pleasure. Babbling, “I’m orgas- oh, mm-” Body wrenching stupidly on top of his muscular core, “Cum—ing, My Lord.”
Your toes curl, mouth wafting down to the very tip-top of Geto’s veiny cock without even realizing. It’s as if your entire body was set alight with just how good you felt like this.
And he’s just so focused on fucking you through peak after peak. Mentally counting the seconds between each lurch of your hips, you’re riding his pretty face sloooooppily.
So hypnotic that he barely even registers it once your swollen, puckered lips reach for the rock-hard tip of his shaft. Placing such a sweet, loving peck—“S-Sugu—”
The first thing you see is white- buzzing inside your vision after each bang of Geto’s fingerpads on your g-spot. And then the next creamy white you’re spotting is from the leaky end of his cock- spurt after spurt of ribbony cum.
The viscount completely drenches the lower half of your face, just from you kissin’ on him like that. Over and over- you half wonder whether it hurts for him to stuff out such sheer volumes.
Thick, gooey clumps of seed stick to your lips, and Geto groans as he feels it splatter down onto his toned pelvis. Creating a little puddle that you’re smearing with your thumb, after his spraying cockhead was finished. You plop your glazed fingertip into your mouth and shoot Geto a look over your shoulder, “Wh-what was that about- hah, revenge, My Lord?”
His half-lidded pupils dilate, practically heart eyes by this point.
“I-I…”
Throat husky, voice botched. The suave, swift smooth-talker barely gets out two syllables before tearing off his coats, his layers. Swiftly wrenching you upwards onto his naked body: your back against his flexed abs.
He was just Herculean, from the naturally chiselled ridges of his core, to the blush that was taking over his pecs. The long tendrils of his raven hair tickle your spine as you’re pinned backwards.
Geto’s hands twitch where they clung onto your waist- almost as if they were about to flip you over. To bend you down, down, down in half like he’s always wanted to.
But one look at your beautiful, shaken features and the viscount is sure he won’t last.
And he did want to make a good impression, after all. He could cum just from seeing your face too close up.
So Geto’s pryin’ apart your shaky legs with a swat of his palms, buttering up your soppy slit with the crowned edge of his shaft.
“O-oh.” Your mouth drops at the sheer size difference, you swear he must have swollen even bigger since pliably manhandling you into this position. Because the massive girth of Geto’s reddened, rock-hard cock was intimidating in comparison with the circumference of your slick hole.
As red as a few luscious strawberries, and just as plump.
His glistening cocktip slides down your folds, struggling to stuff himself between them - and you wonder whether you could even take him.
“Nonsense, pretty lady.” Did you dare utter that out loud? He spanks your sap-flooded cunt once with the curve of his length and makes you squirm. “You shall take it. You shall.” Unsure whether he was talking to you or your pussy. And yet, he sounds so reassuring.
So breathy.
So ruined.
You’re swivelling your head behind to look at Geto, and his cock twitches at the eye contact- oh.
It’s only then that you realize it’s not high, needy reassurance seeping into Geto’s rough tone - it was primal need. And you can’t help but press back into his glissading pecs, cushioning his heated length with your thighs. “And what if I shan’t?”
Geto wheezes, “But-”
“Where are those lordly manners?”
Geto near-sobs, “Please!”
So complacent. There’s no other fight, you’re only gasping once two greedy palms wrench apart your thighs and immediately sinks his ravaging cock inside.
And you ponder whether you might have to be the one begging for mercy at his sheer size.
The globed, fleshy knob of Geto’s shaft unsticks your gummy walls, clinging onto him like bubblegum. You’re being molded to his very size without even trying - with only a few rapid, urgent half-thrusts just to fit inside.
He wasn’t even pounding up into you properly, and yet the viscount already had you stupidly drooling with a few strokes. Pump after pump- he grips onto your thighs and glues you to his muscular body.
“Please- p-please.” The haughty noble simply couldn’t stop, crushing you to him. Holding you still just to bump your entire body up with pressurized pumps.
About two more inches of Geto’s veiny cock gets sucked up by your cunt and he finds his temples sweating. Dark brows scrunched, face flushed. “I desire to be- inside- all of it, haaah.” The overworked edge of his tongue darts out and tastes the tears trailing down your face, ones you didn’t even realize were there yet. “So- so incredibly. You don’t understand, I’ve a-always desired to be inside you like this, My Lady.”
And the line of Geto’s slit was so pretty when you gazed closely at it earlier, but right now it just felt so mean engraving up n’ down the roof of your cunt.
As if that wasn’t sinful enough, one of his palms unlatches from where he was spreading your unstable legs apart. Flattening on top of your tummy, and feeling for the proooobing push of his fat cock easing inside.
Geto presses down on that cylindrical outline with a groan, “I believe you’ve finally- hah, beaten me, viscountess.”
Although it certainly didn’t feel that way.
Geto Suguru had you cornered. All wrapped up in his big, beefy arms- you were seeing stars with every slight buck of his ravaging cock.
Filling you up from the inside - and as if his staggering size wasn’t enough, cobwebs of precum n’ cum were sploshing around your innards by now. Filling up your tiniest crevices, his cockhead spears into you like a flashlight in search of your g-spot. In search of the bottom of your pussy.
Twitching, leaking, blushing.
You’re reaching your hand out and half-blindly intertwining them with his. Squeezing- and that makes Geto flush.
It makes him instantly drill his toned hips upwards in a singular, rigid jackhammer. Geto immediately skids his plump cock against your sweetest spot, hard enough to make you bawl. Hard enough that the rickety lounge creaks in protest.
“I-I’ve sunken in…” He’s breathing, something airy in his tone. Something akin to disbelief.
As if to make sure, your viscount rovers his length even deeper- feeling for that slimy trailway by pressing down on your stomach. Your toes curl, the dual pressure of both his palm and his girth making your mind spin. “I’ve really- really-”
“Yes- hck!”
He can’t even have you speak like this. Can’t even let you breathe.
The muscles of Geto’s hips strike your bottom with a stinging smack! of skin-on-skin - bottoming out. Ruggedly, he weeps out a generous few dollops of precum near your spongy cervix.
Probing in deep-
“H-heavens!” You think you’re seeing the pearly gates with his sloppy, driving cadence, “Why in the heavens are you this- oh, big?”
“I hear no word of her complaining.” Geto has the audacity to hover his plush lips near the shell of your ear and bite. He almost chuckles, “See? Honest.”
Purposefully, his ringed fingers drag on the perky nub of your clit. Toyin’ in sultry hearts like he yearned to hear those dewy squelches, like they were now his favorite song.
Again and again. Geto’s trying to synchronize the bruising pumps of his cock with each swivel of his thumb.
“Your walls cling onto me like they- hah, never wish to let go.” He’s whispering in your ear, snickering at the way your poor cunt was swallowing him up. Sucking him impatiently back in, he’s forced to fight back against your pretty pussy just to fuck you crazy. “Is this how you really- ngh, feel inside? Do you think she’s falling for me, My Lady?”
And the only thing you can do is clamp down your velvety walls until he whimpers—“Honest.”
Just then, Geto cranes his neck over- targeting the slippery slope of your cunt with a glittering stream of spit. Aim so precise from all those noble hunting trips, and yet, he’s making just enough of your mess that your inner thighs are left with a sheen of slobber.
It startles you into a yelp, body restless. “I-in your most- ngh, fantastical- oh, dreams.”
“Is that so—?” Something dark was crackling at the back of his throat, and it’s enough to make your hips falter in their bucking pursuit.
For a split-second- before Geto throws a forearm over your front and pins you to him. He was pounding you cleanly into midair by this point, stopping you from escaping. Stopping you from even thinking of running from the frenzied motions of his fingers.
Ruthlessly, he’s pinching your clit and slightly draaaagging. “Was it in my most hah, fantastical dreams that you would gaze upon me like that during every soirée?”
You’re looking away, veins boiling with heat. “I-I have no notion of what you prattle on about-”
He cuts you off by letting go of that cute lil’ tummy bulge he was fucking into you, immediately gripping your throat and manhandling you into a kiss.
The glossy edges of Geto’s lips suck on your whiny tongue, moaning. “Mmm, make no fuss, pretty lady. You and I are one- oh, fuck. I can barely even recollect how many shallow, strait-laced suitors I wished to brawl for simply looking your way-”
And oh- oh, there was something in his tone that was jagged. Dark. Low.
“-for I was looking at you like that, too.”
You didn’t even think it was possible - but you feel him engorge even bigger from right inside of you. So swole, the curvy tip of Geto’s cock pokes into the entrance of your womb and makes you keen.
Hiccuping through tears, “Please- fuck.” You were drooling like a spring, every whipping lash of his erection against your g-spot made your taste buds sizzle. Humping back into him as if you were in heat- “Fuh-fuck! I didn’t know it could feel this- ngh, good.”
But the more, more, more you were grinding back into his racing tempo, the lazier he was dragging his cock down your cunt.
Faster and slower.
Faster and sloooower, making you recount the pattern of his mazing veins. He’s sensually rubbin’ your g-spot raw, and it’s rendering Geto himself absolutely pussydrunk. “Were you aware that it makes me i-impossibly harder to have you blustering around me? To have you yell at me?”
And now he was fixated on a sloppy staccato.
Your toes curled after each pathway of his globular, glazed tip - from the very forefront of your hole to target your battered g-spot. And then allllll the way back to rest against the spongy platform of your cervix.
It was a voyage he was repeatedly thrusting over and over and over.
“To- to have you…” Still continuing on with his inebriated conversation, after every slimy clench you were blessing him with. “To have to pretend your eyes weren’t- oh, falling upon my lips each time we argued- it killed me, My Lady.”
One of his rolling thumbs slips inside your damp hole like he was trying to pry you even wider open. Bottomed out and still rutting against the very back of your cunt- if Geto could bury himself even deeper then he already would have.
“Killed me to- to pretend I didn’t want to silence that gorgeous mouth right in front of The Ton, hah.” He almost giggles near the corner of your ear, writing his name on the very tip-top of your clit and feeling your body go limp at the sensation. “Killed me to not- mmm, really give them gossip for the entire season.”
Your head falls against his firm clavicle, the area of Geto’s pecs were so firm n’ cushy. Again and again, your poor lower half was a complete mess, flooding with heat. “S-Suguru- mmpf.”
Before he’s spitting straight between your unfastened mouth.
“Forgive me, my mind is not at the place to- oh, handle that smart mouth.” Drag after drag. Your pretty, breaking tone was what was sure to have him shattering before you did - and he didn’t want that. Not at all.
So concentrated on the gift of unravelling your honeyed pussy that Geto doesn’t even realize he’s said that out loud-
“Before me, hm?” Grinning behind you, his trembling hands are nothing against the gyrating bounces you start up. Fucking back into his spearheading cock, all you have to do to disarm his strong arms is to clench– and Geto was all yours.
All ruined.
You’re smugly declaring, “How about a- hah, a wager?”
Murky amethyst eyes widen, “A w-wager?”
“I wager I will make you orgasm first.” The filthy words are pouring out of your mouth before you can stop them, “In the instance I win, I- oh, claim the first row at the races for two months.”
“And in the instance I win…”
You’re peeking up in curiosity, “Yes–?”
But Geto only leans in, gravelly tone grating sexily against your ear. “You will remember it, I assure you.”
His long, silken hair was messy now- numerous Stygian strands plastering across his forehead, others, thrown over both your shoulders. And you can’t stop yourself from clawing behind and tugging- enough to make him groan.
Prolonged cockhead stirrin’ inside of you, he’s jostling you up, up, up–
Thwack!
“Cum.”
Perhaps it’s the utterly lecherous feeling of Geto’s plump, heavy ballsack spanking your cunt. Perhaps it’s the way he pinches out your clit after drawing such a cute heart on top. Perhaps it’s just him- but you’re crashing into a high you weren’t even aware was simmering.
But as soon as it bursts - it’s fiery. It’s frying the ends of your nerves with pure bliss, it’s leaving your vision a kaleidoscope of tears. “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck, cumming—”
You can only hold onto Geto’s muscular frame for dear life and let him ride your own orgasm out.
Spitting through solid, rovering paps of his cock, “Hah! What did I- oh, it’s my victory lap, is it not?” Still milking himself in vicious jackhammers, Geto streams out yet another wad of saliva down onto your pussy to hear the wet noises as you cum.
To hear the way he was thoroughly dragging you through the bursts of your high. You claw onto the couch and shriek- “Inside, I beg of you- I wish to feel you- hngh, inside, My Lord.”
“P-pardon?” His voice breaks. Breathily disbelieving, the primal pumps of his prolonged inches only accelerates - as if Geto was aiming to fuck the answer out of you. Inside. Inside.
In and out in and out in and- “I wish for it all here- inside.” You’re guiding his free hand to claw back down your front, feeling for that bump of his globular cock. Babbling against Geto’s mouth, it takes you no longer than a split-second to spit- “Always have, Suguru.”
And that’s enough for his weeping, rawly-red orifice to burst into the hardest orgasm of his entire life.
Geto doesn’t stop until he’s dragging himself dry on your walls. Filling your creamy cunt up with so many knotted ounces of seed that you can feel it slickly sliiiiiding down your walls. Trickling out from between your legs.
You squeeze your thighs together and squeal at the hot glue of cum sticking them together, “Fuck- fuck! Just like that-”
“I’m s-so fond of you. I’m so in love…” You hear his confession whisper against your eardrums like the viscount had nothing more left to lose.
You’re still tender, and each unsteady spurt of his cum sprayed inside makes your spine zap with something carnal. Your own high still a few tingles, you fist your fingers into his night-dark hair, pulling him in.
And something in his hoarse breath catches- and Geto finds himself biting his honed canines into the skin of your throat.
Making you moan, head unfogging ever-so-slightly. “A-are you aware that we are still obliged to attend Her Highness’s ball, Lord Ge-”
“Suguru.”
“Lord Suguru?”
“No, nothing but Suguru.” He finishes off for you, finally finished marking after a few more bite-shaped indents of his teeth. He’s still sluggishly jerking his cock inside, completely splashing n’ trickling sap over your tender spots. “And are you aware that I have ha-hah! reaped the victory of our little oh, wager?”
Your mouth parts, “And is this what you wish for? To bite me?”
“Not at all.” Biting you a few more times after then, Geto finally angles his head to face you fully. To take you in. To memorize. To slip his drenched family signet ring onto your left ring finger. You’ve never heard him sound so sincere- “All I wish for is for you to marry me, My Lady.”
“Suguru…” You shiver, his overstimulated cock pulses at the sound of that. Rutting harder. “You don’t require a wager for me to marry you.” And it’s just astonishing how pretty he looks when he flushes.
As he whines, you smile. “I shall do so anyway. And you can’t stop me now.”
Somewhere in the back of Geto’s mind, he knows there is much to plan - a proper engagement ring, first of all, with the biggest diamond of all the land, and then the family proceedings, The Ton announcement, the honeymoon.
But, for now, Lord Geto Suguru is content curling up in your arms. “I should expect no less from you, viscountess Geto.”
And his ravenous hips are still squeezing against yours, still needy.
Still feral.
You didn’t think you’d be escaping from him that easy, did you?
“Now, about my reward for that wager…”
.
.
.
Dearest gentle reader,
One might just ponder whether the speculations from last week’s royal gathering hid a divine ability to read the future. For the absence of both Lord Geto Suguru and his viscountess beau did little to quell the suspicions of a blossoming romance, particularly when neither party was in attendance once Her Majesty the queen announced our viscountess as the Diamond of the season.
And yet, my trusted sources fervently claim that the most scandalous noises were heard deep in the groves of the royal gardens where both disappeared.
But perhaps daring whispers are of no import - however, this author must note that both were observed meandering back late into the ball, guiltily satisfied, thoroughly marked in bites. Yes, of no import at all, certainly…
And I am delighted to share that this is not the mere extent of the romantic antics between our beloved viscount and viscountess.
Why, it is this author’s greatest honor to impart to you: the Diamond couple of Her Majesty’s Diamond Ball has officially announced their union with the most enormous diamond seen this season!
You have most certainly read that right, as Viscount and Viscountess Geto safely arrive from their voyages across the sea, The Ton may look forward to the wedding of the year.
Cease those shattering hearts at once! Who would have imagined that the most charming, handsome bachelor would transform from ‘rake’ to ‘Romeo’—with a capital ‘R.’ Shakespeare should weep!
It is said that Lord Geto is positively enamored with his fiancée, and I personally hear from sources close to the happy couple that this romance had been blooming for a long time, for none other than each other. How delightful that it should blossom right for us to gossip about.
Now, I don’t know about you, dear readers, but this author will be hastening to the tailors at once - and I suggest you do, too. We have a wedding to attend!
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
A/N. Also watched Superman and suddenly I believe in love again so here’s this.
He worked hard to be a cardiac surgeon just to treat your heart condition—what makes you think his money is where he draws the line? He’d just finished his second surgery today, a CABG that took 6 hours, and the first thing he sees on his phone is a text message from you.
“Hey, Zayne. Do you prefer spicy or not spicy soup? I’m at the store to buy the ingredients!”
He smiles, already imagining you waiting for him while cooking.
He replies, “Spicy is fine, I placed my card on the back of your phone. Be safe.”
Just as he placed the phone down, it beeps again from your text.
“It’s fine, I bought my card with me. And it’s just groceries, I can handle it.”
His brow furrows as he noisily types to call your phone, “I gave it to you with the intention that you’ll use it whenever you need. It doesn’t matter if it’s just groceri—”
“Okay! Okay, I’ll use it, alright? Since you insist, I’m buying these expensive lotions I’d been eyeing on.”
He sighs, “If you’re gonna buy those lotions, the least you can do is buy me those hard candy, that blueberry cheesecake we always buy, and those lollipo—”
“I’m getting you ONE pack of candies.”
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Caleb
This man would be crashing out if he can’t provide for you. He even gets upset when you don’t need his help in getting things from the top shelf. Here he was with a smug smile on his face while handing you his card,
“Use it whenever you need to, pips. Rest assured it won’t ever maxed out.”
That smirk was so irritating that you wanted to wipe it off his face.
“Mhm? Why do I need to? I get payed just fine! And it’s not like other people don’t pay for me.”
“Huh?”
God, that dumbfounded look was just so satisfying to see. Of course, with Caleb paying for whatever you need almost all his life, you weren’t gonna turn down his offer.
He flicks your forehead, “You don’t even need other people’s money. And they don’t treat you always! Just use mine and you can use it endlessly.”
He’s looking at you with his signature puppy eyes and you know you just lost.
Sighing, you take his card, “Fine, and I better not hear any complaints from you.”
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Sylus
You knew this man doesn’t care even if you spent billions of his money—he literally let you spend more than 10 million a few days after you met. It’s not like you had a problem with spending his money (you don’t); it’s just nice to tease him every now and then, even if it backfires on you most of the time.
You were in the middle of a date when you decided to mess with him.
“Sy, does it taste good?”
He hums, “It tastes quite nice. You always pick the right places, sweetie.”
You smile, “Of course! Since I’m paying, it should be worth it.”
He freezes mid-bite and places his spoon down, “Are you now? If I may say, the soup was quite salty, the pasta lacked flavor, and the tiramisu was just an abomination.”
You smack his arm, “Hey! You said it was nice!”
He smirks, “I’ll pay for it, sweetie, since it wasn’t worth it,” already reaching for his wallet.
Why do you even try?
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Rafayel
“Baby, do you think this looks nice?” You gave your phone to Rafayel so he can see the sweater that you wanted. He shrugs, “It’s cute, perfect for rainy days.” You smile, proceeding to check out the sweater, “It’s 115 dollars, it’ll be delivered by next week!” He slowly turns his head, “Next week?" “Yeah!”
He slowly walks toward you and grabs you by the shoulders, “Cutie, did you already pay for it?”
You nod, “Yeah, why? Did you want one too?”
His shoulders slumped as he dramatically flings his arm around, “What?! Since when did you pay for your things? I’m transferring that money to your card.”
You lightly punch his shoulder, “Ayel! There’s no need, I have my own money.”
He raises his eyebrow, “And? I’m still wiring you that money.”
You try to argue, but he’s already tip-tapping away on his phone.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Xavier
“Xavi, what do you want for dinner?” You climbed on the couch and laid on his lap while fumbling on your phone. He shrugs, “Anything is fine.” You poke his cheek, “I’m too lazy to cook, do you want takeout?” He ponders for a moment, “Takeout is fine, I can cook too.” He says, already standing up to head to the kitchen when you quickly sit up, “Takeout it is!”
“How much is it?” He grabs your hand to play with the sleeves of your sweater. “It’s fine, I already payed for it!” His hand stops, and he slowly looks at you. His brows furrow and his lips form into a pout, without saying anything, he smooshes your face in his hands. “Don’t.”
💭 : p in v , changing positions, mating press, prone bone, doggy, dumbification, slight degradation with praise
you didn’t know what he was doing. every time you thought he’d stop, he’d settle, he would change positions. acting like he was trying to find something inside of you that you didn’t even know was there. but your body did.
every time caleb thrusted, you clenched around him in pleasure—but it felt like he was missing something. every time he changed positions—from your legs on his shoulders, bending you in a way you didn’t even think was possible, to putting all his weight on top of you as you drool into the pillow—he blubbered something about knowing that it was somewhere inside, that he was so close to finding it.
every thrust was restless, a thrust deep—short, fast, a bit too the right, far to the left—you felt it through the fuzzy haze that muffled your hearing and overstimulating you. you felt your brain turn into mush, seeping past your lips as drool with every buck.
“c-caleb,” you slurred, face pressed against your pillow as he lifted your hips and pressed your ass against his pelvis. “‘leb, what’re you do—hah!” he quickly hushed you, thrusting harshly again, seeking for something—and you thought he hit it before missing it by a fraction. “know it’s here somewhere. fuck, fuck—gonna find it—gonna make you squirt, baby,” he panted.
he moved your hips to the side—thrusted. moved them slightly down—thrust. up again—thrust. until he pressed down on your back, making you arch against the matress and moved his knee—
he hit it and it felt like your brain popped.
you let out a sharp scream (one that your neighbors will probably call 911 thinking you were murdered) and you squirted. loud, wet, and dirty as your jaw dropped. he let out a choked gasp and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. he let out a long groan, head tilting back. “fuckkkk… there ya’ go. all dumb and fucked out for me, huh?”
he drew back, just to slam back, tip pressing against your gspot again that made your legs fly around and hips buck. “as you should, right? you like being so dumb for gege. your drooling your brains out, sweets,” he chuckled, grinding against the spot as you sobbed into the pillow.
Synopsis. You’ve never dealt with the yakuza - not once. So why is the future head of the Gojo clan suddenly coming up to you, demanding that you marry him for 30 days?
Pairing. Yakuza boss! Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, yakuza! au, fake marriage, annoyances to lovers, elders suck, mentioned k*lling (not reader or Satoru), Satoru is INSANE and SO down bad, one bed trope, praise, biting, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, flower language, kníves, bit dark, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swearing.
Word count. 9.1k (whoopsies)
A/N. I just HAD to get this out of my mind like I wanna write an entire book series on this. Spent too long researching rose language as well so see if y’all catch that hehe.
You thought the wedding invitation was a joke when it had arrived - a delicate, lacey little card that you’ve probably read over a million times by now. It had been stuffed haphazardly into your mailbox, along with a ridiculously large bouquet of purple roses. Seemingly inconspicuous when you first tore into the thick envelope, wondering which one of your friends was getting married now.
And it was - that is, until you saw your name at the very top - right where the blushing bride’s was supposed to be.
We hereby formally invite you to the marriage of…
What?
No return address. No date. No groom’s name either. Only yours, written in beautiful, golden writing - inviting you to your own wedding, exactly a week from now.
You remember perfectly the way you’d flipped it over and over in your hands, the gears turning in your head as you tried to crack down on the motive behind this invitation. A threat? A joke? Texting all of your friends about what a cute prank that was - only to get a shared confused reaction, and a few “April Fool’s has already passed, y’know.”
Hell, you’d even cornered the mailman, desperate to get to the bottom of this. But that wasn’t particularly helpful when he was only able to shake his head in protest, pale as a sheet, and trembling ever-so-slightly as he sped away from you. Weird.
Without a clue as to who sent the letter, or even a follow-up in the days after, you stuffed the invitation somewhere deep in the back of your closet and handed the bouquet to your mother. Not bothering to tell your parents where it was from - because who’d worry over a stupid prank like this? It was probably one of the kids from down the street that’d gotten their grubby lil’ hands on a printer.
You, however, had more important things to focus on - like trying to help your father revive his failing diner. It was a family business, a quaint, hearty little shop. One that was quickly, and dangerously, losing both customers and employees with the brand new fast food place that’d popped up right across the street.
Which is why you found yourself here - working overtime on a Saturday night, looking over the empty chairs and stacks of boxes from behind the counter. Whatever, it was only a few weeks until relocation anyway.
You heave out a sigh, eyes flitting to the clock beside you - 11:21pm.
Nine minutes more, you drum your fingers in boredom, maybe you should just close up early. Because sure as hell no one else was-
“Oh? Still open?”
“Ah- Uh, yes, welcome!” Jolting out of your reverie, you stand up ramrod straight, taking in the customer standing at the door. He wasn’t one of the regulars - no, you think you’d remember if he was. Cloudy white hair, piercing blue eyes that twinkle from above his shades, even in the dim light of the diner. He was so very tall, taking up almost all of the doorframe, only getting more and more imposing as he walks up to you in quick, long strides. Magnetizing.
And if you dared let your eyes wonder, you caught a few tattoos peeking out from his unfairly snug button-up, clashing with its flashy blue color. Dragons? Trees? Or were they flowers - roses?
“Roses.” the man in front of you answers your unspoken question, voice so very deep, and melodic - tinged with something playful in it that you wouldn’t have expected at first glance. At your raised brow he continues with a wink, “Could tell ya were checkin’ me out, sweetheart.”
“F-forgive my rudeness, sir.” you sputter, face burning. You look away from the way his muscled ripple as he crosses his arms, immediately turning to fumble with the menus, “Please take a seat and I’ll be there with you shortly.”
You’d expected him to take up a booth, or maybe head towards one of the good tables around the corner. What you did not expect was for him to plop down on the stool right in front of you, flashing you a playful grin before humming, “S’alright, m’just waitin’ for someone.”
Oh. Well, it made sense that someone like him would be taken. Swallowing, you hand over the menu, before giving him a close-lipped smile, “A lover?”
Resting his head on his palms, not bothering to even glance at the list of dishes before him. “My fiancée.”
“Congratulations, Mr…”
“Gojo Satoru.” he tilts his head, looking way too happy with himself. “Please, call me Satoru.”
You nod softly, picking up your pen and notepad to get this conversation over with - and maybe to also avoid his heavy stare that made something hot and uncomfortable coil in your stomach. “Right, Mr-” at his disappointed whine, “Satoru. Congratulations, must be one heck of a thing to plan.”
“Oh I’m having fun with the wedding planning.” He waves off your words with a chuckle, missing - or pointedly ignoring - the way you were waiting for his order. “How’s it going for you?”
What?
You narrow your eyes at the way Satoru was batting those long lashes up at you, deceivingly innocent and waiting for your answer. “I’m sorry- Me? Did you mean with the diner relocation plans or-”
“No no no.” he laughs, loud and boisterous. And usually you’d have a thing or two to say at someone interrupting you if you weren’t so mesmerized by that little dimple at the corner of his grin. One that moves as he plows on, “M’asking how wedding planning is going for you, wifey~”
There’s a beat of silence. One. Two. With you gaping at the pure audacity as Satoru quiets down to little titters, seemingly studying your reaction in amusement. Which slowly, but surely, drains from his face as you grit out a sharp, “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, sir. We’re very busy and don’t have time to entertain your pick-up lines.”
Those widened blue eyes sweep the painfully empty diner, letting out a low whisper. “I can see that.” you let out a strangled noise of embarrassment at that. “But you’re really gonna ask your husband to leave?”
Huffing in frustration, “I don’t have a husband.”
“...you do.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I don’t. And who the fuck are you to tell me I do?”
“What?!” Satoru jumps out of his seat in shock, fast enough that the stool clatters to the floor with a deafening clang! Hands slamming on the counter as he leans over it - so close that you could feel his minty breath fanning your face with each hurried, shrill word that tumbles out of his lips. “What do you mean you don’t have a- I’m gonna kill those fuckin’- After I bought Canva premium just to make that invitation? Did the flowers come at least?”
And while Satoru is panicking, words spilling out of his mouth a mile a minute - only one of those rings in your mind - invitation.
“You.” you hiss, barely audible over meltdown in front of you. Pointing a finger accusingly, “You’re the one behind that prank with the dumbass roses.”
That seems to snap Satoru out of his dramatic monologue - and you’re glad it did. Because he looks up to meet your glare, “Hey! You didn’t like the roses?”
And for the first time, you see Satoru more serious than he’d been ever since stepping into this diner. Eyes somewhere behind you, ablaze and almost…frightening. “Didn’t you ask him?”
You whirl around to see your father, who’d apparently rushed downstairs at the commotion. Baseball bat to fight off the intruder hanging in midair as he stands frozen, taking in the scene before him - but more importantly, that man in front of him. “You.”
---
And, well, it’s not everyday that you’re having late night tea with your parents and one of your father’s…business associates. Even rarer when said business associate is…you gulp, praying to whoever’s above that this is all some sick dream you’ll wake up any second from.
“So, let me get this straight…” you sigh, pinching your nose in frustration. It’s been an hour or two of trying to understand whatever this was. Giving a stern look at the two men squirming across from you in the booth. “My father was conned by one of your-” you gesture your head at Satoru, which only makes his smirk grow, “-men to take a loan from your um-”
“Family, yakuza. Anything goes.” he supplies helpfully.
You wave him off, trying as quickly as possible to brush off the ‘yakuza’ bit that makes your stomach lurch. “And now he owes you a favor of…what exactly?”
Satoru leans across the table, t-shirt opening tantalizingly. Voice dropping to an almost-pleading murmur, “Look, I just need you to pretend to be my doting, loving, charming, gorgeous-” backtracking at your withering glare, “...Anyway. I just need a fake wife for a few months, convince my family to get off my back about arranged marriage n’ carrying the Gojo legacy. Then bam! you stomp all over my heart, we divorce and I’m too heartbroken to ever get married again. Easy.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
You bet Satoru’s disappointed groan echoed across all 23 words of Tokyo, because it was definitely ringing in your ears amongst whirlwind thoughts of marriage? To a yakuza? Completely, and utterly ridiculous. And from his talks of “carrying the family name” it seemed like he was some sort of future head as well. Though, he definitely wasn’t acting like it right now.
“Alright. Plan B, then.”
Oh? You couldn’t help but think that maybe he wasn’t that much of a manchild as sits up from where he’d been splayed all over the table in tragedy. Lacing his fingers together before turning to your father, continuing in a more diplomatic tone, “But I want the cash you took. In full. Now. Gonna hafta disguise my best friend as my wife, n’ dresses for a six foot man aren’t cheap.”
Your mother looked like she could faint right then and there. Choking out a noise of surprise, “B-but we’ve deposited it all for the relocation- Please, can’t we pay any other-”
At the firm shake of his head, you stammer, “Now? Aren’t you some yakuza nepo baby, can’t you just ask your parents for money?”
“No.” Satoru chuckles, in a tone which told you that he probably could but might just lose his head for it. Only further supported as he muses, “Not unless I want a finger cut off for dealin’ money on the side. Seriously, sweetheart, why did you think I sent you the invitation last week?”
“Take me instead.” you father cries, trying to negotiate above Satoru’s half-joking mutters of “Ugh, I’m not into ol’ men dumb enough to sign yakuza contracts.”
It was all too much. You couldn’t take out the relocation deposit - it was a new start, possibly the only thing to save your family. Nor do you have enough in savings to pay back the loan. And if Satoru’s warning was anything to listen to, then you knew that dealing with the yakuza could be dangerous. Why you? Why you? Why you?
“Fine.”
The moment that word leaves your lips, it’s like the whole world freezes. Everyone in the room - including yourself - unsure of whether they heard you right. “I’ll do it.” you clarify, voice hesitant but firm. Eyeing the way Satoru’s eyes begin to sparkle, the beginnings of a smile curling his lips. Raising a finger to shush your father’s protests, “But for a month, until we leave this place. After that m’going with my family and you’re never to contact us ever again. Deal?”
And oh Satoru seemed over the moon, reaching out to grasp your hand in a handshake - so warm, and softer than you’d imagined. “Swear on m’life, wifey. You can kill me if not.”
He was so intimidating - and intimidatingly exhilarating.
Only an hour more of arguing and a quick phone call later, men - yakuza, you assume - were flooding your family’s little diner. All tattooed and burly, looking somewhat comical as they carried your few packed-up suitcases outside. Well, at least they stayed for a late dinner.
And ended up being witnesses to a very rushed, very rushed signing of marriage agreements. Evidence to really show up your alleged marriage. It barely even lasted a few minutes before, well, that was that - you were married, to the son of a yakuza head.
You say a quick goodbye to your teary parents, soothing them with promises of “I’ll be back before you know it. One month. That’s all.”
“And don’t worry about a thing,” Satoru sing-songs, coming up behind you. “If there’s anyone she’s safe with, it’s me.”
“You better keep your mitts off of my baby.” your father warns, raising the baseball bat still clutched in his hand menacingly.
“I won’t lay a hand on her, father-in-law. And anyone that even thinks about it…” he cackles, breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll kill.”
Prancing off to hold the door of that shiny black Mercedes parked outside open for you. “Ladies first.”
With another quick hug to your parents, you hastily make your way inside. Feeling extremely out of place amongst the overly luxurious interior in your slightly-stained work uniform. God, the covers on these cushions themselves probably cost more than your house.
“Like the car? I can buy you one. Or four, as a wedding gift.” Satoru grins.
Oh, right. You weren’t in here alone - you were here with your new…husband. The word felt so strange to even wrap your head around, instead you turn to meet his easy smile. Clenching your jaw as you grit out, “So how do we act m-married?”
You swear he brightens up impossibly, scooting closer to you on the seat. Heart lurching as he raises his eyes to meet yours, dizzy with the heat of his proximity, he promptly pulls out his Notes app.
“Well, you see. I forgot to send this with the invitation so you better memorize this before we get home.” flashing you a long, long list of likes and dislikes, “Here’s my favorite color and my favorite Digimon and-”
That car ride could not have been longer. Because in addition to arguing with Satoru about who the best Digimon was, you had to fill out your own version of his overly extensive list. “So we can be foolproof.” he’d whined. And you’d been so engrossed in the process that you barely noticed the looming estate out the window.
“We’re here, young master and madam Gojo.”
It took a second to register that the driver was talking to you as well as Satoru, immediately pushing your face against the window to take in the scenic site before you. Heavy wooden doors - probably taller than an average house - opening to reveal sprawling gardens. Koi ponds and rose bushes lining a pathway that led to a traditional Japanese house - all power and glory. You half wondered whether you were still in Tokyo.
“Home sweet home.” Satoru grunts. “Such a beautiful hell, huh?”
Your home, for the next month. At least.
And if you had any doubt that Satoru was in fact the future yakuza head, that all went out the window at the welcome you got. Men lining the wooden hallway, bowing at the waist while your all-new husband wraps a hand around your shoulders, pointing out the various rooms and ornaments as he led you in.
“-and this is going to be our room.” he brings you in front of a large tatami room, one the size of your entire diner.
“Ours.” you repeat. Walking unhurriedly to the king-sized bed in the middle - the only bed. Heart pounding as you take it all in.
“Ours.” Satoru echoes, happily. And if he was any bit as affected as you are, then he doesn’t show it, instead pulling out a blue yukata from the closet, a golden Gojo emblem stamped on the back. Made with such a pretty, delicate fabric that it made you shiver to think how much it cost. “Now, I had these made jus’ for you last week. You can give me a lil’ fashion show tomorrow, so make sure you get some rest, wifey.”
It’s only when he says the word “rest” that you realize exactly how tired you are. Your long shift and the entirety of this having your eyes feeling heavier than usual.
“Um…” you start, risking a glance at the bed.
Satoru jolts, “Ah- don’t worry, sweetheart. You take the bed.” beginning to saunter outside to meet his team. “Got some work, so I’ll be sleeping in my office. Dream of me~”
And, really, you almost felt bad splaying yourself out on the crisp navy sheets. Sinking into the heady smell of fabric softener, and something so so Satoru. Addictive. Like an expensive cologne that made your head spin, one that wafted through your mind as you dreamt of summer weddings, and blue, blue skies.
“Ichiji.”
“Yes, young master.”
“See to it that the madam is safe. Anyone try anything funny and you bring them back alive. I wanna be the one to play with them, okay~?”
“Of course, young master.”
---
Admittedly, you probably have the best sleep of your life at the Gojo estate- or, it would’ve been if your husband didn’t burst in every morning at 7am. Handing you a ridiculously big bouquet of white roses, straight from the garden, before dragging you outside.
Milling about the estate, Satoru was never too far behind, chattering away. Letting you hold onto his strong arm crossing the bridges, occasionally having you show up to yakuza meetings as his plus one. Relishing in the rumors spreading all through the yakuza syndicates in Tokyo. Gojo Satoru, and the commoner wife he’d do anything for.
Weirdly enough, some strange little part of you thinks he puts in a lot more work than necessary for some pretend relationship…
“I think that stupid plan is really working, y’know.” you muse to him after a few days of this. Dipping your fingers into one of your favorite koi ponds with a nod at the figures watching you from a distance - Gojo clan elders, you assume. “Those old coots hate being within a five mile radius of me.”
Satoru huffs out a laugh, “That so? S’probably the method acting then, huh? Taking good care of me, wifey?” he wiggles his eyebrows, nudging you from where he was holding an umbrella beside you.
Furrowing your brows mockingly, “S’funny for you to say, they don’t even look at me. But they follow me around everywhere.”
“Do they annoy you, must I do my duty as a husband and gouge their eyes out?”
He…didn’t sound like he was joking.
Rolling your eyes, you pointedly ignoring the way your heart lurches at the word “husband.” Still so jumpy at the idea. “Speaking of, your parents give up the marriage proposals, yet?”
At this, Satoru clenches his jaw. “Still nagging, but they’re finally considering you as my actual bride rather than some hijink.” he spits out, seemingly recalling whatever conversation they’d had before. “And they want to have some family ‘dinner’, but it’s going to be awful and you don’t-”
“Let’s go.” you interrupt, nodding determinedly. “The realer this marriage seems, the faster we can divorce, no?”
He blinks at you slowly, “That’s…true. For the divorce, then?”
“For the divorce.”
And, well, that was settled - you were to meet your new in-laws. The ever-elusive heads of the Gojo clan. Also one of the most powerful yakuza in all of Japan, but, semantics really.
You spend the evening cooped up with Satoru in the library, poring over the bloody history of the yakuza - with the Gojo’s heading them all. The only time he actually leaves your side is a few hours before the dinner.
“For you.” he’d murmured, lips ghosting your ear, slipping something cold onto your finger. You look down to see one of the most beautiful rings you’ve ever seen - gold, with delicate blue and white diamonds encrusting it, cut in the shape of roses. “Can’t be married without a wedding ring, huh? Think of it as a good luck charm for tonight.”
And with that he’s swept away in a flurry of bodyguards and ruffled men, and you’re left standing there all alone. Cheeks burning, wondering how the hell he knew your perfect fit.
You worry longer about the dinner than you spend actually preparing for it. Though, that’s probably because of the group of stylists that come into your room to help you dress. Wordlessly fussing around you despite your weak attempts at conversation, eyes averted. Almost like they were…scared of you.
But there wasn’t much time to think of that - not when you’re being marched off in the direction of what you remember Satoru had called the family dining room. “More like a fuckin’ meeting room for those hardasses.” he’d snarked.
The moment you step in, all eyes turn to you - the only ones you recognize being Satoru’s, who immediately stands with a smile. “Ah, wifey! Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” pulling you into a tight hug. His voice drops into a low, raspy murmur in your ear, “Ya look fuckin’ gorgeous in my colors, y’know.”
Traitorously, jolts of electricity run down your spine. Especially at how fucking gorgeous he looked in traditional wear. Whispering back, “Playing up the doting husband bit, huh?”
“Only for you.”
Pulling away, you drink in his dangerously handsome state. Hair so effortlessly styled, tattoos winking at you from just above his yukata - blue, to match yours. So pretty.
Stammering out, “Corny.”
“Only for-”
“Now that the girl is finally here, may we begin with dinner?” A stained voice sounds from behind Satoru, old and tinged with a tone that years of customer service told you did not bode well. Craning your head, you look over his broad shoulders, meeting the eyes of several disapproving elders.
Shit. Some of the most dangerous people in this country right now.
Gathered here - for you.
Automatically, you knew which ones were his parents - painfully upright, and hauntingly beautiful in a cold, calculated way. Sat right at the head of the long table. With a jolt, you realize that you two are seated right opposite them.
“So.” his mother starts, as you take your seat with a bow. Satoru doesn’t waste any time on niceties, plopping down right next to you, scooting closer than necessary. “Congratulations on the…wedding, my son.”
My son. You ignore the way both parents pointedly avoided looking at you. Your husband, however, does not. “What~ Not gonna wish my dear wife as well?”
It’s a silent staredown - one that has the entire room on edge. You don’t realize that you’re clenching your fists in tension until Satoru untangles them, slipping his larger hands into yours. Gaze still alarmingly intense and locked on the other side of the table.
He wins.
“Congratulations. Let us begin now.”
You breathe out a sigh of relief, the tension only slightly broken as butlers stream into the room, carrying decadent trays of food. Well, at least the food might make up for how appalling this dinner is going to be.
It’s only 15 minutes in that you realize how very, horribly wrong you are - because the elders of the Gojo estate really don’t hold back, do they? Thank God you memorized every part of that stupid likes and dislikes list.
Besides picking apart every aspect of your relationship that they could manage to squeeze out of you between the appetizer and the main course, the main scrutiny tonight seems to be you. But in that icy, subtle way that has Satoru’s jaw clenching tighter each second.
Lips curling, Gojo senior eyes you over his wine glass. “So, dear,” voice dripping with underlying venom despite the pet name. “Is it true our Satoru missed an esteemed marriage meeting with the Zenin group to ambush you at some rundown old diner?”
You fight to keep the smile plastered onto your face, painful and cracking under the pressure. A hand squeezing under the table to stop Satoru from opening his mouth to retort, you answer instead, “Well, ambushed wouldn’t be the word. You could say we fell in love over the counter - at my family’s diner.”
“A waitress, she said?”
“Now we know why it was this rushed. Probably pregnant.”
“The scandal. How far the Gojo name has fallen.”
The few stifled gasps from the other end of the table are so dramatic that you could almost laugh. But you don’t. Breath hitching as Mrs. Gojo chuckles, “Marrying the daughter of a lowly diner owner? How... quaint.”
“Mother, be quiet or-”
“What?” she throws her hands in exasperation. “Can’t I say anything around here. Honestly, Satoru, I’m just trying to make conversation with your new wife.”
Before either you or Satoru can react, his father speaks up, apparently not done with the interrogation. “You understand that we’re just worried, right, dear? Especially with marrying into prestigious families, of course.” The emphasis on “prestigious” is not lost on you.” And it drives you insane.
Steeling yourself, you train your eyes on the untouched food below you. “I understand.”
Plowing on as if trying to infuriate you, “And you understand that this position is dangerous? You’ll be targeted.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? Don’t be swept up in our Satoru’s charm and wealth, dear, my son just wants a way out of duty.” tone dripping with disdain, Satoru’s grip becoming tighter and tighter on yours. “The Gojo syndicate owns half of this city, we could bulldoze over that little diner of yours with only one phone call”
“My wife and I are leav-”
“I said I fuckin’ understand.” Your words hang in the air like a foul stench, and you raise your head to glare. If looks could kill, all the elders in this room would be six feet under and you’d be dancing on their graves already. “Neither me, nor my husband would ever let that happen because he knows a thing or two about respect, unlike you.” Lacing your fingers tighter with Satoru’s. “So shove your mighty family up your wrinkly asses. I don’t give a flying shit.”
Eyes wide, jaws dropped, the old couple opposite you finally seems stunned into silence. And if it was any other situation you could’ve almost laughed at how similar they looked to Satoru when he found out you thought his proposal was a prank.
His father adjusts his glasses. “Perhaps that is so.”
Ah, if only the rest of the table would be quietened just as easily.
“Not only is she a slut she’s a-”
Thud!
It all happens so fast you’re not even sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. Because in a split-second, the knife that was at your side is suddenly embedded, deep into the wooden table - barely even an inch away from the elder that had spoken up.
“You’re lucky I’m matching with my wife n’ didn’t want to dirty this new yukata.” a voice sounds from your side. Melodic and so so eerie that you don’t realize for a second that it’s Satoru - your Satoru.
He loops an arm under your legs as he stands up. Easily maneuvering you into a princess carry, forcing you to cling onto his robes for dear life as your feet dangle from the floor. You look up - maybe to snap at Satoru to put you down - only for the words to die in your throat at how absolutely fucking feral your husband looked. Eyes wide, aura menacing. A grin gracing his features, not the familiar one which had your heart racing, no - something so dangerous and cold.
“Now,” he hums. Turning his back to the room, gaze still locked with the shocked heads inside, “My lovely wife and I will be retiring. Won’t you all say goodnight to your future madam?”
You don’t know what shocks you more - the way everyone in that room mumbles out a disdainful little “Goodnight, ma’am.”, or the way Satoru cackles as he carries you to your shared bedroom. Laying you gently on the mattress with a quiet, “Be right back, sweetheart.”
What the fuck happened?
He could’ve killed that man. And looked like he wanted to.
Your brain yells at you - run away run away run away- But you weren’t…scared? In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever been less fearful in your entire life. Especially not when Satoru stumbles back into the room, clearly rushing. Something warm spreading in your chest at the trays of food in his hands.
“Dinner’s better without a bunch of fossils on my kill list.” he grins. Settling right next to you on the bed, setting out the dinner he’d brought for you. And, well, you didn’t doubt that they really were on his kill list.
“Hey, wifey.” Satoru speaks up after a few moments of silence, satisfied with the food laid in front of you. “M’sorry for putting you through that. No more family dinners from now.”
You inch closer to lay your head on his sculpted shoulder, a hand bringing up the food to his pretty lips. He smelled so good, faintly like pine, and clouds. It made you so dizzy. “Eat, Satoru.”
That’s all which is said, because maybe that’s all that was needed. And for a second there, you almost forget that this is all pretend.
---
“Hey, uh- mister. You alright?” you call out, voice barely audible over the rain.
The sullen figure didn’t react at first, soaked through and eyes trained on the ground. Unmoving, even when you hesitantly drew closer, umbrella quivering in your hands.
You should turn around - walk away like everyone else on the sidewalk was doing. But no, something about the way he sat alone, stoic to the storm around him made you inch closer. “Here.” you hold out your umbrella. “S’our diner’s, but you look like you could use this more than I do.”
He jolts, as if hearing you for the first time. A flash of blue, so quick you almost think you miss it. Still not raising his head fully, the man’s snowy hair tousles as he jerkily closes around the handle. Pretty. And so so sad.
“It’ll be alright.” you nod.
And with that, you turn, running back in the rain to the haven of the diner, where your father was waiting impatiently - he’d just bought the boxes to start packing up for relocation. Fingers still burning ever-so-slightly where his hand had brushed against yours. How strange, you wondered his name.
---
Satoru stayed true to his word over the weeks that followed. His parents seemed well and fully intent on avoiding you. And, well, other than a few disdainful remarks, the elders mostly scurried away in fear at your very sight.
The only thing that made your skin prickle was that the housekeepers had a penchant for peeping in on the two of you. Increasingly following you - they always did, but now…honestly, it was a bit disconcerting.
But other than that, it was almost…peaceful. You wake up every morning to a large bouquet of burgundy roses at your bedside table - and a husband. Because Satoru had taken to sleeping on the little couch at the corner of your room every night - saying something about not wanting to rouse suspicion because if he actually had a wife he’d be “taking her to bed every night”. Somehow, you didn’t doubt it.
“Funny how it’s getting close to a month of being married, but you haven’t even kissed me yet.” you deadpan. Looking down at where he was resting his head in your lap, sprawled across the soft grass in the garden.
Something else also happened - something different.
Because Satoru was a bit touchier, a bit closer. Like right now, preening into your fingers carding through his soft hair. “Oh~? Why, wanna take me to bed, wifey?”
“You wish.”
“Maybe I do.”
Your hands still, pulse racing as your eyes bore into Satoru’s, trying to figure out what sort of bad joke this was. Subconsciously, you find yourself leaning down closer - too closer. Close enough that you could count every shade of blue in his hungry gaze. But by the grace of whoever was above-
“Young master, please excuse the intrusion but you have-”
Sitting up abruptly, addressing the newcomer in a stone-cold tone. “How many fuckin’ times have I not told you to never bother me when I’m with my wife?”
The servant bows apologetically, sputtering out apologies as you move to get up. Flashing a smirk at Satoru’s dramatic pout, “I have to catch up on some reading anyway. See ya, Satoru.”
“Noo~ my sweetheart don’t leave me~”
You stifle a laugh at his little tantrum, so different from when he was serious. He was so….dizzying. “You’ll be okay, Satoru.” Glancing up nervously to meet the servant’s intense stare, studying the scene before him, how different his master was. “I’ll be at the library now.”
And Satoru notices - of course, he does. He sees that tiny flash of concern in your eyes. One that you might not have noticed yourself. He lowers his voice as you walk away, so you don’t hear him speaking behind you. Words dripping with a similar venom he always heard from his parents, “Now, tell me who you’re spying for. Names, first and last.”
Satoru doesn’t join you in the library that day, the first time in weeks. And you find yourself missing him more than you should. It’s dark out by the time you’re raising your head from the books, joints aching from poring over them for hours. The house seems a lot quieter. Somewhat bigger.
Something was wrong. Something was wrong. Something was wrong.
Scratching the back of your head, you wander through the wooden hallways to your bedroom - wondering what was amiss. Your feet take you there as if on autopilot, thankful for Satoru’s meticulous tours.
“Hey,” you smile softly at a servant making your bed, “Where are-”
Your question dies in your throat at the way she yelps at your words, hurrying down the corridor with a jerky bow. Weird. Leaving you all alone, and confused, muttering to yourself, it’s only then that you notice the flash of red by your bedside table.
Not a bouquet. Only a single, red rose - a note tied around the stem, something you’d never gotten before.
“The marriage proposals have been revoked, your contract is fulfilled, my ex-wife.”
Oh, reading that hurt more than it should’ve. You should be happy at being free, a few days earlier than expected at that - but it was over - just like that. You didn’t want to leave him. You didn’t want to leave him.You didn’t want to leave him.
Were you going insane?
Clutching the flower like a lifeline, heaving out a sigh, “Maybe Satoru knows…”
“Thinking of me?”
Startled, you whirl behind to face your husband. In the dim-lighting, making out the stoney expression on his face, eyes wide and a little duller than they had been earlier today.
“Satoru?”
His eyes light up at the mere sound of your voice - then you’re engulfed in him. Wrapping you in his arms, bowing his body into yours, so tight that it almost hurts. But you let him, fisting the fresh yukata in your hands - and that’s when you realize, he’s changed his robes since this morning. “Are you okay?” you whisper into his shoulder. Drinking in the smell of his cologne, and something faintly metallic.
Every cell in your body is screaming at you to take the opportunity - to run away from this yakuza and his slaughter and whatever this was. But how could you? Staying rooted to the spot, not even a speck of fear.
Satoru heaves out a heavy breath, tickling the hairs at your nape as he pulls you impossibly closer. “Those nosy elders won’t be bothering you anymore, sweetheart. You’re free to go.”
A shudder runs down your spine at his words, and you didn’t want to think too hard about what they meant. Instead, you guide him to your bed - and, surprisingly, he allows you to. Letting the two of you sink into the plush mattress. With Satoru still in your arms. He repeats, “You’re free to go.”
Run away. Run away. Run away-
There it was again - that strained little manta. You stare right into his eyes, voice thick at the sinking feeling in your stomach. “My 30 days aren’t over yet.”
“Leave. Please.” he grunts into the crook of your neck, like your hands drawing patterns down his back had broken some dam. “M’not a good man.”
You press your lips to his forehead, searing and a desperate attempt to soothe the man. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.”
“I’m yakuza, sweetheart. Doomed to follow my parents here.” he mutters, strained and voice more unsure than you’ve ever heard. And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into your skin, “I hate it here, and you should, too. All these fuckin-”
“So go with me instead.”
“What if-”
“Toru.‘ you cut off his words, slurring and spilling out of his mouth. Gently, you pry him away from his little haven, reeling back to take a good look at the face he’s been hiding for so long. Hair mussed, curtaining his whirling eyes - all disheveled and vulnerable where he was once so suave.
Your eyes bore into his, unwavering. “It’ll be alright, Toru.”
And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. Only when his lips meet yours, soft, and so so sweet, do you realize that this is everything you ever want right now - possibly these past few weeks. “Y’can kill me if you don’ want his.” he mutters into your open mouth.
It’s so desperate - a messy clash of teeth and saliva, Satoru was drinking you in like you were the last drop of water on Earth. He tasted so sweet, like candy almost, and the gentle caress of a lover. You were addicted like you could do this forever and ever and-
And then he’s pulling away. A disappointed little whine leaves you involuntarily as he parts, delicate strings of saliva snapping in the space between you two. Satoru’s mouth drops into a soft oh! at the noise, surging forward minutely like he was about to kiss you senseless again. Only to halt with a pained grunt, just a hair’s breadth from your lips.
“M’sorry.” Claiming your lips once again, like a man possessed. Drinking in your breathless gasps. Like he never wanted to let go. “F-fuck, sweetheart. Y’don’t know how crazy you drive me.” he pants.
“Why did you pick me?” you blurt out, a question that had been nagging at the back of your mind every time Satoru slipped his hand in yours, introducing you as his loving wife. “Was it just the debt?”
He’s kissing your pulse now, canines hovering over the erratic little cadence. Breathing you in like you were intoxicating. “No.” he’s licking a long, languid stripe up your neck. Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down every inch of skin he could reach.
“Then why?” your words come out in almost an embarrassing plea. But by the way his breath hitches, you know that Satoru loves it.
“Because.” he breathes, “You treated me like a human.”
He’s capturing your lips with his again, nipping at your bottom lips. You squeal as he pulls, suddenly wanting him to tease you like this everywhere. To have him absolutely ruin you like you know he could - treat you like the wife he claimed you were.
But Satoru wasn’t done yet - far from it. He chuckles, kissing down your neck, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, “Remember that night? You probably don’t, was rainin’ so hard I thought I’d drown out there.” Worshiping the valley between your breasts as he hastily unbuckles your bra. “That night was when the marriage proposals had come in. They said I’d either carry the legacy or be forced to leave the family. Kicked out of my own home.”
And you’re reeling from both his words and the way Satoru was rocking his hips into yours now, something hot, and so achingly hard pressing in the damp area between your legs. “Thought I was gonna take ‘em all out that night.”
“Take them all out?” your breath hitches.
“Every. Single. One.” Fingers dancing across the hem of your panties. “Wouldn’t have felt bad about it either.”
Satoru’s licking down your navel now, humming in confirmation into your skin. “But then…” he groans, taking in the first fucking sinful sight of your drenched panties. So flimsy and already dripping for him - and after just a few kisses, really? You were heaven on Earth. “But then along came you. So pretty and all worried f’me. The daughter of that diner owner I’d loaned money too.”
You watch, heart racing as Satoru swallows in awe. Darkened gaze locked on the way your slick beads out of your pussy, bare thighs trying to close - give yourself some semblance of dignity. But no- how could you? When Satoru’s holding them apart.
“And then I knew…” he’s sliding his index underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertip before popping it into his mouth. Eyes fluttering shut at the taste, and you’ve never seen him look so blissful. “I just had to have you.”
Rip!
The cold air brushes against you before you even know it - only when you feel Satoru’s hot breath against your dripping cunt does it hit - this bastard just ripped your panties off. And he was dangling it like a badge of honor, breathing in your juices so animalistically.
Your lips wobble as he just admires your pussy, the way it glistens and clenches around nothing. “Hah- please.”
“Please what?” he grins, and you can feel him licking little circles around your inner thigh. So close. “The wife of a yakuza boss has gotta know how to use her words.”
“You’re awful.”
“And yet you married me.”
With such a cute lil’ whine that makes Satoru’s cock twitch so painfully, you buck your hips closer to his hot mouth. “Wan’ your mouth on me, to eat me out. Please, Toru.”
He lets out a shuddering breath, “There’s my girl.”
You gasp when he surges forward, burying his pretty face nose-deep in your pussy. Holding your breath as he lazily licks up your folds - long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Swirling deftly around the sensitive nub.
Drunk off your pussy with the way he’s so messy - seemingly unable to decide between sucking harshly on your poor, ravaged clit to dipping into your sloppy hole. And it’s driving you mad, keening and pulling at his soft locks. You haven’t been touched this good in ages, and Satoru was well and fully intent on ruining you.
“Shhh, don’t worry, wifey.” words muffled into your cunt, “Your husband’s gonna take care of you.” He’s throwing your legs over his broad shoulders.
“Real good care of you.” Then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, the tips of his long fingers massaging your plushy walls. Messy enough that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Roaming for that one spot he knows will have you moaning deliciously. Pressing down, hard. “Found it. Gonna have you screamin’ my name til’ the entire estate hears.”
You tug on his hair, urging Satoru’s mouth towards your cunt - partially because you wanted him there, partially because you really needed him to shut up right now.
And shit how could he ever say no to his pretty wife?
Satoru is grinning, you can feel it on your throbbing clit as he wraps his pretty pink lips around it. Pumping his fingers in and out, hitting that little spot each and every time. Looking like he was absolutely in heaven as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your clit over and over and-
“Sh-shit. Toru-”
“Mmm, yes- fuck, love it when you call me that.” he groans. And oh he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you - eyes half-lidded, such a pretty blush disting his cheeks - and making out with your pussy just as much. Tilting his head back, back, back so that your juices slide down his throat. “Feels good? Ya like when m’ruining your pretty pussy?”
“Yes!” you squirm. Shaking, bucking your hips into his touch so desperately. “Wanted it s’bad.”
He’s becoming frenzied now, drinking in your cute little whimpers like he was addicted. But it wasn’t enough - it never was and fuck Satoru wanted more more more-
“Move your hips, yeah- jus’ like that.” Satoru’s grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Letting you pull and angle him just as you please.
“Gonna be the best fuckin’ husband you’ll ever have. N’ anyone that says otherwise, m’gonna fuckin’ kill.” The vibrations have your body jerking violently. “Make you cum harder than y’ever have. C’mon, say yes.”
And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and bullying his tongue through your swollen folds. Stretching you, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Jaw grinding deeper into you as he eats you out like his last meal. “Ngh- fuck, yes yes yes-”
“Beg for it, beg for your husband.”
“Wanna cum- Ah! Please, wanna cum, Toru.”
One hand so messy toying with your dripping entrance - not having the patience or the sanity to even draw circles anymore. Just quick, hurried patterns to get you off. The other digging into your hips, so hard you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. Making you drag your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. Using him.
“Hngh- Toru! Ah- fuck fuck Toru Toru T-” You’re shaking - crying out as you cum. A guttural, strangled moan of your husband’s name. So violent, and hard that you don’t even realize at first. Just that you’re rocking your hips into Satoru, white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears.
And he doesn’t stop - not even once. If you were in any better state of mind you’d wonder whether it hurt - whether his fingers were cramping up, and his tongue was tired. If they were, he didn’t show, only letting you chase your high as roughly as you want.
Greedily lapping up all your juices. Even when you’re blinking your vision back, chest heaving as you try to regain our breath. “S-Satoru.” you mewl, stars behind your eyes with each flick of his tongue.
“Jus’ a bit more. Wanna taste all of you.”
You weren’t going to make it out alive.
Big, fat tears pricking at your eyes from the overstimulation as Satoru finally rises from what you almost worried would be his favorite seat. “All done. Now, keep that pretty lil’ cunt on display f’me, my girl.”
And your cunt is clenching in- fear? Anticipation? As your husband finally unties his yukata, letting it slide off those milky, toned shoulders. And shit he was such a fucking masterpiece. The dim-lighting bouncing off every curve and dip of those carved abs. Delicate swirls of his tattoo inching from his collarbone, down, down, down, hugging Satoru in a way that made you so half-lucidly jealous. All the way till the last inky thorn meets the neat tufts of white hair peeking up from the hem of his underwear.
“Touch me.” he groans into your ear. The words barely leave those pretty lips before your hands are everywhere. Dancing down his tattoo, groping at this pecs - too much to worship, not enough time.
“Toru…” you trail off, hand reaching out to brush his waistband. Tugging just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, fat tip weeping down his length, already so soaked in precum. He was so intimidatingly long - longer than anyone else you’d had before. Thick enough that you wondered whether you’d hurt yourself.
And he sees right through you.
“Now now, none of that.” he tuts, pushing your bare thighs as far apart as they’d go. He spreads your cunt so shamefully with his thumb. Spitting once, twice. Some of it splatter against your thigh as Satoru mixes his saliva with your slick. “Don’t worry, wifey, m’gonna make it feel good for ya.”
You flinch as he uses you like some object. Dangerously liking it more and more as he drags his fat head down your folds. Wetting himself, all the preparation he was going to give you because fuck Satoru needed to be inside your pretty lil’ pussy right now.
Then you feel like you’re being split apart - as if Satoru’s cock was pushing all the way to your lungs as he presses through the first ring of muscle.
“Ah! Ngh- Toru, s’too big!” you yelp, eyes locked on the way your lips were stretched so lewdly around his tip. Clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in, inch by fucking inch. No mercy. Absolutely none at all.
And while he sounded like he was on cloud nine, you were having your head spin, torn between wanting to run away from his massive cock and just push yourself down for more more more. His lips claim yours - absolutely animalistic because God he needed to shut up your pretty whines or else Satoru was going to cum right here right now.
“Breathe, sweetheart, breath. Ngh- You can take it.” Satoru pants into your mouth, fucking into you in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to fit inside your snug cunt. Sounding like he was losing his sanity each time your heavenly walls milked him. “So fuckin’ tight. Jus’ relax f’me. Oh yeah, jus’ like that. You can take it you can-”
You gasp for air when he finally bottoms out inside you, tears streaming down your face and clawing at his back.
Satoru only coos, letting you mark him up all you want. Pace increasing relentlessly, “Aww, my good lil’ wife. Taking me so well, huh?” Starting to rock his hips just a bit faster into yours, “Always knew y’would.”
“Can y’feel me, right-.” Balls smacking against your ass, his finger tracing an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “-here?” Thumb stroking where he could feel himself bulging inside you, pressing down. Hard.
You almost sob at the pressure, jolting - you should’ve expected that the yakuza boss would fuck so mean.
And shit you can just do nothing but take it, hips jerking wildly as Satoru pounds into you with reckless abandon. Clutching at his shoulders, the sheets, his hair - just anything.
“C’mon~ Don’t run away from me,” he grunts, strained like he’s struggling to maintain restraint. Lacing his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper onto his cock. “Jus’ fuckin’ got you, so don’t you dare run away.”
You can only nod. Eyes glazed, cockdrunk and letting him thrust so sloppily. “Won’t run away Toru…” you babble, “Wan’ you to make me yours.”
“Mine? Gonna be all mine?”
“All yours, Toru.”
And maybe you were an idiot, maybe you were a mastermind - because with a choked out little moan of what sounded like your name, Satoru’s pulling you both to sit up. The gravity makes you bury his cock deeper and faster into your tight pussy.
With the new angle, your husband’s hitting all the right spots easily, almost as if he knew your body better than you did. Veins rubbing so deliciously against your walls, shifting around your hips to fuck up into that poor, abused spot.
“Ya like this, huh?” he groans, fingers now toying with your ravaged clit. Rolling it around harshly between two fingers. “Always knew this cute pussy could take me s’well. Just didn’t know it would feel this fucking heavenly.”
Faster, sloppier. Bouncing you on his rock-hard cock like he was claiming you from the inside. So, so desperate and debauched.
And exactly where you wanted to be.
You leave delicate pink bites down this pale neck, alongside those roses - marking him in your own way as you edge closer and closer. It was too much. Everything was too much.
“Toru-” you sob. And he already knew what that meant. With how your voice breaks so adorably and the way you’re clenching around him hard enough that it’s almost difficult to ruin that cute pussy.
“Close?”
“Mhm…”
“Well then.” thrusts getting sloppy, with no reason or rhythm now. Grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Cum f’me like a good lil’ wife, then.”
And that makes you throw your head back in ecstasy - it makes you cum. Thighs quivering, jolts of electricity running down all the way from your overstimulated cunt to your hazy mind. It has you chanting Satoru’s name like a lifeline while his teeth dig into your flesh. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood.
Letting out low, muffled moans into your neck while he cums as well. Hot ropes of seed filling up your poor, bloated pussy, painting your walls such a sinful white. Cumming and cumming so hard you wondered whether you’d make it out alive.
And because of the obscene position, you could feel the way it dribbled down your legs. Thick globs landing in a pool on the overpriced sheets below, smearing so lewdly between you two. Hips still fucking up into you - not even thinking about it as he pushes his seed deeper and deeper.
You managed to raise your eyes, still dazed to meet his - exhausted, and dark with lust and something else that you really weren’t in the right mind to decipher right now.
And then Satoru’s lips find yours again, biting and tugging lazily. Tasting so unfairly of candy and sweet, sweet trouble. Body melting into you like all the worries have been lifted from his shoulders. He’s looping his arms tighter around your waist, crushing you into an almost-painful hug against him.
Something soft. Something new. Something that makes a little part of your heart twinge to break the kiss and pull away mere millimeters. “We better not divorce after this.”
“Of course not.” He chuckles into your lips, resting his forehead against yours like he was trying to map the constellations in your eyes. “I haven’t even given you my wedding gift yet.”
Smirking, you lock your legs tighter around Satoru’s toned waist as he lets the two of you fall back into the mattress. Sinking into it - and each other - with both exhaustion and something of a quiet, unspoken little fondness. Batting your lashes up at him, “Mhm, I remember someone talking about giving me four mercedes as a wedding gift and I’m leaving if not.”
“Well then, better get to it. Four for my in-laws to get on their good side, too,” he nuzzles the bite mark on your neck. “Because I plan to stay like this for a long, long time.”
I love thinking about how at some point, purely on instinct, Sylus would start building a nest. Like—he doesn’t even think about it, he just starts collecting all the little things you like and arranging them super carefully in the corner of the living room. You stared too long at a pendant in a store but said no when he offered to buy it? Yeah, he definitely went back for it and put it right in the center of the table. Left a hoodie or some other piece of clothing at his place? It’s already sitting in that same corner on the softest pillow he owns. Every tiny thing that ever caught your attention ends up there.
What does frustrate him, though, is that most of the stuff you like is… kind of cheap. He wants to give you the whole world, his entire hoard of treasures—and yet you’re out here looking at little trinkets, bottles with cute prints, and random shiny bits. So he tries to balance it out. Adds a couple rare gems. Some rare weapons. And definitely a lot more soft, cozy things.
He’d never come out and say, “this is a nest I made for you,” but he’s absolutely hoping you’ll go there on your own. He wants you to get it. It feels ridiculous to him, but he literally can’t help it—it’s pure instinct. And he will get upset if you ignore it. He won’t say anything, but he’ll get quiet and broody. You hurt his feelings. That’s serious.
But if you do notice your hoodie and walk over there, he’ll watch your reaction so closely. And once you’re there? He’s not letting you leave. He’s going to point at every single item and tell you exactly why it’s there.
He tried really hard to make it not seem weird, okay? And honestly, if you ignore the mountain of pillows and blankets, the clothes, weapons, jewelry, and all the random stuff you like—it’s actually a pretty cozy corner. There’s a soft chair. Warm lights. It’s a vibe. Please sit there. He’d be so, so happy.
(10k wc) ✦ summary: demanding, old, hostile— just a few of the warnings the man at the local shelter gave you before opening its cage. but it doesn’t matter. so long as he can protect you, all else can be forgiven. yet he’s more wolf than dog. more… man than wolf.
✦ content hybrid! sylus, nsfw/smut, hints of violence (not between mc/sylus), tension, kind of enemies to lovers-? he warms up to mc, knotting & adjusting to it, feral behavior, cunnilingus, slight somnophilia (not detailed), hinted age gap (all parties are 18+), possessive behavior, size difference,
✦ sidenote as by popular demand we have the latest installment of the lads hybrid collection 🙂↕️ i apologize in advance bc even as a wolf-man creature i made sylus older, because yall already know i love me a good ol’ fashioned dilf. dont ask me what bro is in dog years just know he’s scruffy! anyways do enjoy this lil thing while u wait for the caleb fic which i am busting my ass for :] 💕 ALSO sorry. he’s not feline this time… >_< this is def not my fav piece but i hope some of the girlies will like this one :] i did work hard on it it’s quite long. i gave it plot but tbh the smut is straight up filthy 😖 ig all we have left to do is hybrid rafayel! but that boy’s gonna have to wait lol :,) i do hav an idea for him tho ;D
With every step, it feels as if the walls of your apartment are closing in on you.
By your feet, at the front door you hardly have the coordination to close- blundering with the lock- lay a bouquet. Scattered. Flowers strew themselves across your hall as you kick the clasped bunch with the tip of your heel and glide from room to room, warily ducking into each one with your hand braced in front of your body, ready to beat and thrash and fight for your life.
In your other hand- a note. Crumpled, now. Shaking between your fingers.
You don’t think he’s gotten inside again- it seems the new home security measures you installed have thrown a wrench in his plans- for the moment, at least (although your spare key is still missing)- but you’re not wholly convinced you’re safe, either.
And to be clear, it’s better to be that than sorry: You’ll check each and every cranny of your little flat if it means reclaiming your peace of mind.
Your life is a different story though, as of late; threatened yet not something quite as simple to take back. Living with bated breath is no way to exist- neither with the perpetual looks thrown over your shoulder on the short trek back from the bus, the seemingly harmless creaks at night hurling you whole feet from your bed.
Because of that fear, you can hardly even bear to look down at the tiny paper in your hand to read it.
I loved that outfit on you yesterday babe. Can you blame me for taking a little from your wardrobe? ♡
Strangely, though, your drawer is just as you left it when you slide it from its framework almost fast enough to pop its screws, fearing the worst.
Clothes- your tee shirts, blouses for work and lacy bras, pencil skirts- fling across your bed, yet nothing is… amiss.
That outfit from yesterday.
With a gasp, you twist around to look at your hamper, and-
Sure enough, the lid is open.
✦
“-get a few new ones a week. Gets hard to keep up with ‘em all. All the personalities and quirks- a lot of them won’t even eat their kibble unless you look the other way.”
The cold brick walls and all the sounds bouncing off them (grunts, woofs, and nails against tile) become humdrum as the worker, waving a hand as he talks- rants, really- leads you through the pound.
The fluorescence lighting the place flares, whirs overhead. Everything about the setting is harsh. Obviously, you’re in no danger- but as you trail alongside him, you feel a sense of foreboding in your gut all the same. Like you’re walking into a dungeon.
The colorless walls swallowing up most of your vision make that silly threat seem an ounce realer.
You swallow, head on a swivel- yet not for fear, but sympathy as you pass an assortment of fenced-off pets. Some track you with a snarl. Some with eyes that plead. Still, they all share the undeniable tinge of distrust.
What an awful place, you think to yourself.
…But coming here had a purpose.
Your heels clip against the scratched floor and echo in rounds, a certain emptiness existing around you that seems misaligned with all the noise and sights.
Dogs in their cages— some upfront, teething at the metal, others: cowed to their corners, lying on thin blankets not quite as worse for wear.
To sum it up- creatures sapped of will. Defeated in life.
A distinct sorrow weighs in your chest, even as the employee happily drones on, a half-eaten tuna sandwich in one hand (the other: gesturing emphatically), hardly paying you any attention. To be fair, you’re giving him very little as well.
“-I mean, some don’t even eat at all. Picky things.”
Picky? You question quietly. Or without hunger? Their appetite for cheap, bagged kibble robbed right along with their appetite for life.
Your nails dent into your palm as you clench it.
It’s hard to get a word in edgewise as the man chatters away, but you manage to pile down your need to be polite for long enough to get in a:
Hey, excuse me, I asked what kind of dog you’d recommend for prot—
Clack, clack… Clack.
You come to a pause, dead-center in the walkway. The dull rhythm of his shoes remains where yours doesn’t.
“Heh. We got one a couple of months back who thinks this place is his own damn gourmet restaur-“
When he notices you’re not arm-to-arm, he, too, stops.
“Ma’am?” He turns.
“That one,” you breathe, just vaguely registering as the worker sidles up to you and glances at the cage you approach. The glint in your eye wins his interest.
For once since you entered the building, he shuts his mouth.
When he looks at ‘that one’ in question— a silver shock of fur, immersed in a shadow against the far wall— his eyes almost bulge from his skull.
A sharp laugh.
“Ah, little lady. Don’t wanna bite off more than you can chew, now. See-“
As he falls back into drivel (albeit, you lend an ear, curious now), you eye the pooch.
He looks a little wilder than the rest, a little more weathered, tucked to the corner of his cage but not quite ‘cowering’- no, he’s a touch too big and threatening for it to seem that way. More like… brooding.
…Yet you wonder all the same if that’s what he feels, too. Scared like most if not all of the others.
Your chest stirs again with that wisp of sadness.
If you could, you’d clip their collars to a leash and walk them all home, cramming them into your apartment with no thought and all heart. For reasons- countless reasons (having to do with your tiny home and even tinier wallet)- that’s not possible.
In a place as cold and unfortunate as this, he’d have every reason to be frightened, you think, but when your eyes soften with pity at him, his own narrow.
Thoughtfully, you blink.
As the worker rattles off his minor crimes around the playpen- and the hole he eats through their budget, what with his size- you can’t help but marvel at him.
Concerningly massive. With thick, silvery fur matted in certain areas, patchy with scars in others, and eyes that glow an unnatural shade of red- you can wholeheartedly say you’ve never seen the breed before. Less dog-like and more wolfish.
It warrants a raise of the brow, just what he’s doing here. Did he have an owner before? Was he abandoned by them? Or… was he just pulled from the street?
And if so, how many elephant-sized tranquilizer darts did it take to haul him here?
“So,” he says, stuffing his hand in his pockets, “Honestly, Ma’am, he’s probably not what you’re lookin’ for.” Giving your clacking heels and airy sundress a once-over, he sighs.
“We do have a Samoyed though- he was brought in just yesterday. Super playful. Great personality. Domesticated. He definitely won’t be here for long. Uh… this one here, though,” he snickers. “He’s unpredictable at the best of times. Growls when ya feed him- then growls some more ‘cause he’s still hungry... tsk,” he glances down at his hand, then. Evidently, there’s no mark there, but you think he’s imagining one that could’ve been.
“He’s on the older side, too. Can’t teach him any new tricks. And… big, as you can see. With his temperament, he’d probably tear a hole in your apartment. You, uh, you got an apartment, you said-?”
Right now, you should be thankful for all his advice- at the very least, relieved his chatter has become more meaningful, relaying all the pooch’s unruly habits. Yet you tune it all out, slightly cocking your head at the beast dog- a movement that, if you’re not imagining things, his scruffy one mirrors.
“He’s…”
“Yep. Like I said-“
“Perfect,” you breathe, falling to a crouch.
The man beside you coughs on his own spit. “What-? Uh, little lady, I seriously don’t think— hey, watch the hands! Don’t stick ‘em through!”
“-How much?”
You manage to pry your gaze from the ominous thing tucked a number of feet into his prison, cloaked and out of the light, to look up at the man. For all of the warnings and, really, defamation made against the animal— to his defense, he doesn’t lunge. Bark. Claw at the bars or slip his snout through to bite the harmless hand you extend in the space there.
No. With a lift of his whiskers, he watches.
Tuna-sandwich blinks. Eyes widening to twice their original size before he scrubs the lower half of his face.
Eventually, he shrugs. Takes a moment to process it.
As he does, you await the price with a hand already dipping inside your purse. I mean, you hope not to spend a small fortune during this outing- but it’s also an investment worth your while. There’s no saying when your stalker will show his face again. If tomorrow he’ll be waiting under your bed or in your closet for your return- hell, right now, the hackles on your neck are raised as if he could be lurking still.
A word relieves you of worries for naught.
“Nothing.”
…Wait- No, that can’t be right. Nothing? The- your future good boy is worth nothing?
“E-Excuse me?”
He sighs, exasperated. “You’d be doing us a favor,” is all he gives as an explanation. “You can have him for free.”
Dumbfounded, snapping your head back to the cage, you’re met with two crimson eyes that look almost hellish as they catch in the shifting fluorescence- and a pass of surprise on its face that appears almost… human.
“But, are you-“
“Haaaaah. Maybe it’s for the better. You’re like his savior, you know,” he comments, sparing a rather indifferent glance to the animal, “he oughta be thankful for you coming in here.”
And there, fucking again- like a blade wedged between your ribs and twisting—
“Too much longer and we would’a had to put him down.”
A squeeze of your heart.
Jaw fluttering shut, that morsel of information wipes the entirety of your hesitance out. Belatedly, you nod, perching your bag above your hip once more, a sense of determination smoothing out your features.
“When can we get him out of this cage?”
You ask without looking his way.
The sound of keys jingling on a ring has the silver-furred creature perking his left ear ever so slightly- a movement you track with curiosity as the beast’s chest swells in. It’s like he understands. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s seen countless people just like you filter in and out, pass him by, and ultimately land on a different pet to jailbreak take home.
“I can get you sorted right now,” he quips, helpful, “Just… You might wanna back up.”
Weirdly enough- and despite knowing you really should be cautious with a veritable beast from the local shelter, scarred to no end and skulking- all the tiptoeing around him is endearing in its own right.
He’s a good boy, you’re sure of it. Misunderstood, probably, like the rest of the poor, trembling things here— just in need of a nice, loving home and maybe a scritch or two behind the ear. And you’re positive, if nothing else, he’ll do plenty a good job at keeping your stalker at bay.
It takes a handful of minutes to loop the rope (not leash: rope) around his neck- yet the worker treats it as a pleasant surprise, muttering something about how he’s just a whit more cooperative today.
“Thank you,” you chime a bit breathlessly. Sure, your main goal in coming here was to find a suitable guard dog, but you can’t deny the excitement that flutters within as the gate closes to a now-empty cage, your new pet springing free.
Anticipation thrums in your chest as you eagerly accept the rope from him- “careful,” a snigger- and—
The ground beneath you all but gives way.
“Oh, sir- one more thing! What’s his name!”
He stops for a moment to turn halfway over his shoulder. Long, overgrown nails skittering across the floor as the leash tugs harshly and you’re rapidly propelled out the front door, into sunlight.
However, you do catch him shrugging.
“No clue.”
✦
A number of days pass. Those days drag by with an eagerness to get to know each other that seems only one-sided- and a caution on his end that borders uncanniness.
You buy him a fluffy dog bed (the biggest you could find; he’s bigger still). Quality food, not the rubbish they fed him at the pound. And you give him your patience; small, gentle smiles that you’re not entirely sure an animal can understand— but when you offer out your hand for him to smell, a sign that you mean no harm, he growls and retreats to his corner. He chooses one part of your tiny apartment to hunker down in and outright glares when you get too close.
This is your house.
This… was your house. Maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. As a week moves on, you concede to your bedroom or the sofa and watch him with resignation as he watches you back- and contemplate if you made the right choice.
Does he seriously hate you that bad? How can you make him understand that you don’t harbor any bad intentions for him-? I mean, aren’t animals supposed to have that preternatural kind of instinct anyway? to spot malice?
What is he spotting in you?
Curled up on the couch, you hang your hand off the arm and release the new brush you’d bought days ago. It’s seeming more and more like a useless purchase, yet after countless attempts to bathe and brush him- all for naught- it’s only now starting to settle.
Work was long. That one coworker was grating on your nerves more than usual and you could’ve sworn you heard a second pair of footfalls trailing yours after the bus back- but you can only look over your shoulder so many times without attracting the attention of people who start to wonder if you’re batshit crazy.
But you're not crazy. That- That psychopath is, and his countless notes and uninvited visits to your apartment while you’re gone are all proofs of that.
But that’s changed, now. If your dog hates you, he’ll hate an intruder even more.
You sigh, holding your head in your hands as you lean forward. Like a flower wilted, folded in on itself, too heavy with its withering to support its own weight. You rub your temples when you grudgingly glance up to the wolf-sized beast sulking in the corner.
He stares, of course; buttery light twinkling in imposing, ruby eyes in a way that almost makes him seem tame. Mellow.
Not quite.
Still, you can’t bring yourself to dislike him, or regret taking him off the pound’s hands— for all his stubbornness, the hostility he barely conceals, you know all too well that fear manifests itself in strange ways. Like when you almost snarled at your deskmate today for leaning over your shoulder again to review your work- the proximity too startling to handle. You’re irate. On alert. Scared. And it’s making you do unreasonable things as a way to calcify your soft skin into a protective shell. You start to think that you must be hard: the climate calls for it.
The mutt that broods behind your armchair is the picture of ominous- big and bad and threatening long before his lip even curls in warning. Everything about him screams see, look at my scars- my sharp teeth and nails. Don’t touch me. Don’t hurt me.
Your heart stirs.
Tiredly, you offer a small smile. “You are perfect, you know,” folding your leg over the other as you pat the open space of the couch beside you. It can fit four to six people if they cram together, but you know he’d take up the three cushions beside you if he sprawled out entirely.
He regards you with a microscopic flick of his ears. “Even if you don’t like me, that doesn’t change what I think about you. If you just let me give you a bath… I’ll let you sit on the couch, deal? I’m sure it’ll be comfier than what you got now,” you offer, gesturing harmlessly to the dog bed that lays unused by the table— for this reason or that, perhaps just as a way to show you he’s completely rejecting you, he’s avoided it.
Yes, he’s just a tatterdamelion, forgotten animal, operating out of instinct and whatever feels right.
Yes, you still had to mask your hurt over it.
You sigh. “I mean, I haven’t even thought of a name for you yet. And I’m sorry, I just…” Trailing off, you give your head a small shake and stand to your feet. In your mind, with no small amount of discontent, you realize you’ve reached a watershed here— one that separates your old, normal life from a sense of great uncertainty that rests on the horizon.
And you’re terribly concerned. And tired. But God forbid you start venting to a dog about it.
“Nevermind. Goodnight, boy,” you wave your doubts off dismissively, deliberately leaving the lamplight on lest he get scared in the dark. Sometimes, you think you see eyes staring back in it, too, so you put no judgement on him.
Pattering with heavy, sock-clad feet down the hall, “Sleep tight. Just tell me if you hear anything at the door-“
A labored sigh.
Nails clacking behind you— and for one awful second you fear the worst: You’ve turned your back to a beast.
Your breath hitches with the realization, yet as you swiftly spin around- half prepared to bolt or at the very least shield your head with your vulnerable, just as fleshy arms- you’re mistaken.
There, he stands, as a massive silhouette against the living room light angling into the narrow, dim hall. He’s like a bull in a china shop- monstrous, sharp claws etching lines into the lacquer of the maple wood floor, his tail sending fur gusting behind him as it falls. You become clear of two things, then:
One) you must sweep, and soon. And two)
He’s tilting his head- in an uncannily shrewd way- towards the ajar bathroom door beside you, and as he noses it open and stares at you, it’s with expectance.
Oh, and then three—
When you don’t respond right away, he steps around you and impatiently nudges you in- headstrong as ever- through the bathroom door with a throaty huff.
✦
He smells of strawberry shortcake. Vastly sweeter than what he really is, you think with a wry but endeared smile, when you extend a slow, ever-cautious hand to pet.
To your surprise, he lets you.
Call it a truce between you both. A comfier place for him to crash at for a little more peace of mind on your end.
With all the dirt and dried muck lathered out from his coat (it took an hour or so, and patience- as he flung water and stubbornly tried to readjust in the small tub- lots of it), you’re given the chance to finally see the beauty of his breed.
Chalky white fur, soft as the cashmere sweater stowed in your closet on standby for the chilly autumn weeks ahead. His hair is long, perhaps overdue for a trim- not that you’re deluded enough to believe he’d allow a groomer anywhere near him- and easily covers most of the scarring underneath.
Convincing him it was safe to let you clip his nails was an even harder task than getting him in the bath- but he… cooperated. In a looser sense of the word.
None of your limbs are missing. That’s a small miracle in itself. You’re thankful for the little breakthroughs with your new pet, even if it feels like you’re walking uphill all the while.
He hops up on the sofa beside you. True to your word, you allow it, the springs dipping beneath you both as he settles.
If the couch fell through the floor and onto the one below in a mist of crumbled drywall, you’d have no right to be surprised. None at all.
Trying not to show a fraction of your joy as he sets his head on your lap lest that deter him, you bite back a grin and rest a hand on his back. You avoid needless contact with his head- you get the feeling that’s a iffier place for him. You’d respect it, of course. Your show of patience has been nothing less than outstanding in the past week. Now that you’re finally making headway with him (and yes— his letting you bathe and sit with him is headway), you’re encouraged.
Besides…
Unpredictable. The forbidding advice of the shelter employee rings in your head.
Ahem.
It’s late.
Tomorrow, you’ve another long day of work and second-guessing your surroundings and the people in them. Whether or not you’ll be attacked in your own home by your persistent ex-boyfriend who couldn’t stop meddling with your life even if it meant saving his own.
The doubt, momentarily, is pushed to the back burner.
You smooth your hands through his velvety fur. A strange layer of peace drapes itself over you, warming your chest like a fleece as his back rises and falls, your quiet breaths punctuating his own heaving ones.
“You’re a good boy, you know,” you murmur contentedly as you lay your head back and drift off. A crimson set of eyes regards you carefully, peering up through fine, snowy lashes.
From the barrel of his chest, he lets out a deep rumble like he understands. You know he doesn’t.
Half awake, you weave your fingers along him, “You are. You are a good boy,” as if it’s come as an epiphany to you- made realer as it’s spoken.
Before you let sleep take you entirely, you murmur with a ghost of a grin, teasing despite knowing it’s ridiculous because your words aren’t coherent to him- just a swooning, soft sound to bitten ears—
“Hey… I could tell you didn’t really like Cookie, or Sweetie, or Dragonfruit, but… what about…”
A moment passes. Barely, you register his snout lifting from your thigh.
“Sylus.”
Before dozing off, you’re fairly certain- for his sake- you’d left the lamp on that night.
…But when you wake the next morning to your alarm blaring in the room over, all that lights the living space is the sun streaming through the blinds.
✦
You blink and autumn is in full throttle.
You blink and you’re trading your thin sleep shorts out for pajama pants and slippers- layering your work blouses with wooly cardigans.
Days leap over one another like cards of a rolodex— yours, on your cubicle desk: filled with doodles of the unruly pooch waiting at home for you. Idling over him is all that you can do to ease your mind as anxiety gnaws through.
You worry for him when he’s home alone. Not because you heed the warnings you were once given- ‘he’ll tear a hole in your walls’- but because you care for him, and with that brings the inexplicable want to see him as soon as possible.
Of course, he can’t speak, but he shows in his own way that he misses you too when you’re gone.
Once your shift ends, you do as you did the day before. You quickly take the jacket off your wheely chair and gather your things, waving to the select few coworkers who don’t make you want to rip your hair from the root.
Perhaps if you’re quick enough, you’ll even make it off the bus, to your complex, before the sun sets. You appreciate fall for its colors. Not for the darkness it brings far too early to be comfortable with.
Every alley appears with teeth, in those eerily quiet moments when you make the short trek back home. Cars purr beside you on the congested roads, and despite cursing traffic on the ride to your stop, you’re grateful for it now.
At least more people are out; potential buffers to stave off your crazy ex from putting his hands on you…
Potential witnesses if he does.
Damnit. Damnit damnit damnit. Every evening you can’t help but wish you could just- take Sylus with you to work. But for so many reasons that’s just not possible.
Stuffing your hands in your pockets, you breathe out a fine mist and pick up the pace.
You can’t escape dusk from falling- but you can take advantage of the early moments of it right before night comes swinging.
You nervously glance up to the sky, a fiery swatch of orange sat under starry blue, and tell yourself it’s fine.
…It’s fine- and yet you swear on all things holy you can hear boots pacing behind yours—
A gasp. You turn around and get ready to rip your pepper pray from the scabbard that is your pocket- for naught. Emptiness greets you. Sneering and quiet. In the distance, deeper into the city, a car honks. Where you are now though, you’re more or less alone.
You wet your lip where it’s dented from biting. You turn around, and press back on.
It’s okay. You’re almost home. Just a bit further. Within ten minutes you’ll be crooning to your ‘puppy’ and itching behind his ear while he rigidly thumps his tail, closing his eyes indifferently as if he wasn’t hurrying to the door as soon as he heard the lock.
Yes, that’s right. In ten minutes- on the dot (you know because you’re toying with your watch to calm yourself)- you’ll be slipping off your jacket and refilling his water bowl, tossing him scraps as you prepare a nice steak dinner in celebration of your weekend commencing. The fancy wine you’ll pair with it is to help wash it all down and pretend you’re financially better off than you are. Not to help your nerves.
…Even Sylus, the creature who doesn’t understand you even if sometimes it seems he unexplainably does, would be hard-pressed to believe such a feeble lie.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Your heels. A dull, monotonous rhythm against pavement, one you relish now because it fills the crisp, silent air.
Then-
Tap tap tap.
Your heels- “Hey baby, wait up- where ya going?”- with the sound of another and the bone-chilling revelation that every suspicion you had was grounded—
You don’t even turn around. You don’t reason with, stick up the bird to, or even hastily shout a fuck off, creep, over your shoulder because you’re not sure you have the luxury to.
By the sounds of it, he’s already close.
“Oh no you don’t. Come on, baby, just let me fuckin’ talk to you!”
-Closer and gaining still.
Fear rattles through you. It goes from zero to one hundred in a breath- yet how to breathe becomes a distant memory as your lungs still. The pulse in your throat drums, and suddenly your cardigan isn’t enough to save you from the ice eating you from the inside out- a cold sweat already forming at your nape.
You’re in such a panic you even forget about the spray in your pocket- the assortment of makeshift blades (keys, pens that grow knives when you click them) tucked in your purse. You have a small arsenal in there. Yet your mind spins.
“Stop-! I haven’t even been able to visit you lately because of that fucking asshole- since when you’d get a new boyfriend, baby? Do you really not care about me anymore? I just wanna talk!”
No. No no no- and new boyfriend? What-? All thought is dashed from your brain, his hollers becoming static. No, just ignore him, it doesn’t matter what nonsense he spouts to try and get you back- you won’t so much as glance behind you. After all he’s done to hurt and twist and outright disgrace you and your home, you don’t think he deserves it.
You break into a sprint. The concrete path pushes beneath you. You feel like you’re running in a dream, you’re so terrified- but you do run. You run like hell. You run like a girl.
You fiddle for the key in your purse, shaking as the door opens and you slam it behind you. His hand almost gets stuck in it, the knob jiggling loudly just a millisecond after you lock it.
As the reality of what could’ve been settles, you’re horrified. Cold in the face.
Sylus is there, leaping over to reach you. You wonder if the fury you catch in his wide ruby eyes is your imagination or reality; if he has the inexplicable knowing- based on your frazzled state or the noise- that something is terribly wrong.
“Sylus-“
You breathe with relief, but you don’t linger. You skitter past to the kitchen for a weapon- a real, proper one. A snarl rips from his throat as you leave him behind you, shouts sounding in the hallway behind your door. He barks at it. Ferocious and lupine. Surely not the make of a dog, of a pet meant for four walls and a roof— no, it’s a separate beast entirely.
Hostile, unpredictable, growly- dangerous. Oh, you’ve no choice but to hope all the labels on his package are true. That he’ll rip your ex-boyfriend a new one if he finds a way in.
Hyperventilating, limbs like jelly, you stagger over. In the short span of time it takes you to turn out the kitchen and down the corridor, you contemplate either opening the door and saying go boy, go— or simply staying back to ‘defend.’
You turn the corner and blanche.
Someone’s in your house- not the creeping, painfully familiar face, however, no- and he’s naked.
And then, everything you’d been working so hard to build with your froward pet over the months, the foundation of trust and patience, the hard-earned truce made between you both… As red eyes flash at you in warning, a hand taking the shaking knife from your own before he opens the door— it all shifts.
The bottom falls through.
The man opens the door, and perhaps you should be thankful that he takes the squabble outside because you’re sure that the blood spraying from your ex-boyfriend’s nose as it breaks would be impossible to scrub from your walls.
✦
“Relax,” he grouses with a tsk, “I’m not gonna bite.”
With split knuckles, a long leg crossed over the other where he sits on your couch, canines just a little too sharp as they catch in the lamplight- that’s hard to believe.
The blade he’d taken from your hands lies on the cushion beside him, and while you don’t make a grab for it, you think he sees the way you eye it- and the knife block in the kitchen- as you clench your fist to keep yourself from fainting while you gawk.
“Y-You’re not my dog.”
One of his brows lifts with amusement- or challenge, perhaps- as you deny the truth laid out before you. It’s impossible. Of course it’s impossible. He-
That can’t be Sylus.
For a moment you believe he’ll agree. Nod his head and say, no, I’m not your dog- I’m a person; because that’s certainly how he looks. But he doesn’t.
“I simply changed forms,” he explains. “Not who I am to you.”
With nothing else to say- no real rebuttal- you can only flounder. “N-No. You’re not Sylus.”
That pulls a soft huff from him, “Oh, kitten,” he grins a tenuous grin, “I’m wounded. And here I thought your kindness had no takebacks. You gave me that name, didn’t you? Sylus.” He sighs, a heavy, affected sound- like this is no more than a theater play to him as he adjusts on your sofa.
“I guess I’ll just have to settle for something else, then… Is Dragonfruit still up for grabs?”
D-Dragonfruit? How does he…
The way he looks at you then, with a lift of his chin as he angles his brow in provocation, a smirk only touching half his mouth- makes you freeze. The little hairs on your nape rise.
…Yet he’s just as scarred as your pet, with the silver hair and the gemstone eyes— massive, over six foot tall and muscular- and the air about him is… familiar. Too much to be comfortable with.
“Y-You’re not-“
Before you can splutter out another denial, he sighs and drops the bravado. He spares the weapon beside him a dismissive glance, stretching one arm across the back of the couch.
“Look, if you don’t believe me, that’s your choice. I won’t try to convince you,” he states, “I’ll just let my actions speak for themselves in the course of the next few days.”
…What? The next few days? Does he plan to stay? What- no. No no no! This mysterious, albeit helpful stranger (helpful in the way that he shook your persistent ex from your doorstep- through violent means, of course) can’t seriously think you’ll just let him crash at your place after feeding you such a ridiculous lie. He’s not your dog. He’s- he’s not some werewolf that can shapeshift on a whim- those only exist in fairytales and teenage romance novels.
Not in your tiny apartment.
“N-No. You- you’re crazy. You have to leave. You have to! I’ll- I’ll call the cops!”
Not-Sylus seems unfazed. Perhaps even a little offended at your bluffing: the vehemence is there. But the certainty is not.
Sure, the department wasn’t having your stalker drama- but an intrusion you’re actually witnessing like this can’t be easily ignored. If your crappy ex ends up snitching (you doubt it, what with his involvement)- all the more evidence, right?
He all but rolls his eyes, saying like it’s obvious, perhaps even with a mite of amusement, “I’m on your side, kitten. Don’t get all…” he looks you up and down, and you hate the flutter of your heart that’s more than just fearful— it’s self-conscious. “Hissy now.”
You punch out a scoff of disbelief. “You’re some stranger in my house! Look- I appreciate what you did, okay? I really do,” you start. You have to pause in between to take a breath because God knows you mean the words you say- you’re just inwardly afraid that the fix was only quick, not permanent, and with the sudden disappearance of your dog? Good luck protecting yourself now. Fuck, you don’t even know where he went- maybe he booked it out through the door when you were too distracted by the chaos to notice.
But then… why the hell would he leave? He- He’s never done that until now!
You rub your face and stare at him. The fear lends itself to a distant echo the more you realize you’re no longer in immediate danger. The guy is an unwelcome (and flashy, literally) intruder, yes, one your pooch would waste no time in maiming, but he’s not an active threat... You just have to figure out how to get him to leave.
“But my dog is a dog. Not a human. Not… you.” That you even have to say it out loud is ridiculous.
Even if, the longer you stare, the more you begin to believe it.
The scarred skin, the unmistakable, red eyes, and the somewhat bitten ears- his body weathered from what you suspect to be years of tussling in underground fights (evidently: winning them, not without the cost though)…
And that arrogant little air he carries with him, the one that first endeared you so.
Sylus, it all says.
But no. No- this is insane. Months of being stalked and living like a bug under a microscope have made you worse for wear. Impaired your judgment.
He draws you back to the present with his rumbling voice. “Your dog is more than just some animal,” he huffs. “Don’t tell me after all you’ve experienced with the stalker that you’re… frightened of this side of me? Really? Of all things?” His chuckle is as rich as it is short as he shakes his head.
Frightened? No… that becomes a more distant word. You’re more so stunned than anything else right now as the pieces start to fall in alignment with each other.
“Well, how about this,” he offers at your silence, waving his hand. “Let the week pass. By the end of it, you can decide for yourself if I’m real or truly just a figment of your imagination, sweetheart… You…” he lowers his gaze, then. Uncertain, almost.
“You can even decide if you want me to stay.”
He rubs nothing between his fingers, glancing up again with a pointed brow. “Deal?”
And if you say no? If, on the off chance you’re wrong and you kick him right back to the curb- to a sorry life of abandonment and bloody illegal brawls and God knows what else?
Your mouth wavers. “I- I don’t believe it.”
You do believe it. But it’s crazy.
He almost snorts. “You’d better start. But with that pest taken care of now… I think you’ll catch on quite fast,” he grins. “I’m here for you, kitten. Isn’t that what you wanted me for? Protection? Don’t tell me once I serve my use you’ll throw me out?” He laughs. But then he sighs right after, pursing his lips and looking down to his lap where he makes no effort to adjust the thin blanket that covers his nakedness as it nearly slips.
Headstrong. Cocksure. Bored with his surroundings in a way only mature folk really tend to be. The sage advice of that employee flashes in your mind— ‘he’s on the older side, so naturally he’s a bit grumpy, snippy’; really, you shouldn’t gasp at his temperament but with your current situation it’s a little hard not to when he clips out-
“So? Do we have a deal or not?”
And, well, what’s the harm in giving him your couch for one night?
Or several.
✦
A wintry chill pricks up your neck. Along your arms. Down your limbs where they bundle beneath the covers- to the tips of your toes as you respond with a shiver.
It rattles you in tandem with pleasure.
Upon waking, a few things blitz through your mind too fast to catch. For one, you’ve woken before your alarm- meaning you’ll be miserable in the minutes or hours of consciousness before it actually does go off. Secondly, the bed feels heavier.
…As do your bones.
Third— Sylus is not on the couch like he’s been for the past few months. He’s with you, in the comfort of your own bed, and as the wooly blanket slips down your upper half- leaving you to the cold air- it reveals to you a head between your thighs.
Pried open. One held up for a soft kiss while the other is pinned down— both wet. Sticky with- with you.
You gasp. “Sylus-“
You’ve no time to even rub the sleep from your eyes, big weathered hands anchoring you in place, because he lifts his head from his plate for a millisecond when you try to stop him and does something he hasn’t for months.
He snarls.
“Quiet. I’m eating.”
Protective. Territorial. That isn’t your pussy he eats from, lapping fervently at it as if it wasn’t just a number of hours ago you were hand-feeding him steak cubes from the cutting tray— no, it’s his.
He blocks your hand from interfering when it slips beneath the cover. So when that doesn’t work, you attempt to clamp your legs shut (quavering, you realize, on either side of his lupine face). All your efforts- bogged by sleep and the simple fact that he was leagues stronger- are for naught.
‘Good try’, his eyes seem to tease, though, glittering devilishly at you as his tongue flicks your clit. And then, when you hesitantly lie back and rest a hand in his hair- ‘that’s it, kitten.’
“Good girl,” he practically purrs.
He’s got a big appetite. You’ve known that.
Not as much as you do right now.
“Sylus, wait wait wait,” you moan. Life has thrown so much your way, especially in the past year or so, but you never went belly-up for it. You fought and resisted and squared up.
But right now, half of you almost wants to take him lying down- let him take his fill of you and then pin you down to take some more. Let him have his way with you, whatever that may entail.
But you- You have work tomorrow, and- and responsibilities—
“Hush,” he goes, voice muffled, having some preternatural ability to tell just what you’re thinking. He drifts a hand up your belly to splay over the valley of your breast. Your heart thumps beneath his callous palm like a metronome. Like a ticking clock, counting down the seconds or hours before you need to get up and get ready. Start a day in which you leave home, leave Sylus, and spend the rest of it longing to get back.
“Just take the day off.”
Grudgingly, you lie your head back. It’s… not a great idea, but as your rationale clouds, it seems like your best one.
“O-Okay.”
As a hot, long tongue stripes up your pussy and then his other hand, the one he used to comfort you in his own weird way, slinks downward again- the ceiling becomes too boring to bear.
So you glance down.
He’s handsome as all get out. Really, a couple months ago when he first appeared to you as a human, that was all you could think as days passed and you became grossly aware that you were sharing a confined space with a man. That you had been all along— and your prancing around the apartment half-naked was just one of the countless spectacles he’d seen.
He never pounced, though. Never lunged. Never bit you like a dog or hurt you like a man, even when every bit of his crude exterior screamed hazardous. He was a good boy. And you don’t care what form he takes; he took you as you are, didn’t he? When you were scared of your own shadow and a little snippy because of it. He let you hold the leash to his heart and snarled at anything that came too close- protected you against your piece of crap ex without prompting. Turned your fear into a mellow thing.
Warmth prods at your heart. Loosens your legs up where they clench around his head.
That day at the pound turns in your memory like a spindle.
You could’ve lost him. He- He could’ve been gone forever hadn’t you showed.
…But you did show. For the shitty time you’d been having, Sylus was your one silver lining. You were there for each other as a shoulder to lean on and a hand to hold.
Your fingers tug gently on his scalp. Fruity shampoo breathes out from the blanket when you flip it over his head to allow him better access. Nerves eat you from the inside out. You’ve seen the looks, the hungering glances and felt the fingertips that linger in seemingly innocent touches:
Finally experiencing the culmination of his quiet longing is a whole different game, though.
Slurps ring out from your thighs. Your sighing, candied words- spoken in that ridiculous tone reserved only for him- make his ears perk atop his head.
“Good boy,” you breathe. “Y-You’re perfect.”
He rewards your obedience with a finger, thick and delightful. You gasp and arch your back into his hands- or, his one hand- a throaty moan rippling from his open mouth. The several little muscles in his face go lax when you coyly guide him deeper into your cunt and he melts.
“You taste delicious,” he whispers. “Sweet girl. I can-“ a deep, shivering inhale. Not from you- from him. “I can smell how much you want it…. You’re soaked.”
You mewl his name and almost reach full relaxation ‘til you glance back down and, with the covers off, spot where his other hand disappears. He’s naked- not in the boxer briefs and sweatpants you’d bid him goodnight in- and holds his fat, upright cock in his hand.
And his hand is big. Can dwarf every part of you with its hold.
His cock is somehow bigger.
Your heart leaps from your chest as he eyes you. He’s daunting. Every bit intimidating and then some- especially as you realize he won’t be just content with kitten licking your pussy, delicious as it is, and ending the intimate moment right afterward.
Dogs will always take the bowl if you slide them one: and then look to you later for seconds.
Point is- he’s insatiable.
You shiver as raunchy images flash in your brain— rough fingers pinning back your thighs as he rams inside you, setting a relentless pace as he bites and sucks and claims.
In your imagination, he doesn’t pull out when he comes.
…What really takes your breath is the engorged knot at the base of him, though, flushed an impatient red. Fattening by the second.
Cum- not pre- dribbles from the tip. For how long he’s been at this, you don’t know.
“Sylus-!” You mean to shriek it, but you can only manage a whispering scream. “Wait, wait, wait! what do you have in your hand-!“
A grin plays at his lips. Crooked, recalcitrant.
Challenging.
He’s hardly lucid, what with the delicious heat emanating from the slick lips he stuffs a second finger in, to acknowledge your question, so it’s surprising when he pulls back a centimeter to make an answer. Lust grips him tight— the need to fuck and take and mount— but that concerned, cute little bump in your brow is one he wants to smooth.
It’s the least he can do.
“Take a guess,” he sussurates, licking slowly up your inner thigh. Torturing you. “It’ll be in yours soon though, kitten, so get ready.”
Your eyes bulge from your skull.
His response: a low chuckle paired with a moan.
From that point on, even as he suckles expertly at your puffy clit, working you to a sniveling mess as you scream on his fingers, you’re focused entirely on what he’s doing below the blanket. He palms at himself- it’s all he can do to relieve the ache as he wrestles with his fraying self-control- massaging his balls and knot as they throb.
When he withdraws his digits from you, eyes drooping at the cream coating his knuckles before fluttering back at the taste of it— you lie back down and gulp.
Taking work off today is a good idea. You can already think of a few excuses. Not being able to walk properly is one of them. Being unable to get out of bed… Feeling so sore and feverish after he’s fucked you into pyrexia that you can’t even move an inch without being reminded of it.
He straightens. The cover slips off him entirely and he’s tall. Hulking. Painting you in his shadow- but the moonlight brings out the sheer hunger on his face, and you alight with warmth all over again.
You hope he’s primed you. You pray he’s done good to prepare you for what’s to come. Because oh, it’s coming. You know that.
“Now,” he heaves, dragging your legs either side of him as he kneels. You can tell he’s not well off, trying to muster a cocksure grin but failing as he perspires at the temple. “To the good part.”
You frown at that, almost- a pang of hurt weaving through the haze of desire and the smell of your musk on his fingers as he licks them clean again, ever thorough. He notes the flicker of your brow with a thoughtful pause and then a sigh, shaking his head as he grabs your jaw and angles his front down.
He chuckles, and you experience a singular flash of softness when he goes, “Oh, so sensitive… Don’t pout. I thoroughly enjoyed the opening too, kitten.”
You’re shaking. Insides molten with the pure want for him to just- to just do something already. There’s no opportunity to come down from your high because you feel his cock bob against your tummy as he sets himself up, and you burn anew.
Oh, you love him. You really do. He’s endearing in all the places he shouldn’t be. He’s charming and strong and willing to fight for you. So you don’t care if he’s a little old and slow on the uptake when it comes to new tricks- territorial and intimidating. He’s yours.
Eyes half open, you lift your hands to trail from his pecs to his firm, scarred belly. With a hiss, he trembles. Catches your wrists and tuts at you a second later, saying, “It’s better to keep those at your side. Once you get me going, I won’t be easy to stop.”
And you’d be half tempted to tease him some more, you know, but fuck if he isn’t massive. And fuck if you aren’t a little scared for it.
So you clutch the sheets as he drives himself inside with a grunt, and settle below him. You trust he’ll take care of you.
The entrance is, at first, surprisingly smooth, what with the natural lube you’ve provided for him. You let him lift your ass and bend you into a bow-shaped thing so he can hit deeper- and that’s when there’s some turbulence.
Your fingers curl into the cotton fabric. You brace and wait for the sting to subside. When you realize your eyes are clamped shut, though, you open them to see his expression and pall at the sight of him.
He’s gorgeous. Even when he looks like he’s ready to sneeze- brow scrunched and jaw slack as he dragoons himself inside, tormentingly slow- he’s nothing less than charming through your lens. But you’re thankful for the time he gives you to adjust because you need it.
Frankly, if he intends to put his knot inside— and he fucking won’t, there’s just no way— the walls of your pussy need the patience on his end.
For several seconds, Sylus does not breathe. You’re sizzling hot; when he eventually bottoms out, he can’t tell where he starts and you end- all he knows is that it’s gooey and warm and so fucking tight his balls throb. He deliquesces between your thighs. You welcome him, your body like a landing pad.
He supposes, right then, you’ve always been very hospitable.
Sylus curses. “Ngh, you’re tight... Loosen up,” he presses his forehead to yours and hisses out through his teeth. His eyes glitter like rhodolite in the dark. Reverent hands run down your side and clasp your hip. With your slick still coating his lips- tangy sweet, you find, as he presses them to yours- you realize he’s worshipful. The moonlight pouring in the blinds makes his silhouette glow a true blue.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, swiping over your bottom lip with his tongue. “Sweet, and soft. And a very good girl. I’ve got your back. You know that, don’t you?” Then, he draws his hips back and—
Your little bed judders. But the squeak that sounds out is yours as he ruts back inside and your labia brushes with his knot.
He won’t put it inside. He won’t. You’re sure of it. Mutts only do that when they’re mating. Mutts only do that. Sylus is- is so much more than that, and….
“Mmm,” an uncontrollable moan escapes you as he begins to move, like really move, and your eyes roll.
With some difficulty, he continues. “You’re naive. Plucking something like me from its cage. But I admire your bravery, kitten, so— f- uck— let me just show you, hm? How far my loyalty goes?”
Void of words, you nod.
The reindeer-patterned bedsheets aren’t enough. Your hands leave them in favor of Sylus, grasping around his back so tight your fingertips can make out the raised scars there. Planes of muscle flexing with divots with every thrust forward.
Offhandedly, he hits that sweet spot inside you. Your nails dig in by accident, and you say his name, stringing out the syllables in a delightful, dizzying mewl.
The floodgates- they burst open. Something in him gives.
He rams forward, abandoning his restraint altogether as his furry, salt-and-peppered tail whacks the mattress beneath you. That fat swell below his cock teases at your sweltering hole with every pump inside, and Sylus burrows his nose into your sweaty neck to whimper.
You’ve never heard such a noise escape him before. Huffs, grumbles, long, exaggerated sighs he makes whenever he finds a nice spot to lay down (usually on you), as if he pays the rent around here— but never that.
He whines, words strained, “Think you can take my knot? Hah… Nod your head for me, kitten- because I don’t think that I can stop it. I can’t wait any longer. I need you to…” he shudders, “take it.”
One moment you’re nervously glancing down to monitor him- and the next he’s nudging your head back with his nose before crashing his lips to yours. Your eyes widen when he flips you over, presses his chest to your back, and thrusts inside with vigor.
With the new angle, you stretch around him with a mewl, but every bone in your body locks when his hips slam flush to your ass and—
His knot pops inside with a gasp.
Throwing your hands to the strong ones he latches around your midriff, you wail. He clings to you like a limpet, his thighs trembling behind yours as he moans endlessly in your ear. Pointed teeth graze at the nape of your neck. He doesn’t bite- but amidst the warp of pain and a pleasure so intense it gives you vertigo, you distantly realize that he probably wants to.
He holds himself off. Breath hitching as his pelvis claps into you. Euphoria rolls across him, shocks him like a static bolt, every fiber of his being awash with it as his jaw falls open and he succumbs to you.
When he comes, it’s so hard his ears ring.
The walls of your pussy become less hospitable, then, clenching around him so tight as you both cum that for a moment, he can’t even say a word to ease you. He aches inside you- you can feel it. The girth of him twitching as your heat swallows him up with a spasm. His knot takes all thought from your brain. Stuffed inside your poor hole, tumid and veiny.
You feel him coalesce with you, too. Eagerly rutting his seed inside (ensuring it sticks, you realize when he drops a finger to your folds, checking for leakage), releasing rope after rope of hot cum as you go limp and take it.
You offer up a choked mewl when he kisses at your spine, brushing your hair aside just to access your neck where he licks and sucks. You trust Sylus not to get carried away with a bite if he did, to lose out to what he’s been taught.
Evidently, he doesn’t trust himself.
Your fingers dig into his thick, scarred forearm and he sighs behind you- a long, feeble sound. He’s barely able to keep himself draped over you- let alone support your own position beneath him, what with the soup you’ve made of his brain- but he manages.
Silence sprawls out as you attempt to steady your breaths. All that comes in between it is the occasional, wet squelch and the gusting inhales he takes at the column of your neck.
“It… hurts. So good…” he hisses after several beats. Only marginally brought back to reality, you flutter your eyes open and offer a yip back. “You’re doing so well, though… Just-“ He twitches inside you, then, throbbing like a second pulse point, his cock undulating in your walls, greedily taking up all the space.
“Fuck. Stay still, sweet girl,” he grunts, harebrained. His eyes crinkle and close. “I want it all inside. Don’t wanna see so much as a drop escape that perfect, tight pussy. Hah- you hear me?”
“Y-Yes,” you quiver back. Speaking is too difficult, you realize a second later, shoving your open mouth into the pillow as you pant for air.
Yet, you can’t help but ask with a slur, “Sylus- when- when will it be over?”
He moans, right in your ear. Goosebumps run up your naked body- all that clothes you.
“It’s too big,” you cry.
“No,” he quips. “It’s just right.”
As if on cue, your cunt gives another squeeze around him, milking him for all he’s worth. In response, he bows his forehead into the crook your shoulder and jaw make to bury a whine, and your mind spins when you register his balls, hanging fat against your ass, lurching. And oh, you’re spilling, you can feel it, beginning to ooze profusely from your puffy lips even as he keeps it plugged; really, even if Sylus wanted to separate from you (he doesn’t), he couldn’t.
There’s nothing in him that wants the distance. The idea of self-autonomy. The idea of independence. No- he’s all yours.
“We’ll wait it out,” he breathes. Coasting a hand along your belly in an effort to placate you. He knows it can’t be easy for you. But the world— that stupid, irksome ex-boyfriend of yours— needs to understand where your heart belongs. There’s no better way to show that than to demonstrate it first with the body.
And you—
(Bitten by his branding kiss, supple skin covered with the divots of his teeth, your belly full of his veritable seed-)
Well. Nobody should look at you, he decides in his spirit right then, and come to any other conclusion but the one that you’re his.
Unmistakably, irrevocably, his.
“It’ll subside soon enough,” he soothes with a peck to your throat, a surprisingly chaste move. He loops his arms around your waist again and carefully- mindful not to exacerbate the heady ache- maneuvers on his side, pulling your back to his front. He whispers at your ear, “So long as you don’t move or stir me up, we’ll be fine.”
Yet, a set of canines brush at your jugular, and again- there’s that inkling, this time in better clarity, that passes your conscience. You know he wants to bite. To mark. To claim. You know it and have the vague idea of all it entails, yet he… won’t.
With a frown, cursing as you turn ever so slightly and his fat knot shifts inside you, you hazily meet his eyes.
His are practically glowing, laying heavy on you. Charting across your face the moment they make contact, observing every brief flicker of your expression to try and assign a feeling— happiness, he hopes, contentedness— to it. His lashes totter and you burn with shame when a lewd suck rings between your legs, his cock wet all the way down to the slight plush of his abdomen.
You don’t mean to pout, “why won’t you-“
“Not yet, Kitten,” he scolds. Trying to swallow down a pit of self-consciousness in your throat, you murmur, “What, do you not want me?” Sylus huffs as if offended. His eyes drag from your lips to your searching eyes.
“Really, kitten? …What, should I give you an equally stupid answer?”
Oh, you’d tug his tail if you had the luxury of moving right now-
“Of course I want you. Can’t you tell?” He sighs, then, burrowing his nose into your neck almost to hide. His ears droop along his head, donning a relaxed look.
“So. Did you like it..?”
“Y-Yeah…” you murmur, carefully looping a hand back to stroke behind his fuzzy ears. “But, I just… I thought you’d really do it, I thought you’d really tie us together-“
He chuckles richly. “We’re already tied together, kitten,” peppering another kiss below your jaw, licking appreciatively at the sweat that clings to soft skin. “I’ve belonged to you for some time now, haven’t I?”
Your heart skips a beat when you realize he’s right.
“I- I guess so. Yeah.”
“So no more whining,” he lifts his chin to sample your lips, this time- his knot still throbbing white-hot and insistently inside you (albeit the ache is lessening)- eyes lidded as he conveys his affections.
“I’ll do it when we’re both ready. When…” He pauses to swallow.
In that short frame of time before he next speaks, you’re drawn to all his scarring. The faded ligature marks around his neck, the seemingly permanent gnashes along his body (which was a touch too lean before you familiarized him with good food). The nip taken from one of the ears sat atop his silvery, mussed locks. In that moment, you don’t see the misshapen, loveless thing he was beaten into— but rather the softness he worked to regain for you.
“When I know it’s manageable.”
If he feels unsure of himself- whether he can remain… civil, for lack of a better word, amidst the fervent haze that a mark would bring about— then you suppose you could wait for a bit longer.
“Okay,” you murmur with a faint, understanding smile, caressing one half of his face dotingly. You tilt your head slightly to plant a firm, benevolent kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“But you’ll always be a good boy to me, okay? I trust you. I told you before- you’re perfect-“ Rather roughly, he noses your head back into the pillow, readjusting his iron hold around you as he grumbles into your hair.
“…Hush. Now close your eyes and go back to bed. I’ll tell you when it’s ready to pull out.”
"Mamaa...mamaa...mama!" You let out an exasperated sigh as the little cub kept waddling after you, you didn't want to touch the humanoid snow Leopold baby that had just learnt walking, knowing his father was nearby, but you had a duty and feeding the little one was one of them, you reached out for the little cub who obediently stretched out his hands.
"You were a good boy?" You couldn't help but coo as the cub nuzzled your neck affectionately, his ears perked up as he slowly blinked "Yea!...was good!" He replied before making grabby hands for your hand so you could pet his head.
This was your own fault for taking a little cub as your familiar, well, technically the baby imprinted on you and his father, which you dared not to look in the eyes was a behemoth of a hybrid, was not pleased, but he stayed in the shed in the backyard of your home, watching closely how you treated his precious cub.
You didn't look at him in the eyes, not because you were afraid, no, it was because he'd devour you whole with his piercing gaze, nearly pouncing on you to nuzzle you close, oh right, as the cub thought you were his mother, he now had claimed you as his mate, welp, good thing you have a spray bottle for shooing him away.
Lord, what would you do with them two when your witchery exams drew near?
s. you come back home after spending a year away from your friends, suguru geto among them. and you think you've gotten over your suppressed feelings for him, you think
w.c. 11.2k
w. fem! reader, kickboxer/business student!geto! x reader , mutual pining! friends to lovers! fluff!, smut! virginity loss! (but it's not that big of a deal, you'll see why) masturbation!
a/n: ummmmmm I thought about this while watching a suguru edit. this is a little slowburn, but not painful I think idk I stayed up to finish this. will proofread later I need sleep. mwah hope you like.
you are beat up the first morning you wake up in your home after spending a year abroad.
your head is pounding, the light is agonizing to stare into, and your back is tense after spending the last 24 hours running around with the fattest luggage on earth, sleeping on stiff airport lounge seats, and sleeping on the stiff plane seats, or at least trying to.
buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz
fuck's sake
"let me sleep, let me sleep, let me sleep." you groan painfully into your bed, body short circuiting on the jet lag and reminiscing on the peaceful sleep you were just having.
buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz
"oh my-"
knock-knock
your head whirs up and looks towards where the door to your apartment would be outside of your room. and you hear a faint, familiar voice calling out your name cheekily.
exhausted, you get up and out of bed to open the door.
"as much as I missed you guys, I just traveled across the world and my body is still recovering..."you groan, walking to your couch and flopping onto it, eyes still a bit puffy.
"my body too would also miss the crisp baguettes and wine for breakfasts," gojo slyly comments as he slides into your apartment with one step and plops into your--small--beanbag, his legs poke out comically while he inhabits the light pink ball of foam.
a light whiff of cigarette smoke and cherries inhabit your room too when shoko throws a warm? bag on your back and picks up your legs so she can sit underneath them.
"I told him you wouldn't want people at your door this early." she sighed aloofly.
"nothing a breakfast bagel can't fix." gojo snickers
you finally open your eyes and sit straight up, digging into the brown paper bag that was once on your back
"or two." he adds, watching with a smirk as you take a hearty bite out of the first bagel
when you gulp it down and clear your throat, you point a finger at him then to your suitcase in the corner of the room, "there are four boxes of pierre herme macaroons in there with your name written all over them."
"aw you thought about me."
"yeah I really do," you speak gruffly between heavenly bites, "paris doesn't make this shit."
"there's no bagels in Paris?" shoko tilts her head, a blank look in her eyes
"shut up, you know what I mean." you almost moan, faintly rolling your eyes back in pure bliss before forming a realizing thought and turning to gojo, "did you come here this early for your macarons gojo satoru????"
his smile is blank and so are his eyes, you can tell, even through his stupid glasses.
"eat that second bagel, why don't you, my favorite friend who I've missed so dearly."
right before a slight scowl forms on your face, shoko interjects.
"he did cry when nobody else wanted to drink the nth pornstar martini with him at the function the other day."
"hey!"
you giggle a little and feel your sleepiness and grumpy mood fading away. (thank you gojo's breakfast bagels and shoko's disrespect)
"no need to worry anymore babygirl, daddy's home." you smile, lazily hugging the armrest of your couch
gojo huffs and puts a hand close to your face, "I saw your stories unfaithful slut, those cheese fiends were matching your freak, with espresso martinis of all things."
"but did I ever drink a pornstar martini without you?" you poke back, slapping his hand away
you can tell gojo is thinking and has been left speechless, but just as much as he's a victim to shoko, so are you.
"that she posteddddd."
"you guys are not allowed to wake me up this early and bully me, either of you," you state as you jump up and address the both of them before heading to your fridge to serve yourself some water.
"anyways, where's suguru?"
"training." shoko answers airily as her head lolls onto the armrest.
"he's been super focused lately right? I think he deactivated his instagram like the first month of me being in France."
you remember feeling bummed out every time you posted a pretty picture and never saw him in your views.
"that's an understatement," satoru scoffed snarkily, "I do not understand such a dedication to kickboxing when he's deadset on business."
"can't a guy have hobbies?" shoko questions, not at all seemingly bothered by Geto's dedication to sport such as satoru is.
"you guys want coffee?" you ask, about to turn your back to turn on ur espresso machine.
"yes," gojo says before adding a quick, "but from the cafe two blocks from here."
eyes squinted, you turn again and lean against your kitchen countertop, "I literally have a coffee machine."
"you drink that pretentious small espresso shot crap, weirdo, I don't want that"
"okay but I can just pour milk for yours?"
"I doubt you can make an iced vanilla biscoff latte here." he scoffs
"satoruuuuuu~" you whine, exhaling as you stare up at your ceiling, "I have to wash my face and get ready! I wasn't mentally prepared for that."
"I'll buy you a pistachio matcha latte," he grins, toothy and sharp, "with that creamy oatmilk you like that's an extra 2 dollars."
"I missed you and your bank account so, so much," you say whole heartedly, sending him quick air kiss of appreciation with your middle and index finger as you trot into your bathroom to start getting ready.
on the walk to the cafe, you fight and try to suppress the wondering your conscious has for suguru geto.
you're friends, have been since your freshman year of college, and that's all you have been. there's always been a feeling there in regards to him, but you've never touched on it for more than you've thought about it (repeatedly.) you just couldn't bring yourself to break that peaceful friendship or to even think about crossing it.
sure you noticed the day he deactivated his socials.
sure you like wearing his hoodie/jackets and acting like nothing of it.
but it's not like you took up the scholarship offer in Paris because maybe your favorite city in the world could distract you from hoping he'd ever flirt with you.
it did
"oh is that the rock climber?" shoko asks as she peers over your shoulder and onto your phone.
"indeed it is," you mutter cheekily as you answer the French fling's text, "he thought I was leaving tomorrow instead of yesterday, lmao"
"no goodbye sex?"
"fingering me is hardly sex," you look at her with a side eye
"woah, couldn't get over the 50/50 thing after all huh?"
"never," you sighed, putting your phone back in your pocket, "the least he could do was service me a little with a few orgasms after I had to pay for my own drinks."
"so who did you fuck?" satoru interjected, visibly curious as he stood in line with you guys and simultaneously read the coffee menu for any new sugary drinks
"nobody," you sighed, "didn't feel like anyone was worthy losing my card to."
but all this and here you are, shoving thoughts of him to the back of your mind. it's all become so natural that compressing any thought of geto isn't an overthought process anymore. you've forced yourself to become near careless about him, silencing the voice that cares every minute of every day. you don't know if you're in love with him or containing a small crush on him, that's how scared you are.
"understandable," satoru reasons, whilst picking his phone out of his pocket to read something.
"hey, look at that, haibara wants us all to come for drinks at his place tonight," blue eyes sparkle at you from beneath his glasses that he's purposely let slide downwards, "you know he makes the best lychee and passionfruit martinis."
"and dirty martinis." shoko pipes in
both you and gojo stare at her in slight disgust before he returns to giving you his puppy face.
"as long as there's a ride home involved, I hate sleeping at other people's places."
satoru stands straight up in glee and claps his fingers together, "great! don't worry about that, suguru doesn't drink anymore because of how uptight he's been lately."
the whole day becomes hang out with satoru and shoko day after that. you can't exactly go home by the time you're done with your matcha latte and your stomach starts rumbling for lunch, especially when trust fund baby satoru offers to pay for lunch. then he drags you both into a museum he's been wanting to see, and suddenly it's nearing sundown and it's time for dinner.
"let's go buy pizzas for haibara!" satoru exclaims with a pep in his step as he leads the way for you and shoko to follow after him.
when you get to haibara's apartment, everyone's already there.
various chimes of your name are said as you begin to greet everyone after being away for so long.
utahime hugs you particularly tight and fusses over you, "thank god you're back, you look so beautiful, shoko's too careless to have conversations with sometimes."
fearing your friend would be offended, your mouth open and closes, unable to figure out what to say until you turn to look at her sleazed on the couch and already lighting a cig.
"it's true," she shrugs
"I'm glad to see you too hime." you smile, embracing her in the hug again.
you hear a familiar voice speak when you let go of the embrace
"there wasn't really anything for me to wear haibara, had to settle for this shirt."
geto stands at the door to haibara's bedroom, one hand up and holding onto the frame as he calmly peers down at his shirt and then to the owner of it.
why was he wearing haibara's shirt? and why does it look so...
and suddenly he's looking at you, eyes softening just a bit as he greets you by your name and starts to walk towards you.
you'd imagined, hoped seeing him again would warrant more excitement from him, but no he's still the same calm and collected guy he's always been.
"suguru" you smile, ignoring the way your heart races at the side hug he gives you
well, his body isn't the same. god, how often has he been training? you didn't know his arms could be that veiny.
"satoru texted me that you've been with him and shoko all day." he starts, lips only slightly, minisculely turned upwards as a way of being polite towards your presence.
"since eight in the morning." you sigh, looking over at the freakishly tall giant already breaking into one of the many pizza boxes he bought.
"he missed you." suguru looks at his best friend too, making a face of disgust for a moment when satoru finishes a pizza in two bites.
"I missed him too," you breathe, smiling a little, "wallet or no wallet."
that makes suguru laugh and you're so thankful tails evolutioned off of humans or else you'd have a hard time controlling the urge to wag it back and forth at the reward that was making geto suguru laugh.
"I missed you." he says once his laugh falters away
"me too." you respond, fighting the awkward and terrible pit in your stomach
did he really miss you? miss you? how much did that mean for him?
it doesn't seem like a lot because he gives you a small grin before walking towards shoko and striking up a conversation with her. and gojo hithers you to him from across the room to start drinking your first martini of the night.
you've forgotten how drunk you get with gojo.
your vision is tunneled and you dont know what time it is or what is even what.
"oh brother." you groan, stabilizing yourself on the kitchen countertop. you had gotten up from being sprawled on gojo's back on the floor because you wanted a slice of pizza and the journey seemed quite treacherous now. so far, yet so close. you just had to open that pizza box.
until a hand made its way into your vision, opening the box, getting a slice, and offering it up to you. its a pretty hand, a silver ring on the index finger, veins running up it and onto the arms
of suguru
he's smiling fondly at you
"hungry?" he asks in amusement
"yes, thank you." you gulp, otherwise unable to show how flustered you are due to the immense alcohol in your system and insatiable hunger.
once you take the slice from him, geto begins to slide a chair out and helps you land on it considering it was a little high.
he sits across from you on the kitchen island.
"parmesan?" he has the bottle in hand, jeering it to you
"mhm" is all you can say through a muffled mouth and take the parmesan bottle for yourself.
"is this anything like the pizza over there?" he asks again in amusement
"no," you shake your head gruffly, almost groaning from how wonderful the taste is on your inebriated mouth, "but I can appreciate this right now."
you feel as if you've finished your pizza far too soon, knowing that the part of you that's embarrassed is subdued and screaming that you've been far unladylike in front of suguru, who eyed satoru so disapprovingly when he did it.
suddenly,
"you have some..." suguru leans over just a smidge and brushes your cheek with his thumb, "...parmesan dust."
"oh," you try to keep your jaw closed amid the surprise of his actions, "thank you."
"you want another slice?" he nudges his head in the direction of the box next to him, eyes innocently waiting for a response.
he sees you open and close your mouth again, hesitant on a response before he decides for you and gets you another slice.
"you need something else in your stomach to keep the martinis some company." he smiles a little and motions for you to look at the plastered satoru on the floor, "he's done already, so don't worry."
"thank you." you almost pout as an appreciation to his mercy and figure you should ask what was on your mind earlier, after chewing and swallowing a bite gracefully. you were going to be more conscious of this second slice.
"why are you wearing one of haibara's shirts by the way?"
"Oh," his eyebrows only raise a little and he looks down at the extra tight black shirt, "he was trying to imitate those street vendors that make slushies out of regular soda before you three got here."
"and haibara being him, I figure somewhere along the lines it erupted all over you." you giggled a little, imagining the mess
"that you are correct." geto smizes. he then looks around to the various bodies thrown across the room and zones in onto the floor.
"are you ready to go now satoru?" he asks, one brow quirked up, wondering if his best friend heard him or not.
you turn a little to look at him too and he only turns his face so that his cheek is resting against the floor.
"I don't think I'm even ready to get up," he grumbles, "you guys can go without me, I'm fine right here for the night."
feeling alert already at the idea of being alone with geto, you ask satoru if he's sure
"your back is going to hurt a lot in the morning Toru." you plead internally
"don'ttttttt careeee." he burbles
you're about to open your mouth to urge him again, but suguru gets up and nudges your arm lightly, keys already in hand, "don't worry about satoru, he doesn't have anything important tomorrow anyways."
then his hand is reached out towards you, probably to help stabilize you as you get off the ridiculously tall chair.
hazily, you take it and start to follow him out of the apartment and to the parking lot
his back looks really good in that shirt, you note. every muscle is carefully outlined, every movement of his being emphasized.
"hey," he turns his head over his shoulder to peer down at you, "why're you back there."
suguru then reaches a hand behind your back lightly and motions you to walk in front of him.
"oh, my bad," you murmur, having been snapped back into reality.
the rest of the walk to his car is quiet. and when you get there, suguru's leading you to the passenger seat, opening the door for you, and leaning in to buckle you in without even asking if you could do it.
when he starts the car, you see the time on his front screen.
3:43
"oh my god," you gape at the time, then look at geto while he starts to back out.
one hand on the back of your seat.
"hm?"
and that's all it takes for you to resume what you were going to originally say, finding all the scattered gibberish in your brain to form and communicate the thought.
"weren't you telling utahime that you had to get up early for training? it's so late..." you point at the time
"I do," he shrugged, eyes on the emerging road
"I'm sorry," you lightly pout in guilt
suguru gives you a quick once over and he grins so faintly, "I don't mind."
"let me send you money for a coffee or something." you turn in your seat to look at him pleadingly, eyes scanning him for any hint of resentment
he laughs
"I'm flattered," he smirks, amusement lingering in his tone, "but I'm not taking your money."
you slump in your seat at the rejected offer before you remember something and quirk up in your seat a little
"at least let me give you the gift I got you when we get to my place?"
"sounds like the perfect exchange." he nods
when you wake up, its 1 p.m. and you're surprised you slept through the many alarms on your phone.
you remember everything from the night before and you're not hungover, thank god.
oh
you reminisce on the moments you shared with suguru, even the ones you're embarrassed about.
"arghhh why did I force him to walk all the way up for his gift," you groan into your pillow, "wasted like fifteen more minutes of his time."
a small shriek leaves you as you headbutt yourself on the bed, "why did I do that."
its been about a week and a half since haibara's hang out. which has given you enough time to finally get used to being back home. you reorganized your place to accommodate for all the trinkets and decor you brought from Europe and cleaned out your closet.
you finished everything in time for your hangout with satoru
"Hey Toru." you lean down to give him a quick hug from where he's seated snugly, slurping on a sundae
and suguru
"hey." you breathe, not gulping when he gets up and hugs you to greet you.
when you sit down, you notice your heart is racing and your breathing is just a bit labored
probably the long walk over
"we got you strawberry mochi and a matcha latte," gojo mutters through the straw he's still slurping on, eyes zoned in on particularly nowhere? on the table in front of you all.
never separate this man from his sweets...
"oh thank you satoru." you say appreciatively, happy he thought of you
"thank suguru," he mutters back, "he paid."
your eyes drift to suguru, who smiles unphased, and lifts a hand up to minimize the gesture of paying for you, "satoru knew your order already, I just offered to pay."
"oh," you try not seem too disappointed that he didn't go out of his way to know your order, "well, still, thank you."
"it's no problem." he settled back into his seat comfortably
"didn't offer to pay for my sundae." satoru rolled his eyes
geto's eyes creased a little, as if internally smiling, and said, "didn't you eat out almost a third of my fridge yesterday?"
"whatever," satoru rolled his eyes, "buy me a second sundae then, im already finishing this one up."
"I'm not familiar with anything you've just said. are you feeling light-headed?"
"oh puh-lease," satoru starts to nag, "you can hear me just fine. stop acting like an idiot."
suguru fakes a look of confusion and concern, which makes satoru bolt up out of his seat and start heading towards the door to enter the parlor. and you're pretty sure you hear him say something about taking a bite out of your mochi when you're not looking.
the idiocy makes you giggle a little and you don't notice when suguru turns his head from looking over at a grumpy satoru to you, a slight upturn of his lip at being able to make you laugh.
flash!
after a blinding white light attacks your eyes, you're met with five schoolgirls, all with their phones out.
you'd think they'd be ashamed but?
"you guys are going on my Pinterest!" one giggles
another one is laughing almost as if she's on a sugar rush, very manically, "I hope my boyfriend is as hot as him one day. oh my god. aha aha ahahahahah!"
"you're so so so pretty." a ditsy one with a valley accent deadpans, nearing your face and making immense eye contact, "I know that you guys have the hottest sex."
your jaw drops and you look at suguru in shock, embarrassment out the door at being a coupe and more surprised by the actual words these teenagers are spilling out.
suguru's no better, no other movement on his face except for his raised eyebrows and wide eyes.
the ditsy one speaks again before they start to trail off, "I'm using you as hairspo for my next hair appointment."
and it goes in one ear and out the other because your mind is still stuck on the, 'I know that you guys have the hottest sex.'
what the fuck? what kind of crap was she imagining?
what was she thinking about?
hottest sex?
like flashbacks that never happened, vivid images of you on your knees and suguru drilling into you from behind play in your mind quickly.
he's so big in person and the thought is so palpable when he's next to you...
stop!
you feel your cheeks heating up and a shiver runs up your back.
you try to laugh to brush it all off, "they were probably high or something. or just really really extroverted..."
the tips of suguru's ears are the slightest pink as he finally makes eye contact with you.
"yeah," he breathes, "without a doubt."
"what were those schoolgirls yappin about?" satoru asks, a bit careless, as he plops back into his seat, a new sundae in hand
"nothing."
"nothing."
satoru glares a little at the both of you, his brow quirked up a little, "yeah sure."
you're shopping later at the mall with the both of them, a slight awkwardness between you and suguru that the both of you cover up by only really interacting with satoru and not the other unless satoru was involved in the interaction.
satoru is drowning in what looks like eight bags of clothes when he halts your walking and jeers his head towards the store next to him.
Victoria's Secret
"Didn't you come with us so you could buy new stuff here?"
Yes you had.
But that was before a group of teenagers made you feel awkward about discussing/associating anything nearing sex with suguru now.
"yeah..." you try not to stutter as you start to walk in
god, satoru is so unabashed and careless that he's going to accompany you too. and if satoru goes in, so does suguru. if suguru didn't want to, he would surely have to right now or else satoru would question him.
you know what, maybe suguru isn't overthinking it like you are. surely he isn't clinging on to the idea of sex with you.
yes, exactly.
bracing yourself, you walk into the store, pick up a bag, and ready yourself to start filling it up.
you've forgotten about your awkwardness with suguru after a while of being amazed by all the pretty options in front of you
and satoru, for the most part, is quite mature in this store.
for the most part...
"ha, look at those," he points at a mannequin wearing crotchless panties and at the same panties decorating the table beneath it, "get them."
disgruntled and rolling your eyes, you respond, "yeah sure when I'm getting screwed."
"girls wear lingerie for themselves you know."
"yeah I know," you huff, "and I do. but I can wear crotch on lingerie under my clothes. that's just plain old porn panties for not single people."
"you're such a debbie downer," he groans, "if I were a girl, id wear those with or without out a man."
"well, im a girl and you're not so." you say in a sing song voice as you check out a bra in your hands and toss it into your shopping bag.
"wait where's suguru?" gojo says, having noticed that his best friend's presence was quiet.
and that was all it merely was because suguru was scrolling through his phone, seemingly unphased by the store, paying no attention to what you and satoru were looking at.
"oh." gojo shrugs before he moves on to checking out more underwear with you.
and he spots a particularly cute set of babydoll's that you've grown enamored with, staring at all of them.
"those are very cute," your white-haired friend says
"and very expensive," you whine, having seen the price tag on one of them, "I don't know which one I want to take home."
"hm," satoru whirls around and looks between the mannequin wearing the see through pink one and the see through baby blue one.
"hey suguru." he calls out
suguru looks up from his phone and is slightly confused by where satoru's standing.
satoru has his chin in his hand, "which one do you think would look better on her."
suguru faintly gulps and quickly regains his normal calm confidence, slipping his phone back into his pocket.
"whichever one she'd feel the best in." his eyes smile for him
"oh don't be a prude," satoru gags before pestering him again, "really, pick one."
"why don't you pick satoru?"
"because I think both are too pretty." his eyes gleam, staring at both of the babydolls in question
suguru sighs then looks at you, who so happens to already be eyeing him down, eyes wide for a response.
"the pink one." he mutters quickly, eyes immediately darting away.
there's a loud sigh of relief from satoru when suguru finally makes a decision and you pick up the pink one sitting at the table.
"I think that's all for me," you breathe, skimming over the rest of the store quickly.
and before you make your way to the register line, you stop near suguru
"thank you sugu."
it's a Friday night that you've got all yourself the next month following the incident with those girls and suguru.
you've shaved, washed and blow dried your hair, did a thorough skincare routine, and put on the babydoll you bought last month.
you feel hot and have plans...in mind.
you've seen a little bit of stuff on twitter just for a spur
and there you are, sitting on your dildo, cheeks heated as you sit up and down on it.
you're unabashedly thinking about suguru.
truth be told, you haven't been able to get him off your mind since those schoolgirls planted the thought of that hot sex with him.
he's just so big and lean.
god
you remember satoru making you go with him to pester suguru while he worked out, considering his gym was next to his apartment complex and he had agreed to invite you both and shoko for a watch party of the scream movies that day.
he looked mad when he trained on his kickboxing, eyebrows furrowed and eyes dark on whatever he was taking out his strikes on.
you figured he'd make a similar face beating your pussy up.
that same trail of sweat making its way down his spine. thigh veins twitching all the same at the force he'd use on you.
"su-"
knock knock
the blood drains from your face and you immediately feel yourself getting dry
"oh my god, who's here at 10 p.m.?!" you whisper shout to yourself as you scram to put your dildo back in its hiding place and through your night robe on.
you take a breather and check through your door's peephole
a big blue eye meets yourself and zooms out when satoru leans back and reveals that suguru is also with him.
you open the door quickly, slightly angry.
"why are you guys here?"
you keep your eyes on satoru, afraid even looking at suguru would reveal somehow that you'd just been vividly imagining sitting on his dick.
satoru seems impressed as he looks at your very short night robe, thighs out in the open and he shrugs, raising a bag of fast food in his hand, "wanted to hang out with you."
unable to refute his friendly gesture, you move so that the both of them can come in.
"you were ready for bed early," he comments, setting down the food on your kitchen island.
"it's ten p.m. satoru." you sigh, spotting that they didn't get drinks, so you try to find some cups for the Diet Coke in your fridge.
you realize they're in a cupboard.
that you'd have to lean up to
you're about to ask satoru to help you, but he's far too focused in setting out the food for all of you and suguru's just there, standing watching you and satoru, mostly you, in awkward silence.
"um, suguru," you pipe
he fully turns his attention to you. argh, you didn't think having 100% percent of his attention would be so drastic than having 80% of it as opposed to earlier, but it did
"can you get some cups from here?" you point at the cupboard, "I'd get them but uh-"
you look down at your very short nightrobe and exposed skin and suguru's ears turn pink at the tips
"yeah, no problem." he says quickly, moving to open the cupboard and gets out three ceramic pink cups.
you, meanwhile, open your fridge and get the Diet Coke jug you've had chilling, thankful you put it in the top shelf and not the bottom, having avoided the risk of bending to get it.
you sit down next to suguru, unfortunately, since satoru took the single seat across.
"so," you start to pour drinks for all of you, "what were you guys up to before this?"
"nothing," satoru mumbles through a mouthful of fries, "we were supposed to watch t.v. at suguru's place but the internet went out in his building."
one of your brows raises, "and you came to hog my t.v.?"
"no," satoru glares at you a little, "the burger place was right by your place and I wanted to stop by."
"plus," he adds, "I didn't bank on you being ready for bed so early."
then something lights up in his head and he stares at you quizzically, a smirk forming, "were you getting off before we got here? is that why you're all dolled up and dressed for bed like you've got first name dil last name do coming over?"
"ugh," you groan, "gross, satoru!"
"shoko and I went with you to buy that eight inch purple girth monster," he laughs, "you were sooooooo on it."
you roll your eyes and decide to ignore him, taking a bite out of the burger in front of you.
"take it easy on her satoru," suguru swoops in softly to defend you, "I remember how disgruntled you were when I found you with the door open during our time as roommates."
"hey! we agreed to never mention that to anyone else!"
you start to laugh, embarrassment only a tinge less than it was before, thanks to suguru.
although their sudden presence had interrupted your orgasm, you looked forward to the moment in which they would leave.
but satoru somehow, being the annoying giant he is, finds a way to make suguru and him stay the night at your place.
"satoru, I don't think my back can support sharing this couch with you." suguru tries to reason
"oh come onnnnn, we've shared less at frat parties before" satoru chippers, beginning to roll himself into a ball in one of your blankets.
pitifully, you share a look with suguru and hand him a blanket.
"sleep well guys." you yawn before turning off the lights and heading to your room.
your very empty room.
and you can feel your panties dampening again.
no you shouldn't.
you get into your bed and stuff yourself under covers, hoping your body gets the message that it needs to sleep.
it doesn't
so you count sheep.
nope
force your eyes closed and hope it just knocks you out.
nope, you were in that weird limbo of sleep and no sleep.
you don't know how much time has passed but you assume its late enough that both of the boys are asleep, so you shoot up out of your bed and lean over to open your nightstand, flipping your covers off in the process.
the desperation never wore off, your panties were drenched and you didn't even have to play with yourself to spread your lubrication or open yourself up a little.
biting the bullet, you lift a leg up with one arm and use the other to press the head of your dildo inside.
your breathing was extra labored, but that was nothing compared to the moans you'd let out if your friends weren't sleeping in the room next door.
then you start fucking it into yourself slowly, inch by inch, and it feels oh so good. even if it was see through, you pull down the straps of your nightgown and let your tits out, letting the air hit them and put you in a further state of vulnerability.
then in a matters of seconds, you're pounding yourself as hard as you can without making a noise from either lips.
your eyes are rolling back and it's hitting that angle so well that-
the relief washed over you faster than expected, orgasm a little ruined because you wanted to relish in the feeling longer.
so there you are, dildo still inside, one hand over your stomach while you let your breathing go back to normal.
"I needed that anyways." you whisper to yourself, feeling your chest heaving up and down.
knock knock
"you've got to be fucking kidding me." you shriek to yourself in the quietest manner possible as you rapidly stash your dildo away and fix your nightgown back on.
you dash to your door and open it a little, only letting the top of your head and eyes peer through the side considering what you were wearing.
there's suguru, hair down and shirt ridden up just a little, face a little surprised at the way you opened the door
"yes?" you ask, quickly peering at his happy trail
"is it alright if I use the restroom?" he asks, a little sleepy
"yeah," you gulp, "just let me get back in bed so I'm not indecent when you come in."
"alright, just tell me when."
and you leap onto your bed, immediately tugging your cover on top of you.
"you can come in." you say meekly, hoping he can't see how disheveled you are. the moon was especially bright tonight and it always lit up your room nicely during nights like this.
suguru opens the door immediately and smiles at you a little as he walks towards your restroom.
you smile awkwardly back
he pees you assume, because you've barely seen three tiktoks on your phone by the time he comes out.
"did I wake you?" he asks while he approaches you on your bed, taking a seat at the end.
having him so near the spot where you just pummeled yourself to orgasm made you shiver a little in fear.
"no," you almost stutter and put your phone down, "I was struggling to sleep."
"so was I" he laughs a little, "satoru sleeps so selfishly."
and your blabber mouth, stupid fake facade that you aren't affected at all by him speaks up.
"you can sleep with me."
you're both caught by surprise at your offer except only suguru expresses it, his eyebrows have raised innocently
and you cough up another remark, "it's not like you can really see what I'm wearing and you can just turn to the other side."
"I don't want to make you uncomfortable-" he's about to get up
and you act so stupidly again
"I don't mind suguru, your body needs good rest with all the strain you put on it." and there you are, flipping the covers open from the other side of your bed and tapping it for him to get into.
hesitantly, he gets up from the end of your bed and walks towards the open spot, "are you sure?"
"yeah," you nod, other hand hidden under the cover and gripping the sheets under you, "we've slept cramped up next to each other on road trips. what's the difference with all this space?"
you both know the difference
but he slowly gets under the covers with you anyways, positioning himself on his back, stiff as a board as he looks up and tries not to look at you, well that's what it looks like and you understand why.
"I'm sorry if I snore." you peep, also staring up at the ceiling
suguru turns to look at you a little, "you snore?"
"I don't know..."you respond, following in his lead and peeking at him from the corner of your eyes, "but I'd be really embarrassed if I did."
"well, I'm sorry if I do too." he gives you a small smile, one of those tight lipped ones, no teeth, just the softness the moment in them.
then your phone suddenly starts ringing loudly.
and you scram to shut it off, putting your phone on night mode
"who was that?" suguru peers at you, neck turned more to look at you now.
you gulp, "some guy from paris. I should block him soon anyways."
"you were seeing each other?"
well you did go out with him various times and continuously stayed lots of nights with him. hell you even showered with him a couple times.
"hardly." you brush off
"shoko would talk about you always spending the night at a Claude's place. didn't you text her that you had to pay for your own uber once?" he said it so smoothly, without a thought
you shrink a little into the bed, "well yeah but I never saw him as something serious and we never sealed the deal. I didn't think you'd know about him..."
"shoko often aired out what you'd be texting her in the moment." he breathed, one arm behind his head as he went back to staring at the ceiling again.
"so you know about how hard I partied and stuff?" you asked, hoping that maybe they showed him all your selfies and outfits, casual and sexy.
"yes." he nodded
he seemed so serious and a hopeful part of you wanted to say he seemed...jealous?
does he think you saw a lot of guys on your nights out? what is he thinking?
"I liked it," you started, making the path for a way to comfort him if that was the case, "but I wasn't a big fan of having guys try to pull me to dance with them. I missed you and satoru being there to stop guys from hogging on me."
his ears perk up a little and he looks at you again, almost as if he's waiting for you to continue, so you do, stupidly but it was at attempt
"I'm just glad I'm back with you guys."
"I'm glad you're back too."
"you guys finally freak it?"
you get a sudden whiplash and wake up to find satoru standing at the end of your bed, one leg propped up on it while he brushes his teeth.
you lean up, making sure to cover yourself with the covers and notice the comfort of suguru's arm leaving your head.
HUH
you're at a distance from him, you would've definitely noticed his body pressed against yours, but he's turned in your direction, one long arm splayed out and oh my god
you had been using it as a pillow.
he starts to wake up too at satoru's sudden intrusion and squints sleepily at him, starting to stretch a little. the covers must've shoved off of him a little because you can see his v-line when he groans.
which reminds you that he must've not recalled/felt you on his arm just now. he probably would've been so awkward.
you calm yourself down enough and go back to looking at satoru.
"oh probably not." satoru, with a mouth full of toothpaste, mumbles without a shame after looking at suguru still being fully clothed and your reaction at sleeping on him
"satoru," your vision and brain is still blurry from waking up, "is that my toothbrush?!"
"no," he borbles offended before walking back into your restroom and beginning to clean his mouth out with water, "I have a go-go bag here."
"since when do you have a go-go bag here? and where the hell did you hide it?"
"since you left me your apartment key to take care of your place before leaving," he's already spit out the last of his toothpaste and is sassily walking back to you and suguru, "and I have it in your closet all the way at the top."
you fall back into your bed, rolling your eyes at his weirdness, "why do you still knock then?"
"I have manners?" he looks at you like you just asked a stupid question
"I found his bag in my laundry room." suguru sighs, running his hands through his face.
"well it's impossible to hide anything in your apartment considering we're the same height." satoru rolls his eyes, "haibara's like 5'10 so he can't see that I have mine at the top cupboard above his stove."
"normal habits follow you satoru," suguru sighs, flipping the covers off his lower half and standing up, "but you outrun it."
"track was my thing in high school." he shrugs
you haven't seen suguru since then. it's been two weeks and you've no sight of him. you were hoping he'd make an appearance at satoru's apartment today, seeing as he was hosting a House of the Dragon watch party.
"oh suguru? he's not coming," satoru shrugs as he plops onto his couch, next to shoko and tugs the bowl of popcorn from her, "he's working on his startup. something about a big client needing something by tomorrow."
then it's been another week, no sight of suguru with anyone at any hangout.
you don't feel that optimistic when haibara and satoru beg the group to show up to the club tonight, with pregaming at satoru's apartment.
you're dressed in a tight little white dress when you show up to satoru's apartment, clinging onto shoko's arm because of how cold it was.
and you feel so happy that you still put 100% of effort into getting ready because there was suguru, seated on one of satoru's couches, watching in amusement as haibara attempts to teach satoru how to make a negroni.
your own excitement blinds you and without thinking, you slip in past everyone and stand in front of him.
"I thought you wouldn't be coming tonight." you look at him in slight marvel, astonished that he finally made an appearance
he makes a face of surprise at you, well you think it's surprise at what you said. you probably came off too strong because his ears turned a little red. what else could it be?
god he was taking a little too long to respond. had he been trying to avoid you? was he-
"it wouldn't be gentlemanly of me to leave your protection solely up to satoru would it?"
and just like that his soothing voice brushes over your entire body
"it would not." you giggle a little when you sit next to him, hoping your perfume reaches him and relishing in the fact that his arm was already hung over the part of the couch you inhabited.
"but what have you been up to? I haven't seen you in a while."
suguru's eyes soften at your curiosity, and unbeknownst to you, his heart swelled at the fact that you noticed his absence.
"I've been finishing up a personal project of mine," he says warmly, "if all goes well, I'll probably come close to affording an apartment like satoru's soon."
affording an apartment like satoru's soon?
that's like
a lot of money
a lot
and why is him getting more money in his bank account making you fawn even harder for him
well, the stability, duh.
but you have to act cool
"are you sure you want to live in the same apartment complex as satoru gojo?" you tease?
"I said like," he shoves your leg a little with his own, "I don't think I would be able to stand living under the same roof as him again."
"well I don't think he could either," you giggle, "he says you're too much of a homebody and always say you have food at home."
suguru makes no attempt to defend himself and shakes his head instead at the complaint from his best friend, "I find it wrong to say I'm guilty when there's nothing guilty about cooking your own meals."
"are you good at cooking? I know you posted on your close friends about some meals here and there, but it's been a while since you deactivated your account."
"I'd like to think I'm good," he pauses, looking at you for a moment before continuing, "I'd make a pasta for you but I don't want to challenge the likes of Italy and France."
"now that just sounds like an excuse to not cook for me," you squint your eyes and scrunch your nose at him playfully
"I make no excuses," suguru drinks from the glass of water in his hand, eyeing you with the same playful aura, "I'll let you try if you want, but you can't make any comparisons."
"deal." you huff a little, reaching your hand out towards him.
"deal." he agrees, setting down his glass to shake your hand.
you don't drink a lot in the pregame
or at the club
something about suguru being there, sober, and able to control every moment makes you want to do the same.
so you're surprised that you're not at all even tipsy when you gently grab his hand and motion for him to dance with you amongst the crowd of your friends and other strangers.
it doesn't really feel awkward.
satoru's dragged you plenty of times to dance with him. haibara's kinda twerked on you a couple of times.
how is this any different?
at least that's how your mind approaches it, unphased by the sensual rnb music and your waist in suguru's hand.
when your arms reach around his neck eventually, you note he smells intoxicating, like amber and leather.
when you've known the club to normally be a place where you cause a ruckus with satoru and haibara, this is quite the opposite.
you didn't know you could feel so grounded
maybe it was the lack of alcohol to spur on the party animal in you, but this was fine. your brain felt woozy enough from breathing in suguru's cologne.
it's only when you feel a tap on your back that you and suguru are interrupted.
suguru juts his jaw for you to look behind and when you turn, there's shoko a lighter and a cigarette in her hands. you and suguru follow her outside for her smoke break, the bare minimum for her protection, a norm.
"how come you haven't been following satoru's pace tonight with the drinking?" she sighs melodically as she puts a cig in her mouth and cusps a hand around it while the other lights it.
"um," you avoid suguru's presence, feeling something that you just can't quite point your finger at, "I think im pmsing, so...I don't want to trigger any cramps with the drinking."
"fair enough." she blows out a puff of smoke as she says that
"and when are you going to ever drink again suguru?" she lets her head fall on her shoulder, lazy eyes looking at him.
"when are you going to stop smoking those?" he asks in return, leaning against the wall behind him and looking at the people in passerby considering this was a busy street during the night.
"soon." she shrugs
you and suguru exchange a look between each other at the response. shoko's been saying that since freshman year.
and your small moment is interrupted when you see a frantic utahime waving her hand, nanami and haibara holding up a very pale satoru between them as they walk out of the club and towards you guys.
the three of you meet them at the middle and utahime starts to explain.
"satoru threw up on this vip table trying to make it in time to the restroom..." a slight look of disgust on her face
"you guys know I can't stand the smell of cheap vape smokeeee~"he whines from between his two friends, body slumped over
"oh." you also grimace imagining the situation
"we're going to walk him back to his place." utahime tries to convey with sorry eyes that she's sad the night had to end like this
"it's okay." you say and turn to shoko, "are you going with them?"
her place was on the same side of town as theirs, and they were probably going to stay at satoru's anyway. he had more than three bedrooms and was always ready for sleepovers.
"yeah," she says, moving forward to poke at satoru's chest, almost as if he were a lab rat, "you guys fine to-"
"nice tits pretty girl!" you hear a holler next to your ear
and its some guy walking by with his two other friends, clearly inebriated but its also clearly not enough for him to blame the behavior on it. and his target couldn't be anymore obvious when he's making the nastiest eye contact with you, or more so your chest.
"come again?" suguru says sternly at him, he didn't yell but...
you could hear him well and clear alright.
the guy stops walking and turns to you and suguru, speaking with a sassy stupor, "I said her tits were nice."
you look up behind you and suguru is biting his cheek, something you've never seen from him. you can tell he's mad and so can the other guy.
"you her boyfriend or something?" he smirks, relishing in the way suguru scowls at him as he nears the both of you, "if you're not saying shit ill fuck her little pussy right in front of-"
BAM!
multiple oohs are heard when suguru sucker punches him. and height is the only thing that helps your offender, because he does manage to stay up and land a punch to suguru's nose.
but before you can react and head over to check on him, like lightning, the guy is the ground after suguru hands him an uppercut.
and there goes satoru, vomiting on the side of the road too.
which you don't seem phased by because suguru just defended your honor, and won, so quickly.
but you're also really worried because his nose is bleeding when he turns around.
ignoring the pain of your heels finally setting in, you click clack over to him and move the hand he's using to grab at his nose so you can inspect him.
you're not sure if he can tell you're somewhere between feeling lusty and worried when he looks down at you, but he looks serious still as he makes eye contact with you.
and satoru barfs even more
"I can't handle blooddddd~" he cries which ushers a panicked utahime into calling shoko over and asking if you'd be fine heading back with suguru, making sure he's fine at the end of it.
when they start heading off, you pull out your phone from your purse, "let me get us an uber to your place."
your hands are shaking a little in adrenaline and you jump a little when suguru swipes your phone from your hand and hands you his, uber app already open.
he's continuously wiping his nose as he painfully murmurs, "not letting you leave my place alone, I'll drop you off at yours first, put your address, I'll pay."
worriedly, you want to deny him, but the thought is intimidated out of you when he stares you down.
"ok-okay." you speak a little shakily
so much for you thinking you'd be cool and calm in a situation like this.
you dragged suguru into your apartment the moment you got to your place. you had finally noticed the small cut on his nose bridge and near his eye and really insisted on patching him up.
you also were scared that he'd somehow get a brain bleed and die on the way home out of sheer anxiety. so you wanted to keep an eye on him for a while to keep your mind at ease.
suguru is sitting at the edge of your bed, watching as you rummage through your restroom for your first aid kid. and when you finally find it, you're rushing to him and setting it down next to him, beginning to filter through it for the alcohol wipes.
"close your eyes," you ask breathlessly, still feeling the after effects of your adrenaline, "I don't want to irritate your eyes accidentally."
suguru listens to you and closes his eyes, a slight grimace already on his face in preparation for the sting you're about to bring to his cuts.
he hisses a little when you press on them
"sorry."
"it's okay." his eyes scrunch a little and you can see his hand on his lap, opening and closing as a reflex to the sting.
then you take out the antibiotic ointment to start spreading a little on his wounds. his body relaxes a little when he sees that the bothersome part is over and he keeps his eyes open, watching you.
you feel so hot under his gaze, you can't help but blabber when you're in the process of putting cream on his nose bridge
"you really have been putting the work in at kickboxing huh." you say awkwardly, trying to do a fake laugh, but
"did I scare you?"
suguru's burning a hole into your face with how intensely he's looking at you
you almost choke on your breath
"no."
"you were shaking when you were typing your address on my phone."
oh he noticed
you didn't want him to misunderstand
"well you didn't scare me, but I was scared for you, still am. I don't want you to drop dead on the street." you answer a little shakily, having forgotten to reach for the small bandaids.
"besides what girl gets scared of the guy who defends her honor..." you add
"shoko almost gagged when nanami made a guy apologize to her." he quips
"well that's shoko," you shrug and look off to the side, "I liked it."
you're about to reach for the bandaids when his hand on is holding onto one of your arms, gentle but it sustains all your attention.
"what do you mean?"
"well we all know shoko's a lesb-"
"no, when you said you liked it."
explaining that to him is complicated. when you said that you liked it you know that you mean that your panties got a little sticky watching him spit out blood that tried to seep into his mouth from his nose. the memory makes you subconsciously rub your thighs together. but you'll just brush it off as a normal like, as in it flattered you.
unbeknownst to you, suguru spotted the movement between your legs.
"it was flatte-"
"then why do you look so nervous trying to tell me that?"
a bit exasperated and heavily flustered, you stomp your foot a little and avoid looking at him, "suguru, please stop. you're making me nervous."
"what's there to be nervous about?"
"we're just friends." he adds
and his eyes light up watching when your own shoot towards him, your offense front and center.
and for the first time, you can see how he looks at you with so much yearning?
"am I wrong?"
christ, has he always looked at you with this much desire?
you're speechless and even though the signs are pointing towards the obvious, you still form a sentence that spares your feelings.
"do you want to be wrong?"
"yeah."
you feel shaky again
and it's not because you're scared.
"can you please stop looking at me like that?" you beg, avoiding his eyes again, almost about to hyperventilate from the pressure his stare is putting on you.
he grabs your other hand and leers you close to him, breath tickling your neck since you're so stubborn on not looking at him.
"do you still want to be friends?" he asks
and even though it sounds seductive and suave, you can make out the slight genuine yearning to know if that's what you want.
so you look at him again, trying to swallow the nervous lump in your throat
"you know how I feel." you plead
"no I don't," he laughs a little painfully, "I've never said anything because I don't know, so tell me."
you stare at each other for a while, his patience everlasting as you muster up the courage to say something that shouldn't be so embarrassing.
"I don't want to be friends."
"do you want me to go home?" he asks, thumbs rubbing circles on your wrists.
and its the quickest answer you've given him so far
"no."
and you want it
bad.
so so so bad.
but you have to get the question off of your chest.
"what-what do you want to be?"
"each other's if you'll have me." he breathes, looking up at you still
he's saying all the right things. and he's here. you're freshly shaved and waxed and wearing the hottest lingerie under this. fucking hell you wouldn't even need foreplay to take him right now, you're preening at the thought of having him.
"do you think satoru packs condoms in his go-go bag?"
it just slips out of your mouth so easily and you want to be embarrassed, but you're to eager for that.
"I know he does." suguru gets up quickly, eyes darting to your closet and then to you, "are you sure?"
and it's like some sort of instincts take over because you take the hands that are holding yours and place them on your tits, motioning for him to squeeze them.
"I'm really sure."
the action has him baffled, a pink flush face you've never seen on him while he stands there taken aback. it gives you a little confidence to remove his hands and take off your dress. then you let him watch as you get on the bed, sitting on your heels as you take his hands in yours again to plead.
"I want you in me suguru."
"fuck." he curses, before rushing towards your closet and yanking the infamous go-go bag and tossing it next to the bed. he starts to take his shirt off soon after, immediately reaching for your face when he gets into the bed with you
he's a sensual kisser. sensual as in you're pretty sure it'd be illegal to kiss him in public.
he kisses like he's fucking your mouth with his own. and it has you shivering into his touch, pussy aching for him to fill you up.
you pull him in by the belt loops of his jeans and whine, "take it out please."
your words make him groan into your mouth and he reaches one hand down to help yours unzipper his pants and push them down.
you feel his raw length slap across and press onto your mound when he grinds against you
"you haven't done this before right." he almost says darkly as he stares down at where your bodies would be meeting soon.
"no." you moan, watching him as he stuffs his dick under your panties and slides it back and forth on your pussy lips.
he shivers at the contact and dips his head into your neck, mouthing and biting at the skin there, "fuck, you're actually drenched."
and for a moment, you both get rigid at the euphoric feeling of his tip catching on your hole so easily.
"I'm not sure I'm going to last long with you right now," he all but exhales shakily, hips still moving back and forth against you
"that's fine, just keep going."
and he's about to reach over in the bag for a condom when your lust takes over so much that you stop him and line him up with your hole.
"just do it like that please."
he moans as your ministrations and looks at you for reassurance, "are you sure?"
you can tell he's fighting so hard not to move
"just use my pussy please suguru, I need it so bad." you complain, reaching down to pull your panties further to the side, chest heaving from carnal need for him.
suguru leans closer to pull your see through bra down, and begins to suck harshly on one of your nipples when he starts bullying his cock into you.
you can feel every vein when he starts to sink into you and fuck, his tip is so snug and big, the feeling of it ridging against your insides every time he brings it in and out is dizzying.
you're so focused on the feeling of his thick dick filling you up that you've barely noticed how suguru's folded your legs back. both of you now entranced in the way he's balls deep in you, a loud wet pap sound accompanying every thrust of his.
"you like that sweet girl?" he heaves through deep fast thrusts, mesmerized by the way your stomach moves just a little every time he bottoms out.
words aren't something you're capable of right now because when you try to respond, all you let out is shriek
this is nothing compared to the way you've tried to pummel yourself with your dildo. his hands are everywhere and he's got you right where he wants you. you can't escape him.
and when you thought he couldn't his pace and force grows stronger.
you're basically screaming now.
"yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes." is all you can say, so dumb on his cock that you can't help but want more and more
"fuck, don't talk like that," he groans, almost as if to himself, "I'm gonna end up creaming your pussy if you keep that up."
"cream it please." you beg loudly, "wanna feel us get messy."
your tongue is basically salivating at the though of his balls coated in cum and slapping against your clit, strings of mess forming from how intense it is.
and he starts twitching into you, rushing to kiss you as he pumps inside of you. thank goodness, it feels like its spilling out of you in heaps.
you're so happy, so so happy.
"let's do doggy yeah?" you pull him in by wrapping an arm around his neck, grinding your hips against him for more
"whatever you want," he nearly whines, pulling out of you just so he can flip you over and push your back down.
you feel hornier like this, pussy more exposed and growing needier with the feeling of his cum seeping out of you. it makes you wiggle your ass for him to fuck you more already.
and without warning he does just that, slipping into you again and gripping your ass so hard when he starts using you like a fleshlight.
"fuck, yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes," he mumbles to himself, "tiny fucking wet pussy. love it so fucking much. fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck."
you're thoughtless, just utterly brain dead from how hard he's going on you, from how much your pussy is getting split open again and again.
this goes on for hours, so many positions covered by you and suguru. foreplay was never involved at all during that time, neither of you wanting to go without feeling each other so crudely connected for more than a second.
you actually fall asleep cockwarming him even, the both of you too stubborn to stop that you fell asleep still trying to get it on.
neither you or suguru hear the jingle of your apartment door being opened later that day. both too fucked out and tired to wake up.
but you do hear when the door to your own bedroom opens, and suguru quickly gets on the defensive, covering you with your bedsheets and about to-
"satoru!" you both yell.
"woah," you hear laughing through the door, "you guys really stayed up all night fucking? everybody's been calling you guys since two."
SYNOPSIS ᯓ Gojo doesn't usually fuck his clients. This was supposed to be a normal massage. But with hands like that and a cock to match... "professional" was never on the table.
You’d driven past the place at least a hundred times.
It’s a stupidly sleek little building tucked perfectly between a Pilates studio and one of those overpriced juice bars. Like the kind with an obnoxiously chic and overly sensual neon sign that says TOUCH. White letters on smoked glass, all minimalist and judgy and expensive.
Every time you passed it you’d scoff.
“They probably charge three hundred fucking dollars just to rub your back and judge your pores.”
You’d even spat out an insult once like the building itself would crumble under the weight of your words, hitting the gas on your way home from work. Said it with the kind of righteous confidence that only comes from truly believing you’d never be that kind of girl. The kind who just… lets someone touch them like that. Oil-slicked and half-naked, moaning on some fake leather table while a stranger pretends it’s “therapeutic.”
Weird, isn’t it?
Definitely not for you.
And yet, here you are.
Saturday morning. Pillow hair, soul cracked like a boiled egg, lying in bed with your phone half on your face as you text your best friend in a fugue state,
you ever feel like your spine is just floating? help
You expected a “same.”
get a massage. i’m serious.
You snort. Riiight, a massage, huh?
You stare at the screen, eyes locked to the message like if you stared long enough it’d dial itself.
No amount of sarcasm or dignity can fix the way your shoulders feel like cement. Or the way you haven’t slept properly in weeks. Or the way your boss sent a “quick favor” email at precisely 11:48 PM last night, which you answered because your spine is already jelly and your will to live has already been transferred to a spreadsheet.
So… yeah.
Maybe you are that girl.
The bell attached to the door jingled as you step into the spa, and this is where you immediately felt out of place. The air smelled like eucalyptus and tears of the rich. The lighting was soft, flutey music passing through one ear and out the other, the woman at reception desk with the kind of smooth and poreless skin someone had when they bathed in rosewater.
You step up, feigning confidence like you hadn’t just Googled “what happens at a massage” just an hour ago.
“Hi, uh… I’d like to get a massage?”
She looked up from her computer with a smile too serene to be trusted. “Of course, what kind were you thinking? We offer Swedish, Thai, deep tissue, shiatsu, hot stone, aromatherapy-”
You nod slowly, brain buffering like YouTube trying to stream Paul vs. Tyson. Swedish? Do you get buttered up and rolled around like an IKEA meatball? You can’t ask that. You’d already committed the biggest crime by pretending you belonged here.
“Deep tissue,” you said, like you knew what the hell that meant.
She gave you a polite nod, tapping away on her keyboard. “Great choice. One of our more intense options. How long would you like the session? Sixty or ninety minutes?”
“Um… sixty’s good,” which is actually code for: I have no idea what I’m doing and I’m more scared of farting if you press too hard on my spine.
“Perfect,” she chirped. “The massage therapist will discuss pricing with you. You can take a seat, they’ll call you back shortly.”
You stepped aside, sitting on the impossibly soft couch in a sack of second-guessing. Of course there was a candle named something you can’t pronounce. And of course there’s a small framed sign on the coffee table reading: Relaxation is a journey, not a destination.
Just as you begin contemplating how to fake an emergency bolt, an intrusive thought crossing your mind to stand up and scream that you had a fucking bomb, a calm voice called your name.
You stood up, maybe way too quickly, meeting the eyes of a woman smiling at you with a clipboard in hand.
Thank god. A woman. The anxiety deflated from your shoulders. You didn’t really consider the possibility of a male masseuse until now, but the idea of some beefcake oiled up and kneading your thigh was not something you emotionally prepared for.
“This way,” she gestured for you to follow her down a hallway lined with softly glowing wall sconces and the sound of babbling water. You’d never felt so simultaneously underdressed and overscheduled.
She opened a door and motioned you inside. “You can undress to your comfort level and lie down under the towel, face down. I’ll let your massage therapist know you’re ready.”
“Towel?” you echo, glancing around. On the table sat a singular, small, pathetic white towel. It looked like something you’d pat a cat dry with, and you didn’t know if you expected a beach towel or a blanket.
Still, you nodded like a champ.
There you stood, alone after she exited and shut the door behind her. Unsure of how much was too much as you undressed. Were you supposed to keep your underwear on? Take it off? Would that be weird? Shit, what was the social etiquette here? It felt wrong to Google it, like the masseuse would walk in on you hunched over your phone naked like a caveman discovering the world wide web for the first time.
Eventually, you compromised by only keeping your underwear on and sliding under the towel, if you can even call it that. It barely covered your ass, and if you breathed wrong a cheek was gonna peek.
You lie face down, pressing your face into the weird little donut hole in the massage table. Every attempt at relaxation was a fail, your body as stiff as a mannequin.
The door creaked open, a voice drifted through the air all too low and smooth, way too sexy for this situation.
“Good evening,” he said.
Wait.
Waitwaitwaitwaitwaitwait.
You lift your head just a fraction, seeing a tall man stepping into the dimly lit room. White uniform shirt rolled to the elbows. Forearms like Greek sculpture. Messy white hair. A face so hot you swore you could hear angels filing HR complaints. His eyes were icy, meeting yours and curved with a smile.
“I’ll be your masseur tonight,” he said. “Name’s Satoru. Just let me know if anything feels uncomfortable.”
“Oh. Okay. Cool,” you say, voice cracking.
He chuckled softly, washing his hands in the corner, the sound of running water far too sensual. You press your face back into the donut, trying not to internally implode.
You asked for this, your brain whispered.
You chose deep tissue, whatever that meant.
You hear the flick of a small bottle opening. Something shifts behind you, the scent of cedarwood and vanilla blooming through the room like a secret. A soft, wet sound followed, and then-
Drip.
Oil hit the small of your back first. Warm, silky. You twitched without meaning to.
“Sorry,” his voice came playful and low, like he wasn’t sorry at all. “Didn’t mean to surprise you.”
You didn’t trust yourself to speak, only letting out a small squeak of laughter.
Then came his hands.
Large, warm, firm. Gentle as they pressed into your shoulders, thumbs digging slow, practiced circles into the knots near your spine. You can’t help the exhale escaping your lips, something between a sigh and a sound you’d only make in bed.
“This your first massage?” he asks, and damn him. Even his voice sounded like a smirk.
You coughed. “That obvious?”
“Just a bit,” he teased, hands now kneading into the ridge between your neck and shoulder. “You’re stiff. Tense.”
You laugh nervously. “It’s just work stuff. Desk job.”
“Hm,” he hummed like he already knew. Like he could read it in your body the moment his hands touched you. “I’ll start at your shoulders and work my way down. We’ll see if we can get you loosened up.”
You made another strangled sound of agreement in response, biting your lip.
Every stroke of his palm dragged warm oil over your skin, spreading heat along your back, down your spine. The pads of his thumbs pressed into the muscles beside your shoulder blades, firm but slow. It wasn’t just good, but shamefully so. Soothing, deep. Every time his thumbs pressed in, you felt your breath catch in your throat.
Focus, you told yourself. This is a professional, he does this all the time. And you’re not special, just some towel-clad client on a table meant for meat tenderizing.
But gods, his hands.
They were confident, skilled, moving in ways like they had the heaven’s permission to touch you. Maybe they did, each stroke leaving your skin burning in its wake. Your hips shifted slightly. Not on purpose. Well, maybe it was on purpose. You hated yourself for it.
He hadn’t said anything for a while, the room quiet aside from the ambient spa music and your stupid heartbeat echoing in your ears, your heart trying to crawl its way out from your ribcage. You focused on the feeling, the press of his digits into your shoulder. On the long drag of his hands gliding down, down, oil-slick and hot against your spine.
Shit, your brain was melting.
You felt his hands move again, slower now, gliding at your middle back. You couldn’t help but wonder if the towel slipped, didn’t dare look. You just stayed still, very still, praying for dignity while also very much wishing he’d go lower. His thumbs pushed into the small of your back, just on either side of your spine, and you exhaled, loudly.
You immediately regretted it. But he didn’t say anything. Just chuckled softly, barely a sound, and pressed deeper.
Gojo had given thousands of massages before. Hell, he’d worked on celebrities, models, athletes, all kinds of bodies sculpted and polished and worshiped. But this one? You? You weren’t some glammed-up goddess or an over-confident regular. You were shy, uncertain, nervous in the sweetest way, biting your lip like it’d save your soul.
And when he asked what was hurting, where it ached, you’d mentioned work like it explained everything.
He knew exactly what you needed.
His thumbs dragged slow over the curve of your back. You shifted slightly under him, just the tiniest movement, but not from pain. From heat. From something much, much lower. Gojo felt it, the tremor running through your muscles like a secret. The towel was still clinging to your hips, just barely, and he let his hands dip lower, enough to brush the top curve of your ass to see if you’d flinch.
And you didn’t.
Fuck.
He was breaking rules. His own rules. He didn’t do this. Never had. Not once. Not even with the flirty clients or the ones that offered more.
But then again, none of them were you.
Your skin was warm beneath his palms, your breath hitched in a rhythm that wasn’t just relaxation. He could hear it, feel it. And when his fingers barely slipped under the hem of that towel, just to knead the tight muscle at the base of your spine, he felt you tense.
Not with fear, but want.
He pressed deeper, just enough to test. And he almost groaned aloud when your hips lifted. As if it was an accident. But he knew better.
He loved the way you were sensitive for him, dragging his thumbs along the edge of the towel, fingertips brushing your perceptive skin that made his cock twitch.
He was throbbing against the zipper of his pants. He needed to stop.
But he wasn’t going to stop.
“First session’s free, by the way,” he murmured, just above your ear, his salacious tone a blessing to your ears. “House special.”
You made another soft sound and Gojo had to bite his cheek just to stop a deep groan threatening its way out from his lungs.
You thought you were in the clear when his hands left your back. For a moment, you considered breathing again. But then-
“Gonna move to your legs now,” he said, voice smooth and casual. “Starting from your feet.”
You couldn’t find it in you to protest. Your feet. The one part of your body that rejected human contact like a toddler would broccoli.
You tensed as he lifted your foot gentle, resting your ankle against a bolster. You took this opportunity to look. And he looked way too comfortable, crouched near your calves, rolling his sleeves up even more, his forearms, fuck, the veins, and warming more oil in his hands.
The first touch was light, gliding his fingers over your heel, your arch-
You flinched.
“Oh?” he laughed, glancing up. “Ticklish?”
You wanted to crawl inside the nearest candle holder and die.
“Maybe a little,” you mumbled, voice muffled.
“Noted,” he chuckled. “I’ll be gentle.”
And if Gojo Satoru wasn’t a liar before, he was now.
Because his thumbs rolled firm circles into your arches, sliding up the curve of your foot, down each toe like he fucking knew. You twitched again when he hit that spot near the ball of your foot.
He didn’t even pretend not to notice.
“Aw, you’re trying not to laugh.” His voice was warm. “Cute.”
You exhaled like a balloon deflating, face hot. “You’re evil.”
“Mmm,” he hummed, slowly dragging his palm up your sole to your ankle. “That’s one way to thank me.”
He didn’t linger much longer there, probably for your dignity which was already on life support, before he moved up, kneading your calf in strong, slow strokes. His hands wrapped around the muscle with confident pressure, and oh, it felt good.
All thoughts of embarrassment evaporating the moment his thumbs began sliding up your calf, massaging deep into the tissue. His touch slowed as he moved higher, now smoothing hot oil into the back of your knee.
Then he moved to your other leg. Same path. Foot, ankle, calf. All familiar but different. Like he was trying to memorize you. And this time his hands went slower, savoring the goosebumps prickling your skin as his hands moved higher, thumbs digging deeper. And when he reached the back of your thigh, right where the towel barely covered, you felt it.
The hesitation. The pause. The line of professionalism being toed.
And then crossed.
His hands never stopped moving, but his thumbs dragged slower, brushing up the back of your thigh and letting his touch linger along the soft skin there. His touch was light, too light to be considered a deep tissue massage.
“Still doing okay?” he asked, voice low.
You could only nod.
“Good,” he murmured. “You’re very responsive.”
Was this normal massage talk?
No, it couldn’t be. But you didn’t dare respond, didn’t want to stop him, even as your breath hitched and thighs threatened to instinctively press together.
Gojo’s hands stayed high on your thighs. One thumb circled the outside of your thigh.
“You’ve got tension here too,” he remarked, and this time, it wasn’t professional at all.
Your hips jolted.
“Sensitive?” he asked, almost a whisper.
You wanted to say something, maybe yes, maybe God, please don’t stop, but all that came out was a hum, shaky as his fingers gripped your thigh tighter.
“Don’t worry,” his voice silk-soft and soaked in pure heat. “I’ll take care of it.”
You didn’t even know he shifted until his voice came too close to your ear, just a low murmur.
“I’m gonna remove the towel now. That okay?”
You’re too far gone, just nodding.
“Need you to say it for me,” his voice is gentle.
“Yes,” you swallow, voice barely above a whisper.
He grips the towel, slow as sin, dragging it off your spine and letting it peel off you like he’s unwrapping something expensive. His fingers graze, not enough to claim but just enough to tease. You’re face-down, so you don’t see it. But he’s squinting, biting back a groan, cock already stirring and probably dripping.
He oils up again, slick and warm, spreading his palms across your ass with expert precision.
“Just breathe. This’ll help with tension in your glutes.”
Glutes, he says it like a medical term. You almost believe he’s just being good at his job, except his hands are kneading deeper, practically stroking the plushy fat of your ass.
His hips subtly press against the table, trying to relieve the throb without making a sound. His jaw is slack, eyes hooded, and he’s already sweating. He’s circling your ass with the heel of his palm, eyed glued to were your thighs part ever-so-slightly, revealing the slightest sliver of wet lace. His mouth waters.
His thumbs brush the hem of your panties, it’s innocent at first. But then he does it again, lingering.
You can almost feel the air shift.
Something about the way he touches you makes your skin buzz. He hasn’t said anything… too off yet, but the drag of his fingers along your thighs, the brush against the edge of your panties, you’re beginning to think it’s not exactly on the menu at most spas.
“Gonna take these off too. Helps me reach deeper tissue,” his finger hooks just teasingly into the hem at your hips.
You know it’s a lie. It has to be. But you nod.
And again, he waits.
“Say it, sweetheart.”
“Yes,” you exhale, heartbeat in your ears.
Then he hooks only his thumbs into your panties, slow, like it’s a favor. You lift your hips slightly so he can pull them down, and he takes his time. His thumbs caress you as he drags them down to your knees, ankles, then off completely.
And now you’re bare. Naked. Exposed under his hands and eyes, no doubt dripping from tension and need alone.
The only sound in the room is the soft roll of incense smoke, faint music, and the slick shhhhhkkk of oil between his palms to start again, skin to skin.
He shifts, thumbs dipping lower and palms kneading the tops of your thighs. It’s almost too much, you want to move, clench your legs shut, but you don’t. You stay soft, pliant, open.
And he watches. Every flutter of your muscles. Every twitch. The faintest glisten where your thighs part.
This was no longer routine.
So wet already. You poor thing probably didn’t even mean to be.
He watches your hips shift when he gets close, the way your toes twitch as his thumbs drag sinfully along your inner thighs. It’s like you’re desperate and embarrassed all at once. And yet, you obeyed him. And he loved every second of it.
You’re so pure, so sweet, so filthy for him. Not a single complaint. No hesitation.
Glutes soft and flushed from the heat of his palms. Inner thighs slicked with oil. Breathing shallow and shaky. And his favorite part, your slit tucked between trembling legs, glistening with more than just oil.
He shifts again, subtly dragging his cock against the edge of the massage table. Hard, throbbing, and unforgiving.
“You’re responding really well,” he murmurs, the heel of his palms pushing into your inner thighs enough to part you only so he can see more.
And you’re going insane.
His hands on your thighs, voice in your ear. Every pass of his palms leaving your nerves sparking, and it’s taking everything in you not to freely moan when his knuckles drag just too close.
When your legs twitch again, of course he notices. “Don’t worry. You’re doing great. Just let me take care of you.”
But then his sinful thumbs sweep higher. Still outside, not touching where you need him most. But close. So, so close. And you can’t help the gasp escaping you.
And that’s when he finally brushes his fingers along your folds, light, feather-soft, as if he’s checking something.
Your whole body jerks. His voice lowers a few octaves.
“You’re soaked.”
A beat of silence.
“Want me to keep going?”
Again, you nod.
“Words, sweetheart.
You swallow, face burning and contorting where it’s nestled in the headrest. “Yes… please.”
“Good girl,” his chuckle is low and so smug.
You’re so responsive for him, every time his fingers tease your slick little slit, your thighs tremble like they’re fighting not to squeeze shut.
You don’t even realize the slightest rock of your hips, silently begging for more like you’re chasing his fingers.
He palms your ass again, spreading you open as he traces a single digit up and down. Folds puffy and hot, dripping onto the table, clit twitching like it knows what’s coming.
“You said this was your first massage, right?” he says, dragging a single finger deeper between your folds. “But you’re begging for attention.”
Then his thumb gently presses against your clit, unmoving but giving you the pressure you oh so desperately needed.
“Think you might’ve been made for this.”
You can’t breathe, can’t think. All you know is his hands. The way they press into you, spreading your arousal and oil around as if it’s a divine ritual. The way his thumb circles your clit painstakingly slow, so patient.
You mewl, too far gone to be ashamed.
“Want the full package?” his question come velvet-smooth.
You blink, dazed. “…The what?”
His thumb pressed in just a little harder, your body tensing. “Y’know, the extra. Let me take care of everything.”
“Y-yeah…” your voice is barely audible, but it’s all he needs.
He smiles, the thick curl of anticipation mixing with the burning incense in the air, winding your spine as he murmurs your new nickname again:
“Good girl.”
It’s like this was always going to happen. Like he’s done this a hundred times before and you were just next in line, all dripping wet and none the wiser.
Then he’s palming you again, hands oiled with a fresh squirt as both hands slide over your skin. It’d be professional if it wasn’t for the way his thumbs spread you once again.
It’d be professional didn’t brush directly over your soaked folds, a low growl he lets out, low and restrained when he sees your cunt pulse for him.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, dragging two fingers through your slick.
Then he dips two fingers inside you, slow and filthy as he immediately curls them right into that soft spot between your ridges that has you gasping into the table padding.
“God, you’re tight. Gonna have to open you up first, yeah?”
It’s as if it’s still part of the massage.
He fucks you slow with his fingers, his free hand moving to move ‘round and ‘round against your clit with his thumb. And fuck, he’s too skilled. Every filthy, wet stroke of his fingers has you whimpering, any semblance of professionalism lost by the sound of your whispers.
“So responsive,” he mutters almost to himself. “You’ll do anything I ask, won’t you?”
Then-
Smack.
Your body jolts, a sharp sting across your ass, the crack echoing through the room.
“Mm,” he hums, smoothing the reddened spot of his handprint like he’s checking the quality of his own work. “Pretty thing makes such pretty sounds.”
Another smack. You gasp.
“Flip over for me.”
His tone is easy, casual like he’s asking you to flip a page in a magazine. Your legs move before you, body fully glistening with oil and anticipation.
His face looks almost desperate. Sweat at his temples, white lashes fluttering over hooded eyes at burn. His lips are parted, flushed, bitten like he's been holding back from devouring you whole.
He's no longer the calm masseur from before, but a man on the edge of losing it.
Every inch of him thrumming with want, you can see it in the way his jaw flexes, the slight tremble in his fingers at his sides. His gaze drops between your legs, staying there like he's starving.
He wants this, wants you just as badly. Maybe worse.
And he sees you. Laid out like an offering, tits soft and heaving, thighs glistening, cunt spread and twitching, begging for his attention.
He lets out a low, heavy breath. “Fuck. Look at you.”
Then his hands are tracing down your thighs, hooking under your knees just to bring them to your chest.
And he goes in, no teasing or warning, just his hands spreading you wide, full mouth-to-pussy action.
His tongue slides over your clit like he’s starving. Moaning into you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. It’s filthy, loud, wet, feral.
He laps at you like he wants to crawl into your skin and live there. His lips lock around your clit, tongue flicking fast and relentless, fingers digging into you.
Your hips buck instinctively. Your hands fly to his hair, fingers clutching his silvery strands as your legs twitch, toes curl.
He loves it. The desperate little grind of your hips, the wrecked moan slipping from your throat, the way you push his face impossibly deeper.
So he doubles down, dragging his tongue lower and fucking it into your hole with lewd precision, then pulls back just to suck at your clit like it’ll grant him immortality.
“You taste like heaven,” he groans, lost in a daze himself. “Sweet little thing, gonna cum all over my mouth, huh? So fucking wet. Bet you’ve been thinking about this.”
He flattens his tongue, grinding it against your clit, and you cry out, entire body jerking, thighs clenching around his head. But he doesn’t stop, if anything only groans, grinding his hips into the table like he’s getting off just on your taste.
You’re soaked. Senseless. A carnal desire to soak his face in your arousal.
And when you gasp his name, fingers tugging at his locks, body trembling-
“That’s it,” he purrs. “Cum for me, baby.”
You shatter. Completely. Fully. Back arching from the table, breath punched from your lungs, cunt clenching so hard around nothing it’s fucking cruel. He just stays there, tongue flicking, dragging out every last pulse of your orgasm until your legs go numb.
Your thighs are trembling around him, your cunt a swollen, slick mess, still twitching with aftershocks. You’re still moaning, fucked-out and blissed as he presses kisses to your inner thigh.
Fuck. He thinks you look perfect like this. Made to be ruined for him.
And he’s done being patient.
So he stands, unzipping his pants. His cock springs free, red, leaking, painfully hard. And shit, he’s big. A slight upward curve, a thick vein running along his thick, long length.
“Up,” he says, voice coaxing like he’s asking you to breathe.
Your legs wobble as you push yourself off the table, only for his hands to grip your waist and bend you right back over it. Your bare chest pressed to the cushiony surface, cheek against the towel.
“There you go,” he drags the thick head of his throbbing cock through your folds, smearing your slick across your lower lips and on his tip until it could drip off. “Gotta get all that tension out, yeah? Let me work those knots a little deeper.”
You walked in here all shy and tense, even spending twenty minutes willing yourself to open your car door. New client, first massage, all stiff shoulders and tight posture. Said your job had you aching. Said you needed relief.
And the first time he saw you, big eyes, nervous smile, a little stutter from your lips when he first touched your shoulders.
He knew exactly what you needed.
“First massage,” he breathes, lining his tip to your entrance.
Then he pushed in. Deep.
You choke on a moan. He’s so thick, splitting you open inch by inch, your walls struggling and stretching to take him. His hands dig into your waist, still warm with oil, just holding you savoring the moment he finally sinks all the way in.
“Fuck,” he groans, head tipping back. “That’s it- just like that- you were made for this.”
He pulls back, only until just the tip lay past your entrance, before slamming back in. And you jerk, fingers scrambling for purchase on the table.
Each stroke rocks through your spine. Your tits drag against the table, mouth hanging open, drool smearing the table. Your mind’s a blur, just the sound of skin slapping, Gojo’s breathy moans, and the obscene, wet noise of him slamming into you over and over and over.
“Say thank you,” he almost growls, snapping his hips up so deep your toes curl. “Say it.”
“T-thank you,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your skull.
Then, smack. A sharp slap to your ass, and you whine.
“For what?”
“F-fucking me- oh my god- for fucking me-”
“No,” he pants, rutting into you harder now, cock hitting that sweet spot so perfect it could make you squeal. “Say it right. Thank you for relieving my stress.”
“Thank you-” you cry out, broken and shaking. “Thank you for- mmh- relieving my stress.”
He leans over you, his hardened chest against your back, cock still pistoning in your soaked cunt. His mouth finds your neck, tongue dragging across your bare skin before he bites. Sucks. Marks you.
Another hickey. Then another.
You’re completely gone, every thrust having your eyes fluttering, your moans shameless, drool coating your lower face. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing his thick length more than you already were, clenching with every thrust, every filthy word.
His hips stutter, balls tightening as he pounds you into the table.
“So fucking tight,” he groans. “Gonna cum- fuck- gonna cum all over this pretty back.”
And he does. One last brutal thrust and he pulls out, cock twitching before spilling across your lower back in hot, thick ropes, painting your skin in streaks of white.
He watches it drip down your spine, chest heaving, cock still half-hard and still twitching from how hard you just milked him for all he’s worth.
“Goddamn,” he whispers, leaning down to admire his work. “You really were stressed, huh?”
Then he drags a hand up your spine, wiping his fingers through the mess he made, rubbing it into your skin like a filthy seal.
The air is thick with heat, sex, and you. His hand rubs sensual circles into your back.
“You good, sweetheart?” he brushes the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.
You nod, dazed, wrecked, legs still trembling. He leans in and presses a kiss to your lips. It’s soft, slow, tender in a way that almost startles you.
“First kiss,” he whispers against your lips.
Then he straightens, grabbing a warm towel from the side table. His hands are gentle as they wipe you down, cleaning you with a reverence that borders on obscene. He helps you stand straight, pressing another kiss to your temple, his big hands careful and supportive.
“So…” he starts, tapping his lip. “Same time next week?”
You can only stare, flushed and panting.
“No charge, obviously,” he adds, giving you a wink. “I’m invested in your health now.”
Of course you’re coming back. With a dick like that? With a mouth like that? You’d be stupid not to.
You shake your head, trying not to smile.
“Take your time, I’ll be outside.”
The door closes behind him with a soft click.
You sigh, dragging yourself over to the side table on shaky legs, slowly redressing like your soul wasn’t just rearranged. You grab your clothes, pulling your bra back on, then your shirt, then-
Your panties.
Your panties?
You check under the table. Beside it. In the towel pile.
Your brows shoot up, a slow, disbelieving laugh escapes your lips.
That smug thieving bastard.
He took them, slipping them into his pocket. You shake your head as you pull on your pants, cheeks still flushed, heart returning to a normal rate.
CW: Injury, arm loss, medical surgeries, nudity, mutness
Word count: Roughly 5.4K
A/N: You get an invitation to work on a project with the famed marine biologist Dr. Rem Saverem at a private marine institution. You don't expect it to involve a blond haired Merman named Vash who needs a new arm. Or for some budding feeling to form between the two of you.
Well I thought I'd try some Mer-May stuff this year so I hope anyone who reads this enjoys these little sillies.
Prefer AO3? Read it here
Masterlist
“Right this way.”
“Of course, Dr. Saverem.” Following behind the older woman as she leads you through the hallways of her aquatic research site. At least, you’re trying to follow behind her and not get distracted by the massive tanks lining the sides of the walkway.
You couldn’t believe your luck when you had received an email from her, the famed marine biologist, wondering if you were able to assist her in a project she was working on. You had been over the moon as you responded with enthusiasm. It was only later that you wondered what kind of project it was.
Unlike her and the famed Dr. Conrad who also worked on the private island turned marine institute, your expertise was more mechanically inclined. You had spent years working and developing tools for deep sea submersibles, robotic hands that could handle the extreme pressures to aid in further exploration.
After reading and signing several NDAs you had finally been allowed to join them on the island. A privilege few were allowed because of the nature of their research, and well, when you had the funding they had it was easy to keep people out.
“Almost there.” Her voice was gentle with a laugh as you realized you had slowed your steps. Your attention drawn to the glass panel you were walking beside when a massive figure swam by far too fast for your eyes to follow. The seaweed shifting in the wake of what had just gone by.
“Apologies Dr. Saverem, it’s just such an impressive place. I swear I’m not usually this distracted.” A small bow sent her way when you caught up, aware of the slight heat you could feel along your cheeks.
“Rem is fine, and I understand. This place is a lot for first timers.” It’s silent for a short while as the two of you walk, at least until she reaches one of the aquatic pens. Surprised at the door having an electronic keypad lock next to it. “We’re here.”
What kind of open air pen would need a lock like that when you’d be able to see things from overhead? Was it to keep people from seeing inside, or just to keep them out entirely?
As you followed her to the platform next to the water you felt your confusion grow, this pen was huge and seemed to just be metal netting that connected to the ocean. “I’m certain you’re rather curious about what I’d like your help with?” A charming smile directed your way that leaves you with mixed feelings. It’s almost motherly, but with all the secrecy, you aren’t sure how to feel.
“You see, I have a problem that I think only you can solve.” Turning her attention back to the water and stepping closer to the edge of the platform before crouching down. You mirror her actions, looking down into the glassy depths, barely able to see below the surface. “Vash, come meet our guest.”
A splash erupts that leaves you drenched as your eyes widen, unaware you’ve fallen backwards. A blond head emerged from the water, but that isn’t what has you feeling your heart hammering inside your chest and sweat starting to form on the back of your neck. The head is attached to what looks like a normal torso, but as your eyes move lower it’s not legs you find.
But a tail.
Once that could easily crush you as this ‘Vash’ thing rests part of it’s bulk on the edge. An excited crittering sent your way with hands making motions.
The longer you stare the more bewildered you are.
“It’s A” Swallowing as you try to get your brain to function.
“He.” A gentle correction with a small laugh. “Vash is a special creature, and what I need your help with.” Making a motion to Vash to stop and turn his body you notice you had been wrong. He only has one hand. His other arm ends in a stump at the mid way point of his bicep. “I’d like your help in making him a new arm.”
You don’t hear her words. It’s a distant noise in the background as your brain keeps trying to process what you’re seeing. “Mermaids are real.” Uttering the words in shock before you black out, missing both Vash and Dr. Saverem reaching for you to stop you from tumbling into the water.
“At least we were sort of expecting a reaction like that, right Vash.” Laughing a little as the two of them got you settled on your back on the platform, Vash turning a shade of scarlet near his ears before looking away.
Several days after your introduction to Vash, and with a lot more information, you understand why you’re there.
Vash, the whale shark merman, and his twin Knives, were the adopted sons of Dr. Rem Saverem. Rem had found them as infants near the shore when she and Dr. Conrad had first started the institute, and decided to look after them until they were old enough to leave.
The problem was, neither of them knew where to go to find others like them. So both would wander the oceans looking for signs, or at least Knives did. Vash on the other hand seemed to love humans and was happy to remain near the island.
However, it was his love of humans that got him where he was now and you being there. Two years ago in a storm he’d gotten tangled in some dragger netting, the netting eventually tightening to the point that his arm was crushed between the metal strands near the edge. Both Doctors had done what they could for him in removing the shattered bones and muscles, but their attempts to replace his arm had failed. Nothing could survive the pressure. Which was where you came in.
Rem, wanted to know if you thought you could make Vash a new arm that could survive the depths of the ocean.
Well. You were down for a challenge and could still work concurrently on other projects. Several rough drafts for designs in front of you.
“This is going to be interesting.” Muttering to yourself as you started a list of materials for a prototype.
“Its too bulky.” You feel your shoulders drop as you work on getting the strap tighter.
“Vash.” Trying to keep the frustration from your voice. “It’s a prototype.” Aware that he can understand you, but Rem has to serve as a translator for you since your grasp of sign language needs work. “It’s bulky right now because there isn’t a way to permanently attach it to you. Once we have something that can stand up to the pressure and when we’re on the final model Dr. Conrad is going to attach it to you.”
“I don’t like it.” Giggling as Rem relays the words to you from Vash’s moving fingers. You already had a feeling he didn’t based on the expression on his face. He’s pouting at you with those baby blue eyes as big as saucers.
“Gee, who’d have guessed.” Reaching up to poke his cheek making him frown at you. “This is just a test of the material to see if it can stand up to what you need. If I promise to try and come up with a better system to attach it to you compared to this harness will you stop pouting?”
A loud chirp that you know is him being happy you smile. You don’t need a translation for that. “Ok, so for today, down to 10 meters please then back up.” A nod and Vash is gone beneath the waves. You know he won’t be gone long, it’s barely any depth for him but you’ve never made anything with such complicated smaller parts before.
“You seem to be getting along well.” Dropping down beside you and letting her legs dangle in the water much like your own.
“He’s a nice guy, I mean, fish, I mean merman.” Sighing as your shoulders drop. “You know what I mean. Once I got over the shock and all those NDAs making sense, well, I wanna see what I can do. And if half the things you’ve told me about Vash saving people from sinking boats and ships, he deserves having his hand back.”
“Vash loves humanity, but I’m not sure the world is ready to learn someone like him and Knives are real.” You nod at her somber words, if anyone else had found them, you doubt they’d have been allowed to reach a similar age as yourself.
“It’s our greatest strength and worst flaw.” Both of you a little morose until Vash’s head breaks the surface, swimming closer so you can remove the harness and prototype. Already frowning as you look at some of the joints for the rough fingers. “Well shit, if those are like that I’m already worried about the inside wiring.”
“I’m certain you’ll figure it out.”
“Ok hold this Vash.”
It feels too heavy. Watching his fingers move before you let out another sigh, falling onto your back in frustration. Rubbing at your eyes and dragging your fingers down your face, over the past few months, you’d come to a realization. There was no point in making a prototype unless the weight was something that wouldn’t hinder Vash while he was underwater.
A slight thump beside you, turning your head to watch Vash drop the weight plate before letting more of his torso rest on the platform. Sorry. It just makes you sigh again, turning onto your side to face him better.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” Reaching out and toying with some of the longer strands of almost see through blond hair near his webbed ear. “I just feel like we’re making no progress. Each new step forward seems to bring the project back another three.”
A small hum from the merman as he moves his head just a bit closer, you don’t even remember when this transition started. Well, you sort of do. It had sort of started when Rem said the best way for you to truly learn sign language was for you to be left alone with Vash. Which had started you staying with him for a bit of time, the books next to you if you needed them, and the two of you just talking. You’d learned early on that Vash could ramble about anything if you let him. Yet somewhere along the lines of chatting, you’d grown closer, to the point you were now where he liked lying there and you playing with his hair.
The smallest flush on his cheeks when he lifts his hand. Will you leave once my hand and arm are done?
“Don’t know.” Shrugging as your fingers move closer to the crown of his head. “I guess that’s going to be up to Dr. Saverem and Dr. Conrad since I can still do my other work here and just ship it out like I have been doing.”
If it wasn’t up to them. Would you stay? It’s a strange question, and you turn your head to look up at the sky watching the clouds drift by and feeling your skin warm under the afternoon sun. Strange because, you know if you leave, you are going to miss this place. And the strange merman that seems to have wormed his way into your heart after the initial shock.
“I really don’t know Vash.” Turning back to face and doing your best to keep a neutral look on your face. “Why ask out of the blue like this?”
There’s a slight darkening to the blushing scales along his neck before he briefly moves to hide his face in the crook of his arm. You know his fingers are moving to answer you but you can’t see them, telling him just as much. The shifting color of his scales moves further down to his shoulders and you find it hard not to laugh at how endearing it is as he lifts his head.
I’d miss you. Closing his eyes as if he’s embarrassed. You’re my friend.
“Then, if I can, I’ll stay. I’d miss you too Vash.” Laughing as he lets out one of his chirps of joy, the shifting of his head showing you the thin line of jagged scales along the front of his throat.
Some day. You’ll be brave enough to ask him about it, but you’re certain you already know the answer.
Watching one of the ships leave the docks loaded to the brim with some of your co-workers on the island you frown, at least until you see Dr. Conrad watching them leave. Calling out to him as you approached.
“Ah, there you are my dear girl. It seems you missed the boat to the mainland for the weekend.” It’s not unheard of for people to leave the island on the weekend, or during the week, yet this seems like a lot more personal leaving than normal.
“I wasn’t planning on leaving.” You’d yet to leave the island at all in the last six months since you had arrived. “That’s a lot of people on that boat.” You know it’s a ship, but everyone here just calls them boats.
“Had your nose buried in your work again I see.” Giving his head a shake before pointing at the notice board near the dock. “There’s a meteorite shower tonight, and sadly while the Island is in the middle of the belt, we’ve too many lights.” You nod, the institution is covered in lights, and while some of them are turned off at night to help the animals with their nocturnal rhythm, it still has a lot of light pollution.
You do flush a little at his accusation, because you don’t really socialize with most workers on the island anyway. Vash and Knives are a secret to all but the three of you, and in Knives case, from the one time you met him, it’s a blessing. But the need to keep them safe is far more important. “Is that why so many of them went to the mainland, so they can go to darker places to watch it?” A nod and it makes sense. “Are there enough people to do all the work that needs to be done this weekend?”
The older man just laughs at you before sending you away with the confirmation that is and you don’t need to worry about filling in.
It would have been a nice sight to see, but you aren’t too bothered by it as you return to Vash’s pen. At least you didn’t think you were that bothered by it until Vash was in front of you, his fingers working away fast enough that you have to get him to repeat the motion. Why do you look so upset? Did someone say something mean to you?
“Ok, you dropped something there compared to the first time Vash.” Frowning at the new finger motions but you let his slide when his face shifts into that of a tomato. “No one said anything mean. I just learned there’s a meteorite shower tonight and I guess I missed the chance to watch it for a bit because the boat to the mainland left and it’s too bright here to see it.” Stepping away from the waters edge and heading for the small building that has turned into your secondary work station, planning to work on another new design.
Freezing at the slap of his tail against the waters surface, the loud clap making you jump. You don’t get to berate him for the scare when you see his fingers start to move as soon as you turn. You’ve got a wetsuit right? I can take you to see it if you want. That slight hint of rage leaves you as you feel a small smile grow on your face, his face is still red and you can see him looking at the platform instead of you. Your heart gives a small lurch at how sweet the gesture is.
Carefully strolling back to him before bending your legs so you’re closer to his face. Trailing your fingers along the side of his face down to his chin before tilting it up. “I’d love for you to take me Vash.” A strange fluttering in your stomach as he places his hand over yours to move it back to his face and nuzzles into it.
Hours later, you’re standing in your wetsuit on the platform, the water jet black and reflecting the lights like a mirror. “So how are you getting out of here, should I meet you somewhere?”
You watch him roll his eyes at you. You do know there’s a gate under the water for me to come and go as I please right?
“No, I didn’t.” Flushing as you think about it because it does make sense. A merman jumping the metal fence along his enclosure would get attention from the rest of the staff and you know he doesn’t stay inside of it all the time. “So I’ll meet you at the dock?”
Shaking his head before his fingers move again. Trust me?
“You know I do.”
Then take my hand. It’s almost a little silly, as you lower yourself down to sit at the edge before taking his hand and sliding the rest of the way into the water. Feeling his hand move yours to place it around his neck before doing the same with the other one. Hold on tight, then tap your fingers three times against my neck after you take a deep breath and you’re ready.
“Ok.” Taking a few breaths to try and steady your racing heart before taking a longer slow inhale and tapping his neck. In less than a beat of your heart, the two of you are underwater, Vash hurling along while you feel your eyes slam shut. With the speed he’s moving you feel your chest flattened against his, the flexing of his stomach as he moves his body at a speed no human would ever be capable of before you come to a sudden stop.
Hearing the sound of metal against metal before he moves again, turning and you hear the same sound. You know what he’s doing, and it makes sense. No one wants to come home to an unwanted guest.
Just like that the two of you are off again, only this time with the sudden change in direction you feel your arms slip from his neck. A few panicked bubbles escape you before you feel the muscles of Vash’s arm against your spine, his webbed fingers pressing against the back of your head while the heel of his hand cradles the nape of your neck.
It’s a little strange as you break the surface of the water, sputtering a little. You’ve never felt more protected and safe in your life than you do right now held in his arm and against his chest. His chittering in your ear a clear indication of his panicked concern since he can’t use his hand to talk to you.
“I’m okay Vash.” Coughing a little before your hands and arms are firmly around his neck once more. “Just wasn’t expecting you to be able to change directions that fast.” A noise from him that you understand without sign language. “I know you’re amazing, I just didn’t realize how much.”
That seems to keep him quiet for a moment before he starts swimming at a slower pace out to sea, helping to keep your head above the waves as he keeps you close. In a matter of minutes, the lights of the institution are just a speck on the horizon and all you have to see by is the light of the stars.
“Pretty.” Feeling Vash slow and turning his body so he’s floating on his back, using his hand to help you so you can turn around yourself before his arm is wrapped around your waist to help keep you in place and floating beside him. A noise that you think is his agreement as you both look up at the sky, the arms of the Milky Way dotted with points of light and more streaks than you’ve ever seen before.
Its mesmerizing as you keep your eyes on the sky, you’ve never seen so much of it before, and the meteor shower is making it an even more stunning view. “I know you can’t answer with your hand, but this is amazing Vash. Thank you for taking me.” Another noise, and you feel his hand tighten just enough on the side of your wetsuit to pull you closer to him, an action that has you reaching out to place your hand on the plains of his stomach.
It was later, after you both returned to the institution and you were back in your room warming your fingers, that you realized the merman had essentially taken you on a date.
The grin on your face more than enough to reinforce that you might have wanted to do it again.
Its weeks later that the idea strikes you.
An idea that has nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been spending your evenings swimming with Vash and watching the way he moves through the water. Yes. Nothing to do with how the shifting of the muscles on his arm are eye catching and leaves your heart racing.
No. Nothing at all.
Scrambling for the edge of the platform while he makes a high pitched squeal of confusion after you released your hold from his neck. “Sorry Vash!” Yelling behind you as you run for your second workspace, turning on your heels as you grin. “I’ve had a breakthrough!” Stripping from your wet clothes before grabbing a pad of paper and starting to sketch out a new design, ignoring the fact that Vash is chittering for a different reason with his face buried in his hand since he has a clear view of your form through the door.
Not that it stops him from peeking through his webbed fingers.
It feels strange as you keep kneeing in the shallow water, your hands on the side of Vash’s head trying to keep it from shifting to engage the muscles of his upper arm. You hadn’t realized how much harder surgery was when the person getting it couldn’t support their body weight out of the water.
Or how much harder it was trying to keep your mind from the fact Vash had asked you to stay with him while he was under and Dr. Conrad attached the upper portion of his new arm.
You’d been beyond ecstatic with the new design and how much lighter it was for Vash, the upper portion that covered from his upper arm to the joint in his elbow and about an inch below it. It was that part after the joint that had solved the problem. Instead of relying on a single arm with the hand and all the smaller joints, the rest of the forearm could now be swapped out. Allowing for you to design two forearms and hands that could attach, which meant the upper portion carried more of the weight and the inner workings in material that could survive the depths.
All because you had noticed when he was swimming, it was his upper arm that did most of the work when he used his arm. Which meant you could cut down on the amount of material needed for his forearm and hand, slimming it down so it looked like bones attached to a webbed hand made of metal.
You just hadn’t thought you’d be sitting in the water, smoothing his damp locks away from his forehead and keeping the thin membrane that peeked through where his ears were moist since they were out of the water, and trying to ignore the smell of copper in the air.
A swish of his tail causes a series of small eddies to shift some of the gear being used to keep Vash stable. “Easy big guy, easy, you’re almost done.” You have no idea if he is or not, tilting your head to look at the monitor next to you, the readings still in the range that the doctor had told you to expect while he was under anesthesia. “Still in the green Doc.”
He doesn’t answer you, the sound of another tool being picked up is all you hear, and you try to keep your focus on Vash. Trying to memorize the way his scales shimmer in the light and the pattern you don’t normally get to see.
Several hours later you’re in a slightly different position, still sitting in the shallow waters only now Vash’s head is in your lap. All of the gear from the surgery has been removed and his arm is wrapped to be secured against his chest while it heals.
It’s just waiting for him to wake up, and you had promised him that you would be there when he did. Trailing your thumb along the tendon on one side of his neck, feeling the rough texture that’s so different from the smooth skin of his stomach, hoping that he’ll find your touch reassuring when he opens his eyes.
You don’t have to wait much longer as you notice the fluttering of his outer eyelids before they crack open. An almost whimper like noise from him that makes you laugh low in your throat. “Hey there sleepy head.” Your heart rate starts to slow as some of the tension you’d been feeling since Dr. Conrad had told you and Rem that everything had been a success.
A small quirk of his lips as a sound that you can call a tired chirp comes from him with his eyes straining to focus on you. Noticing him lifting his hand from where it was floating in the water you reach out to intertwine your fingers with his. “I’d ask how you’re feeling, but I’m not sure you can answer.” The corners of your mouth ticked higher as your smile widened. “Not just because I’m holding your hand.”
Another noise that sounds like a tired sigh as he slowly closes his eyes before opening them again. Rolling his wrist you understand he wants to try and talk, moving your hand away and switching your gaze to those long fingers. The movement slow as if he’s drunk and it makes you laugh in a way that leaves that fluttering feeling in your chest again. Everything feels fuzzy.
“Well big guy, you just had major surgery. Dr. Conrad gave you some kind of painkiller I think.” Licking your lips as you glance down at his face again. “So how are you feeling?”
Tired. Shifting a little so your other hand is pressed more against his neck. You waited for me to wake up?
You just let out another laugh as you shake your head. “Of course I did, I would have even if you hadn’t of asked.” A happy little chirp from him as he tries to move his fingers again before placing his hand back on his stomach. “Get some sleep silly.”
Feeling the slightest bit emboldened with his sleepy eyes still on you, moving your fingertips to your lips and making the motion of kissing them before lowering them to press against his. “When you’re feeling better, I’ll give you a real one.” His hand tries to lift again before flopping against his pale stomach with a wet flop, letting out a noise as his eyes close you hope means he’ll hold you to that promise.
You groan as you wake up, your side feeling tender and your head pounding, a stiffness in your limbs that comes with being cold that you hadn’t expected. Only when you reach down to help yourself up from your bed, you finally notice you aren’t in your bed. You’re not in your room either.
Not if the orange glow on the horizon over the ocean is anything to go by.
A loud chirp, and you know exactly where you are, and why you're not in your room. You’re still in Vash’s pen, you must have fallen asleep. Rubbing your eyes before you look around, noticing the thick woolen blanket that’s normally kept for emergencies thrown over your body.
Vash can technically reach it if he puts a third of his body on the platform, and you hope he didn’t since he had surgery yesterday. The thought of him doing that does make the heat rise on your cheeks, turning at last towards where the sound came from to see Vash grinning at you like an idiot a few feet in the water. Morning sleepy head.
That makes you laugh, your words from yesterday thrown back at you. Sitting up a little more and wincing. “For future reference Vash, if I fall asleep could you wake me up? My wetsuit is plastered to me.” Still laughing as you stand, not wanting him to think you’re upset while making sure to keep the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. With your first step you can’t help but wince at the pain you feel from the material peeling from your skin.
That looks like it hurt. His fingers move as a grimace forms on his face. Sorry. When I woke up you were still in the water. A clear flush on his face as he looks away for a moment before continuing. I just moved you away from the edge and got the blanket, you looked… really peaceful. That fluttering is back in your stomach as you reach the edge of the pool, this blond is going to be the death of you with how adorable he’s being.
“Its not your fault Vash. I should have left when I started feeling that tired.” Bending your knees so you’re closer to the water while Vash swims a bit closer. “The real question is how are you feeling?”
My arm feels like it’s numb. At the look of concern on your face, he quickly waves his arm as if trying to disarm the situation. It was the same last time. I’m feeling better than when we spoke after my surgery.
“That doesn’t make me feel better Vash. I’m gonna go get Dr. Conrad and Rem.” Standing once more only to feel Vash wrap his hand around your ankle, waving his head in the negative. “Vash they should check you out.”
You can go but… Will you go get a shower and change after you tell them? You keep wincing. The blush makes the scales on his face shift into a darker color once more before he moves his fingers one last time. I am feeling better.
You just blink for a moment before your tired brain finally puts the pieces together. Letting the blanket fall from your shoulders before lowering yourself down so you’re eye level with him. “So you want a real one?” Grinning at him as he jerks in the water before his scales turn into a shade you’ve never seen before.
A single nod and he moves closer, allowing you to reach out and trail your fingers along his jaw. Closing your eyes as the distance between the two of you disappears, ghosting your lips over his before lingering for a moment. You can feel the different texture, his lips surprisingly soft for being a creature that lives in the water, hearing what sounds like a hum of pleasure from him.
Eventually, you do pull away, opening your eyes to see an expression you can call blissful on his handsome face. “They’ll be more of those in the future.” Whispering the words before you lean in for a shorter one at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll go get the others.” Pushing yourself up and walking away, looking over your shoulder at the gate to see a dreamy expression still on his face.
Once you get to Rem you’re more glad Vash spoke up, since the older woman orders you into a shower and to go to bed because apparently you look like someone who spent the night asleep in the water. You aren’t going to argue with her, and you get the feeling with her maternal instincts, she’s already onto the two of you.
In the weeks that follow, all she tells the two of you is to be careful, but it seems she’s rather glad to see at least one of her sons happier than he’s ever been while your relationship keeps progressing.
I am also trying something a little different where this is possibly going to be a two parter. The first part SFW and the second part well, not so SFW.
sum. d!ck inside, gasp and moan filling the room. your boyfriend pays you a visit and one praise they have you cum just in a second, and what do they do? oh, i’m gonna ruin you with that’ they said.
warning. non-sorcerer! jjk men, established 23 you & 31 them, praise kink, petname(s), name-calling(s), overstimulated, dirty talk,
GOJO SATORU
your dorm room was dim, just the amber glow of your bedside lamp flickering against the walls and casting shadows that danced with the rhythm of your bodies. his shirt was tossed somewhere by your desk chair, your panties slung haphazardly over your open textbook—because of course gojo had bent you over your desk first, saying something like “might as well break in your study spot properly, baby.”
but now you were on the bed, flat on your back, his silver hair a messy halo as he hovered over you, hips grinding into yours at a slow, relentless pace. skin hot and sticky, your legs trembling around his waist, your breath coming out in ragged little gasps.
“look at you,” he rasped, sweat dripping down his temple as he dragged his cock out to the tip, just to slam it back in. “fuck, baby—you’re taking me so good.”
your nails clawed at his back. “s-satoru—!”
he groaned at the way your voice cracked, the way you clenched down on him so tight the second he said something nice. “mm? what was that? you like that? like being told how good you are for me?”
your walls fluttered around him. violently.
his eyes widened.
“oh my god,” he said, stilling completely inside you. “no fuckin’ way.”
you were already whining, shifting your hips to chase friction, but he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand, staring at you like he just struck gold.
“you’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” he whispered, breathless. “you’re gonna cum just from that.”
your face was burning. “shut up—”
but he didn’t. of course he didn’t. this was gojo.
“ohhh, no no, now i have to test it,” he grinned, the corner of his mouth twitching with mischief. “you like being praised, baby? does it make that pretty pussy all messy?”
you whimpered as his free hand slid down, thumb circling your clit in slow, teasing strokes.
“you’re doing so good for me. such a good girl—letting me fuck you like this, letting me ruin that smart little college brain. i know you’ve been working hard all week, haven’t you?”
your hips bucked hard.
“ah—there it is,” he laughed, almost mean. “my filthy little overachiever. studying all day just to get ruined by my cock at night.”
his strokes picked up. so did his words.
“so proud of you, baby. so proud of this body—these thighs, this tight little cunt that’s soaking for me. you’re just perfect. my perfect, obedient, desperate girl—”
your orgasm hit like a truck.
you cried out, back arching violently, legs locked around him as your whole body seized beneath him. your walls clamped around his cock so hard it knocked the air out of him, and for once, satoru gojo was left speechless.
“f-fuck—holy shit—”
he collapsed on top of you, still twitching inside, and laughed breathlessly against your neck. “you just came from that,” he murmured, grinning like he just won the lottery. “from me telling you how good you are.”
you were still trembling.
“i’m never shutting the fuck up again,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “you’re so screwed, baby.”
and he meant that in every way possible.
GETO SUGURU
it was late—past midnight kind of late—and you’d just finished a soul-sucking group project that left you drained, grumpy, and snapping at anyone who looked at you sideways. which is why, when suguru showed up unannounced, you didn’t even question it. you just fell into his chest with a soft sigh, letting him carry you to the bed like he always did when you were too tired to move.
he kissed you like he missed you. slow and deep, tongue gliding past your lips like he had nowhere else to be. you didn’t even realize when he’d slipped your shirt off, or how your panties were already pushed to the side, or how the heat of his cock was nudging at your folds, thick and pulsing.
“tell me to stop,” he murmured against your lips.
you didn’t.
so he sank in slow, the stretch burning just right, your thighs wrapped tight around his waist, your fingers knotted in the strands of his hair still tied back lazily. he hissed through his teeth as he bottomed out.
“fuck, baby—you’re always so tight for me,” he groaned, his pace steady and firm, hips slapping into yours with a controlled rhythm. “even after all this time.”
you bit your lip, already feeling your body light up like a fuse had been lit in your spine. but you didn’t say anything. not yet.
he noticed it right away—how you squeezed around him the moment his voice dropped, all deep and sweet.
his brows lifted, that soft, wicked smile tugging at his lips.
“wait,” he said, rocking into you deeper. “you like that?”
you tried to look away.
“no, no—don’t hide,” he chuckled, catching your jaw and turning your face back to his. “you’re telling me you get off on a little praise?”
you shook your head. a clear lie.
“liar,” he murmured, leaning down to whisper against your lips. “you’re such a good girl for me. always so wet. always so eager to be filled up.”
you gasped—your body jolted—and your cunt squeezed around him so tight it dragged a curse from his throat.
“oh my god,” he laughed, unhinged now. “you’re fucking serious.”
he started fucking into you harder, deeper. his hand slid down your body, resting on your stomach, pressing there so he could feel how deep he was.
“i’m gonna ruin you with this,” he said, gaze dark with something close to awe. “just words, baby? just a few sweet nothings and you’re this close to cumming? fuck—look at you.”
you couldn’t hold back the noises anymore. every time he praised you—every filthy compliment, every soft ‘good girl’—your moans got louder, your legs shook harder, and your nails dug into his arms like you were holding on for dear life.
“such a perfect little thing,” he whispered, face buried in your neck. “taking me so well. doing so good, baby. you’re so beautiful like this—messy, fucked out, desperate.”
your body locked up.
he felt it, smirked, and gripped your hips tighter. “that’s it. cum for me. show me how much you love hearing how proud i am of you.”
and with a shattered whimper, you came. violently. full-body trembling, eyes rolling, breath stuttering as you soaked his cock.
he groaned into your mouth, slowing down just enough to ride you through it, kissing your lips softly like he hadn’t just broken you in half with his voice.
“mmm, my girl’s got the cutest kink,” he murmured, brushing your hair out of your face as you struggled to catch your breath. “you just gave me a fuckin’ god complex.”
you blinked up at him, dazed.
he grinned, leaned down, and whispered, “don’t worry. i’m gonna make you cum every single time i call you my good girl.”
and the worst part? you knew he would.
NANAMI KENTO
you didn’t expect him to show up at your dorm this late. he rarely came over without warning—he was punctual, predictable, always so polite about it. but tonight, something in his voice over the phone had made your stomach twist with anticipation. his “i’m coming over” had been low, firm, and left no room for argument.
so now you were here. back pressed against your desk, your shirt halfway open, your skirt bunched up around your waist, and nanami on his knees in front of you like a man starved. his tie was off, sleeves rolled up, glasses long forgotten on your nightstand, and you were struggling to breathe through the way his tongue moved over you—slow, devastating, focused.
“you’ve had a long week,” he murmured between licks, his voice thick with restraint. “thought i’d help you relax.”
your legs were already shaking, and you barely managed to stutter his name before he stood, towering over you, fingers ghosting over your trembling thighs. you could see it in his face—the slight pink in his cheeks, the tension in his jaw—that he was holding back.
and when he slid inside you?
oh god.
the stretch was perfect, deep, almost too much. you moaned openly, arms wrapping around his neck, eyes fluttering as he started thrusting into you slow and controlled, like he wanted to memorize the way your body reacted to each push.
and then—you clenched around him. tight.
the second he muttered, “you’re doing so well, sweetheart.”
he paused, eyes flicking up to your face. “...was that because of what i said?”
your mouth parted. you hesitated.
he stared for a beat, and then—something in him changed.
“interesting,” he breathed, voice suddenly darker. “so that’s what gets you dripping like this.”
he pulled out halfway, slammed back in, hard enough to knock a choked moan out of you.
“you want to be praised, is that it?” he murmured, brushing his knuckles along your jaw as he fucked you into the desk. “want me to tell you what a good girl you are?”
you whimpered.
he caught your face in his hand, made you look him in the eye. “you’re such a good girl for me. letting me have you like this. always so polite, so obedient—until i get you alone.”
you broke. you fucking broke.
your body went stiff, orgasm ripping through you before you could even warn him, clenching and throbbing so tight around his cock that his next groan sounded almost pained.
“fuck,” he muttered, hips stuttering. “you just came.”
you hid your face in his neck.
he didn’t stop.
he fucked you through it, whispering into your skin, “you did so well, darling. came so beautifully for me. i didn’t even have to touch you.”
and then, very softly: “what a filthy, perfect girl you are.”
you nearly sobbed.
he wrapped his arms around you, lifted you like you weighed nothing, and laid you on the bed—still inside you, still throbbing hard.
“don’t think we’re finished,” he said, sliding out slow, teasing, only to push back in and make you gasp. “not when i’ve just discovered how to ruin you.”
he kissed your forehead, lips soft and reverent.
“i’m going to praise you until you can’t walk tomorrow.”
and knowing him? he meant it.
TOJI FUSHIGURO
you knew what kind of night it was going to be the moment toji showed up at your door, leaning against the frame like he owned the place, shirt already unbuttoned halfway down and a smug glint in his eyes that said trouble. the man had no business looking that good at midnight.
"heard you’ve been stressin’ over your exams," he said, stepping inside without waiting. "figured i’d help you take the edge off."
“oh?” you quipped, cocky—until his hand gripped your throat lightly, tilting your head back just enough for his mouth to meet yours. and like always, he didn’t ease into it. his kiss was tongue and teeth and a little bite to your bottom lip that made your knees weak.
you didn’t even know when your panties came off. or when he bent you over your desk, your cheek pressed against open textbooks and crumpled lecture notes. all you felt was the heavy drag of his cock, thick and slow, sliding inside until you were full—so full you whimpered.
“fuck, always so tight,” he groaned, pressing his chest to your back. “like you’ve been waiting for me.”
he set a brutal rhythm, fucking into you like he was mad, like he missed you, like he needed this. every slap of skin echoed through the room, and your voice broke with every thrust. but then—
“such a good girl,” he muttered, not even thinking. just slipped out like it was instinct.
and your body snapped. you clenched around him hard, nearly choking on your moan.
he paused.
“…no fuckin’ way,” he breathed, pulling your hair to lift your head. “say that again.”
you stayed quiet. trembling.
he slammed back into you so hard your legs buckled.
“nah, princess. don’t hold out on me. you like that, huh? like bein’ called my good girl?”
you whined, breath hitching, face burning.
toji let out the filthiest, cockiest laugh. “holy shit,” he whispered, licking a stripe up the side of your neck. “you’re tellin’ me you cream the second i open my fuckin’ mouth? shit, baby—you’re so easy.”
his hand reached around, rubbing tight circles on your clit. “go ahead then,” he rasped. “cum on my cock. be my good fuckin’ girl.”
and just like that, you shattered.
you came so hard your thighs trembled, knees giving out under you. and toji? he just held you up, praised you through it, voice low and ragged in your ear.
“atta girl… so fuckin’ pretty when you cum. makin’ a mess on me already?”
he flipped you over like you weighed nothing, lifted your leg, and slid right back in.
“oh, we’re not done,” he grinned, breathless now, pupils blown wide. “you think i’m lettin’ this kink go to waste?”
you barely had the strength to answer, still shaking.
he leaned in, kissed you like he was mocking how ruined you looked. “you’re gonna cum for me again,” he promised. “and again. and again. until you’re cryin’ from bein’ called a good girl.”
and you knew—knew—he meant every word.
RYOMEN SUKUNA
it was late—quiet. the kind of silence that presses in on you thick and slow, where even the smallest sound feels amplified. sukuna’s apartment was dimly lit, just the soft, golden glow from the single lamp in the corner casting long shadows over the room.
you were straddling his lap, completely bare, thighs draped over his, your arms loose around his neck. his back rested against the couch, body warm beneath you, and his eyes—those deep, dark red eyes—never left your face. not even when your hips moved. not even when your breath hitched.
he had you seated right where he wanted you, hands gripping your waist, guiding your rhythm—slow, deep, unrelenting.
and you were a mess already.
“look at you,” he muttered, voice a low, amused rumble. “bouncin’ on my cock like you’re made for it.”
your breath stuttered, thighs twitching.
his fingers tightened on your waist just slightly. “you like that, huh? being told you’re good?”
you didn’t answer fast enough, but your body did—your eyes fluttering shut, hips stuttering, your moan nearly breaking apart in your throat.
and that was all he needed.
sukuna leaned in, mouth brushing your ear with a grin that you felt more than saw.
“ohhh. so that’s what this is.”
his tone dipped—taunting, smug. “my little girl gets off when i talk to her nice.”
you squirmed, half-mortified, half turned on beyond saving.
he tilted his head, watching your tits bounce with every needy rock of your hips. then he slipped a hand up, dragging his thumb lazily across your nipple, his other hand gripping your ass tight enough to bruise.
“you want me to keep tellin’ you how perfect you feel?” he whispered, suddenly more serious. his voice still laced with heat, but there was something darker behind it now. possessiveness. awe. “how tight this pussy is, how it sucks me in like it can’t breathe without me?”
your head dropped to his shoulder with a broken whimper.
“fuck—look at you.”
he let out a shaky breath, hips jerking up. “you’re gonna cum already, aren’t you? just from me talkin’?”
you nodded, desperate, babbling nonsense against his skin.
and then he said it—soft, low, raw:
“that’s my good girl.”
you shattered.
back arching, fingers clawing into his shoulders, your entire body went stiff before it trembled against his. you came so hard around him, so violently, it knocked the breath out of you—and sukuna just held you, smirking against your throat, murmuring filth between kisses.
“knew you were filthy for me.”
kiss.
“but this? fuck, baby. that’s dangerous.”
kiss.
“gonna use that mouth of mine to ruin you every night now.”
you didn’t doubt it for a second.
and from that night on, every time his voice dropped just a little, every time he muttered good girl into your ear—you remembered exactly how it felt to lose yourself right there on his lap, under the glow of that lonely little lamp, with praise melting off his tongue like sin.
SHIU KONG
it was supposed to be just a drive. just a night cruise with the windows down and your hand resting lazily on his thigh, music low and city lights flashing by. but shiu had always been the type to snap once something got under his skin—and you? dressed like that, soft thighs bare and eyes teasing him from the passenger seat?
you knew what you were doing.
that’s why you weren’t surprised when he suddenly pulled into some dark, quiet parking lot and killed the engine without a word.
his voice was low, rough when he spoke, hand gripping your chin as he leaned over.
“get in the back. now.”
you didn’t argue.
the car door slammed, and the moment you slid into the backseat, he followed—tall frame looming, heavy with intent. he didn’t give you time to process, to breathe—just pushed you down until your back hit the leather, and his mouth was already on your neck, hands everywhere.
“you always this bratty?” he growled against your skin. “or are you just desperate to get fucked like a little slut?”
your answer was a gasp, knees spreading on instinct. he chuckled low—one hand pushing up your skirt, the other unbuckling his belt in a way that felt both urgent and terrifyingly controlled. he wanted this, but he wanted to savor it.
his fingers slid between your legs, felt the mess there already.
“fuck—this wet already?” his brows twitched, head tilting. “just from me tellin’ you what to do?”
and then, a little slower:
“…do you like that?”
your breath caught in your throat.
“do you get off on being told you’re a good girl?” he murmured, right by your ear now, voice like hot velvet dragging across your spine. “is that what this is?”
you whimpered, body twitching, thighs tightening.
his grin was all sharp teeth and danger.
“well shit. that’s easy, sweetheart.”
he lined himself up, still fully clothed, only his zipper down, and pushed in with one long, slow stroke. you cried out—sensitive, overstimulated, and shiu loved it. he leaned over you, one hand gripping the seat above your head as he began thrusting, rough and deep, the car rocking with every snap of his hips.
“fuck, you feel good like this,” he panted, watching your eyes roll back. “so goddamn tight. takin’ me so well.”
then—he tried it.
soft, breathless, dangerous:
“good girl.”
your whole body clenched.
he stilled.
“…no way.”
he looked down at you, your chest heaving, face flushed, mouth open in a silent moan, your walls fluttering around him just from those two little words.
“you’re fuckin’ kidding,” he breathed, voice shaking. “you’re actually about to cum just from that?”
you nodded, whining—too far gone to be shy.
he groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “oh, i’m gonna ruin you with that.”
and he did.
over and over, thrusting deep, whispering it like it was sacred.
“good girl.”
“such a perfect fuckin’ thing.”
“look at you, clenching around me so sweet just ‘cause i’m praising you.”
he made you cum so hard, you cried—shaking in the back of his car while the windows fogged and your voice echoed against the leather.
and after? when you were still trembling, body boneless under him?
he kissed your cheek, still inside you, and smirked against your skin.
“next time, i’m doing this with the windows down,” he whispered. “wanna see how many people can hear you fall apart when i tell you you’re mine.”
HIROMI HIGURUMA
the city outside was still alive—lights flickering against the windows, muffled car horns somewhere in the distance—but in his office, it was nothing but dim lamps, the soft creak of the floor beneath the blanket he laid out, and the sound of your breathless gasps echoing off his walls.
he was above you. hands planted firm on either side of your head, body stretched long and tense, every muscle in his arms flexing with control as he moved inside you—slow, deep strokes that made your whole body tremble beneath him.
his tie was still on, his shirt half-unbuttoned and sleeves rolled to his elbows. he looked down at you like he was trying to memorize every single twitch of your face, every broken sound you gave him.
“you’re taking me so well,” he murmured, voice rough, reverent. “fuck—you feel incredible.”
and you whimpered.
he paused—just slightly—but his hips didn’t stop.
his brow furrowed, mouth parting as his eyes locked onto your expression.
“…was that it?” he asked softly, his pace slowing, hips dragging almost teasingly deep. “did that do it for you?”
your face was flushed, mouth open, eyes wide—betraying everything.
he let out a low breath of laughter, something between awe and amusement, and leaned down closer, his mouth brushing against your ear.
“oh, you like being told that. don’t you?”
your hands gripped his biceps, nails digging in.
“god, of course you do,” he whispered, hips thrusting again, more deliberate now. “you’re such a good girl for me. lying here, letting me fuck you slow—just like this. perfect.”
your whole body jerked, breath catching. and he felt it—your walls tightening, the tremble of your thighs pulling him in closer.
his voice dropped lower, rougher.
“gonna cum, sweetheart?”
you nodded helplessly.
he smirked—something lazy, dangerous—and dragged his hand down between your bodies, fingers brushing right where you needed them.
“do it. cum for me.”
then, slower—deeper—hot breath against your lips:
“be a good girl and cum for me.”
you broke.
your back arched off the floor, thighs shaking around his waist as your orgasm tore through you—so hard it hit like a wave, full-body and overwhelming. you cried out, clinging to him as your body clenched tight, trembling under his weight.
and higuruma—he didn’t stop. he kissed your temple, dragged his fingers along your cheek, whispered praises while you came undone beneath him.
“you’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, almost too tender for how deep he was still inside you. “so sweet. you always fall apart for me when i say it, don’t you?”
you nodded again, breathless, dizzy.
his lips curved into something between a smirk and a soft smile, brushing his mouth against your cheek as he pushed his hips in deep again.
“i’m never shutting up again, then,” he said, almost like a vow.
“you’re gonna cum from my voice alone by the time i’m done with you.”
and with the way your body responded—shaking, sensitive, already aching for more—you knew he meant it.
andulkaphoto
titsay
stormborns
germansingergirl
2087
yousharknotpass
