hiiii. I mostly made this list for myself because I tend to lose track of what I'm reading. I will keep updating this list every time I find a new fanfic that I like, and I finally started adding more stuff ;)
𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘁!
Batfamily x neglected!reader (I loveee angst)
HOLD ON TO REASON (or fall for the Illusion) -by @echo-exco
again &. again -by @acid-ixx
Your Other Family -by @dumpsterdiverinc
Undoing Fate -by @rizzanon
BURNT OUT -by @cupids-cruel
Fractured Wings -by @pomegranatelifethis
platonic!Batfam x neglected!gn!reader -by @gloopfruit (this one has no set title)
𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 𝐃𝐔𝐄𝐓 -by @bloodinroses
EYES WITHOUT A FACE -by @dehydratedoverlord
“So much to do, so little RAM.” -by @cafeoa (kinda neglected)
Invisible Heart -by @pomegranatelifethis (this one made my chest hurt a little ngl)
Oh my God, Oh my God. Who wrote this? -by @luludeluluramblings (there are both SFW and NSFW versions) here's also her whole master list cuz she's an amazing writer and has many more bat family work!
Yan! Neglectful! Batfam x Replaced! Reincarnated! Time-loop! Crazy! Reader -by @candysparks (TW cause this one is horror/angst)(also has evil Yuri)
a loving family, an unpalatable desire (batfamily x under appreciated!batmom) (superfamily x batmom) -by @acid-ixx
don't romance the npc (batfam x npc isekai’d! reader) -by @acid-ixx
THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT -by @bnny0rgnz
girl with one eye -by @neellscapsule
“UNDER THE MASK.” -by @geniusgirlalert
No use for your apologies. -by @mareszawrites (i actually cried reading this omg)
Socialite!BatSis!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family -by @luludeluluramblings
Static On The Line (Batfam x batsis) -by @suigenerisisadiva
Yandere BatFam x other dimension Reader -by @sangunary
Long Gone -by @cosmicasteroid
My Heart -by @neellscapsule
; Coming Full Circle. -by @oddlylovingaddiction
the ballad of a bygone blight. -by @kenyummy
Why are you so obsessed with me?! -by @zippysmusings
𝔈𝔳𝔞𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 -by @stpatriziaofconstantinople
BATBOYS X READER (NOT PLATONIC)
In The Car ! tim drake x reader - by @dark-tulipss
dick grayson x loser!reader pt2 - by @doki-doki-imagines
All Ours Bernard and Tim x reader - by @dark-tulipss
dairy queen closes in 10 minutes tim drake x reader -by @shisuni
INVINCIBLE X READER (MOST ARE NSFW)
Yours Truly, Your Favorite Ex mark grayson x reader - by @elainewonderswriting
"I’ll Breed You Into Loyalty"Mark Grayson x Viltrumite!Fem!Reader - by @vinnyvamppp
Don’t fight it Viltrumite!fem reader x Mark Grayson - by @justevelynnnn
𝐁𝐅𝐅! 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 | accidentally sending him a lewd photo Marg Grayson x reader - by @sunaskura
Mark begging you not to break up with him Mark Grayson x reader by @ignominiousgirl
OBSESSED WITH HIS EX-WIFE Mark Grayson x reader pt2 -by @ymirxex
Mark Variants x reader - by @wooobuddyletsgetnasty
𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝑴𝒆 𝑵𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝑻𝒊𝒎𝒆 Mark Grayson variants x reader - by @wordsofwhimsy
"Kinda look familiar, I done caught amnesia" Mark Grayson variants x reader - by @crims0nsp4de
Best Friends Brother OC Mark Grayson older brother (young nolan) x reader - by @acheronlovely
midnight sun ! mark grayson x fem reader - by @junleb
Cunnilingus failure-ness Mark x reader - by @secretaccountlol
jerk. Omni-Man/Nolan Grayson x fem!assistant!reade - by @themonstertheybecame
Pink with Pollen Young Nolan OC whos Mark’s older brother pt2 - by @acheronlovely
Hit me as hard as you can Cecil Stedman/f! Reader - by @jnw1813
To Be Desired pt2 - by @vinnyvamppp
IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE (Reader x Mark¡Variants) - by @ymirxex
Equilibrium Mark Grayson/Invincible x Reader with Powers (part of invinciweek) -by @elainewonderswriting
Invinciweek! (actually here’s her entire masterlist because im not a gatekeeper)- by @elainewonderswriting
nolan grayson who’s big in every aspect - by @notmclovinn
She Threw Me—Then Kissed Me (Her entire masterlist here because it’s peak) - by @vinnyvamppp
A better fate, for all involved | Thragg/f! Grayson! Reader @/jnw1813
DUBIOUS CHICKEN AND POTATOS mark grayson x reader - @secretaccountlol
If any of the writers are uncomfortable or don't want their work on this list please let me know!
(Some of the writers couldn't be tagged due to mention limits)
The first mistake you made was using Reddit to find a roommate. The second was moving in with him anyway. Satoru Gojo is a gorgeous man and a terminally online incel who will explain exactly why a nice guy like him can't get a girlfriend.
When you decide to weaponize your hotness against his incel worldview, you expect to break him and his “alpha male" ideologies. You do not expect to spend a random evening getting your roommate's dick out of a stuck cock ring.
pairing: Gojo Satoru x reader
warnings: 18+ (mdni!!), explicit sexual content, afab!reader, modern AU, roommate AU, nerdjo, incel!gojo, virgin!gojo, oral (m and f receiving), piv, creampie, light degradation, praise kink, cum in hair, cum eating, cum-drunk, pussy-drunk, cock rings, fleshlights, improper use of hair tie, improper use of yogurt (accidentally ??), oil and fluids everywhere, it’s a bit disgusting, light choking, groping, big time copium from reader, secondhand embarrassment you’d die, reddit, incel stuff, crack treated seriously, fluff, smut, slow burn but the burn is just pure cringe
word count: 17k
The first mistake you made was using Reddit to find a roommate. Should’ve been a red flag, really. The second was agreeing to meet the guy in person.
You walked into the coffee shop, scanning the midday crowd for someone who matched the description — twenty-something, remote-employed, appreciates a quiet living environment. You were expecting a tired grad student, maybe. Or some tech guy in a Patagonia fleece. Something like that.
Instead, you found a gorgeous, gorgeous looking man. And you were confident it was him, since there were exactly two men present — him, and some grandpa having his afternoon caffeine fix.
And the guy was, objectively and objectifyingly speaking, probably the prettiest guy you had ever laid your eyes on. Way too tall, way too broad, the messy hair and the cute glasses adding the je ne sais quoi of the hot nerd aesthetic you were simply too weak for. Even hunched over his phone like that, he looked aggressively cute. But, let’s be honest, you weren't exactly against a cheeky roommates-to-lovers situation, if you catch my drift.
You stopped dead in your tracks.
Oh no. Oh YES.
Your heart went thump thump thump! like crazy as you stood there, frozen between the door and the counter. Living with a man who looked like that was a direct threat to your peace. And his too, probably. You couldn't believe you had practically won a jackpot over freaking Reddit. And apparently Reddit was only full of weird people, as if. So you took a breath, adjusted your posture, and walked over.
But then the panic hit. Because someone who looked like that was probably bringing home a different girl every night. And you’d have to listen to the stupid Thump. Thump. Thump. of his bed through the thin drywall. Every single time.
Suck it and see, you never know, girl.
From his side of the table, Satoru had already run the numbers. His eyes tracked your movement the second you started walking over, assessing. You were cute, yes. Approachable hot, not intimidating hot. You didn’t look like the type who’d expect him to pay for everything or make fun of his personality. And most importantly — you had messaged him first on the housing thread.
That meant the dynamic was already set. You were practically already his. Why else would a girl willingly want to live with a man? The power balance was secured. Handled. Handed to him on a silver platter, just like all the podcasts had promised.
You slid into the booth across from him. "Satoru?"
"You're exactly two minutes and forty seconds late," Satoru announced, and you feared that wasn't a joke. He checked his phone screen. "Statistically speaking, women in their twenties are usually ten to fifteen minutes late to initial meetups to assert social dominance. Two minutes is almost negligible. I like the effort."
You stared at him. What the fuck. You hadn't even taken your jacket off yet.
"I got caught at a red light," you said slowly, furrowing your eyebrows and eyeing his hands. Why were they so big?
“Right. Variables.” Satoru nodded, looking way too serious about the whole thing. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “So — I brought the lease agreement. As I mentioned, I have a 780 credit score and I want dishes done within twenty-four hours. To prevent breeding grounds for fruit flies.” He slid the keys across the table along with the papers, completely unprompted. “I assume you don’t have a problem with basic hygiene? You shouldn’t have—” his eyes dragged over you, slow and sleazy, “—judging by your appearance.”
You looked at the keys. Then at his stupidly pretty, already supremely annoying face.
Your brain was trying to throw up big red warning signs, but you really needed the space. It was cheap. Close to work. And you’d have to survive maybe a year or two before you could afford a one-bedroom on your own.
You go, girl.
“I’m clean,” you said, picking up the keys. You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out exactly what brand of lunatic you were about to chain yourself to. “Listen. You’re not going to be weird, are you?”
Satoru tilted his head, genuinely confused. “Define weird.”
You bit your lip.
There went those “quick” two years of your life.
You already knew the answer. You already fucking knew. Time for some hard coping. Maybe this was just a phase. Maybe he’d snap out of it soon. Maybe he’d gone through a breakup and was just being salty. That was probably it.
And to be fair, the first few weeks weren’t actually that weird. You were getting to know each other, learning how to exist in the same space. It was quiet, even. You would’ve paid good money to keep it like that forever.
He mostly worked from his room, only came out for meals, did the dishes, and left you alone. He barely even talked to you, which should’ve been suspicious, but you chose to ignore it. You started to think maybe you’d read him wrong at the café. Maybe the breakup theory was right. Maybe he was just having a weird day.
But spoiler alert — you couldn’t have been more wrong.
Satoru had not gone through a bad breakup. You suspected he had never gone through any breakup at all ever. Once he got comfortable enough to drop the act, or perhaps as some calculated 4D chess move to trap you past the point of getting your deposit back, his true colors started showing.
Satoru didn’t bring girls home. He didn’t do any of the hot-man things you’d expected either. Instead, he spent most of his free time on Reddit, arguing with strangers about the state of modern dating, and why “nice guys” were being chronically overlooked by society.
After about a month, it clicked.
This man was chronically, terminally online. And an incel on top of it all.
The rule of never judging a book by its cover confirmed itself in the most jarring way possible. Would say, you played yourself there girl, but who am I to judge.
It started with the staring. You’d be sitting at the kitchen island in your sleep shirt, eating a bowl of Cheerios, and you’d look up to find him just… watching you. He never looked away when you caught him either. He’d just blink those big, stupidly pretty blue eyes at you, gaze heavy and analytical, like he was trying to calculate your exact molecular structure. Which, in a way, he was. Carefully assessing the harmony of your facial features, exactly like the looksmaxxing subreddit had probably told him to.
You were always the one who had to look away first, your face feeling weirdly hot.
Then came the rants. You’d come home from a brutal shift and collapse onto the couch, and Satoru would emerge from his room like clockwork. He’d drop down next to you, eyes glued to his phone, and start talking like someone had asked.
“It’s basic hypergamy,” he announced one night, to absolutely no one. “Men are biologically disadvantaged in the modern dating sphere because of the top-twenty-percent rule.”
You didn’t even look at him. You just kept staring at the TV and wondered how long you could keep nodding along before it would become suspicious.
And he would just keep going.
Spewing the most vile, stupid shit while you sat there, eyes flicking from the TV to him and back, nodding along because you genuinely did NOT care. Top twenty what percent? Wasn’t he objectively in the top ten at least? What the hell was he even talking about? Every time you didn’t answer, he probably took it as agreement. You just deadass had nothing to say to him.
Not because you lacked the energy to argue — though you kind of did, because talking to this manchild was like talking to a wall, and even that would’ve been more productive — but mostly because you weren’t even listening anymore. You’d learned how to tune him out pretty quickly.
You were tolerating him. That’s what you told yourself. You were tolerating him, and it had nothing to do with the fact that ever since you first laid eyes on him, your brain had decided to revert to its most embarrassing caveman settings.
Like that one evening when you were walking down the hallway toward the kitchen and the bathroom door opened.
Satoru stepped out, dripping wet. White hair plastered to his forehead, water still running down his chest, wearing nothing but a towel slung dangerously low on his hips. You shamelessly followed his happy trail. The way the towel barely clung on his hips.
Your brain stalled at the sight of his pretty body and your mouth went dry. You reminded yourself why you were tolerating him. Then berated yourself for doing exactly what he did — objectifying.
But hey. What's better than an incel asshole? A hot incel asshole. That's what's better. Congratulations to you specifically, really found a rock between a sea of gems.
You thought you had it handled. White-knuckle your way through the lease. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.
And then you walked past his partially open bedroom door and heard him on Discord.
"Yeah, I mean, the living situation is okay," Satoru was saying, sounding so perfectly reasonable. You thought he was going to say something nice. What a good roommate she is, how glad he was to have you there.
"She's clean. And yeah, she's hot, but she's not like super hot hot where it's scary, you know? She's cute hot. Next door hot, pretty hot. Just my type, you know my type, dude. I can definitely work with that."
You froze in the hallway.
Your face did something that could only be described as a visual representation of what the fuck.
Cute hot. I can definitely work with that.
What does that even mean? You knew exactly what it meant, unfortunately. He wasn't just a weird roommate. He was a weird roommate actively running some kind of deranged, incel-fueled long game on you. Casually. Over Discord.
You quietly backed away, went to your room, locked the door, and screamed into your pillow.
It was not like your roommate was describing you like a property investment to someone over Discord while you were standing mere feet away.
You hated this. You hated him. And you hated yourself for having been even remotely apologetic about it, for feeling your heart skip a beat when he said just my type. Curse you and your completely stupid and irrational attraction to someone you should probably be filing a restraining order against! But god, he was so so cute. If he could just shut the fuck up, or get lobotomized, or something. You could take him to Claire's over the weekend?
But to his credit, and you could not fucking believe you were giving him even some credit at all right now, he was sometimes tolerable, heavy on the sometimes. The man never missed a rent payment. He scrubbed the bathtub weekly. He always bought the expensive brand of paper towels, the ones with the little flower pattern you liked.
Good roommate, structurally speaking. Nightmare, every other way.
And the attraction was just a proximity issue. Obviously. Everyone would have this problem. It would go away. His personality was ass. Soon enough you'd look at him and convince yourself his looks were ass too. Start acknowledging his hotness the way you acknowledged anything asexual.
It was totally fine. You were fine. He was just a guy. A guy who happened to look like a Final Fantasy character rendered in 4K, but still just a guy. A nice guy.
And work with that, he definitely did. Because he was fine too! Just not in any way he would ever admit to his Discord buddies.
Because doing it the normal way guys in their sexual prime do was completely fine. He was in his twenties, so naturally, his mind wandered a bit when his head hit the pillow with passing thoughts about the way your sleep shirt rode up your bare thigh. There was absolutely nothing wrong with getting off while thinking about someone! It was just the normal biological need the podcasts yapped about! It was healthy to be sexually active, even if his only active partner was his fist.
And if that happened to escalate into jerking off to a completely innocent Instagram picture and coming all over his phone screen while staring at your pixelated smile? Also completely normal! Everyone dealt with new living arrangements differently; someone screamed into their pillow, someone else was jerking off every time you got said person inexplicably hard! He couldn't be expected to live like a celibate monk when he was just a poor, horny guy trapped in an apartment with a gorgeous roommate who also happened to be exactly his type. He wasn't being a creep! He was just adapting to his environment.
Goddamn.
It wasn't fine. He wasn't fine, you weren't fine either.
But as the weeks dragged on, he started getting worse.
The passive-aggressive creepiness turned into passive-aggressive entitlement. He had decided, completely on his own, that the two of you were basically already together. You could feel it in the way he hovered. In the way he looked at you like he was waiting for something. Like a bill was coming due and he was just giving you time to find your wallet.
It started with the food.
Without any discussion, he started either making food for both of you or straight-up eating what you’d made for yourself. Like that was just the new normal now.
“Satoru, did you eat my food?” you’d ask, staring at the empty space in the fridge where your meal had been. The one you’d been looking forward to all day. And he’d just nod from the couch like it was the most normal, domestic thing in the world — not a direct violation of the rules you’d set when you moved in.
Or there was the night you came home completely drained, fully prepared to eat a sleeve of saltines and a bucket of ice cream for dinner, only to walk into the apartment smelling like garlic and roasted vegetables.
Satoru was actually at the stove, cooking. A rare sight — the man usually survived on takeout and DoorDash. And he’d used your expensive dried tomatoes. The ones you’d been saving for a special occasion. The ones you’d deliberately shoved to the back of the fridge so he wouldn’t find them.
“Men in the kitchen are a rare sight, I know,” he said, not looking at you as he stirred, trying to look like the eighth world wonder. “But I thought — what if I made pasta? It’s the one my mom used to make. Figured I’d make it for myself. Made a lot though, so… you can have some too, I guess.”
He was already plating a portion for you as he spoke, trying and failing to look casual while clearly nervous you wouldn’t like it.
You watched him for a moment and felt something shift in your chest. You immediately labeled it as hunger and moved on.
He didn’t ask if you liked it. He just assumed you would. And he was right, yeah you ate it, but that wasn’t the point. The pasta wasn’t even that good. Way too salty. But it sat warm in your belly, and you didn’t have it in you to tell him the truth.
You thanked him for the meal but didn’t acknowledge the grand gesture you hadn’t agreed to in the first place. You didn’t make conversation and went straight to do the dishes.
When you glanced back, he was watching you with that look again.
You looked away first.
And of course an incel like that would have opinions about your love life too.
You’d been seeing someone — nothing serious, just a guy from Hinge. Two dates in, and you were still on the fence. He didn’t make your heart do that stupid thump thump thump, and his hairline wasn’t all that great either.
You made the mistake of mentioning a possible third date while making coffee, trying to have a normal, boring conversation about your respective lives.
“I think I’m going to see him again on Saturday,” you said, mostly to your mug.
Satoru looked up from his phone. He was always on his phone doing gods know what.
"The architect guy?"
"Nah, I ghosted that one. Different guy."
A pause. He furrowed his eyebrows the way he did when he was assessing something. “How many are there?”
You gave him a warning look.
"I'm just asking."
"And I'm not answering," you said, rolling your eyes.
He put his phone down, which was never a good sign. You turned back to the coffee machine.
“I just think,” he started.
“Don’t,” you muttered, already regretting bringing it up.
"—that you're not being strategic about this."
You turned back around, mentally preparing for what was about to come.
“About dating. Statistically speaking, cycling through too many low-value options in a short period of time actually decreases your own value. If you want to attract a high-value man—”
He didn’t just mean men. He meant himself. Which, bless him, but also fuck him for putting it like that.
You stared at him for a moment, seriously considering yelling and throwing your mug at his stupidly symmetrical face.
“Satoru,” you said. “Did you just tell me I’m getting ran-through?”
He opened his mouth, then immediately closed it. His ears went pink — he had probably clocked his own stupidity, apparently, which was a first.
"No! It's not — that's not what I—" he started, hands coming up like he was surrendering.
"Where did you even hear that phrase?"
"It's a concept from—"
"No." You held up a hand. "No, I don't want to know, actually. You just made me really upset."
You picked up your coffee and looked at him — standing there in his stupid nerdy sleep shirt, with his stupidly cute messy hair, genuinely confused about why this had gone wrong. Like he really thought you’d realize he was right and apologize on your knees for even mentioning other men.
You felt furious. Tired. And something else you weren’t going to name.
You couldn’t believe you’d ever imagined getting railed into oblivion by this man. Instead, you had to talk to him like he was a toddler. You had a feeling you were going to become a cautionary tale. A PSA about what happens when you move in with an incel.
You went on the date that Saturday anyway. It was fine. The guy was fine-ish — less fine after the weird-ass conversation you’d had with Satoru prior. You came home to find him on the couch, waiting. Expecting something. But neither of you said a word. You just went to your room, got into bed, and stared at the ceiling.
You were so fucking tired.
Tired of dates that were just fine. Tired of coming home to this. Tired of the whole thing.
So you cancelled the next one. And the one after that.
Men were mediocre anyway, you told yourself. You needed peace. You needed to stop cycling through low-value options — god, you couldn’t believe that phrase was living rent-free in your head now. You were going to find whatever podcast invented it and send the hosts very ugly, very threatening email.
And maybe the apartment really was full of questionable worldviews, because somewhere between the sexual marketplace value speeches and his creepy behavior, you developed one of your own.
You became morbidly into the idea of breaking his incel resolve. Like you’d accidentally discovered a new kink.
Not even in a romantic way. More like you’d started writing a very questionable mental screenplay about dismantling him piece by piece. Watching the podcast rot leak out of him in real time. Making the incel guy want you so badly he forgot every subreddit he was joined in, until he was pathetic enough to cry at your feet — and you weren’t even the dominant type!
Wasn’t there a term for that? There had to be. You’d read the fanfictions. You’d read the think pieces. And every time you’d wondered why women did this to themselves.
Now you knew exactly why.
It was like disaster tourism. Some people went to Chernobyl for the thrill. Some people chased storms. You were simply built different.
Because when a man looked you in the eye and said shit like, “It’s actually been studied. Women who wear revealing clothing in domestic settings are subconsciously signaling availability to increase their mate value. It’s an evolutionary response to competition,” and meant it — like he hadn’t just dropped full Andrew Tate shit on a random Wednesday night — you weren’t going to let it slide.
You were already stretched thin. And he was on very thin ice.
So you made a plan.
You were going to show him exactly what skimpy clothing did to a man like him. And you weren’t going to think too hard about why this was probably the stupidest idea you’d had in a while.
Because who would voluntarily wear less clothes when they could just put on three more layers to prove a point?
You, apparently.
You dug out the shorts you hadn’t worn since sophomore year. The ones that left half your ass out and the tank top that made your boobs look obscene. All to "prove a point."
Satoru was at the kitchen island when you walked in, like every morning.
You leaned against the counter, grabbed your yogurt from the fridge, and started eating your probiotic-balanced breakfast, like every morning.
He was still on his phone.
You were starting to think the plan had lowkey a flaw — mainly the part where he wasn’t even looking at you — when he stood up and walked over to the sink to put his mug away.
He reached past you.
The mug hit the bottom of the sink with a loud clang as he stood frozen and way too close. Staring at you with his mouth slightly open, ears going pink in real time as the color crept up from his jaw. He was looking at you exactly how you’d hoped he would… and now that it was actually happening, your stomach did a stupid little flip.
You went to put the spoon back in your mouth.
But your hand missed and the spoonful of Activia went down your chin, down your neck, and disappeared between your tits.
Satoru’s eyes followed it the whole way. You felt your nipples tighten under the thin fabric as he stared. Then his gaze dragged back up, slow, before dropping to what you were wearing.
When he finally looked at your face again, his ears weren’t just pink anymore. They were red.
“Uh. Y-you have yogurt. On your—” He gestured vaguely at your chest. “—on your b-boobs.”
You stared at him. He stared back — at your face, at your chest, at your legs, everywhere.
“Yeah,” you said. “I noticed, ‘Toru.”
You grabbed a paper towel and dragged it slowly down your neck, then slipped your other arm under your boobs to lift them higher, making the cleanup easier for you and significantly harder for him. You could tell by the way he was squirming.
He swallowed. A loud, audible gulp in the quiet kitchen. His Adam’s apple bobbed like it was trying to escape.
“Right. G-good — you cleaned it up. I-it was very messy,” he managed to get out, voice a full octave lower and cracking at the end. His eyes were half-lidded, ears still burning red.
Then he fled. He turned so fast he clipped his hip on the doorframe and didn’t even react to the pain before disappearing down the hallway.
You felt victorious. You’d fried his alpha-male-rotted brain. You’d proven your point. You were the apex predator of this apartment!
But then you took a breath and noticed your hands were shaking.
Your nipples were still painfully hard against the thin fabric of your tank top. And there was a warm, insistent ache low in your belly, sending little shockwaves down to your toes.
Wait.
What the fuck.
You looked down at your chest, then at the empty doorway like he might still be there.
Why the hell were you horny?
You were supposed to be the disaster tourist here. You were supposed to be watching the meltdown from a safe distance. Disaster tourists didn’t usually get turned on by the radiation. They didn’t usually want the hazard to come back out of his room, pin them against the counter, and put his stupid big hands on their hips.
You threw the paper towel into the trash harder than necessary. It hit the side and did a pathetic little plop! pathetically to the floor.
You slammed your bedroom door and threw yourself onto the bed, burying your burning face in the pillows.
The plan had worked perfectly.
Even if you had to dig out your vibrator later just to make the weird tingling go away.
It was just a power trip. Just the adrenaline of winning. That’s all it was. Power trips made people horny. It was biology. It was science.
Take that, Satoru!
And oh, he took it.
Across the hallway, Satoru was melting into his mattress. A bruise was already forming where he’d slammed into the doorframe. The image of that yogurt dragging down between your tits was burned into his brain. He was throbbing, and it was fucking pathetic.
He tried jerking off like usual — fist tight, imagining you on your knees — but it wasn’t enough anymore. Hadn’t been for weeks, actually. His hand wasn’t cutting it.
So he reached into the back of his bottom drawer and pulled out the silicone toy he’d bought recently. He was embarrassed, but too worked up to care. At least now he could pretend it was your tight pussy he was fucking into.
It was a new low. He knew it was a new low. But he did it anyway, eyes squeezed shut as he used the fleshlight, imagining you on top of him, under him, beside him — it didn’t matter. Anything was better than coming on his own just from the memory of yogurt dripping down your skin.
But of course, once the post-nut clarity hit, he took the whole thing the completely wrong way.
Because really, what did you think was going to happen?
You thought parading around half-naked in front of a terminally online incel would make him fall to his knees and magically develop self-awareness?
No. Of course not.
He thought you did it on purpose. For him specifically.
And yeah, you did do it on purpose — just not for the reason he thought. You were trying to break his brain. Make a joke out of his worldview! Instead, all you did was make him hard for three days straight and give him a terrifying amount of hope.
It validated every single pseudo-scientific dating theory he’d ever read. In his mind, you weren’t mocking him. You were submitting to his superior frame. You were “signaling availability.”
You hadn’t broken his incel resolve. You’d accidentally reinforced it. Applause.
And now Satoru believed, with full Reddit-backed certainty, that he had won. He’d played the long game. He’d kept his alpha composure. And now the cute roommate in the tiny gym shorts was finally ready to yield.
And worst of all? He started being creepy on purpose.
Before, the hovering and staring had been unconscious. Now he was doing it with intention. It was time to “establish physical dominance” and “break the touch barrier,” according to whatever the fuck forum thread he’d absorbed that week.
He started finding excuses to be near you — reaching past you for things he didn’t need just to brush his chest against your shoulder, leaving you wrapped in his scent. He’d sit too close on the couch, close enough that you could feel the heat coming off him.
And it was working. You hated that it was working.
Every time his hand brushed yours or his fingers grazed your waist, your skin broke out in goosebumps. You could feel yourself reacting to his nervous little attempts to mark his territory, and it was driving you insane.
You were sitting on the couch eating your well deserved Pad Thai straight out of the takeout box while a true-crime documentary played in the background.
Satoru emerged from his room, did his usual hover-routine like some awkward mating dance, and then sat down. Right next to you.
Without taking his eyes off the TV, he reached over and placed his hand on your bare thigh.
It was this weird twitchy movement between caress and a customs agent stamping a passport.
His fingers kept flexing like he was fighting the urge to either pull away or drag them higher. You sat frozen, staring down at his hand, silently daring it to move. Then mentally cursing yourself for even letting it happen in the first place.
A rush of heat flooded your chest and cheeks. It burned under his palm and shot straight down between your legs.
Ovulation. It’s just ovulation.
"Satoru," you said slowly.
He was staring straight ahead at the TV, posture stiff as a board and he was even redder than you.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He flinched, yanking his hand back into his lap and hunching over. “N-nothing.”
He cleared his throat but didn’t move away. His knee stayed pressed against yours. He took a breath, puffing his chest out as he tried to reclaim his “alpha” frame, then glanced at you as you took a shaky bite of noodles.
“So,” he started again, voice slipping into that pseudo-intellectual podcast cadence that always made your eye twitch. “I was reading a thread today. About proximity and domestic investment.”
You didn't look at him, listened to the Ted Bundy facts coming from the documentary narrator. Chewed and brushed him off. "Fascinating."
“It actually is,” he continued, completely unbothered. He leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the couch and caging you in. “Because it highlights the flaw in modern female psychology. Women always say they want a nice guy. Someone who provides stability. Someone who pays his bills on time, remembers to buy toilet paper, and keeps a clean, optimal living environment.”
He paused, letting the weight of his own perceived perfection hang in the air.
“But,” Satoru said, turning his head to look at you, eyes locking onto yours with that same entitled certainty, “when that exact man is sitting right in front of them, offering unwavering loyalty and a high-value domestic partnership, they stay willfully blind. They friendzone him. Tease him. Cycle through low-tier guys from dating apps instead. It’s biologically counterproductive.”
The only sound in the room was the dramatic music coming from the TV now. You dropped your chopsticks into the takeout box, which suddenly felt too heavy in your lap.
He was so confident in his entitlement it actually made you sick. It was ruining your fucking appetite.
He thought doing the bare minimum — acting like a decent human being with basic hygiene — earned him loyalty points he could cash in for sex. Like some kind of fucked-up grocery store rewards program.
You turned your body toward him fully, voice eerily quiet.
“Let me get this straight,” you said. “You’re sitting here, in our living room, getting mad at me because your nice-guy vending machine is broken?”
Satoru blinked, his brow furrowing like he genuinely didn’t understand what the problem was.
“I’m stating a statistical—”
“Shut up.”
The words came out sharp enough to cut. You weren’t playing anymore. One more podcast quote and you were going to rip the hair out of his stupidly pretty head.
His mouth snapped shut. He looked genuinely startled. You’d never told him to shut up before — not like that. You’d always just nodded, or rolled your eyes, or tuned him out.
“You think this is a transaction,” you said, eyes narrowing. “You think because you scrub the bathtub and pay your half of the rent on time, you’re earning points? You’re keeping score. You did the bare minimum and now you’re waiting for me to drop to my knees in gratitude like you were providing for me?”
“I am a provider,” he argued, chest puffing out even as his voice lost some of its usual arrogance. “I bring high value—”
“You bring decency at best!” you snapped, throwing your hands up. “Doing your own dishes doesn’t make you a high-value alpha male, Satoru. It makes you an adult. But you don’t actually care about being a good roommate. You’re just dressing your entitlement up as niceness and acting like I owe you something because you haven’t been actively terrible to me.”
“That’s not—” He reached up to adjust his glasses, a nervous habit you’d never seen from him before. “I’m just saying that logically, the optimal choice for you—”
“There is no logic!” you snapped, standing up before you did something stupid like strangle him. “You don’t even like me! You just think you’re owed me because I’m convenient and I live here!”
Satoru flinched. All the color drained from his face.
You stood over him, breathing hard, looking down at this gorgeous, six-foot-three idiot who was staring up at you like you’d just rewritten the laws of physics. He looked lost. Stupid. Like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.
“But you acted like—” he started, then caught himself, shoulders squaring like he was trying to hold onto his frame. “You know what, forget it. You’re just proving my point. A guy does everything right, stays consistent, stays present, and the girl just—” he gestured at you with a disbelieving laugh, “—moves the goalposts. We’ve been living together for months. Friends for just as long. I thought if I followed the steps exactly, I’d finally get to— we would— I don’t understand how this is supposed to work, okay?! How is a guy ever supposed to figure it out if the steps are a lie and I haven’t even—”
“Satoru.”
He stopped. Mouth snapped shut. The tips of his ears suddenly burned bright red.
The realization hit you like a bucket of cold water.
Oh my fucking god.
You’d suspected it once or twice, but the thought had always flickered and died. Now it all clicked into place.
He’d never gotten his dick wet.
Your roommate was a six-foot-three virgin who thought turning to men who felt entitled to sex was a reasonable solution to his problems. What an absolute fucking mess. You almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
“You’re an incredibly good-looking guy, Satoru,” you said quietly. Sincerely. “Objectively hot. Get your shit together, touch some grass, and you’ll be fine. You’ll be more than fine. But until you stop treating women like a math test you’re trying to cheat on, nobody is going to want you.”
You shattered his ego completely.
Or maybe, for the first time since puberty, Satoru actually formed a conscious, self-aware thought. Because he kept turning your words over in his head.
Objectively hot.
No one is going to want you.
What?
He tried to find the logical flaws. Tried to insert a counterargument, disprove your “emotional outburst” with cold data. He couldn’t find one. Not for days.
You were avoiding him completely now. Icing him out. Not talking to him. Not even looking at him. It was driving him insane. You used to search for his eyes, even if it was just to roll them. He’d only just realized how genuine your flustered blinking had been, and now he missed it. Embarrassingly so.
One night he walked into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, carrying a petty mix of rejection, confusion, and constant, unbearable horniness.
Your pink hair tie was sitting on the edge of the sink.
He told himself he was just going to pick it up and put it in your organizer tray.
So he picked it up. It smelled like your stupid, intoxicating strawberry shampoo. He hated it. Hated how the whole bathroom smelled like you after you showered. Hated how your scent followed you everywhere in the apartment, forcing him to breathe you in. The guys on Reddit had warned him about this. Pheromones. Dangerous.
He brought it closer to his face. Just to check. Just in case it wasn’t actually yours.
And what happened next stayed strictly between Satoru, the bathroom mirror, and god.
He clutched the sink, bracing himself against it, breathing ragged and humiliatingly loud. He stared down at the pretty pink elastic wrapped tight around the base of his cock as he fucked his fist like he was trying to punish himself, desperately trying to imagine your hands instead of his own.
It worked too well. It scared him.
He came hard, so so hard the hair tie ended up coated in thick, frothy cum.
He carefully nudged the sticky pink tie back onto the edge of the sink, exactly where he’d found it. Then he washed his hands under scalding water like he was trying to burn the shame off his skin and walked out of the bathroom like a man fleeing a crime scene.
Rejuvenated? No.
Good? Not even close.
He just felt like absolute shit.
Get your shit together.
But how?
He picked up his phone. Put it down. Picked it up again. The fight was still eating him alive. The podcasts told him to take his frustration out on other girls or channel it into dominance and detachment. That’s what the current episode would’ve said.
But he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to sleep with anyone else. He didn’t want to be aggressive. He just… wanted.
And that was the problem.
For the first time in a long time, the alpha-male bullshit was starting to feel a bit too beta now. He was left with his own feelings like a normal person, and it was awful.
If he was truly a high-value male, he shouldn’t care. He should pivot. Download an app. Find some new, compliant girl to validate his stats. But the thought of calculating the facial harmony of a stranger made his stomach turn. He didn’t want a hypothetical female.
He wanted you.
He wanted you rolling your eyes at him. Laughing at him. Getting annoyed at him. Eating his pasta. Walking around in those mind-melting shorts. He wanted you to drop yogurt on yourself again just so he could lick it off your skin, linger on your neck, and kiss you stupid — the way he’d been fantasizing about since it actually happened.
He needed validation. He needed to be right.
His thumbs moved across the screen before he could stop himself. He ignored his usual echo-chamber subreddits and opened r/AmItheAsshole instead.
r/AmItheAsshole
AITA for expecting my roommate (F) to reciprocate my (M) romantic advances after I provided optimal domestic value?
Throwaway. This is gonna sound bad but I need actual advice.
I (M) have been living with my roommate (F) for almost a year now. I’m not gonna lie, I’m objectively good-looking and I’ve been carrying a lot in this apartment. I pay my half on time, I keep shit clean, I do the dishes, I even cook sometimes. I thought I was doing everything right.
A few weeks ago she started walking around in these tiny shorts and tank tops. Like, really small. I took it as her signaling that she was open to something. That’s what all the advice says — if a girl starts dressing like that around you, it’s usually because she’s comfortable and maybe interested. So I decided to initiate kino escalation. Nothing crazy at first, just trying to break the touch barrier a bit.
While we were watching something on the couch I put my hand on her thigh. She freaked out. Got really upset and started yelling at me about how I was treating her like a transaction and that I only did nice things because I felt entitled to her. She even said I was basically calling her ran-through for going on dates.
I tried to explain it calmly. Like, statistically, if a high-value guy is right there doing everything right, why would she keep going on dates with random dudes from apps? It just doesn’t make sense. She told me to touch grass and hasn’t really spoken to me since.
I don’t get it. I’ve been consistent, I’ve been present, I’ve been providing a good living situation. I thought that was supposed to count for something. Instead she acted like I was the asshole for expecting anything in return.
AITA?
He hit post.
He sat in the dark on his bed, heart pounding like it was trying to escape his chest. He just had to wait. The logical thinkers would show up. They’d validate him with proper, objective analysis. They had to.
Ten minutes later, the notifications started rolling in.
He opened them expecting vindication.
Instead, he walked straight into a digital firing squad.
u/GrassToucherGeto · 308 upvotes
YTA. Holy shit. You did a handful of nice things and you think that means she owes you sex? You sound like an actual sociopath. I’m surprised she didn’t run out screaming. She literally told you to get your shit together. What part of that are you not getting?
u/KentoTheNormalGuy · 291 upvotes
You're not alpha, man. Kino escalation? Are you trying to con her, or actually want her to want you? YTA.
u/NobaraJustice24 · 282 upvotes
YTA. She can wear whatever the fuck she wants in her own home, you creepy ass weirdo. I hope she breaks the lease and gets a restraining order.
u/RealityCheckChoso · 156 upvotes
This is the most pathetic thing I’ve read on this site in eleven years. This is straight-up incel fanfiction. Poor girl having to live with someone like you. YTA. Go outside.
u/yuji_8847362 · 124 upvotes
Genuine question, not trying to be an asshole: do you actually like her, or do you just think she owes you because you did some nice things? Those are two very different things, and your post doesn’t seem to understand the difference. YTA, but I hope you figure it out.
u/KingNaoya69 · 231 downvotes
NTA. She’s clearly testing you. The clothes were an invitation. Hold your ground, don’t apologize, and she’ll come around. Women don’t respect men who grovel. If she actually didn’t want you she would’ve moved out already. She’s still there, isn’t she?
Satoru stared at the screen in disbelief.
He’d expected validation. Maybe a few reasonable voices cutting through the noise, acknowledging the statistical validity of his position, maybe even offering some tactical advice.
Instead, he got hit with minus three thousand downvotes, a mod-locked thread, and three DMs telling him to go to therapy.
He thought it would give him clarity. Clear steps. A way to fix this mess.
It didn’t.
It just made him feel… nothing. Except for the creeping realization that he’d said something eerily similar to what u/KingNaoya69 had posted. Recently. Maybe even last week.
He threw his glasses off and stared into the middle distance.
What the fuck was he supposed to do?
He had no idea.
The days that followed were miserable. You were giving him the coldest shoulder imaginable — and honestly, he deserved it. You were weaponizing the silence. Slamming doors. Giving short, pointed answers. Moving through the apartment like he was just another piece of furniture. Looking through him instead of at him.
He kept going back to the comments on his post, rereading them like he could find a loophole somewhere.
Yes, of course he liked you. But how was he supposed to want nothing from you if he liked you? He wanted your affection. He wanted you to want him back. But wasn’t that also expecting something in return? What the hell was he supposed to do?
Still… the Naoya guy had been weirdly right about one thing. You stayed. You hadn’t moved out. You didn’t even seem like you wanted to. If you hated him that much, why were you still here?
On the nth day, he was sitting on the couch when you came out of your room for water. You glanced at him — just for a second. You couldn’t help it. The silent treatment was getting to you too, even if you’d never admit it.
Your eyes were hard to read, but there was something in them. Something expectant. Like you were waiting for him to do something. To fix it. To stop being an idiot so the two of you could move on.
Oh, he thought.
Truly the lightbulb moment of the century.
Oh.
That night he unjoined six subreddits. Unfollowed every podcast except Joe Rogan — because hey, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Or was it unteach a new dog old tricks? Didn’t matter. What mattered was that for the first time since he’d discovered the internet, he was pretty sure he’d been an idiot.
And he was going to stop.
He made a plan. Simple. Walk out of his room, find you, and say sorry. Three steps. He’d been a person for over twenty years. He could do three steps. He had this!
You were in the kitchen. You were standing on the flimsy little step stool you needed to reach the top cabinet shelves, stretching up on your tiptoes for the glass Tupperware that Satoru kept putting up there, even though you had told him multiple times not to put it up there because you literally could not reach it.
"Hey," he said from the doorway, trying not to startle you. "Can we—"
You startled anyway, because what other outcome was ever going to happen here.
The stool wobbled under your socks. You gasped, swore something, grabbed for a shelf edge that wasn't there, and fully expected to eat the kitchen floor tiles before officially murdering your roommate from the afterlife.
But Satoru had surprisingly fast reflexes and caught you.
Well… almost.
He lost his balance as your weight shifted, and the two of you went down in a tangle of limbs and terrible timing. The impact knocked the wind right out of your lungs. You landed sprawled over him, pressed against his chest, his arms secured instinctively around you—
Around your boobs.
You froze. He froze. The entire world seemed to fucking froze.
And as you laid there, from the adrenaline shock of it all probably, his fingers did a little squish!
Huh.
You didn't say anything. You couldn't breathe, let alone speak. You slowly turned your head. His face was right there and so, so close to yours. You panicked and looked into his equally panicked eyes, his poor glasses askew.
He was searching for something in your eyes, his pupils blown so wide they almost swallowed the blue. And then, as his chest was still heaving so heavily, his gaze dropped down to your lips.
You were suddenly very aware— Aware of his warm palms right through the thin fabric of your shirt. Aware of the way your tits swelled into his touch. Aware of how his thighs bracketed your hips, and how perfectly you fit against him.
His breath hitched. And then his fingers flexed. He made a soft, barely-there sound in the back of his throat and squeezed again — slower this time. Kneading right over your hardened nipples.
You parted your lips for a soundless gasp, and he huffed into your collarbone as the trance finally broke.
His arms slowly retreated, lazily dragged down your ribs, fingers grazing the soft of your tummy before finally falling away to rest on the floor, which somehow made it all worse.
"I—" His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.
You scrambled off him like you had been electrocuted.
You sprinted down the hallway and threw yourself into your room, slamming the door behind you. You backed up until you hit something, you didn’t even care what, and slid down to the floor, knees pulled to your chest.
Your heart was pounding so hard it hurt. Your skin was buzzing. The ghost of his touch was still burning across your chest.
I fucking hate him, you told yourself. He’s a podcast-rotted incel. I hate him.
…Do you?
Because why the fuck had you wanted his hands to stay there? Why had that second squeeze made you want to straddle him right there on the kitchen tiles and fuck him stupid?
You were just touch-starved. That’s all this was. You were projecting onto your terrible roommate because he was being a sleazy little shit.
You grabbed your phone off the nightstand with shaking hands and unlocked it.
Hinge.
Your ol’ friend.
You needed a date. You needed a normal, boring, completely average guy with a decent hairline and zero opinions on hypergamy to save you from whatever the hell had just happened in that kitchen.
You were in your room getting ready for your date, dressed to kill. Short dress, favorite lace panties — because after everything that happened in the kitchen, you were still weirdly, persistently horny. Might as well try to do something about it with someone normal.
Satoru was lingering in the hallway like always, doing his very obvious not-hovering hover.
"Going out?" he asked, clearing his throat, trying to act so aloof and unbothered.
You didn't even look at him properly. "Yeah. I have a date," you said smugly as you pulled your hair up into a ponytail. Hair down meant cute, but hair up meant business. And by business, I mean finally attempting to jump on some normal, average dick.
The second the words left your mouth, a wave of jealousy hit him so hard it nearly knocked the air out of his lungs. But he wasn’t looking at your face. He was staring at the pink hair tie holding your hair up.
He visibly gulped. His dick went from zero to painfully hard so fast he had to cross his legs just to hide it.
You furrowed your eyebrow at the uncharacteristic lack of response, but wasn’t entirely mad about it either.
"See ya," you chirped, completely oblivious to his internal meltdown, and walked out the front door.
The second the door shut, Satoru basically teleported to his room. He threw himself onto his bed, already fumbling with his pants, desperate to take care of the problem so he could think straight again.
But he spent exactly thirty minutes achieving absolutely nothing. What the fuck.
This had never happened before. Satoru was just staring at his ceiling, sweating, furiously gripping his aching dick, and completely unable to finish. Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined you laughing at some beta joke a 100% mediocre guy had made, while his past-tense cum was proudly sitting in your hair. He was literally too jealous to finish.
But jealous or not, he was still agonizingly hard, his dick standing painfully stiff against his stomach, stubbornly refusing to just calm the fuck down. He let out a frustrated groan. Okay. Fine. No hand? No problem! He reached for the silicone fleshlight, but he hadn't washed it in quite a while, and when he picked it up, a funky smell drifted off it.
Okay, NEVER MIND.
Which left him with only one option.
Today’s the day.
He reached into the back of his bottom drawer again and pulled out a silicone cock ring.
He had bought it right after he absolutely demolished your cute little hair tie. Because what does a normal guy do in that situation? Grovel first? Solve the underlying interpersonal issue? Nah. He goes on r/sex to research why a piece of elastic felt so hella good around his dick!
He hadn’t touched it since. Post-nut clarity had done its job last time. But right now, staring down at his aching, neglected cock and feeling rejected, humiliated, and completely alone… it was time.
Fuck it.
He ripped open the packaging and wrestled the thick silicone down his shaft until it sat snug at the base.
Almost immediately, something felt off.
It was tight. Too tight. Not in a good way — just uncomfortable. Constricting. He tried to power through anyway, closing his eyes and stroking like he could force an orgasm out of sheer spite.
Ten minutes passed.
Nothing.
His brain was too far gone, and the pressure was quickly shifting from weird to genuinely concerning.
Fuck this.
He stopped. Tried to take it off. But it didn’t budge.
Satoru blinked. He adjusted his grip and pulled harder. The skin stretched painfully, but the ring stayed exactly where it was.
Oh fuck.
A cold sweat broke out across his forehead.
Oh fuck, oh fuck.
He scrambled off the bed, grabbed his lube, and squeezed way too much directly onto the ring. He tugged and twisted like his life depended on it.
Nothing. Fucking nothing. It just made his hands uselessly slippery.
Okay, oh fuck. Wasn't lube supposed to work?! Okay, new plan. Something else, something more slippery, something more oily—
Panic seizing him, he stumbled to the bathroom, dug under the sink, found your baby oil, and slathered it on.
Still stuck.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Different oil! Not enough slipperiness! Trust the process!
So he waddled out of the bathroom, practically sprinting into the kitchen buck naked. He tore open the pantry, grabbing the vegetable oil.
This has to work.
It did not work.
Ten minutes later, Satoru was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, coated in a slick, highly flammable mixture of lube, Johnson & Johnson baby oil, and Wesson canola oil, panting heavily.
Dick throbbing, but not the fun kind of throbbing anymore. It was turning a terrifying shade of angry red-purple, the silicone death trap literally suffocating his junior.
It was no longer just uncomfortable, nor just alarmingly stuck. At this point, it was a fucking medical emergency.
He was so fucked he might be patient zero of mpreg.
But what the hell was he supposed to do?
Call an ambulance?
Absolutely not.
The thought of a paramedic cutting a sex toy off him with trauma shears while asking for his emergency contact would genuinely kill him on the spot. He would rather die of necrosis.
Call his friends?
Fuck no.
If any of them found out about this, the screenshots would never die. They’d revoke his alpha card permanently and hold it over his head for the rest of his life.
He stared at his contacts.
There was only one person who could help without turning it into blackmail material or posting it online. The one person who lived in this apartment. The one person who was currently out on a date with some random guy. The person he had a massive, pathetic crush on and who would probably rather rip his dick off than help him.
He hit Call.
You stirred your gin and tonic while your date went on about his fantasy football draft like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. It was a perfectly fine date! The kind of fine that made you wonder why you even bothered.
You were nodding along, even though you had stopped listening roughly four minutes ago. Then, your phone vibrated on the table.
Satoru.
You ignored it. No, actually—you declined it. You smiled sweetly at your date, asked a vague question about tight ends so you would seem like you were actually paying attention, and took a sip of your drink.
Your phone buzzed again. And again. And again.
Annoyed, you held up a finger to the poor guy who was currently rating wide receivers, excused yourself, and off to the bathroom, fully prepared to yell.
“What?” you hissed the second you picked up. “I’m on a date, Satoru. If you locked yourself out—”
"Please come home," he gasped. He didn't even say hello. He didn't sound aloof, and he certainly didn't sound alpha. He actually sounded like he was drawing his final breaths on this earth. "You have to come home. Right now."
"What happened? Did something catch fire? Did someone break in? Are you—"
“I can’t tell you,” he whined, voice high and shaky in a way you’d never heard from him before. “I physically can’t say it out loud. Just— please. Please come home.”
You were ninety percent sure this was some pathetic attempt to ruin your night. Some last-ditch manipulation tactic he’d picked up from a podcast or Reddit thread.
But the remaining ten percent made you ditch your date without a second thought and jump into an Uber.
You practically kicked the front door open, your heart hammering. The apartment was completely quiet, and it smelled all wrong.
Like babies and an industrial air fryer?
"Satoru?" you called out, dropping your bag. "Where are you? The apartment better be fucking flooding, or else I swear to God—"
A pained, muffled whimper came from down the hall. His bedroom door was cracked open so you pushed it wide, fully prepared to absolutely tear him a new one for ruining your night.
Satoru was sitting on the edge of his bed, completely naked, perched on a bath towel soaked through with some kind of glistening sludge. He was trembling, sweating, aggressively gripping the mattress. And his dick — very visibly, very aggressively hard — was pointing straight at you.
"Are you fucking kidding me?!"
You exploded the second you saw him, because an impromptu dick is still an impromptu dick! “Some pathetic plan to finally fuck me? You couldn’t even be decent about it — you just called me home so you could sit here with your cock out?!”
You expected some sleazy line. Some smug little smirk. Instead, Satoru looked up at you with wide, tear-filled eyes behind his smudged glasses and let out a broken, wet sob.
"I'm not—" his voice cracked terribly. "I'm stuck."
Huh?
Furrowing your eyebrows, you stopped yelling and your eyes actually dropped down.
And then your stomach dropped with them.
Wait. Oh. He was so, so large.
But that wasn’t the problem. His dick was an angry, swollen red-purple, veins bulging like it had its own heartbeat. And at the base was a thick silicone ring, cutting into him so tightly it looked like it might actually burst.
And all the anger drained out of you in an instant. Suddenly, you felt the harsh reality of the literal medical horror you were now a part of.
"Oh my god. Satoru... what is going on?!"
“Fuck, it hurts— please help me,” he whined, voice cracking as he bounced his leg against the floor like that would somehow fix anything.
You stepped closer, the sheer absurdity of the situation making you drop to your knees between his spread thighs just to get a proper look. It was incredibly stupid and deeply awkward, being this close to his swollen, shiny dick.
“Is that… a cock ring?” you asked, horrified.
Satoru nodded frantically, a tear slipping down his cheek and dripping off his jaw.
"Satoru, you know there is a fucking size chart to these things?! You can’t just buy anything with the size of your dick! Are you fucking stupid?!"
"HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!" he wailed, hands flying up to cover his face in absolute humiliation. "Wait—" He suddenly froze, lowering his hands just enough to look at you. "Did you just say I have a big dick? Wait. Fuck. OUCH. It just fucking hurts! Please, please help me, I've tried everything but it just won't budge! It hurts so much!"
You squinted at the shiny, slick mess coating his thighs and soaking into the bath towel. "Did you try lube?"
"Yes!"
"Baby oil?"
"Yes!"
"Did you... did you use the cooking oil from the kitchen?!"
"YES! FUCK!" he sobbed into his hands again.
"Why did you even put it on?!" you yelled back, genuinely baffled by his astronomical stupidity.
“I was horny, what else?!” he cried and shook his hands. “You left with the cum tie in your hair—”
“THE WHAT?!”
Your hands froze in the air. Your brain forcefully restarted about three times trying to process the sequence of syllables he had just screamed at you.
The cum tie.
You suddenly felt the gentle pull of the pink elastic holding up your ponytail. The one that was your favorite. The one you had idly wondered before why it was suddenly so... crusty.
"You..." you whispered, a cold wave of fresh nausea washing over you. "You did what to my hair tie?"
“I didn’t mean to!” he sobbed, face red and streaked with tears. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I used it, and then you put it in your hair to go out with the guy and it made me crazy so I put the ring on!”
Your hand twitched toward your ponytail. You were going to rip it out. Burn it. Shave your head. And then murder him. A jury would probably let you off in seconds.
But then you looked down. His dick might actually pop! like a grease-filled water balloon. There was no time.
You took a deep, slightly deranged breath and shoved every horrifying thought into a box for later. You could have a full meltdown about having his reproductive fluids in your hair as an accessory after you made sure his dick didn’t fall off.
You aggressively ignored his stare, locking your eyes entirely on the crisis. "Okay. Okay, I've got this. This is a medical emergency."
Your brain started racing. You couldn't cut it off without risking severing something vital, you certainly weren’t a doctor, and the swelling was so so severe to just pull the ring back over the ridge. You knelt there, suddenly arriving at a horrifying conclusion that you were going to need a serious moment to accept.
Because there was only one way to get it off. And the only way to get it off was to get rid of the erection.
You had to make him cum.
“Okay,” you muttered. Then again. And again. Like repeating it would make it feel less insane. “W-we just need to… get it down.”
You bit your lip, giving yourself the quickest, most productive, and most threatening internal TED Talk in human history. Your hands twitched, but you finally reached out and wrapped them around his oil-slicked shaft.
“AGH— FUCK— NO!” Satoru immediately jerked back like you’d electrocuted him, slamming against the mattress.
"What the hell?! I barely touched it!"
“The skin’s too tight!” he cried out, practically hyperventilating. “It feels like a razor blade— you can’t use your hands, it hurts too much!”
You tried again anyway, slower this time, gripping him carefully. The skin was burning hot, painfully stretched over the trapped blood. You gave one experimental stroke.
“No— no no no, please stop—” His voice broke into a real whimper as fresh tears spilled down his face. He pushed at your shoulders, legs shaking. “Please, I can’t— it hurts so fucking bad—”
You yanked your hands back, heart pounding as your own panic officially set in. "THEN WHAT ELSE?!"
“I DON’T KNOW! I thought you might know!”
"HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!"
A beat of deafening silence fell over the grease-scented bedroom. You looked at him. Then down at the problem between his legs.
Wait—
Your brain scrambled for literally any other fucking solution. Ice? Cutting it completely off? Calling 911 and collectively dying of embarrassment on the spot?
Nothing.
There was nothing else.
God fucking help you. You might as well die from the cringe right here on the floor.
You stared down at his lengthy cock again. It was a pathetic mix of pre-cum against his oil-slicked stomach. Satoru was breathing in short, panicked gasps, tears still tracking down his flushed cheeks, glasses fogged and crooked, looking totally helpless.
“No,” you whispered to the empty space between his thighs, stomach twisting with reluctant acceptance. Coming to terms with your own fate. Girl, it’s your fault. Your fate had been sealed the second you decided to find a roommate on Reddit. “No, no, no.”
“What?” Satoru whimpered through his teeth, barely audible. “What ‘no’?”
If your hands were completely off the table…
A wave of heat flooded your face and dropped straight into your belly. Surely from disgust. Trust.
You shifted forward on your knees, your dress dragging through the oily mess on the floor. The fabric was already ruined and sticking to your skin. You braced one hand on his trembling thigh, leaned in, and took the swollen head of his cock into your mouth.
The taste was vile as hell.
Canola oil, baby oil, lube, and the bitter salt of his pre-cum all hit your tongue at once. You made a muffled, disgusted sound around him as your lips stretched and you sank down. The mixture mixed with your saliva and slid down your throat as he pushed deeper than you expected.
Satoru’s entire body jolted as the mushroomy head hit the back of your mouth.
“Whoa— oh my fucking god—” His voice cracked into a broken, high moan. His stomach flexed like he was trying not to fold in half. Both of his hands flew to your hair, oily fingers catching in your ponytail, clutching without quite pushing or pulling. I mean, you already had cum in your hair anyway. What was a little more oil and lube?
His hips twitched. His thighs trembled under your hand. He clearly had no idea what to do with himself.
You started moving, and it was messy from the first second.
Everything was slippery. Your lips kept sliding, saliva mixing with the grease until it dripped down his shaft in shiny, frothy strings. You had to suck harder just to keep any kind of rhythm, cheeks hollowing, tongue working in messy circles under the head every time you pulled up. The wet sounds filled the room — slick sucking, soft gagging when you took him too deep, his broken little whimpers.
You hated the taste.
You hated how your knees already ached against the hard floor.
You hated that your dress was ruined, soaked through and sticking to your skin.
And you hated the way he was looking down at you — in pain, in complete disbelief that you were actually sucking him off.
ANd what you really hated the most was that you were looking up at him while you mouth was licking him up and your body was already starting to betray you.
Tingly heat was spreading low in your belly. Every throb along his length, every broken moan that slipped out of him, made you wetter. You weren’t supposed to be horny! You should’ve been so so disgusted. But the scent of him, the taste of his pre-cum coating your tongue, made your pussy clench around nothing. Your nipples were hard, rubbing against the inside of your dress. Your cunt felt hot and slick — whether from your own arousal or the oily sludge on the floor, you genuinely couldn’t tell anymore.
You bobbed deeper, taking him until your nose brushed the base and the ring dug into your skin, then pulled back with a wet gasp. A thick and slimy string of saliva and oil connected your lips to his cock before it broke.
Satoru was staring down at you like you’d personally broken his brain.
His chest was heaving. Tears were still leaking from the corners of his eyes — pain, pleasure, or the sheer absurdity of the situation, it didn’t matter. His mouth hung open, glasses sliding down his nose.
Then his eyes dropped to your chest.
His gaze followed the way your dress had slipped lower during all the movement. Your tits were threatening to spill out completely. He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.
His hands left your hair and reached down. Big, warm palms cupped your breasts through the thin fabric first — almost careful. But then he yanked the neckline down hard, dragging the fabric under your arms, practically rrrrripping it open, until your tits spilled free.
A fresh tear tracked down his cheek as he stared at them like they were something holy.
“Holy fuck— your tits—” he breathed, cupping them fully. His thumbs brushed over your hard nipples before he started kneading with desperate, greedy hands. Squeezing, lifting, rolling the soft flesh between his fingers exactly like he had in the kitchen — except this time there was nothing holding him back, because you certainly wouldn’t make him stop.
The moan you let out around his cock was involuntary and absolutely nobody’s business, alright? Your teeth grazed his sensitive skin and the vibration, combined with the impromptu bite, made his hips jerk violently. He let out a breathless gasp, hands tightening on your boobs almost painfully before he loosened his grip again, thumbs flicking over your nipples in a way that sent sparks straight between your legs.
The lace of your panties was useless now, clinging to your soaked pussy lips.
But the dress had become a real problem, at least that’s what you were telling yourself. It was restricting your movement, getting in the way every time you tried to take him deeper. It was uncomfortable as hell, which was actually true.
You pulled off his cock with a wet pop!, lips shiny and swollen.
Fuck this dress. And probably him too.
You sat back on your heels and yanked it over your head, kicking it away. Now you were kneeling in nothing but your ruined lace panties — the ones you’d specifically worn because you were hoping to get laid tonight.
Well. You weren’t entirely wrong, now were you?
Satoru made a sound like he’d been punched in the gut. His wildest dream had just come true in the most deranged way possible.
You leaned back in and took him into your mouth again, sucking with more purpose now. One hand stayed wrapped around the base near the ring while your other hand stroked his thigh and lower stomach — anywhere to try and soothe him.
His clammy hands were right back on your bare tits, rolling them between his fingers like he was trying to memorize their exact shape. You moaned around him because it felt so fucking good. Unfairly good.
The taste was still awful. The room still reeked of canola oil. Satoru was still quietly crying above you — overwhelmed, terrified, and so turned on he could barely think straight. But the way he was touching you, the way he was falling apart in your mouth…
You were dripping straight through the lace right onto his fucking floor.
One of your hands snaked down your body. You pushed your panties aside and started rubbing desperate circles over your poor clit while you kept sucking him.
What a development.
Righteous ideologies and all. Now you were naked on the floor of your incel roommate’s bedroom, sucking his cock while fingering yourself. Truly the most progressive way to handle this type of man.
Your pussy felt hot and aching. Your fingers slid through your own slick, making your hips twitch and another moan vibrate around his dick.
Satoru’s breathing sounded like a kettle about to boil over. His hands kept slipping on your oily skin, smearing the mess across your chest and shoulders. He was trapped in the most surreal, humiliating, perfect moment of his life — your mouth on him, you naked and touching yourself while the whole room smelled like a deep fryer.
He was half-sobbing, half-moaning.
“You’re— nghh— you’re actually getting off while—” His voice cracked as he looked down at you. You glanced up through your lashes, a little scowl on your flushed face, fingers still working between your legs.
You couldn’t even be embarrassed anymore. The absurdity had burned straight through your shame. You were horny. Stupidly, painfully horny. It was all too much and not enough at the same time.
Filthy sounds filled the room. He was crying. You were crying. Sweat was mixing with the oily mess coating your skin. You could taste your own tears mixed with the mess on his cock as they slid down your face. One of his hands was tangled in your ponytail, greasing it up nice and disgusting.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he choked out, voice hoarse. “I can’t— ngh— I can’t believe this is real—”
You pulled off just enough to breathe. “Shut up and let me finish this,” you muttered, then sank back down, taking him as deep as the ring would allow.
His other hand relocated to your shoulder.
Then his dick throbbed hard against your tongue. Swelling, twitching and you knew he was about to blow.
You started to pull back, but his hands moved faster. One fisted tighter in your hair, the other gripped your shoulder hard. He held you in place. Rough. Desperate. But he didn’t mean to!
You made a surprised, muffled sound around him as his hips jerked.
“W-wait—fuck—I’m—!” he gasped, betrayed by his own body.
You felt the first big pulse against your tongue.
You manage to wrench your head back at the last second because there was no way in hell you were swallowing a mixture of cum and baby oil — popping off just in time. But it was too late to get completely clear.
Satoru came hard.
The first thick rope hit you across the cheek and lips. The next few painted messy white stripes across your chin, your chest, and down your neck. It kept cooooming in hot, twitchy pulses until he’d almost emptied his aching balls.
And suddenly you were back in the kitchen. Only this time it wasn’t a freaking Activia dripping down your tits.
It was him.
You stumbled backward onto your ass, cum cooling on your skin as he finally let go of you. You wiped the back of your hand across your cheek, smearing it further. He just stared down at you like he’d died and gone to heaven — you, sprawled on his floor, covered in his cum, panties twisted half-off your hips, your blushing cunt smiling up right at him and your panicked eyes unblinking.
Holy fucking nirvana, right there.
You felt disgusting. You felt filthy.
And somehow, you were still throbbing between your legs.
“Fuck— shit, fuck, fuck!” Satoru cursed, trying to stand up too fast. He slipped on the oily towel and nearly ate shit before catching himself on the edge of the bed. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hold you there, I just— it was too much, I panicked—”
He stumbled toward you on shaky legs, one hand reaching out like he was going to help you up, the other still hovering near his softening cock.
“Satoru,” you said, voice low. “Pull it off.”
He froze for half a second, then looked down.
And it was finally, finally softening. The angry red-purple was fading. The skin wasn’t stretched as tight anymore and there was a very small, very dangerous window before he’d be hard again and back in square one.
His eyes lit up with desperate hope. He grabbed the cock ring with both hands and yanked.
The sound that tore out of him was somewhere between a sob and a scream. It was violent, painful, and made you cringe so so badly. The ring caught on the ridge for one horrible second before it finally slipped off with a wet smack and skidded across the floor.
For a moment, Satoru just knelt there, breathing hard through the fading pain. Fresh tears tracked down his flushed face as the relief finally hit him.
Then he looked at you. Really looked. At the mess he’d made across your pretty face and chest. At the absolute state of the room. At everything.
“I’m the worst,” he whispered. “I know I’m the worst. You should kick me out. You should call the cops. I didn’t mean to make it worse. You probably hate me—”
He looked like he was about to start ugly crying for real. His shoulders were shaking as he braced himself for you to slap him.
And look — you wanted to. You wanted to go back in time so you would’ve never answered that fucking Reddit post, never answered his call, never come home tonight. r maybe… go back just a little bit. To when your tongue was sliding over his frenulum and you’d never been so turned on in your life.
Either way, you weren’t sure anymore. Your brain was more scrambled than the eggs you’d had for breakfast.
So instead of slapping him, you surged forward, grabbed his face with both of your hands, smearing his cum and your own arousal all over his jawline and kissed him hard enough to shut him up.
For half a second he stayed completely frozen — stunned that you were kissing him instead of murdering him on the spot. You nudged your tongue against his lips, urging him to kiss you back, because the last thing you needed right now was sucking your incel roommate off and then having him refuse to kiss you afterward. That would’ve been a new low. Truly historic.
But then he let out a shaky breath and kissed you back.
He kissed you desperately, messily, like he was trying to crawl inside your mouth. Saliva, cum, tears, and oil all mixed together as your tongues slid against each other. Teeth clicked. His hands came up to grab your waist, pulling you closer until your chest pressed against his own. He whimpered needily into your mouth and tangled his tongue with yours like he was starving for it.
His glasses got knocked even more crooked.
When you finally pulled back to breathe, you reached down and started yanking your ruined lace panties off. They were twisted around your thighs and sticking to your skin from all the mess.
Satoru, still breathing hard and clearly trying to regain some sense of control, decided this was THE moment, HIS moment to be useful.
“Here— let me help,” he muttered, reaching down with both hands.
The two of you fumbled together in some weird horny trance, his fingers sliding against your thigh as he tried to tug the lace down your leg.
But his hand slid right off your slick skin and he lost his balance completely. With a startled gasp! he pitched forward and crashed down right on top of you, pinning you to the floor.
His full weight pressed you into the cold hardwood. Chest to chest, hips slotted between your thighs. The kisses making him hard again, dick now twitching insistently against your tummy.
Then Satoru lifted his head from the crook of your neck and looked down at you. His hair was a mess, but there was something almost determined in his expression now.
“I’ve got it,” he said. Yeah. He definitely got this. He’d seen the porn. He’d read the r/sex threads. He was a man, the man! He knew exactly what he was supposed to do. Fluent in the dickology! Show you what a high-value male can do. You'll respect it. You’ll want it!
You stared up at him and raised one eyebrow.“…Are you sure?”
He looked faintly offended, but reached between your bodies anyway, grabbed his cock, and lined himself up against your slick folds. The blunt head nudged against your entrance before he pushed in with one unsteady thrust and you were honestly surprised he found your hole on a first try.
The stretch was intense. His cock bullied its way into your tight cunt, the sudden fullness making your back arch slightly off the floor. And it made you think that maybe… just maybe he’s a virgin incel but he somehow actually knows how to fuck?
Satoru made a choked sound above you. He braced his hands on either side of your head and started moving, a little too fast, a little too rough, like he was following some mental checklist of “how alpha males fuck” or something.
His hips snapped forward, rolling against yours. On a few of his clumsy thrusts, the sharp angle of his hipbone dragged right across your swollen clit.
A spark of pleasure shot right through you, made your breath hitch and his dick catch inside of you. Your fingers scratched on his shoulders and for a second you were hopeful, hopeful that perhaps incels were just involuntarily celibate men with a dick game like this.
It died almost instantly. His rhythm fell apart just as the plushy walls of your pussy fully enveloped him fully in the slick warmth. His movement turned erratic as his hips started stuttering.
“I—fuck—I can’t—ngh—!”
So… He lasted exactly forty-five seconds.
With a humiliated groan he slammed into your cervix one last time and came haard, painting your walls in thick, sticky white. His wobbly arms gave out again and he collapsed on top of you not very gracefully, face buried right back into your neck as he rode out the pathetic orgasm. He was breathing hard, the sound mixing with the wet squelching of oil, cum, and sweat between your bodies every time either of you shifted.
You stared sideways at the messy white strands of his hair currently tickling your pulse point, feeling his cum slowly leaking out around his softening cock. The frustration burning hot alongside with the ghost ache right in between legs.
If he had just let you ride him instead. Ugh.
“…Really?” you said flatly.
Satoru, mortified, made a small devastated noise into your neck and laced his fingers with yours like that would somehow make it better.
You hadn’t come from the fingering earlier. You definitely hadn’t come from his forty-five-second marathon.
You shoved at his shoulder.
“Satoru.”
He made a small, satisfied noise.
“Satoru. Did you just cum inside me?”
His eyes flew open. The bliss drained from his face instantly. He slowly nodded, guilty, not knowing if he should be terrified or glad.
You pushed him off you. He rolled onto his back with a wet squelch.
You sat up, cum and oil smeared across your skin, and stared down at him.
“You ruined my date,” you said, voice low. “You were stupid enough to trap your own dick in a death trap and made me come home to deal with it. You came all over me without letting me cum, and then you creampied me in under a minute.”
He opened his mouth, “I was just claiming what’s mine—”ready to say something even more stupid.
You cut him off, because you were not listening to that right now and ever fucking again. “Don’t. I swear to god, if you say one more word of that pseudo-alpha, podcast-bro bullshit right now, I can promise you this will be the first and last time you ever have your dick in any pussy. Ever.”
He froze.
You leaned in, eyes narrowed, pussy suddenly drying up at high speed.
“I’m serious, Satoru. All that ‘high-value male,’ ‘she’ll respect dominance,’ ‘women secretly want to be put in their place’ garbage? It’s not cute. It’s not hot. It’s not working. It makes you sound like a loser. You’re only lucky that I’m stupid enough to actually fucking like you.”
And Satoru deadass had nothing to say, because it didn’t make sense, yet it made all the sense. And in the middle of the gears grinding he blinked up at you because… did you just tell him you like him?
Before he could grab your chin and kiss you stupid again, you pointed between your legs.
“Since you made this mess, you’re going to clean it up. Now.”
The color drained from his face as he stared at you. “Y-you want me to eat out my cum?”
“Did I stutter?”
He was too stunned and properly terrified to argue. He knew that if he didn’t get his shit together right now, this really might be the first and last time he ever saw pussy in real life. So he scrambled down between your thighs without another word.
He’s going to do it for the love of the game. Can’t be that bad, right?
He gulped as he nestled between your soft thighs, eyeing your tight little hole as a little trail of his cum mixed with your frothy slick leaked onto the floor below you. And it was the prettiest sight he had ever seen.
The reluctant pout on his face made it clear he was weighing eating his own cum against the very real possibility of never getting to fuck you again, so you made it easier for him. You grabbed a fistful of his messy white hair and yanked his face straight against your pussy. His nose immediately buried right between your wet folds, tickling the sensitive flesh.
And maybe he was currently terrified of you, or it was the fact that he finally smelled your sex up close — either way, he was now desperate to please you.
The first drag of his tongue through your folds was experimental, almost cautious.
He did it again, licking with too much pressure and in all the wrong places, clearly thinking he was doing something impressive, missing your clit. Again. And again. And again.
For fuck’s sake, you lasted maybe fifteen seconds. You reached down, grabbed his silky hair again, and yanked his head up to adjust him.
He furrowed his brows at you, confused and a little offended, like he was about to argue — until his tongue accidentally flicked right over your clit.
His eyes widened slightly.
He did it again, slower this time. A testing little flick. Eyes wide, as if asking what the hell just happened, feeling the little knob jumping.
You let out a shaky moan, fingers tightening in his hair.
“That’s my clit, Satoru.”
His eyes darkened and he dove back in with completely different energy. Okay, he knew where your cute little clit was. Now onto figuring out how to make you come on his tongue.
He started with the licking, up and down, until he pushed into your leaking hole. He almost immediately tasted his own cum, still warm, thick, and disgustingly bitter against your sweet pussy juices, and he made a guttural sound right against you.
He should have been disgusted, appalled, mortified through his militant incel brain. But why did it taste so wrong, it tasted so so right?
Eating himself right out of you — it was so pathetic, so raw, so hot. And you couldn’t fucking believe you actually made him do it.
Your pussy fluttered and he dove in like a man possessed.
A desperate whine vibrated against your clit as he started licking in earnest. Messy, unrestrained, starving. He was slurping loudly, tongue pushing deep to get more of the mixture, swallowing it down like he couldn’t get enough. Every time he tasted more of himself leaking out of you, another broken moan escaped him.
His hands gripped your thighs hard, holding you open as he buried his face deeper. He was whining and whimpering into your cunt like tasting his own cum inside you had flipped some primal, pathetic switch in his brain neither of you even knew existed.
“Fuck— you taste so good— I taste so good on you—” Every few seconds he would pull back just enough to breathe, drooling, and mutter broken little things against your skin. And you were once again left wondering where all the skill came from.
Then he’d dive right back in, tongue flicking over your clit before dragging down to lap at your hole again, like he was trying to clean you out and make you messy all over again at the same time.
It was deranged.
It was filthy.
And it was fucking working.
Your hand fisted in his hair, gripping tight. He moaned loudly at the rough treatment, the sound muffled against your pussy as his tongue circled your clit, biting then sucking on it, then flattening to drag it through your folds like he was trying to devour you whole.
You were gushing at this point, and not a drop ever spilled on the floor as he slurped you like his favourite boba flavour. His touch spread across your entire body as the orgasm built after getting edged the entire evening to fucking oblivion.
“‘Toru—” you cried, thighs starting to tremble around his head. And he bit down gently on your inner thigh when you tried to close your legs on instinct.
Look, it’s not like you did it on purpose — who the fuck would want to close up shop when business was this good?
He kitten-licked your poor clit, sending sparks right to your lower belly. Your back arched off the floor as his hand snaked up at the right damn time to flick your nipple.
Oh.
“Holy— ngh— fuck, ‘Toru—!” you screamed and came all over his poor face, thighs clamping around his head as you tried to suffocate him with your spasming pussy. You shook like you’d been electrocuted and he kept licking and licking, to the point you weren’t sure if you came again or if it was just one big orgasm. He wanted to taste every damn second of you falling apart because of him, for him.
His face was a mess. Half of it was shiny and wet with your slick, lips prettily swollen. He’d thrown his glasses somewhere on the floor in the middle of it. His pupils were practically heart-shaped, and he looked so wrecked it was beautiful.
He was so cum-drunk he only stared up at you with his mouth open, resting his cheek against your inner thigh, waiting.
And your eyes might’ve been heart-shaped too, because the sight of him made you throb all over again.
“Fuck,” you almost moaned, reaching down to grab his shoulders. “Come here.”
Satoru didn’t need to be told twice. He crawled up your body like he was starving for it — for you. He crashed his lips against yours and the kiss was fucking messy. You could taste yourself on him as he smeared your slick across your chin, tongues sliding sloppily against each other like you were trying to devour one another.
His hands found your waist. He shifted his weight and rolled the two of you until his back was against the bed and you were straddling him in his lap.
You broke the kiss just long enough to look at him. His chest was heaving. And he was looking up at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.
Everything was still disgustingly sticky, but the way he looked at you made your heart go thump thump thump in a way it never had before. So you reached down, wrapped your hand around his cock, and sank down onto him in one slow, slick motion.
Satoru’s head tipped back against the bed with a broken groan that made the muscles in his neck jump. His hands immediately gripped your hips hard, fingers digging into your ass like he needed to anchor himself.
“Fuuck—” he slurred, voice so dazed. “Oh my god— you’re so warm— so fucking tight—tighter—”
You started moving, rolling your hips in frantic circles. Every time you sank down, you could feel the tip kissing your cervix, nudging right up against the entrance of your womb as he completely bottomed out.
It didn’t take long before his hands tightened on your ass and he started helping you. He pulled you down onto him faster, guiding your hips with desperate hands while lifting his own to meet you halfway.
“Shit— just like that,” he whimpered, kissing all over your jaw as his tip kissed your poor cervix again and again and again. “Ngh— you’re milking me so good—”
He was completely gone. Eyes glassy, mouth open, babbling whatever came to his mind as you rode him. And every time you clenched around him, another broken sound slipped out of him.
His mouth searched for yours again, licking into the corners of your lips before kissing you deep. You slipped two fingers into his mouth and he immediately sucked on them, tongue rolling around your fingers with a needy moan that made your pussy flutter and squeeze around him even harder. Your swollen clit dragged over his lap and lower stomach with every roll, his happy trail tickling your sensitive folds and sending sparks up your spine.
Satoru whined around your fingers, hips twitching up helplessly.
One of his hands stayed on your hip while the other slid up and wrapped around your neck. His thumb brushed along the side of your throat as he started moving you faster, pulling you down onto his cock with more urgency. The sound of your skin loud.
“I’m so close,” he warned desperately against your lips. “Fuck— I’m gonna cum— you feel too good—”
His hand squeezed, holding you in place as he helped you bounce on him. Every time you sank down, he lifted his hips to meet you, fucking up into you until your jaw rattled. He was panting hard, forehead pressed against yours, completely pussy-drunk.
Satoru came with a broken, drawn-out moan, hips jerking up into you as he spilled deep inside. He held you down against him, grinding up as he pumped his cum into you like he was unconsciously trying to fuck it into your womb. His hand on your neck tightened just enough to pin you down against him while he trembled through it.
Both of you were breathing hard. He held you close and kissed the side of your head as he hugged you.
“D-did you cum?” he mumbled against your skin, still dazed and half out of it.
You pulled back just enough to look at him, deadpan.
“WHAT?”
He blinked up at you, still glassy-eyed and fucked-out. “You squeezed me so hard I thought you did! Okay then— cum then!”
You stared at him for a second, somewhere between offended, frustrated, and fond, before letting out a short laugh.
“You’re actually so fucking stupid.”
You were still softly rolling your hips, using his softening cock like a dildo while you were still determined to cum again. Satoru just watched you, half-intently, half blissed-out, still breathing hard, feeling his cum escaping your pussy and pooling in his lap. After a moment, one of his hands slid down between your bodies. His fingers found your clit easily this time and started rubbing you.
“Fuck— you’re still so wet,” he mumbled, eyes locked on where you were grinding against him. “Keep going… I’ve got you.”
So you kept moving on his semi-hard cock while he fingered you, the combination making your thighs shake. Your breath started hitching and Satoru was watching your face closely now, still drunk but trying to focus.
When your mouth fell open so prettily and your eyes fluttered as he just hit that spot inside you with the angle of his cock, his other hand moved to your hip almost automatically. He gripped you and started moving you himself, guiding you in short, deliberate rolls so his cock and his fingers kept pressing right against that same sensitive spot from both sides.
“There?” he asked, voice low and rough. “Right there?”
You could only nod, a broken whimper slipping out of you as you started tipping forward, head on his sweaty shoulder until your thighs were trembling hard and you felt like a jelly.
You came with a sharp, shaky moan, clenching around his soft cock as the overstimulating orgasm tingled through you. Satoru held you through it, still moving you gently and praising you until you completely slumped forward against his chest.
He hugged you tight, face buried in your neck.
And you stayed slumped against Satoru’s chest for a long minute, both of you just breathing each other in. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, and reality slowly started to creep back in.
The room was in fucking ruin. You were both coated in a sticky mess, the mattress behind you was most likely ruined, and the floor was dangerously slippery. It smelled like greasy sex.
“Well,” you said.
“Yeah,” he answered quietly.
You slowly peeled yourself off his chest, shivering as the cool air hit your slick, overheated skin.
You looked down at him and he still looked completely fucked-out, and you decided you could get used to that look. As you stretched, you felt his cum trailing down your inner thighs. Satoru’s eyes followed it from the front row, his spent dick giving a weak twitch at the sight.
“I’m going to take a shower,” you said softly, breaking the quiet. You paused, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “…Wanna join?”
Satoru’s heart practically stopped. His eyes widened and for a second he looked like he was going to follow you like a lost, oily puppy. But then he glanced around at the absolute state of his bedroom and reality hit him again.
“I’ll, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I’ll clean this up a bit first. You go ahead.”
You pouted but gave him a soft, understanding nod. “Don’t take too long, ‘Toru.”
You grabbed one of his random t-shirts from the floor and padded down the hallway toward the bathroom.
Left alone on the floor, Satoru stared at the opposite wall for a long time. He was deadass completely re-evaluating his entire existence.
He had just experienced the most surreal, life-changing two hours of his life, and the only thing he knew for certain was that he was completely whipped for you. For once, he didn’t care what his old incel education had to say about it.
He reached over to his nightstand, picked up his phone, and wiped a smear of baby oil off the screen before opening Reddit.
r/relationship_advice
I (M) think I’m in love with my roommate (F) and I might have just completely fucked everything up in the most humiliating way possible
Throwaway because if she ever sees this she will murder me.
I’ve been living with this girl for almost a year. She’s my roommate. For the longest time I thought I had everything figured out. I believed that if I just kept doing enough, she’d eventually see me as a potential mate. She didn’t, obviously.
Tonight I did something so fucking stupid I still can’t believe I’m typing this. I got a cock ring stuck on my dick. I panicked and called her while she was on a date and basically begged her to come home. She helped me. She got it off. And then… something else happened. Something I didn’t expect at all. And now she’s in the shower and I feel like I fucked up our friendship beyond repair. My entire worldview feels kinda off.
I think I’m in love with her. I’ve been a terrible roommate. I’ve been a terrible person tbh. I don’t know what we are now. I don’t even know if I have the right to ask. But I think I love her. And I have no idea what the fuck I’m supposed to do.
Please help. And be nice this time.
u/GrassToucherGeto · 183 upvotes
Is this the same guy who posted that viral “AITA for expecting my roommate to fuck me because I did the dishes” thread a few weeks ago?
u/KingNaoya69 · 56 upvotes
You fucked her? Good shit bro. Don’t fuck it up this time.
Satoru looked up when you walked out of the hallway wearing his t-shirt, your hair still damp and smelling like strawberries. Something in his chest went soft at the sight.
He was still sitting on the floor, holding a bottle of kitchen cleaner in one hand and a roll of paper towels in the other. He looked like he had no idea what he was doing.
You sighed and gave him a soft, tired look.
“‘Toru,” you said gently. “You’re not going to be able to clean this mess up right now. Just go wash up.” You paused, biting your lip. “Let’s just sleep in my room tonight, alright?”
He blinked up at you, panicked and hopeful all at once. You tilted your head, giving him the softest smile you’d given him yet. That was all it took. He dropped the cleaner without a second thought and basically sprinted down the hall.
He took the fastest, most aggressive shower of his entire life, scrubbing the residual oil and shame off his skin like he was trying to erase the last few hours.
When he finally crept into your bedroom, the lights were already off and you were in bed. He climbed in beside you and the sheets smelled like you. It was warm. It was safe. It made something in his chest loosen.
You shifted over without opening your eyes, throwing an arm across his chest and tucking your face into the crook of his neck with a soft, contented sigh. You fell asleep almost instantly.
Satoru lay there staring up at the dark ceiling, gently nuzzling the top of your head with his cheek. A quiet, overwhelming sense of peace settled over him.
Carefully, so as not to wake you, he reached for his phone on the nightstand one last time.
He opened Reddit and went back to his post. The comments had already blown up again — some people calling the story fake, others demanding more details about the cock ring, a few calling him a simp.
Satoru smiled to himself.
He typed out one final edit.
Update: nvm, she’s tucked into my side. Take this as a PSA to all the other incels out there. Admins, please flag this as SOLVED.
── Dividers from petalpx and fairytopea and melocor!
No thoughts just alpha!ghost who grew learning to control his scent and omega!reader who very much...didn't.
Ghost had always been told that spilling your scent everywhere was poor manners, that only children couldn't control their scent. Meanwhile you were taught that having an open scent was essential for communication and perfectly normal.
Which means the first time ghost meets you, his instincts have no idea what to do with such strong happy omega scents suddenly in his space. Ghost grew up with scent blockers at home, and in most public spaces people wear some sort of blocker. You barely have a chance to purr a greeting before he's grabbing you by the shoulders and shoving his face into your neck.
"Mghhggh— omega. Sweet. Good." He rumbles, low and muffled into skin, almost as if he doesn't register it's happening. You can only stand in shocked confusion. Gaze slipping to the still open door of his office and wondering if you should call for help, because you have no idea why he's acting like this and—
"Fuck— you smell good— christ—" ghost holds you tighter, crowding you against the desk. You tentatively lean in to sniff around his scent blockers and get the faintest scent of arousal.
Which is instantly confirmed by his hips rutting forward, his hard cock rubbing against you while he whines "sorry— I don't— fuck that's good—"
Oh. Oh shit. The peices slowly click into place, and you realize exactly what your scent is doing to him, though you always thought this sort of aphrodisiac like reaction was a myth.
You try to soften your scent, knowing it will stress him out if your own scent fluctuates too much, one hand sneaking up to massage the back of his neck "hey. Hey, it's okay. I get it, do what you need to do."
Ghost makes a sound caught between a growl and a keen, pressing the entire length of his body against you. "Fuck— sorry— hold still— omega. Smell good. Mhhh—!"
You've never seen an alpha react like this.
You've also never seen an alpha pop a dry knot in his trousers, and yet thats exactly what ghost just did.
....you. probably shouldn't leave him alone in such a vulnerable state, right? You should stick around in his office, close the door and makes sure he's okay.
You're just being a considerate coworker....or thats what you'll tell yourself later.
Synopsis: Simon has been watching you for a while. So he waits for you heat to finally make a move.
No use of y/n. No ai used.
Mdni!! 18+
Wc: 4.8k
Cw: Non-canon au. Omegaverse. Alpha!Simon. Omega!reader. Kissing. Make outs. Short plot. Fingering. Dacryphilia. Brief mention of blood (sorry). You’ve got a deep dish. Bulges. Size difference. Squirting. Marking. Scenting. Pubic hairs. Knotting. Unprotected sex. p in v. Fat dick Simon. Cum eating. Cum play.
Grey dull skies. An enmity of snowy clouds. Barely audible patters of snow smear the concrete. Frost fragments fracturing the roads. Small cracks. An icy cast. Slippery. Polished by the freezing air, reflecting a cold blue-grey.
The town is quiet. People retiring to their homes. A combination of flats and houses. Bricked. Semidetached. All lifeless and ashen now painted in snow.
It’s December. The cold’s really taking root. You’re in a small cabin just a few yards away from the main road. Dark wood, white stained trees looming around, making it seem like you're buried deep into a forest. Luckily, you live close by to the nearest town centre. English weather was never really nice.
You’re in your kitchen. Pastel yellow coloured walls, adorned in small beautiful plant paints. Pictures of flowers you’ve taken over the years. Paintings you’ve bought. Small counter top, bluey-grey marble board at the surface with white coloured sides. You’re wearing your white turtle neck paired with a long black silken skirt and black Mary Jane flats. All covered by a long black trench coat. The week’s coming to a close. You’re running out of ingredients.
Black pen in hand tapping slowly at your bottom lip, a small note in the other.
Meats, vegetables, fruits, water bottles, go to pharmacy.
You’re missing something. Eyes squinting in annoyance. Brain raking, it’s bothering you. You’re getting lost in the walls around you, trying to figure out what this thing is. You repeat the list again.
Meats. Vegetables. Fruits. Water bottles. Pharmacy.
Ah.
Suppressants.
You rolled your eyes scoffing at yourself. You’ve been a bit forgetful lately. Waiting until your suppressants are nearly out. You’re checking your cupboard. One..two pills left you count. You sigh.
“Tomorrow.” You say aloud.
You’re used to this little life you’ve created. Weekly shopping, Sunday cleaning. Wake up 5am. Earphones in. Jog, eat, shower, work, repeat.
Like clock work, you’re awake. Still black out. Alarm panging, dead on five. Screeching in your ears.
You’re laying in your long sleeve bunny pyjamas belly flat on the bed, head turned, pressed into your pillows. Brows screwed, eyes squinting, sleep lines etched on your face. Crust stuck at the corners of your eyes. Your nose crinkling in annoyance. Sniffing. You bring up your right elbow from its disfigured but comfortable position and smack it down on your alarm clock sitting on the bedside table.
Groaning, you rise slowly. Stretching your back, tiptoeing, arms up high now folding behind you. Heading to the bathroom, you’re splashing cold water on your face. A slow deep breath. Arms steady, hands holding either side of the sink. You meet a tired you in the mirror. Opening it, you reach for your scent repellent. Just two sprays. Now you’re ready for your day.
Shutting the front door behind you, earphones in, you stretch a bit. Left arm swinging, right arm under it. You do it the other way. Back bent downwards, legs straightened, arms elongated, touching your toes, the ground almost. With a gradual rise and a long exhale, you’re on your way. Unhurried, lazy runners pace. You maintain that for a lap around your cabin. Then you’re headed to the main road. ‘Nettles’ by Ethel Cain playing softly in your ears. Low melodious. Pace still measured, arms shifting each step. You’re a few metres in, flats, houses forming in your peripheral. A corner shop open. Bright. Vivid.
You could use a drink.
You head down further into town, body directed at the shop. Eventually meeting the door of the shop, your body slightly adjusted to the frozen air. A ring of the bell is heard as you enter. The male shop keeper notices you, his face resting in one of his hands, eyes heavy. Sagging. A purple brownish colour engraved below them. His head falling and quickly rising. His eyes lighten fairly upon seeing you. Waving sluggishly at you. You give a soft smile and wave back.
Heading to the drink section, you grab a five hundred millilitre bottle of water from the fridge and walk up to the till. Placing your bottle down on the counter, you pay shortly after.
“Have a nice day.” You say. Short, soft, concise.
“And you too.”
-
The sun had already risen. A pale whitish sphere, faintly piercing through. 9am, the clock read. You were in your home, had already showered, eaten. Although your fridge was practically begging to be full. Only a couple red peppers remained. ‘More shops will probably be open.’ You thought.
You were out the cabin, car keys in hand on your way back to the town centre. A small, red Mini Cooper sitting slumped in heavy snow just outside. You open the drivers side, snow falling off that side of the car, and sit down. Plugging your keys into the vehicle, wind shields wiping away at the snow covered front window. You drive steadily into town.
Meats, vegetables, fruits, water bottles, pharmacy — must go!!
A vivid image of the note you made flashed. It repeated in your head, chanting almost.
First stop, the supermarket.
-
A cold quiet morning. Harsh crispy air brushing against your cheek. Your eyes crinkle at the feel of it. You’ve parked your car in a nearby parking garage.
Not so often you see the supermarket this silent. You’re dressed warmly in a loose white shirt underneath a grey jumper. Straight legged dark blue jeans covering your black uggs. All hidden under your black trench coat.
Boots crunching in the snow, you’re walking in. Automatic doors sliding open for you. You grab a basket and begin your search.
-
Heavy bags weighing down at your sides. Full of fresh ingredients, meats.
Meats, vegetables, fruits, water bottles, pharmacy.
“Alright.” You whisper, cold air passing through your lips, pleased with your small achievement of the morning.
Second stop, small shop.
You enter the shop, a bell sounding as you do so. There’s a few people in the shop. About four if you bothered to look. You pay no mind though. Just solely focused on one task at hand. That task being water bottles. You’re pacing around the shop, eyes raking up and down the shelves. The bottles. Finally. Placed on the grey marble ground, in front of a transparent fridge directly reflecting the shop door. A free mirror, you think. You crouch down, hands out and ready to grab one pack. For a reason you couldn’t explain, your eyes glance up to the fridge, unfocusing, you see a few people walking by, their figure cutting out where the fridge ends. Still looking around, you see the trees, how they’re no longer green but white. The no longer brown wood, eyes trailing down the trees back to the public. Eyes- you notice deep hazel eyes staring as if staring at your open skeleton itself. Fixed on yours. You let the thought of the transparent fridge fool you into believing no one could see you. A coincidence.
Shrugging, you pick up either end of the pack of water bottles and stand to your full height. Out of curiosity, you eye the see-through shop door.
Khaki coloured eyes. Closer now. Black jacket. Hooded up. A man that seems to be in a balaclava?
He’s huge, you ponder. Biceps nearly bursted at the sides of his black coat. His lower half is covered by bushes. Your face contorts into a puzzled look. There’s no way he saw you. You don’t want to believe it. Looking away you head over to the till and pay.
Exiting the shop, hefty bags carrying all your shopping, a litter of bumps gather on your skin. You want to believe it’s from the cold. A low lump sitting at your belly. A warning maybe.
You head over to the last stop on the list. The pharmacy. Suppressants. Your brain reminding you once again.
It’s a cramped place. Medicine stacked on the dark wooden shelves across the room. Chalky walls. Ashen almost. The lights flicker a bit. Must be old. There’s a man at the other side of the till. Got a gloomy look to him. Thin glasses hanging at the top of his bridged nose. Crinkled skin. A small bruise on the side of his cheek. Eyes droopy.
“Can I help you?” You hear his tired voice ask.
You give a small smile.
“I’m here for a replenishment.” You keep your eyes on his, still smiling as you readjust a bag on your arm.
“Your name please.” He responds dryly. Your face falters a bit.
You give him your name. He types away at the old white desktop on his right. He reaches over to a small brown plastic bag and hands it to you.
You hear a smile chime of the pharmacy bell but don’t pay too much mind to it. There’s heavy thuds behind you. A hefty musky smell, woody almost with a hint of an orange peel. A citrusy smell meant something. A near heat or rut possibly. A familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach. Fear? It's only footsteps, probably getting their suppressants. You’re still focused on the man in front-
“Have I seen you ‘round here before?” A deep baritone voice sounding behind you. Close to you. You spin around, eyes all wide at the sound of him. The pharmacist immediately drops into a crouched position. He knows that voice. Can’t let this customer see him.
“Uh—uh…” You stutter. Lip quivering.
You know him. Know exactly who this is. Simon Riley. Or what the town calls him, ‘Ghost’.
The whole town knows of him. They know to steer clear of him. Never get in his way. Avoid him if you can. Don’t let him get you. A menace. Killer. All sorts of nasty comments you haven’t heard before. He’s got a familiar balaclava on. Almost looking like the one you saw earlier. Squinting eyes staring deep into your wide ones. Head tilted slightly, amused by your reaction. You can’t tell though.
“Can’t talk?”
“Uhm no—no. No you uh haven’t.” You’re shaking your head looking everywhere else but at him. There’s a thin line of sweat forming at your forehead. You try not to wipe it.
His broad frame, blocking everything in front of you. You finally look up at him, eyes all doey, scared.
“Hm.” He grunts, gives you a slow look over. Eyes falling slowly down your frame then back up to your nervous face. Cute.
He turns back around and exits the pharmacy. You heave a sigh of relief. Ghost? Talking to you? You nearly don’t believe it. Not until the pharmacist behind you speaks.
“H—here. Please leave. Quickly.”
Weight bags on either side of you, you’re walking over to your parked car. The cold air, still lingering. You’re heart patters in your chest. Simon Riley. Absolutely no way.
You make it to your car, fiddling with your bags arms scurrying deep in each one to find the key. You hear it unlock and you’re carefully placing the bags at the back seat, then heading quickly into the front. Door slamming shut. Locked. Both hands on the wheel. Knuckles losing then regaining colour.. You’re brain still lagging. You look around yourself, assessing the area. You see him. Again. Your breath stutters when you notice him. He’s staring deep at you. He’s to your right, body slightly hidden by a tall bush. You’re tapped in place, body hypnotised, regulating. Registering something deep. Pooling low. A small warmth. There’s no way. Your body recognises him as compatible. You have his full attention.
Your breath’s still stuck in your throat.
“Simon.” You breathe out finally. It’s almost as if he heard you because he’s walking now. Quick measured steps toward you. You’re shaking. Yet you can’t move. Hands still plastered at the wheel. He’s nearer. Walks over to the passenger's seat window. One two firm taps at the window. Eyes still fixed on him. He never left yours. Your body responds before your mouth can. A needy smell illuminates you. Lemony. Citrusy. Your eyes are fully dilated. The omega in you keening. Inviting. You want him. Your brain hasn’t caught up yet. His scent now etched in your body. You didn’t even realise he had been warming you up to his smell this whole time.
A whisper of a faint musky orange peel surfaced your brain. It was when the autumn air still lingered. That citrusy smell you couldn’t get enough of. You’d perch over your opened windows, eyes all closed as you relished the smell. He was scenting your home and you didn’t know. You recall hearing small cracks of sticks but it could’ve been anything. Except it was Simon.
Your right arm moves to open the passenger door. He opens it and sits his burly body inside your car, shutting the door as he does so.
You’re still looking at him, mouth parted slightly. You can’t understand why your body is reacting this way. He’s still staring. Eyes heavy, low. You don’t know what it is but you start the car, engine roaring quietly. You’re driving home now. A hidden command from him. Your omega wants him in your space. Wants him to invade your things. Invade you. Is it your heat? That’s not until a couple— days. You wanted to think weeks. But your body has found a compatible mate. It just so happens to be the worst person you can think of.
You park in your entry, turn off the engine and slowly look to your left. Eyes hazy, breathing hesitant. A whine stopping at your throat. Trapped in your esophagus. He knows you want to. Doesn’t need to ask you.
You’re both stumbling into your cabin, his tongue deep in your mouth. Balaclava bunched on his crooked nose.
He’s ripping your coat off your body. Biceps contracting. Your black trench falls carelessly on your floors. Green veins running up his large hands holding the back of your neck, your waist. One of his hands drifting down, gripping your arse. Groaning into your mouth. Spit mixed. Your odours intertwine. A ripe lemon and orange peel staining the air.
You're whining. Teeth clashing. He’s biting at your bottom lip. Strong arms wrapping you. Engulfing your body.
“Been watching you for weeks.” His voice came out heavy, breathy.
You can’t respond with anything other than a mewl. Your hands haven’t left the fabric at his chest. You’re clutching at him. Body all needy. The warmth at your lower belly blooming into a vicious heat. White hot pleasure taking hold of you. Body seizing up. You're stunned. Eyes all wide and wet. Breath coming in fat heaves.
“Si—” You whimper out. Knees bending. Betraying you. Submission. He sees your body submitting to him before you can even voice it. You really want to. Badly.
Beefy arms pull you up and into him. Your legs hanging off his forearm, head lulled out, falling backwards.
He knows where your room is. Knows where everything in your home is. He knows exactly where you keep your suppressants, your diary. He’s read it all. You’ve never heard anyone enter your home at night. Yet he’s always there. Watching you sleep. He admires how your tits puff out when you breathe in, how you drool a bit. A few snores. Fucking obsessed with your body. The fat of your thighs. His alpha knew you were his.
You’re trembling, snivelling into his chest. He sets you down on your bedsheets, body going slump. He stands to his full height, pulling down his balaclava back over the rest of his face and just watches. Hidden again.
He’s slow to take his jacket off. Pulling the zip down in a long stroke. Shoves it off his body.
“I need nghh~” You’re moaning out, hands attempting to take your top off. Too weak. There’s a little drool spilling at the side of your mouth.
He doesn’t bother to take the rest of his clothes off. He’s come too far in this to focus on himself.
“Shh.” Your body, listening immediately.
He hauls your top off for you, now left in just a black lace. Sweat glistening on your chest. Beads rolling down.
“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” He curses low.
His arms circle your body, taking the lace off. Tits spilling out, the air wafting over your hardened nipples. You sob. Body clutching in on itself. He doesn’t let you. His large hand, pushing you down at your shoulder.
“No movin’.” A warning.
Your arms are flat on the bed, hands resting above you, fisting the pillow. He removes your lower clothing in one strong pull. Your hips lifting instinctively. Your insatiable need to please your mate.
Panties gone. You're vulnerable before him. Hairs decorated around your wet pussy. Weeping. Leaking. A bead of slick sliding down from your hole onto your arse. Hips twitching.
Your body’s flushed, waiting. He’s being too slow. He has to savour this moment.
“Please.” You whimper out.
“A talkative bird ain’t ya.” He voices, still low toned.
“Gotta please this pussy, don’t I?” Taunting you. Letting out a low, mocking whistle.
He’s got his knees pressed into your bed, hands on your inner thighs, pressing into them. Your pussy parting each time. A tear slips out of you. Your head’s thrown back into the pillow. Lips tightly pressed, suppressing the moan trapped at your throat. Eyes shut tight.
He presses in once more, and you can’t help the noise that left you. You bring down one of your arms, scratching at his, trying to bring it where you need it most.
“Want me there, hm?
My fingers in your cunt?”
You’re vigorously nodding. A string of ‘please’s leaving your wet, kissed stained mouth. He doesn’t remove your hand. Doesn’t need to. You can’t move someone as big as him.
You still can’t see his face fully. Only his eyes. But you know he’s smiling at you. You make out a small dent under the balaclava. His alpha pleased at your omega. You want to see more of him. But your heat won’t let you form the sentence.
He doesn’t care though. He’s going to take you.
He brings his rugged thumb, circles it on your throbbing puffy clit.
“Angh!”
Your hips twitch towards him. More beads of slick fall out your drenched pussy. A few more tears rolling down your face. The heat nearly consuming you.
His thumb moving slowly up and down your clit, inching towards your gaping hole. Your hips follow on instinct. Rolling with his hand.
“Fuck sakes.” You’re a sight. His tip leaking heavy drops of pre.
His thumb finds your soaked hole, another bead leaking out coating it. He pushes in slow and deep. Long thick thumb stretching you out.
You scream. Back bowing. Toes curled into the sheets, fingers still scratching at his arms. Your head is lulled to the side, the whites of your eyes on display.
He’s thumbing your hole. Quick deep strokes of his thumb.
Squelch squelch.
“She’s a loud twat, ain’t she?” Voice rugged.
You’re moaning loud, your heat making it feel way better than it’s supposed to.
Fuck you’re close. Body heating up even more, twitching, writhing. Leaving moon shaped dents on his forearms.
“You markin’ me already?” He’s cackling low.
“Ngh c—close!”
“I know.” You pussy throbs.
His voice has such an intense effect on you. He’s been scenting your clothes so you get used to his smell. Needs your body reacting before you do.
One…two..three pumps of his thumb and your convulsing. Body quaking. Mouth hung open in a beautiful ‘o’ shape, brows squinted. You silently cry out letting your orgasm wash over you. Long waves of heat spread over your body.
“Need you.” Voice all gone, yet you managed to whisper out.
“You’ll ‘ave me.”
He slowly pulls his thumb out and stares at it in awe, glistening in your cum. You’ve marked him as yours, now he has to return the favour.
Not giving you any time to recover, he plunges two thick long fingers deep into your pussy. You let out a shocked scream. Hips jerking at the sudden stretch. He leans his body into yours as he pushes his fingers as far as they could go. He’s close to you now. Face just a few inches from yours. You're breathing out hefty breaths, fanning his hidden face. Eyes fully dilated.
“Got a deeep cunt on ya.” He praises. You moan in response. Your arms feel heavy, your trembling fingers attempting to hook the edges of his balaclava and pull down. It comes off revealing messy blonde locks. The two of you reach forward, lips meeting in a sloppy kiss. Mouths open, breathing heavy. Tongues rolling against each other. He’s pistoning his fingers fast. Quick deep strokes making it hard for you to kiss him back. It’s too messy.
He’s grunting into you, you’re whining into him. One hand gripping the hairs at his nape. The other gripping the hairs at the middle of his head. You're rolling your hips into his hand. His thumb bumping your clit every stroke. He’s fucking at your g spot, fingers curling, scissoring your pussy. You break the kiss with a loud moan.
“C—can’t take it! Simon—”
“You will. Didn’t wait this long for you to tap out.” He sounds so rough.
“Anhh! Hngh.”
Another few scissors of your pussy and you’re sooo close again. You’re whinging, body twisting, turning away. You want to run. Want to scream at him. Fight him.
You’re smacking at his chest, he’s still too close watching your face so intently. He needs to see what makes it contort. He likes that you fight back. Makes him harder. He’s straining at his boxers. Cock twitching, itching to be inside your needy cunt. He knows you need his knot.
You're slapping his shoulders, hands balled up in fists, punching at him. He curls his fingers just right and you’re screaming. White blinding pleasure. You’re clutching at him now. He’s fucking his fingers at that exact spot. Engrossed in the way your brows contorted, the way your cheeks deepen in colour. How your wet lashes stick to the top of your cheeks.
“F—fuck fhuck!” Your orgasm, ripping through you.
Your arse pressed deep into the sheets, back arched, pussy gushing out ruining his hand. Arms flailing.
Squelch
His hand sliding out slowly from your bruised pussy. Admiring your work on his fingers. Shining wet. He sees your pussy lips flutter in the corner of his eyes.
“You’re something else.”
He brings his stained fingers to his mouth, sucking them deep, relishing the taste. Groaning deep. Eyes fluttering shut.
“Knot. Y—your knot please.” You cry out. Head still planted to the side. Arms wobbly, you reach out to his dark grey joggers. Fingers tugging at the top of it. His happy trail peeking out. He helps his dick out of his joggers, his boxers next, not taking them off fully. It’s so big. Thick veins running up a few sides, dark red at the tip. Angry. Purple almost. So girthy. Leaking so much pre. He’s so wet for you.
Your omega hungry at the sight. The orangey peel stench, very prominent now.
“Gonna fuck you now. Knot you.”
“Please.”
He lines his fat cock at the opening of your cunt. Rubs it slowly up and down your clit. You’re hips jutting, bucking away from him.
The tip pops into you in a slow, deep stroke. He stalls for a moment. Hot pulsing pussy pulling him in.
“Fuck—”
He pushes further in. Still slow. You feel every vein on his cock, every curve. Every inch, stretching your walls out. Your mouth, watering at the fullness.
You push at his lower hard stomach, a few hairs tickling your fingers. He’s fucking huge. You can’t take it all at once. You’re weeping, tears spilling at the sides of your face, tits puffed out.
“M’gonna make you take it.”
He hikes your thighs on top of his, pushes himself further into you, digging your knees into your chest. He sinks in another few inches. Your squinted eyes peer down at where you’re both connected, there’s still so much more. Your head falls back as you sniffle, a tiny noise leaving your lips.
He pulls his hips back all of a sudden, you gasp at the loss. Your head comes up quickly. Watching.
“Noo. Simon, fuck—”
Slamming his cock deep, hips grinding into yours. His hairs nudged right against your clit. A bulge forming at your lower belly. Your head collapsing back onto the pillow, brain fogged. Your eyes forced back, body quivering. Quick heaves of your chest, your mouth left hung open, more drool spilling out.
Plap plap
He’s fucking you so deep. Big burly body rocking into you, your pussy sucking him in so tight. So wet. So hot. The room’s filled with the mix of your bodies, your sweat, the smell of your pheromones. Blooming. Inviting him even more. He takes it.
Cock, pistoning so good. Fucking at your spots. You're wailing against him, scratching at his chest, his hard rigid stomach, his neck. Leaving red crescent marks all over.
“Anngh!”
“Such a good bird huh? Taking a stranger's cock so well.”
“Y—yeah nghh ahh.”
He’s grinning at you, a few teeth on display.
You’re gone. So far gone. You're grinding your hips into his, grabbing behind him, his back, pulling him into you. He slows. Deep long strokes now. You can’t do anything but feel it. The dent of your stomach, more evident at every rock of his body into yours. Simon places one of his hands on the bulge. Pressing. Pushing it.
You scream, your juices squirting out of your uncontrollably. You’re shaking so much. Crying. Head stretched back, you're pushing at the bed, jolting away from him.
“Thereeee’s a girl. Thaa’s it, squirt all on me.”
He’s still fucking you slow and deep, riding you through it. The bed, soaked in your cum, your sweat.
“Knot! Knot me please.” You beg. Voice strained, gone from pleasure.
Sitting up, his arms come to the neck of his sweat stained shirt. All sticky. Dark wet patch on lower part of it. He’s taking his shirt off now.
His broad hairy chest on show. Ample. Decorated in various tattoos. You’re in awe of his body.
A few wet hairs stick to the top of his forehead, cheeks dusted pink. Eyes heavy, low. He’s ogling at your scent gland, right by the curve of your neck and shoulder.
“M’gonna mark you.” His eyes gestured at the gland. You can barely hear him through your heat.
He moves both of your legs on his shoulders, pushes closer to you. Breaths mingling. He pulls his cock out to the knob, then rams into you. Quicker, harder than before.
“Ouuh fuck.”
You’re breathing all over his face. Cheeks deepened in colour.
Chasing his own high now, on the brink of release. Cock brushing at your cervix on every thrust. Did he get bigger? Your eyes widening at the thought. There’s a swollen feeling at the bottom of his— knot.
“Want my thrust knot hnyeah? Tell me girl. Thrust. Tell me how bad you wan’ it.” His voice, straining. Low, deep. Grunting.
“I wan’ it. Want it so bad. Please. Please. Please—”
He angles his face at your neck, his mouth a breath away from your gland. One hard heavy thrust into your pussy he’s finally cumming. He bites down hard. Your gland, blooming. Blood spilling from the corners of his mouth, his eyes rolling back. You shriek at the feel. Your breath comes in short, rapid pants. Eyes shutting tight. More tears spilling. It hurts so good. Burning sensation washing over you. White hot. Scorching.
White blotchy spurts of his cum flooding you deep. Throaty groans leaving his mouth. You're soaking, drinking it up. There’s so much cum, it’s spilling out. Dropping on the sheets. His body nearly collapsed on yours. Your body can’t take the weight on you. He’s so heavy. Your omega yearns for it, wants the weight on you.
His knot, plugging your cunt, trapping you together. You sigh in pleasure. Satisfaction. Content. You still feel a twitch of his cock, small spurts shooting into you.
A few beats pass, his knot finally deflating. Cock only half hard now. He’s pulling out of you slowly. Beads of his cum following suit. It catches on his tip.
His breathing ragged as he brought his face down to your bruised pussy. It throbs under his burning stare. His mouth inches closer. Wetting his bottom lips, he lunges into you. Sucking, circling, licking at your pussy.
You’re whining, mewling, bucking your hips away from him. He’s quicker. Pining your hips down with two large hands. He’s eating his cum out your pussy.
“T—too much!”
“Mmh.” Groaning, voice vibrating through your over sensitive pussy.
He brings one of his hands, two fingers plugging it back in. Deep. Fucking his cum back in. You’re on the cusp again. Hips hiking up. Back arched in a beautiful bow.
His tongue curling, circling on your clit. You’re seeing stars, everything’s all blurry. You’re cumming again.
“Simon!”
His fingers slow. Just strong unhurried thrusts. You’re coming down. Breath haggard. Eyes blown.
▶︎︎︎︎︎︎ Someone Else? (starring . various jjk men)
synopsis . What happens when they find out you have a friend that’s a little too comfortable with you. pairings (separate) . Choso x f!reader, Nanami x f!reader, Toji x f!reader, Gojo x f!reader.
content . afab!reader, possessiveness, toxic men, rough sex, reader is oblivious to someone flirting with her, praise, overstim, degrading, non-curse au, dirty talk, filth, they’re all pretty mean & grumpy, slight edging, mention(s) of squirting, spitting, etc.
word count . 7.8k || author's note: this is a repost from kamitv, so if it looks familiar that's why (also the writing in this is like 2 years old). banner art from “hachisuka’s family kotoribako”
☆ Choso Kamo
“Mine, mine, mine, mine,” Is just about all Choso could grunt against your lips as he fucked you down into the mattress. “You understand that, no? All this belongs t'me, princess.”
Panting heavily, nails scraping at his back, pussy stuffed full of cum that was dripping out and down onto the bed so messily—Choso had you ruined all because he found out you had some guy friend who may have flirted with you today.
“Answer me, c'mon,” Choso groans. His lips are right against yours, cock buried inches deep into your cunt as your legs remained sprawled out for him.
“Y-Yes, Choso-, fuck!” You moan into the air, eyes watering at how rough your husband was being with you.
His head tipped to the side, “Who the hell did that guy think he was, huh? Flirting with you like you’re not my goddamn wife.”
“Choso, p-please—”
“Please what?” He growls, voice just as rough as his thrusts were with you, “Told’ you I didn’t like that guy months ago.”
Your jaw simply hangs open, eyes hardly on your lover above you, “M’sorry.”
Choso scoffs, “I know you are. You should be.” He huffs as his balls slap against your skin with each thrust.
Panting, you gasp out his name, “Choso…” You utter just as a big pout pulls at your lower lip, eyes doe-like as you gaze up at the man.
He cocks his head to the side and his eyes narrow at you, his dick twitching wildly inside you, “Don’t fuckin’ pouttt,” He coos, “Y’let that guy hug you like that today ‘nd you thought I was gonna be okay with that?”
You shake your head and a whine slips out, “N-No, but-“
“Shut up. I wasn’t done talkin’.” Choso cuts off meanly, rolling his eyes afterward, “Months I’ve been tellin’ you to distance yourself from him and yet here we are...” His body presses into yours and you whimper, feeling his hands grip your thighs tight enough to leave marks.
“Choso.” You call out, as if that’ll give you a second to escape him.
He holds back a whine that nearly escapes his throat due to how pretty you looked beneath him. Even upset with you, his cock pulsed and throbbed inside you by the mere sight of you whimpering below him.
“Fuck, I love you baby but damn,” He almost smiles at you, “I thought we talked about this?”
You take a deep breath, “W-We did, I just-“
Choso’s cock hits in deep, pelvis smacking against you constantly, “If you make another excuse for him m’gonna stop,” He tells you, hips slowing for only a second.
“N-No. Don’t stop, please.” You beg before moving your arms to wrap tighter around his neck and tug him closer.
“Mmmh,” He pouts to mock you but can’t deny the fact that the way you tugged him closer to you has his mind growing hazy for a second, “Don’t stop?” Choso asks.
He continues to slow down anyway, not yet coming to a halt but thrusts turning languid and listening to how your pussy messily slicks up his skin.
“Please, Cho, m-m’close.” You whisper, eyes silently begging him.
“Are you?” Choso questions, voice deeper than ever as he smirks, “Y’gonna cum f’me again? Wet up my cock so I can send that asshole a picture ‘nd show him whose dick you’re beggin’ for every night? Huh?”
Your back arches up off the bed a bit and your legs begin to cage around Choso’s waist, “Hahh, mmgh, t-that’s so… mean, Cho,” You whine in response, pouting again as your eyes water.
His pace had picked back up and you were being fucked into the mattress, a filthy mess of cum dripping down onto the bed below where the two of you were connected.
“Mean?” Choso echoes, the coldness of the wedding ring he’s got on his finger pressing further into your legs and making you shudder, “Baby… I can show you mean.”
You slide a hand up into his hair and pull his face closer to yours, attempting to kiss him, “Choso…”
He avoids your little gesture and teases you with a smile as he pulls up a little, “I could send him a video.”
“Please,” You frown at your husband’s sudden suggestion.
His dripping tip knocks against the hilt of your cunt, stuffing you full over and over before he finally let out a sigh, “Tch, fine. I won’t,” Choso hums, leaning closer to your face just like you originally wanted him to before whispering, “But don’t let me catch you around him again, okay?”
You nod and your eyes drop to his lips, “Okay.”
“Mh,” Choso hums against you as he finally gives you a slight kiss, feeling how you whine at the loss of the gentle contact when he pulls away, “Now tell me you love me, baby.”
You’re saying it faster than you could even process, “I love you, Cho.”
Oh his entire body reacts to that—hips drawing back, tip teasing your folds for a moment as he taunts you, “Yeah?”
“Mhmmm,” You hum eagerly.
His head tips to the side and he smirks, angling himself so that his cockhead bumps up against your clit, “How much?”
“Love you s’much,” You mumble, a slight whines leaving your throat after.
“Aww, do you? Y’love me so much?” Choso coos. His voice was as deep as ever but soft with you nonetheless before he moves his lips to your ear and shifts his cock back down to your twitching hole. Easing himself back in, “Or do you jus’ love gettin fucked like this?” Choso whispers.
The delicious stretch his cock created as it pushed back inside you had you gasping, “B-Both.”
“Both, huh?” Choso scoffs and his lips press against the shell of your ear, “Fuckin’ slut.”
Then he’s dragging his hips back and rutting them down into you with haste, listening to how each thrust makes you gasp and moan. You were so cute when you couldn’t handle him.
Your nails scratched at his scalp and his upper back, leaving bright red marks on his skin and making him hiss. Bulging cock sinking in and out of you so hard that all you could do was hold onto him and moan.
“H-Hhgnn…” You cry out—cunt tightening around him and earning a deep groan.
“Fuuuck, almost forgot you love that,” Choso huffs, the corner of his lips twitching into a smirk, “Y’like it when I’m mean t’you, huh?”
“Ah, mgh, y-yeahhh,” Your voice comes in a sultry whimper and Choso groans again with how tight your pussy was clinging onto his cock, sucking him in deeper than he could handle.
His breath grows hot against your ear, “S’that why you let him hug you? You wanted to piss me off?” Thrusting harder and harder with his questions, your eyes begin to roll back.
“M-Maybe,” You manage to respond with a fucked-out smile taking over your expression.
“Maybe? Fuck, you’re so cute, baby.” Choso purrs, “If you wanted me to fuck you like I hate you and call you a slut, all you had to do was ask.”
And then he’s doing just as he’s described—plump cockhead abusing your sweet spot by hitting it over and over, “H-Hahh, ah, t-that’s-, fuck, embarrassing Cho.”
Choso chuckles, “Askin’ for me to do somethin’ I’ve done before during sex isn’t embarrassing, baby. Y’know I’ll do anything you ask of me.”
You start pouting all over again, babbling an “M’sorry,” Without really understanding why you’re still apologizing.
“Mhm. Prove it by squirtin’ on me again,” Choso tells you before moving to sit up. He then tugs your thighs over his and fuck does the tip of his dick make you see stars for a second as he repositions himself slightly.
His hands grip onto your hips and he continues his rough pace like it’s nothing, hair disheveled with a few dark strands sticking to his forehead.
“Cho,” You say in an attempt to convince him to slow down for a moment.
Unfortunately for you, your voice only drives him crazier. You were so whiny, it caused blood to rush to the head of his cock and his balls to ache—everything about you was intoxicating.
“I’ll send your lil’ friend a picture of these messy ass sheets afterward, ‘kay?” Choso pants, lips parting as he releases a slight moan from your pussy dripping all over him. Such a messy girl you were, not that he’d prefer you any other way.
“Choso.” You manage almost sternly, sending him a pointed look.
He pouts and decides to play innocent as if his cock wasn’t currently tearing you apart, “Don’t scold me, I gotta do something, baby.”
Rolling your eyes, you reach a hand down and graze his pelvis—making a fail of an attempt at pushing him away, “S’not nice.”
Choso snaps his hips forward as if to make a point and fuck his frustrations right into you, “Good thing m’not tryin’ to be fuckin’ nice then, right?”
☆ Nanami Kento
Who swears he was never a jealous man. He's seen the way people look at you time and time again and never has he batted an eye—why would he? Nanami's confident in himself enough to know that no other man would come in and steal your heart the way he has.
And such confidence has remained up until today.
After a long day of work, there's nothing he wants more than to come home to his lovely girlfriend whom he's been infatuated with for years now. Yet, today was different.
Walking into the shared apartment, unlike normal, you didn't come running up to him with a hug and a million kisses. Odd, he thought to himself, followed by a call of your name that echoed throughout the home.
"In the kitchen, Ken," You replied back, the sweet sound of your voice making him smile as he puffed out a sigh.
He's not sure where the momentary worry came from, but it subsided as he figured you may have been busy with something. As Nanami takes his jacket off, he moves a hand to loosen his tie, soon raking a hand through his hair afterward.
The house was awfully quiet, void of sounds of cooking or your voice—which was, again, odd. Stepping out of his shoes, Nanami steadily makes his way to the kitchen, soon spotting you and feeling a thousand pounds of stress lift off of his shoulders at the mere sight of you.
And in a sundress no less. You were on your phone, fingers tapping away at the screen with a slight smile on your face, your body bent forward against the kitchen counter with your back arched ever so slightly as you stood comfortably.
The sound of footsteps approaching you made you turn your head toward you boyfriend and flash him a loving smile. "Hi Kento, how was work?" You chirped sweetly.
"Fine, my love. How was home?" Nanami replied sweetly as he leaned down to you. A sudden buzz from your phone made you move your gaze and Nanami found himself giving you a slight peck on your lips but your eyes were elsewhere.
Whatever was on your phone must've been quite intriguing. "Home was wonderful. I did some cleaning today so..." You trail off and Nanami just gazes at you as your words fade away.
His brows begin to push together, "So...?"
You blink a few times, fingers tapping away at your screen yet again, "So uh," Trying to focus on both your boyfriend and the male you were texting at the same time was proving to be rather difficult for you.
Hence why Nanami sighs heavily and moves a hand to your back, caressing you gingerly, "Everything alright, love?"
You nod, "Mhm... Sorry about that, Ken. What was I saying again?" You ask as you turn to him with curious eyes.
He gazes at you, wondering how your attention could be so diverted. This was unusual coming from you but he shrugs it off, "You were telling me about how you cleaned up today?"
"Oh! Yes, I was gonna say I felt rather productive today," You finally get out before, again, turning away and to your phone.
Nanami nods his head, "I see. Is there something going on, sweetheart?"
You chuckle, "What? No, why?"
For a moment, your boyfriend does nothing more than watch how consumed you are by the conversation taking place through text on your phone. "You seem awfully distracted, is all," He sighs.
"Ohhh, no," You smile, "It's just this coworker of mine was wondering why I didn't show up today and then he and I-"
"He?" Nanami echoes aloud mistakenly. He hadn't meant to voice that, it was more of a thought.
Slowly, your head turns to your boyfriend yet again and despite the smile on your face, your brows push together and your expression is skeptical, "Yes, Kento, he. Is that an issue?"
"No, of course not," Nanami shakes his head before glancing off to the side with a shrug, "I just wasn't aware you were so close with any of your male coworkers."
You blink, "I'm really not, it's just him."
For some reason, his heart pangs a bit as you say that, "Just him, huh?" Nanami hums to himself.
"Mhm," You nod. Then, ignoring the clear attitude this has brought on, you turn to your phone and return to your texting.
Steadily, Nanami's eyes trail back over to you and he watches you type before rolling his eyes. He's not even sure why this is bothering him but he then moves to stand behind you, his crotch pressing into your ass as he begins to crave more of your attention.
He's truly not used to it being on anyone else that's not him.
"And what are you two discussing now that's so..." His words trail for a minute, eyes dragging along the slight curve in your back as you remained arched perfectly in such an effortless way, "...Important," Nanami soon finishes with a sharp narrow of his eyes.
"Well, he asked to come over for some reason and I'm not really sure how to respond," You reply honestly as you stare at the most recently received text.
Nanami's head cocks back a bit and he scoffs, "He's asked to come over?"
You nod, "Yes."
There's a pause but then your boyfriend leans forward and you can feel his muscular thighs press into the back of yours as his torso leans over. A hand is placed on the counter beside your waist and you look back over your shoulder to see Nanami nearing you.
His gentle eyes meet yours, "Can I see?"
You grin innocently, having nothing to hide from him whatsoever, "Sure," Handing him your phone, Nanami doesn't hesitate to read the messages exchanged from the past hour or so, seeing that this coworker of yours has been trying to flirt with you for some time now.
"Hm," He hums, "Does he always refer to you as uh," He clicks his tongue and scoffs, "Pretty girl?"
You shrug, "Well, yes and I've asked him to stop-"
"And yet you keep talking to him instead of blocking his number?" Nanami cuts off faster than he means to, eyes flipping up from the phone and to your face.
You flash a sheepish little smile, not exactly understanding the issue here, "I mean, he is my coworker."
For a moment, the two of you just stare at one another. Nanami seems to be bothered but not exactly upset just yet, his brown eyes boring into yours as you have this completely clueless look on your face.
Weighing his head to the side ever so slightly, "...That enjoys flirting with you despite knowing you have a boyfriend?" Nanami finishes your statement for you questionably.
You bat your eyes at him and your brows go up, "W-Well-"
"Y'know what," Nanami places your phone down, "Why don't you invite him over?" He suddenly suggests.
You’re taken all the way back by the sudden statement, giving your boyfriend nothing more than a blank stare before uttering a baffled, "Huh?"
"Tell him he can come over,” He repeats, sliding the phone toward your hands and then moving his own to his belt. There’s a slight shuffle as he unbuckles his belt, the simply clacks making your heart skip a steady beat as you realize where he’s going with this. “I should be done by the time he gets here,” Nanami says.
Again, you blink in a confused manner before taking your phone up and doing as he’s just suggested—telling your coworker he can make his way over to you.
After which, you turn off your phone and return your eyes back to your boyfriend whose hands were busy tossing his belt onto the nearby floor. Your eyes then dropped down to his crotch and you swayed your hips to the side a bit to get a better look—spotting the heavy tent in his pants and gulping at the sight.
“Kento…” You hush out, earning a hum from him, “Is everything alright?” Your tone was so very soft and sappy with him, the sound making his heart ache in emotions beyond comprehension.
“Of course, my love,” He replies gently, sending you a quick smile, “I just need you right now, is that okay?”
Your gaze lifts and you meet his pretty brown eyes, lashes fluttering at how handsome he looks standing behind you, “You know that’s okay Ken, I’m all yours.”
He just about forgets the idea of restraint after that statement of yours. Of course he knows you’re all his but hearing it come out of your mouth with zero hesitation even after having another man flirt with you was…
Well, it was reassurance. Reassurance Nanami didn’t realize he enjoyed hearing.
Which is why he has you repeating similar phrases like that within the next few minutes as he fucks you into the kitchen counter.
Hips bruising with the way they were pressed into the counter edge, panties tugged to the side and nearly ripped off of you, back arched like a goddamn slut for your boyfriend, and messy folds stretched open as Nanami pounded his heavy cock into your tight hole—you were soon on cloud nine.
“Repeat that for me love,” Nanami grunts, breath coming out in heavy pants as his hips clash into yours over and over and over again.
You could hardly breathe properly and your mind was all frazzled, nearly everything that came out of your mouth was a moan and yet he still expected you to speak to him.
“K-Kento,” You gasp his name in erotic breathes, “Fuuuck, hahh, I… I said m’all yours,”
A sharper thrust is given in response to you, one of his hands gripping onto the bundled part of your dress at your lower back and the other coming down hard on your ass, “Yeah? All mine to ruin, right?” Nanami huffs out.
All you could do was nod, “Uhuh.” His hips were to damn harsh against your ass, thick cock drilling into your hole despite how lovingly he was speaking to you not too long ago.
“All mine to fuck senseless,” Nanami continues, his aroused tone making your cunt tighten around him.
Your jaw falls open as he starts knocking into that sappy spot inside you, each thrust making your legs quake and the fat of your ass ripple against him, “Yes Ken-, f-fuck.” You stammer, eyes watering and your nails scraping against the counter.
“Oh darling,” He groans, tossing his head back and then moaning at how wet you were for him, how easy it was for his cock to slide in and out and in and out, “Do you have any idea what you to t’me? Huh?” Nanami huffs.
“Mhmm,” You barely whine in response, your body jerking forward with his every mean thrust.
Steadily, he rolls his head back into place, eyes glancing down at the obscene stretch of your pussy lips around the shaft of his cock, “Are you sure? Y’know it upsets me to see another man flirt with you,” He says, voice surprising sturdy despite how well you’re taking him.
“M’sorry Ken,” You’re quick to apologize as if you’ve done something wrong and your boyfriend frowns at you.
“Huh. No need to be sorry, sweetheart,” Nanami coos, and god you feel your legs drawing together at how gentle his tone is with you. “S’not your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong,” He whispers.
Followed by which is the slight shift in his hips, angling his thrusts a little and causing your entire body to twitch below him. Nanami knows every inch of your body like the back of his hand.
How could he not? He’s studied you very closely—hence why the slight shift causes the curve of his cock to just drill into you so hard that you’re seeing stars.
“Mmgh, ahh, hahh, K-Kento,” You whine, your torso beginning to lift from the counter as if to try to escape his thrusts for a moment.
Jaw gone slack, drool slipping out of the corner of your mouth, nails scraping for some kind of hold, and legs shaking as they drew together—you were losing your mind.
“Hm?” Nanami replies so simply, too simply, as if he wasn’t currently fucking the air out of your lungs.
You gasp and your voice grows airy, “Fuck-, oh fuck… m’gonna cum again.”
He tilts his head and smiles, “Again? Aw, you’re so messy for me today,” Nanami says before his hand shifts into the arch of your back and he presses you down onto the counter.
Pinned, you could no longer try and escape his mean thrusts for even a second. Nanami was relentless with you, cock fucking you full, pussy drooling against him, coating his veins—you couldn’t even formulate proper sentences anymore.
“Hhggnh, hahhh, ah, ah…” You moaned loudly with not a single care in the world, eyes rolling back as your cheek pressed into the cold kitchen counter.
“So loud too,” Nanami comments. Then he’s leaning closer to you, cock bottoming you out and making you gasp and whimper.
“Kenn,” Is all you could say for a moment, eyes watering and breath leaving you.
His voice is suddenly next to your ear as his muscular frame leans over yours, “Yes love? I’m right here.” He emphasizes that last word with a deep thrust, making your legs nearly give out for a second.
“I know, I know-,” You babble, trying to pull your head away from his to escape his deep tone in your ear. “Fuck, fuuck, I feel you s’deep.” You whimper again, pouting while trying to catch a moment to breathe.
“Mmhmm, feel me riiight there, huh?” Nanami asks. And god was he right where you wanted him, fat cockhead jerking into your sweet spot and turning your legs into utter mush beneath him.
“Y-Yes, yes, m-mhmm,” Your squeeze shut and a tear rolls down your cheek, heavy pants leaving your throat, “Shit.”
Nanami moves to kiss the crown of your ear lovingly, “Aw, look at you. You close, pretty?”
You’re quick to nod without second thought, “Yes.”
“C’mon then,” His lips move and press against your ear, “Give it to me.”
And then you’re coming undone, repeating his name over and over, “K-Kento, Kento fuck-, Ken.” He loves it too, smiling against your ear as he grunts at the way your cunt throbs and twitches as you cum on his cock.
“Hahh, you sound so pretty moaning my name like that,” He comments before pulling away from your ear, “Look at me while you do it this time,” He utters, earning a steady turn of your head as you angle it back to meet his gaze. Then he smiles at you, hips rolling into you and tip smearing against your gummy walls, “Mhm, thaaat’s it—good girl.”
“Mmh, mmgh!” Your eyes flicker as he slows down to you can really feel him. “Ahh… K-Ken,” You whisper.
His cock aches inside you, “Repeat that, what’s my name?”
Struggling to keep your eyes open, you try your best to maintain eye contact, “Kento.”
“Whose cock are you makin’ a mess on right now?” He questions, tone a but harsh with you as he drags his hips back.
Snapping them forward just as you answer him, you end up stuttering, “Y-Yours Ken.”
“Mhm,” His brows tense as he pulls back yet again. This time, he moves a hand around and grabs ahold of your jaw, tugging your body up off the counter a bit and your face closer to his, “Last question. Who do you belong to, hm?”
“Y-You Kento, m’all yours,” You pant, lips wet with drool and eyes glossy from tears.
All Nanami does is flash a slight smile before he’s rutting his cock right back into you, watching and listening to the way oxygen leaves your lungs, “That’s right. All fuckin’ mine.” Nanami groans, lips nearing yours with the way he pulls you closer to him. Then he’s whispering, “And your little coworkers gonna understand that after today.”
Just before his lips are on yours, you manage a staggered little, “W-What?” In question.
He chuckles, “Oh, you didn’t hear him? He knocked on the door a few minutes ago,” Nanami tells you, watching your entire face twist up as you’re too fucked out to really understand that. “I’m sure he heard you moaning my name…”
☆ Toji Fushiguro
“So, you hate me, huh?” Toji dramatically huffs out as soon as the two of you enter your home again.
You groan and stomp off to your shared bedroom, trying to escape your annoyingly jealous husband due to what’s recently occurred. You’re apparently not allowed to be friends with his friends—or at least, not Shiu Kong allegedly.
Toji’s quick to stride into the bedroom behind you, hands stuffed into his pockets as he watches you storm around the room with a smirk on his face. You were so cute when you were annoyed with him.
Tipping his head to the left, his eyes narrow at you snatching your jacket off as you tried to give him the silent treatment, “Not sure why you’re so upset, y’know. I wasn’t the one pressin’ my tits into someone’s face,” He scoffs.
His hands lift out of his pockets and he crosses his arms over his beefy chest, eyes yet to leave your overly annoyed figure standing by the bed.
You send him a pointed glare before openly rolling your eyes at him, letting him know you’re upset.
Toji cocks his head back at the gesture and his brows raise, “Fucks’ your problem, huh? Mad at me ‘cause of somethin’ you did?”
“No, Fushiguro. Leave me alone,” You huff, frustrated frown etching its way across your lips.
“Ohh, now she decides to speak? And she uses our last name to address me too?” Toji’s baffled by your little attitude, a bit entertained, but baffled nonetheless.
You sigh loudly and move to grab your nearest sweatpants, “Leave me alone.”
“Why, huh?” Toji scoffs, “Y’mad about what I said to Shiu?”
Your eyes move to a slow blink before you click your tongue, “Well, seeing as you told him never to come around us again and that I’m, apparently, ‘not his fuckin’ friend’, maybe.”
Toji doesn’t react much to you mocking him and his expression stays relatively the same, “The hell is wrong with my statement?”
“I made a mistake and you took it out on him,” You explain as you tug your sweats on and move to take your shirt off.
“No, you both made a mistake ‘nd I’m takin’ it out on both of you.” Toji corrects. He was a bit more upset than he led on, “Your dumb ass leaned over him for some stupid fuckin’ water bottle and his eyes went to your tits as if it were second nature.”
You grit your teeth, “It was an accident Toji.”
“Nah, fuck that. Accident my goddamn ass, how many times has he looked at you like that, huh?” Your husband suddenly questions, sounding like he was implying something more as he took a step closer to the bed.
Your brows push together and you shrug, “I don’t know-“
“Oh and let’s not forget the way he grabbed your waist to, what?” He scoffs, “‘Help’ you? ‘Keep you steady’?” Toji continues, hardly giving you a second to even try and respond, “Not sure where ya’ brain’s at today doll, but Shiu is way too fuckin’ comfortable touchin’ you and I don’t like it.”
You shoot him nothing more than a blank yet frustrated stare, “Toji.”
His eyes are already on yours, giving you the same energy through his looks, “What?”
Sighing, “You’re being dramatic.” You tell him.
That ticks him off just right because then his face is twisting up into a scowl, “Dramatic? I’m being fuckin’ dramatic? Don’t piss me off,” Toji warns.
You find the nerve to laugh at him, “Don’t piss you off? Toji you’ve been whining about this all damn day. It’s over now, isn’t it?”
He decides to ignore your little jab at him and he steadily walks over to the side of the bed you’re standing at, “No, it’s not. You haven’t even apologized.”
You chuckle, “For what?”
He finds himself standing not too far from you, glaring at your confused facial expression, “Bein’ mad at me for no damn reason, that’s what.”
You roll your eyes at him again, “Toji you told me I can’t be friends with your friend.”
“Maybe because he wants to fuck you?” Toji fires back.
Another scoff leaves you and you start shaking your head at your husband's ridiculous claims, “He doesn’t.”
“Soo, he just looked at your tits for no reason?" Toji asks, leaning toward you a bit and tilting is head as if to intimidate you, "He grabs your waist ‘nd says, 'I got you sweetheart' for no fuckin’ reason, right?”
Your throat runs dry at that. You may have forgotten Shiu said that to you, having not really paid much attention to it when he did, “I-“
“Do you not know what the fuck flirting looks like?” Toji lectures, taking one last step toward you so that his body was hardly an inch away from yours.
Your head tips back a bit so that you could look up at him, swallowing hard at how upset your husband seems to be and all your confidence on the matter nearly fading. “I do, but-“
“There is no but. He wants to fuck my wife," He interrupts, "Why the hell would I let you two be friends knowing that?”
That's when you sigh again, “Toji, you don’t know that he wants to fuck me, you’re assuming things-“
One of his hands flies up to his face and he starts rubbing his temples out of pure frustration, “Woman, he checks you out at every chance he gets when he thinks I’m not payin’ attention.”
“He-“
“He touched you all too inappropriately, right in front of me," Toji reminds you.
You try to take up for Shiu's actions, still not seeing what the issue behind it was, “He was making sure I didn’t fall over.”
A little pissed of smirk tugs at the corner of Toji's scared lips and he turns his head to the side as he looks away from you, scoffing, “Riiiiight.”
“I’m serious!” You utter pleadingly.
“So..." Toji slowly returns his gaze to you and his voice gets stern, "You don’t see anything sexual behind a man holding your waist and saying 'I got you sweetheart'?”
“No.” You reply confidently.
“Hm. Alright, then." Your husband nods before he's moving to pull his shirt up and over his head, your eyes widening at the man as one of his hands then go to your waist and he tugs your body to his, "Lemme show you somethin’ if that’s the case...”
And then you’re on the bed with your husband moments later—bouncing up and down on his hard cock as Toji fucked up into you, your tits jumping in his face, jaw hanging open, and his hands holding right onto your waist.
“See what I mean now?” Toji huffs, “See how fuckin’ sexual this shit is?”
“T-Toji-, hahhh, fuck, t-this is so much different," You moan at the constant stretch of his fat cock rutting up into your swollen folds, one of his thumbs at your clit as rolling circles over the twitching bud.
“Yeah, ‘cause I’m doin’ what he fantasizes about," Toji tells you, smiling a bit as he watches your face twist up.
Your brows tensed and your jaw fell as his leaky cockhead drilled deep into you, “M-Mmgh, s-so… big.” You whine with your hands at his shoulders and nails scraping him as his harsh thrusts made your body jerk upward.
Toji's steel grip on your waist was the only thing keeping you from falling off of you, his fingers digging into your skin. Every time he thrusted his hips up, he'd use his grip to tug you back down—forcing your cunt to spread open over his aching cock over and over, “Aww, don’t worry sweetheart, I gotchu’."
You gasp at his words, core throbbing due to his heavy tone, “Fuck-“
“Yeahh, see how fuckin’ wet that shit made you? Knew’ you weren’t fuckin’ stupid," Toji grunts out. He was so mean to you, taking out his frustrations from earlier on your pussy by soon spitting down on the, already, filthy mess below, adding to the slickness of it all and making you twitch.
Your hips try their best to keep up with him, rutting and rocking forward to keep his cock sucked deep inside you, “S-Shut up,” You tell your husband only to earn a scoff.
“Nahh," Toji begins to move his hands and your heart jumps. He tugs your torso near his before he's wrapping his big arms around your waist, locking you into place above him with your chest sandwiched against his, "Apologize t’me."
Your brows furrow and your eyes gloss over as his hips begin to pound his swollen cock up into you, obscene squelches of your cunt following as he does so. Your words come out in a whiney stammer, “F-For what-“
“Playin’ fuckin’ dumb, that’s what," Toji cuts off, eyes staring right into yours as he watched your face sink into that pretty fucked out state.
“Shiit," You gasp at how you couldn't move an inch, couldn't pull away or slow his thrusts down for a moment, forced to take every thick inch of his cock, "O-Okay, m’sorry-,”
Toji smiles, “Again.”
“M’sorry Toji," You whine. His arms were wrapped around you so tightly that you couldn’t even look away from him. You were both embarrassed and being fucked to tears simultaneously.
“Mmmh, without the mumblin’ this time," Toji instructs, gaze dropping to your wet lips so he can watch how you struggle, "Talk proper to me, girl.”
And of course, right after he he says that to you, he decides to then flip you both over so he's on top. “I-, hahh," You pant at the way his hands move to your legs and press them down against your chest, folding you up just how he wants to. "I’m… s-sorry Toji," You cry out.
With the way he's bucking his hips down into you, suddenly calculated with his thrusts and making your eyes go wide. You were on the verge of screaming his name with how good his cock felt splitting you open.
“Close, but y’still stuttered," Toji tells you. His breathing was growing just as heavy as yours but that didn't stop him from teasing you for even a second.
“Fuck you-," You breathe out, earning a smile from him, "...I’m sorry.” You end up saying anyway because how could you disobey your husband when he's got you folded up like this, his veins throbbing against your gummy walls as you squeezed the life out of his cock.
Toji tilts his head a little, “Sorry what?”
“I-I’m sorry Toji," You correct yourself before he's leaning his weight onto you and god his cock pushes impossibly deeper. You were so full of him that air was getting hard to come by.
“Oneee more time f’me, baby," Toji whispers all of a sudden, his face close to yours and your legs practically over his shoulders. "C’mon, you can do it.”
“Hhgnnn… oh-, mmgh… I…" Your jaw falls open again and you struggle. His cockhead was hitting your insides right where you needed him, you could feel your core tensing and your legs going numb, "...I’m sorry Toji.”
Your husband smiles at you, “There ya’ gooo, atta’ girllll.” He praises, feeling the way your pussy narrows tightly around his cock just as you start cumming on him.
“Fuck.” Is the most you could get out of your mouth that wasn't an incoherent moan.
Then Toji notices you trying to move your hands to push him away a little and he softens his tone, “Hey, stop thaat, don’t give out on me," Toji coos, the sudden softness making your stomach churn before he moves a thumb to your clit again, "I gotchu’, pretty girl.”
“F-Fuck. Ohmygod-“ Your back arches up off the bed a bit and you whimper.
Toji just gawks at you, “Uhuh, now… y’won’t talk to Shiu again after this, right?” He questions, juuust to be sure you got the message after all this.
You nod in agreement, “N-No, I-, mmh, I won't t-talk t'him again…”
Fat cock rolling down into your pussy, your slick making his cock slid in so easily, “Y'sure?”
You nod, “Yes.”
Toji pouts a little just to mock the face you were making, “Yes who?”
Your eyes just barely meet his and his thumb presses against your clit, making your voice come out in a moan, “Yes Toji.”
“Mh," He hums, leaning down to kiss you tenderly, "Good girl.”
☆ Gojo Satoru
He doesn’t even let you explain yourself.
One ninety-second hug with some guy you claim you’ve known since college, his arms around your waist and yours wrapped around his neck—was just about all it took for Gojo to get the picture.
Then there was the way the guy whispered into your ear and you laughed-, no, giggled at whatever was said.
What else does Gojo need to know after that? Clearly you forgot who you’ve been dating for the past few years…
Which is why Gojo reminds you through rough backshots in the backseat of your car as soon as you return to him. He hand a heavy hand on the back of your head, pressing your face down against the carseat as his toned hips clashed into your ass.
Swollen cockhead pushing past your twitching folds for the nth time while he bullies into your pussy. The loud smack of his balls against you fills the entirety of the vehicle, Gojo’s free hand pressing down into your arch and furthering it for him so he could angle his dick into that spot that makes you utterly weak.
“Wonder what the hell was so funny,” He huffs. He’s breathless by this point, having been dirty talking your ear off and giving you no time to respond—telling you how pretty your pussy looks taking every inch of him and how cute you sound crying his name into the seat.
“M-Mmgh, hnngh… ahh, S-Satoru,” Your voice was muffled against the carseat but neither of you cared, he heard you clear enough.
“Hm? What was so funny, baby? Tell me,” Gojo requests, not slowing his thrusts down for even a moment.
Merciless, he was. Fucking you like you were a goddamn slut off the street and he was a sex-deprived man, his pelvis was so angry against you, leaving marks with how harshly it met your ass, a hand moving every now and then just to palm the fat of the slight curve.
You were too busy drooling onto the carseat, cockdrunk out of your mind and fucked out beyond belief. You don’t think Gojo’s ever fucked you this hard before—the car was rocking with his every thrust and you’re pretty sure your muffled moans could be heard from outside the vehicle.
Sure, your windows had tint on them but it still wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what was going in within the car.
“What was he sayin’ t’you? Huh? Was he tellin’ you how badly he wants to fuck you? S’that why you laughed?” Gojo scoffs, still giving you no time to respond whatsoever, “I’d laugh too, shit… No one gets to fuck you aside from me, after all.” He finishes off with a cheeky little shrug.
You hated how much he was rambling right now but your brain was too consumed in pleasure to really care, “Toruu, fuuck-, oh, mmh…”
“No one else gets to feel this pussy wrapped all pretty around their cock, right?” Gojo groans, tossing his head back and drilling himself into the hilt, almost as if he were trying to reach deeper, “Jus’ me?”
All you can do is hum messily, “Mhmmm.”
He lets out a breathy chuckle and his hand lands across your ass again, head moving to look down at the marks he’s left thus far before he cracks a smile, “Say it.”
“J-Jus’ you, ‘Toru.” Your voice was small, hardly audible but Gojo didn’t much care, he’d heard enough anyway.
So, he smiles at your struggle in speech, finding you nothing but adorable in this state, “Yeahh, that’s my girll.”
Then he’s moving his hands, feeling every inch of your body like he always does. There’s never a single part of you that goes untouched by Gojo Satoru when he fucks you. And as of right now, his large hands were taking place on your ass, spreading you apart to get a better look at your wet parted folds sucking in his cock.
“Pussy’s soooo fuckin’ pretty taking my dick like this too. I mean damn,” Gojo lets out a moan in between his sentence, unable to help himself at the sight before him, “Look at her drip all over me. She’s nasty, baby.”
Then he’s slowing his thrusts, but not stopping. Instead he gets calculated, fucking his cock in slow but pointed, top poking at your gummy spot and making your legs quake.
Drool smears across your cheek and your face was a goddamn mess but, you’d worry about all that later, “S’toru…”
“Mhm, I know, you’re about t’cum again, huh?” Gojo hums sweetly, the wet sounds of your cunt taking him in making his brows tense.
You were in complete disarray—debauched and filthy just how he liked. Shooting a glop of spit down onto his cock, he watched with a smile as he eases forward before there’s nothing more than an inch left out of you, only to thrust the last bit in and watch your fingers curl as you scrape against the seat.
“Uhuhh,” You breathe helplessly.
Gojo cocks his head to the side, “Gonna make another mess on me, pretty girl?”
“Y-Yeahh.”
“Mhm, good,” Gojo praises lightly before pulling out. He takes his cock into one of his hands and taps it against your pussy folds, listening to the light and wet smack his cock made against you and biting his lower lip, “But y’know… I wonder what had you so wet, baby.” He teases.
That was the only chance you got to catch your recently lost breath and you angle your head back a little to look at him, “Hm?”
Gojo’s eyes were down as he watched himself play with your pussy, smearing his leaky his tip in between your folds, “Was it him? Did he tell you how pretty you looked today? Hm?” Gojo wonders, “S’that why your cunt was droolin’ before I could even get your panties off?”
Your brows tense and you try wiggling your hips back a little, “N-No…”
“No? Aw, so what was it then?” Your boyfriend questions curiously. He’s now pushing an inch in and out of your cunt, watching how your pussy twitches every time he pulls out and chuckling at you, “Surely it wasn’t the way I was rubbin’ my fingers against you… Nah, you were too busy thinkin’ about that other guy, right?”
You groan, “No, ‘Toru.”
He snickers, “No? Buut, you guys looked like you had a great convo.”
“W-We did but that’s only cause… hahh… mmmh, I-,” Gojo starts inching more of his cock into you and you struggle to finish explaining. After taking a deep breath, “I spent the whole time talkin’ a-about you.”
“Aww, really?” His hips snap forward after you say that, “Fuck, you bragged about me?” Gojo moans out, face growing hot with arousal.
Nodding, you hum in response, “Mhmm.”
“Shiit, that almost makes me feel bad,” Gojo pouts a little before shifting his palm over your ass, caressing your skin tenderly.
He’s still rutting his dick in and out of you but his voice and his touch is much softer.
“W-Why?” You ask.
“Cause’…. I’m fuckin’ you like you did somethin’ wrong for no reason…” Gojo whispers, seeming to be disappointed in himself for a second.
Then, he sees the way your eyes go back as his cock hits that one spot again, “Mmgh.. S-Satoru, r-right theree…”
And with that, he’s no longer disappointed and shrugs off all his doubts, going on to fuck you like he’s mad at you, “S’okay tho’, you like me like this anyway…”
synopsis . How watching a movie with your roommate goes wrong. pairings (separate) . Toji x f!reader, Choso x f!reader, Gojo x f!reader, Nanami x f!reader.
content . afab!reader, non-curse au, unprotected sex, dry humping, degrading, praise, dirty talk, filth, pussy slapping, tw: spitting, they’re all pervs, heavy tension, pet names, pining, men losing their confidence once they feel you, submissive men, taunting, cockwarming, manhandling, rough sex, teasing, begging, etc.
word count . 9.6k || author's note: doja release the full song pls </3 banner art from “Kubitsuri Danshi to Nikushoku Joshi” (this is a slightly revised repost)
☆ Toji Fushiguro — "There's a sex scene coming up."
The first thing you do is laugh at the man. He told you that as if you hadn't seen a thousand sex scenes before.
Rolling your eyes, you barely move in your seat, "So?" You huff back to your awfully smug roommate.
Now, you and Toji get along relatively well. The attraction between the two of you is noticeably mutual so it doesn't fully surprise you that he felt the need to announce the next part of the movie to you. The two characters were already slopping each other's faces up so it was pretty obvious where things were going.
As such, that doesn't exactly prepare you for the next thing your roommate decides to say to you.
"We should recreate it," Toji suggests, completely catching you off guard.
You and him have done… things before but, never sex. Or at least, you’ve never had his cock inside you. Maybe you’ve sucked him off once or twice and maybe he’s returned the favor two or, six times but—who’s keeping track of all that? The point is, you’ve never had traditional sex with the guy.
He was more of your roommate-with-benefits at the end of the day, if you needed someone to help you get off after a long and stressful day, Toji was offering himself to you and the same vice versa.
So when he suggests recreating a sex scene with you, the last thing you expected was what the actual scene itself was…
“Well, what is it?” You ask curiously, turning your head to look up and the man who was already right beside you.
Toji tips his head to the side and keeps his eyes focused on the screen, “Watch it and see for yourself.”
Feeling slightly annoyed by how he suggested something to you only to not explain what it is he wants to do, you just turn back to the TV and do just that—watching as the movie plays out.
You think you’re turned on rather quickly once the two character on screen start fucking like goddamn rabbits—position after position, moan after moan, and noticeably rough sex occurring onscreen. There’s one position in particular that Toji nudges you at, to which your eyes widen and you tense up.
The man on screen has his partner in a headlock as they fuck them from behind. All you can do is bat your lashes as the scene with that position plays out far longer than the others, words of filth being muttered and the moans sounding awfully real.
Your mouth opens to ask your roommate something but he’s already in your ear before you get the chance to, “Yeah, I wanna try that with ya’,” Toji whispers.
A wave of heat flashes over your entire body and you’re squeezing your legs together at the thought alone. Toji behind you like that, shoving his fat angry cock inside you while his beefy arm constricts around your throat, limiting air from you and—
Yeah, you weren’t shying away from that offer, even though you had your fears.
“T-Toji, you wanna-, hah, you wanna put me in a headlock?” You sputter out in surprise, “We’ve never even had sex in a normal position… I don’t think I can take-”
“You can,” He cuts off rudely, “Jus’ gotta let me prep you. And I’ll be gentle,” He murmurs to you, even though you know that’s a lie, “…’Til you get used to me.”
You chuckle nervously, “I dunno… You-,” A sigh slips from your lips, “You wanna do this now?”
He nods, “Mhm,” Then his hand is moving to yours and he pulls your touch over to his crotch, “Got hard jus’ thinking about it.”
Instinctively, your hand moves to feel around and your fingers shape around his erection, cupping his stupidly hard cock and feeling him throb beneath your touch. You gulp before you glance down at your hand and the way it looks sliding down along his length against his sweats, outlining his shape with your touch and pulling your lower lip into your mouth at the thought.
You remember how difficult it was to fit the guy in your throat so you could only imagine him stretching your pussy open, giving you long and deep thrusts just so you could get used to him, and the way he’d force you to feel every thick inch of his.
“You’re droolin’,” Toji points out suddenly as he brings a hand to your face and swipes his calloused thumb across the corner of your lips, bringing his finger to his mouth moments later, “Figured you’d like this just as much as me but look atcha’,” He licks whatever taste from your mouth he got off of his thumb. “A mess already, tsk.” He teases.
You’re just sitting there with your eyes still on his cock straining against his sweatpants, trying to mentally prepare yourself to have that inside you. You swallow thickly, “Toji…”
“Hm?” He hums lowly with a slight cock of his head.
You bring your gaze up to him and his green eyes are already low on yours, “I wanna do it.”
Famous last words…
The smirk that stretched across his scared lips was probably one of the most sexy looks you’ve ever seen on the man. Not to mention the immediate jump of his cock in reaction to your agreement.
And in God knows how many minutes, your clothes were scattered on the floor and he had you bent over on the couch as he prepped you with his fingers. Toji knows how big his dick is– hell, he’s a little too aware of it, so he had to make sure you were extra soaked for him.
Talking to you in that rasp and deep tone of his, “I think you can take me jus’ fine,” He murmurs to you, fucking his fingertips deeper inside yo u with each passing second, “You’re already takin’ three of my fingers so, what’s the difference?”
You moan against the couch cushion your cheek is currently resting against, “Mgh, your cock i-is waaay bigger,” You admit in a horny little slur.
Of course he smiles at that, glad you can’t see his face right now because your words only stroke his ego more and more, “Is it?” As Toji asks you that, he drags his fingers out of you, moving to suck your most recent orgasm off of them before repositioning himself behind you. Then he shrugs, “I dunno, I don’t think there’s that much of a difference..”
He’s still talking but you’re refusing to believe a thing he says. You’ve had your fair share of studying his cock up close so you already knew how he’d feel inside you. Even so, you feel a glob of spit land on your cunt and it makes you flinch out of your thoughts. After that is followed by something fat and hard pressing in between your folds.
The arch in your back furthers and your lips part, “Toji?” You whisper.
A big hand comes down on your ass before he’s gripping onto you, “Mhm, that’s me you feel,” He teases, his other hand busy rubbing his cockhead up and down your sopping slit.
You think a moan leaves your lips already at the mere tease of his cock, “I don’t think-”
“You’ve been doin’ a little too much of that lately,” He huffs, lifting his tip from you before letting it smack against your pussy a few times and then smiling to himself at how wet you were, “Just let me take care of ya’, I'm not gonna hurt you unless you want me to, silly girl.”
A little mumbled curse is heard coming from your mouth but Toji’s only response to that is easing his hips forwards, squeezing his tip inside you slowly as he watches the way you turn your head to stuff your face into the cushion and your hands gripping onto the couch. Toji takes it slow at first, easing his tip in and out of you a few times until you relax a little.
Then he’s pushing an inch or two inside you and he can hear your muffled moans against the couch. Not to mention the way you move a hand back as if to push him away already.
Toji just rolls his eyes at that point, “I’m not even halfway in,” He chuckles, “Relax f’me.”
You try, you really do. It is a bit difficult but you try not to be so tense as he continues to push into you. It’s the first thrust that really had you gasping and holding onto the couch for dear life because after that, Toji repeats the action—drawing his hips all the way back before thrusting himself in fully, all the way to the hilt of your cunt. You’re practically clawing at the cushion below you and your eyes are tearing up from the sheer stretch of his cock.
You could feel him in every corner of your dripping cunt, his thick shaft leaving you gasping for air and his sharp hips clashing against your ass. You hardly register the groans he’s letting out or the curses about how tight you are.
His hands are everywhere on your ass as things start off slow, a few thrusts in and he feels your walls clamp around him before you’re cumming already. He hadn’t even gotten you into the position he wanted you in and you were already whining his name. Toji grips onto the fat of your ass, spreading you further for him as he watched his bulging angry cock ease in and out of you, your sloppy juices coating his veins and dripping all over the damn place.
The mess makes him smirk, “Fuckin’ filthy,” He hums. Then he’s leaning down and you feel your heart sink because after that, a surprisingly gentle hand is creeping around your neck before he lifts your face up. Getting a good look at you, he meets your gaze with a smirk before whispering, “You okay?”
The way he checks on you had your cunt squeezing around him again. “M-Mhm,” You mumble, mouth messy with drool and lashes coated with tears that’d yet to fall yet.
Toji tips his head to the side, still gently rocking his hips into yours and barely humping his cock in and out of you, “Ready to keep goin’?”
It takes you a second to agree to that but when you feel his tip brush against somewhere particularly sweet inside you, you nod eagerly, “Uhuh,” You murmur almost dumbly.
All he can do is smile and lean back up, “C’mere then,” Toji instructs. You follow suit and lean up with him. “Tip ya’ head back for me, here,” He’s still buried inches inside you but he’s instructing you with no problem, moving a hand to your chin to tip your head back, “Just keep lookin’ at me for a second, m'kay?”
You let out a shaky breath of air before keeping your eyes back on his, feeling and watching him lean closer to you and then slowly wrap an arm around your neck, making your breath hitch slightly.
“You sure you're ready for this, doll?” Toji asks as he soon has you take your eyes off of his so he can lock your head into place, “Might break ya’,” He teases.
Your hands move to feel his arm around your neck, caressing his skin before you smile a little, “That’s okay,” You whisper in response, your excitement getting the better of you, “You can break me a little, Toji.”
His hold on your head isn’t the tightest yet, since he doesn’t literally wanna choke you out but, it’s tight enough to where you can’t move and his next thrust has you gasping again. And then it all goes downhill from there because Toji swears you’ve only gotten tighter since he’s put you in this position and you’re so soaked that you’re drippin’ down your thighs.
He can’t help but get a little rough with you. The first few movements were merely experimental but the second you’re comfortable and start moaning for more, Toji’s pouring out a heavy groan right into your ear as he starts to really fuck you.
The couch creaks and your cunt is so loud and messy as his heavy balls smack against you with each bruising thrust of his angry cock. You could feel him throbbing and pulsing deep inside you every time you uttered his name in pleasure. The position had you weak, your legs shaking within minutes and your nails scratching at his arm.
All as he whispered filthy things in your ear, “So fuckin’ messy for me,” He huffs, earnig a whine from you, “You like this, huh? Like bein’ my messy lil’ thing?”
“T-Toji, oh fu-uck, s’too much-,” You choke, feeling his arm tighten around you just to shut you up.
“You're takin’ it juuust fine, baby,” His tone is far to sweet for the way he’s bullying your pussy right now, stretching you and fucking you so full that it was getting hard to think.
His hips were harsh against yours, smack after smack, making your moans come out in a stutter and a slur as he murmured degrading little nicknames into your ear seconds later.
“Gonna cum for me again? I’ve already gotcha’ folded up like some whore-, mgh… it's the least you could do for me, doll,” Toji grunts into your ear, his swollen cockhead pounding right into where you need him most.
Your eyes practically roll to the back of your skull and you’re spasming, “Tojii, I c-can’t-, ah, hahh-, hnngh.. p-please,” You mewl, dewy slicks from your cunt glistening all over his fat cock that it even has him panting and losing his breath.
His lips are right against your ear, breath warm and dick throbbing wildly inside you with the way he doesn’t let up on you for even one moment, “One more, pretty. Jus’ gimme one more,” He whispers.
Your breath hitches and you can feel your orgasm building right back up, you were so close and he was fucking you just right. His hold on you gets a little tighter and he pinpoints his thrusts deeper against your sloppy pussy, the filthy squelches only growing louder and louder before you’re whimpering his name.
Toji kisses the tip of your ear softly—feeling the way your cunt just sloshes around his cock and making his eyes go back. You were squeezing him so tightly that it was almost hard to cram his cock into you. Your pussy was so damn heavenly that Toji felt lightheaded for a moment, despite you being the one getting choked out right now.
Before he knows it, he’s fucking a thick creamy load of cum inside you while grunting your name out through slightly gritted teeth. The way you were moaning and whining in return drove him crazy, the sight of your jaw dangling open, drool sliding down your chin, tears rolling down your face—the entire sight and feel of you had his head spinning in pleasure.
Which is exactly why he’s emptying himself into you while you milk him for all he’s worth. He doesn’t even realize he’s released you from that headlock until the sounds of your moans are muffled again. Toji barely remembers shoving your face down and pressing a hand into your arch before ramming whatever's left of his cum deeper inside you.
Then there was the way your legs were shaking and how filthy it was to watch his cum drip out of you as he pulled out. Oh, he was definitely having sex with you again after this.
☆ Choso Kamo — He's too attentive.
You're too focused on the way your favorite actor's busy on the screen going down on the love interest of the movie to realize that Choso's got his eyes everywhere except the TV.
He notices the way you're shifting in your seat, the thumb you bring up to your lips and the nail you nibble on anxiously as the sex scene ahead continues. Choso zones out from the fake slurps and forced moans from the TV, his eyes and ears completely focused on you and you only. Even when you let out a sigh as your thighs squeeze together, he notices.
And he doesn’t mean to stare at you but he couldn’t help it. What about this particular sex scene had you so squirmish? He’s watched them with you before but it was obvious this one was different. Was it the actor? Choso can’t help but glance at the TV to remind himself of who was in the movie, wondering if the big muscular pink-haired man on the TV was your type.
You were practically drooling at this point, hanging off of every word the man said all while Choso quickly put two and two together.
Clearing his throat, you flinch as if you’d been caught doing something you had no business doing, “You alright over there?” Choso hums.
You slowly turn your head to him and your lashes flutter as you pull your thoughts away from where they’d been previously, “U-Uhuh, yeah… Why?” You respond hesitantly.
You were far too caught up in the movie to have noticed how much Choso was paying attention.
He shrugs, “You keep moving,” Choso points out before looking at the TV, “Is the scene making you uncomfortable or something?”
Your brows twist up, “What? N-No, not at all! It’s actually uh,” You had to pause for a second before you decide to tell him the truth, glancing back at your favorite actor on screen, “Well, that’s one of my favorite actors and the scene is pretty hot.”
“Oh,” Your roommate responds, nodding in acknowledgment, “You like guys like that?”
You snort, “Guys like what?”
“Tall, muscular, face tatts….” Choso lists carefully as he narrows his eyes on the actor ahead, “...Pink hair?”
You roll your eyes, “N-No, I just… Well, okay maybe that is kinda my type.” You’re slow to admit that because as soon as the words leave your lips, you’re looking at your roommate and realizing that aside from the hair color, he pretty much fits that description.
Choso turns his head to you and lifts his brows, “Yeah?” He huffs, smirking a bit, “You do know I basically just described myself, safe for the pink hair…”
“O-Okay… so?”
“So, I kinda resemble your type and your favorite actor.”
“Y’know, now that you mention in,” Your head tilts and you lean a bit closer to Choso, studying his facial features closer, “You two do look like you could be related.”
“Wait seriously?” Choso lets out a laugh, “If so that’s kinda funny since, just like him in this movie, I’ve never given anyone head.”
“You’ve never-,” You choke on whatever it is you were about to say as you realize what he just said. “Huh? You’ve never given anyone head?”
He shrugs, “No?”
And your curiosity practically spirals from there, “Have you had sex before?” You ask.
“Yeah,” Choso smirks at the immediate questions you have for him. “I’m not a virgin. But, well, my mouth is, I guess,” He explains steadily before looking to the TV again.
Your eyes remain fixated on his face, “Do you want to?”
“Want to,” His eyes trail right back over to you, “What?”
You lean in again, “Give someone head?”
“Are you offering?” Choso replies casually, licking his lips seconds afterwards.
A smile spreads across your face and you try to flip it back onto him, “Nono, are you offering.”
He stares at you for a long moment, trying to figure out the right way to go about all this. Every muscle in his body was telling him to say yes because, technically, he was offering. He’d been offering silently ever since he first said something. You looked so focused on the damn TV that it almost irritated Choso, he could do whatever that actor’s doing ten times better.
…Even if he’s never done it before.
“Yeah,” Choso breathes out, not wanting to pass up on this opportunity in the slightest.
You gulp, “You-”
Before you get to finish, Choso’s shifting against your bed—maybe movie night in your room wasn’t the best idea. He’s moving closer to you and soon placing his hands on the bed at your sides as he brings his face close to yours. Your eyes are all wide and you’ve sat up completely, heart thumping in your chest at how close he’s gotten.
“Cho,” You whisper, watching the way his gaze changes, “You actually wanna-”
“I can do it,” He utters carefully as he places one hand on your thigh and slowly parts your legs for his body to fit in between, “I saw the way you’ve been looking at the screen anyway so, I know you’re worked up.”
“I-I’m not-,” You’re cut off yet again when Choso leans in and his lips brush over yours for a split second before he shifts to kiss your cheek.
Then he trails those soft little kisses over to your ear, “I’ve always wanted to try, y’know…”
“Try what?” You breathe, feeling his breath caress the crown of your ear.
“Pleasing someone with my tongue,” Choso explains, one of his legs sliding up in between yours up until he brushes against your core and you instinctively move a hand to hold onto his arm. To which he smirks, “And you’re needy for it so, just let me try.”
“I’m not needy for anything, I-” Again, he cuts you off. This time he just pushes his leg forward a bit so that he’s fully pressing against your clothed cunt, earning a pathetic little gasp from you.
“You were saying?” Choso taunts as he tips his head down to your neck.
You scoff, “Shut up.”
“Shut me up,” He huffs back before kissing your neck.
“Fine,” Is the last thing you said to him before the two of you started acting on your whims.
He doesn’t even remember what he was thinking or how he got to this point by the time he’s got his face buried between your thighs. He can hardly think of anything else aside from the glistening slick drooling out of your exposed cunt moments after he’d tugged your panties down. Choso swears he’s never seen anything this wet in his life, his eyes hungry as they study your pussy closely before he even thinks about touching you.
All while you lay before him, your legs held open by his big hands and your eyes low on the way he looked, staring at you so lewdly. For someone who’s never even done this before, he damn sure looked as though he were about to devour you like you were his last meal.
“Shiiit,” Choso whispers as his head tilts along with the excessive dripping from your hole. He’s just watching your cunt twitch and ooze without him even touching you yet. Was his staring doing this to you? (It was).
You gulp, “Don’t just stare, Cho…”
“But she’s so pretty,” He mumbles, almost in awe at the way your cunt only gets wetter, “And responsive… haven’t even touched her yet ‘nd she’s leaking for me.”
He feels the way your thighs try to closer together out of embarrassment but the steel grip he has on you wasn’t allowing that to happen anytime soon, especially as he finally leans in and does nothing more than plant a sloppy kiss against your even sloppier pussy. The wet little mwah that emits into the air as he pulls away slightly makes both you and him gasp.
“Choso,” You practically whine, “Please don’t tease.”
He licks his lips and glances up at you, “You gotta remember, I don’t really know what m’doing,” Choso mumbles in response while he presses his lips against your cunt once more.
Then, his tongue lulls out and he keeps his eyes on yours as he gets that first raw taste of you. His brows immediately twist up and his tongue slicks upwards as his lips shift to cup your cunt. Choso has no idea what he’s doing but you spasm a bit when he slurps your taste into his mouth and lets out a groan against you.
Completely clueless, Choso just does what he thinks would feel good for you after that and for whatever reason, it fucking works. He swears he’s never given head before but the way his tongue was lapping against you said something entirely different. He swirls the slipper pink muscle upward and he’s at your clit within a few moments, flicking the tip of his tongue against it before just toying with you using his mouth.
All as his eyes remained fixated on you and the way you moan whenever he does something right. It’s so sloppy the way he fucks his tongue inside your drooling hole, digging more and more of your taste out of you so he can get it all inside his mouth. Muttering small, “Tastes s’sweet,” against you as he works his lips and tongue.
Even whenever he pulls away for a few seconds, he just spits on your cunt to watch it get messier, smiles at the filthiness of it all, and then dives right back in. Your hand is soon to get lost in his hair and his usual messy ponytails come aloof with the way you tug and pull at him.
Choso worships your cunt, kiss after kiss, lick after lick, and groan after groan. At some point his hands move away from your thighs just so he can feel your legs close around his head as he shoves his tongue in deeper and the tip of his nose rubs against your clit.
“Mmmgh,” Choso grunts against your sopping hole, his eyes flickering back for a moment as you lifted your hip against his face.
He soon tugs his face away for a second just to slap his tongue against your pussy, making you whine in pleasure and call out his name, “Cho, oh fuck… are you sure y-you’ve never-”
“Uhuh,” He’s cutting off as he latches his mouth right back onto you, slobbering all over your cunt like it was the only thing keeping him sane and moaning against you.
It’s a filthy mess in between your legs—hickies you hardly remember him leaving decorating your inner thighs, a bite mark or two spotted, sweat and saliva left just everywhere, a few splatters of his spit mixed with your juices, and most importantly, a very disheveled Choso feasting on you with not a care in the world.
You don’t even know if you cum, or how many times you do so because Choso doesn’t stop until you’re trembling underneath him. And because it was his first time, that took quite a while but he didn’t care. His jaw had started to hurt and he thinks his tongue was going numb for a second with how long he’d been in between your legs, slurping your pussy, and using nearly all of his face to please you.
You may not have known if you came but Choso did—swallowing everything you gave him down without a care in the world, letting out a whiney moan every time the slick slithered down his throat, and groaning in pleasure each time you came for him.
He wasn’t even talking as much as he thought he would be because he was too focused on your taste and getting more and more and more of it from you.
Maybe next time you let him do this he’ll be a little more talkative but, for tonight, he had a secret intention of making you squirt—no matter how many hours that may take.
☆ Gojo Satoru — "Why're you sitting so far away?"
The moment you were hit with that infamous question, you knew things were going to go left. Of course, if anyone's hitting you with something so cliche mid-movie, it's Gojo freaking Satoru.
You give your roommate nothing more than a side glance from your eyes, noticing how all his attention is on you, "I'm not that far away, am I?"
Gojo weighs his head to the side, one muscular arm relaxed atop the back stretch of the couch as he cracks that annoying little smirk at you, "You're all the way over thereee," He whines before gesturing a hand to the distance between you and him.
The couch you were on could seat a total of six people and you were roughly an arms length away from the guy so you really didn't know what he expected from you.
All you can do is laugh at his childish antics, "Satoru, you said you wanted to watch a movie with me—not cuddle and watch a movie with me."
He wets his lips before smiling at you, "Well, maybe I want a lil' more now..." To which you scoff and he scooches a bit closer to you, “Plus, the movie’s gettin’ boring.”
You roll your eyes at the guy, “No, you’re just impatient. It’ll pick up in a second, give it some time, ‘Toru.”
God, he loved it when you used that nickname with him. Neither of you remember when you first started using it but you know he likes it and he knows the nickname makes his heart race every time you say it.
“You were seconds away from falling asleep before I said something,” Gojo argues. He’s still gradually scooting closer and closer to you but you don’t even mind it at this point.
He’s always been a man who doesn’t understand the concept of personal space anyway so this doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. Before you know it, the side of Gojo’s thigh is brushing against yours and his arm is right behind you, fingertips dancing near your shoulder.
“I was not,” You protest before finally giving him your full attention. Okay, maybe you had been falling asleep on the movie but you really just wanted a regular movie night with the guy.
…Not whatever it becomes within a few minutes. Because of course the second your eyes are meeting his, his gaze is down on your lips and he’s lowering his voice as if everything was going according to his plan.
Gojo scoffs, “Yeah you were. There’s no need to lie, sweets. If you were getting sleepy, I can think of a few things we can do that’ll keep you awake…”
You swallow and it takes everything in you not to shift away from him because the masculine scent of his expensive cologne is creeping into your nose and you can feel your body heating up simply because of how close he is to you. “Like what?” You practically whisper even though you knew where your question would lead.
And y’know what, you can’t even say you’re mad at where it leads because you’ve had your eyes on Gojo ever since you moved in with him. So when he bluntly offers himself to you with a swift hum of, “We could always fuck,” You’re left speechless for a moment.
Then he’s leaning in and you’re finally looking down at his lips, your breath stuttering with each inch of space that disappears between the two of you until his lips are practically on yours and you feel his skin brushing over you as he speaks.
“You can even keep watching your lil' movie while we do it,” Gojo whispers, “Just say the word and I’ll-“
“Okay,” You huff out faster than you have time to think.
Because who on God’s green earth would deny Gojo Satoru of sex? Especially when he’s so stupidly close to you and staring down at your lips like the lack of connection is driving him to the brink of insanity.
So as soon as your agreement hits his ears, his lips are on yours, and your arms are moving to wrap around his neck to keep him close.
It’s hot, heavy, and even a bit sloppy as he tugs your lips apart for his tongue to slither in. Once Gojo gets that little taste of you, he can’t get enough. Letting out a low grunt into your mouth as his tongue swipes at the corners and crevices of your mouth, hands moving to your waist and then your thigh just to urge you to hurry up and get on top of him, and his body quickly yearning for more and more of you as the seconds pass.
Then you’re on top of him and he’s letting out a groan as you straddle him, your weight plopping down on his crotch and making his hips buck up against you instinctively. Gojo’s pale veiny hands are grabbing a hold of your waist and he’s deepening the kiss with you, feeling eager and almost starved for more.
Pulling away with a messy little cobweb of saliva hanging in between your lips, he grins, “Why didn’t we do this sooner, huh?” Before you can answer, his hands are sliding down to your hips and he’s quick to guide your body against his, making you grind against his growing erection, “‘Know how many times I thought about this?” Gojo huffs.
All you can do is let out a soft pant that fans over his wet lips, “No but, you should tell me all about it while we fuck.”
Then you’re pushing your lips onto his again and his brows are twisting up in pleasure. Things were moving a bit fast but that didn’t stop the wild twitch of Gojo’s cock as your words registered to him.
Tell you about how he’s pictured you like this while he’s buried inside you, huh? Well, whatever his cute roommate wants, she’s sure to get from him.
A few sloppy kisses and teasing grinds later and the two of you are undressing one another. The movie was almost long forgotten until Gojo told you to turn around for him, he still wanted you to enjoy the movie you suggested. As such, he soon has your hands on his knees as you held yourself up, your back facing him, and your body bare above him safe for the lacy blue panties hugging your lower half.
And lord knows Gojo couldn’t hold back his smile when he caught sight of your panites. They matched his eyes. Surely that was no coincidence? Surely you put those on with the intention of this very scenario later playing out, right?
Gojo’s behind you shirtless by this point, his sweatpants messily tugged down just enough so that he could pull his cock out from the confines of his boxers—his blushing pink tip grazing your noticeably soaked panty clad cunt as he does so. He’s got one hand on your hip and the other tightly gripping the base of his thick cock, angling himself just enough so that he can caress your clothed pussy lips with his tip.
His bottom lip gets caught between his teeth as he watches himself slip in between your folds against the wet fabric of your panties. The slick from your cunt was leaking from that pretty lace you had on, glazing and coating his tip with a sexy mix of arousal soon sliding down his cock and causing you to let out the most heavenly little sound he’s ever heard leave your lips.
The noise snaps him out of his daze and he looks up to see your head turned to the side as you look back at him with a gaze of pure need. Gojo’s fat tip slips as his eyes meet yours and you feel him brush up against your clit, making your jaw drop slightly and your hips roll instinctively.
He wasn’t even touching you raw yet and you were already a needy mess. Gojo’s slow to glance down at where his cock is leaving sloppy kisses against your cunt, smirking at the sight all over again, “So wet,” He whispers, “Fuckin’ soaked f’me…”
It sounded as if he were talking to himself, his mind in some sort of daze the longer he rubbed himself against you. The tease of it all was driving you crazy. So much so that all you could do was arch your back a bit more for the man and attempt to grind yourself against his tip.
Your movement makes him groan and you watch as he slowly retracts his hands completely just to watch you lather his cockhead up with your arousal, the small squelches from the movement making his face and ears flush with red.
“S-Shit,” Gojo breathes out. It was like all his confidence and cocky demeanor had flown out the window and, again, he wasn't even inside you yet.
You soon grow tired of the teasing and lift your hips a little, earning a whine from Gojo as your warmth is pulled away from him for less than a second. Then, his eyes were glued to your hand and the way you tug your soaked panties to the side, revealing that pretty pussy of yours to him and making his cock jump in reaction.
Gojo couldn’t even try to lift his hips up to make his cock meet you once more because he was stuck in awe as you lowered yourself once more. Watching your pussy part over his tip was one thing in itself but then how fucking soft and wet you are makes his head fall back against the couch and a groan pour from his mouth.
You watch him move an arm to hold onto the back of the couch and his other hand grips onto the cushion beside him. His abs tense as you wiggle your hips against him, his cock just barely kissing your leaky entrance.
Hell, it almost makes you flinch when he moans, “Put it in,” Gojo pants, his entire body failing to move as the need for you overwhelms him, “Please,” He lets out a whine as you inch down on him ever so slightly, “F-Fuckin’ sit on it, baby-, sit on my cock, please? Wanna be inside you s-so bad.”
His hips twitch and he nearly lifts them just so he can sink the rest of his inches deep inside you— especially when you torture him and lift yourself, causing a brush of air to graze his tip where you two had previously been connected.
“Satoru…” You utter, watching his eyes flicker up to your face. “Did you just whine for me?”
Gojo’s quick to swallow whatever weak sound was about to leave his lips again due to the sultry tone of your voice. “N-No,” He huffs, trying to play off his moment of begging for you, “Course’ not… Just,” He gulps, “Just wanna feel you, c’mon.”
Now you’re the one smirking at him, “Beg for me again,” You whisper, to which a groan gets caught in the middle of his throat.
“What?” Gojo rasps, his body going rigid at your sudden command. Yeah, sure, he just begged for you but it’s different when you tell him to.
The way you chuckle at his confusion makes his body so unbelievably hot and flushed in embarrassment, “You heard me…” You purr, easing yourself back down and riding only his tip for a few seconds, “Beg for me, ‘Toru.”
Gojo’s jaw falls and his eyes drop to his cock again— precum was dripping all down along his veins and he was twitching to feel all of you, “Please?” He breathes out as his brows twist up, “I just…” His hips lift again and he tries to force himself up inside you, “Need it, sweetheart,” Gojo grunts before tossing his head back.
At that, you find yourself satisfied and you’re finally sinking down on his cock just like he wanted you to. Your eyes remain back on his face and the way his eyes roll back as an airy groan leaves his throat.
“Fuuuck,” Gojo moans into the air, his bottom lip quivering at the way your pussy sinks down around him, your sloppy walls making the filthiest squelch the further down you go, up until you stop when he’s only half way in.
Which makes his breath hitch. All he can do is roll his head back into place and look at you, catching the gape look on your face, and the clear struggle your cunt was having. You’re so wet around him that your moisture is just oozing down what’s left of his cock that’s yet to be inside you.
“Sweetheart, please,” Gojo pants, “Need you to sit all the way down,” He hums before moving his hands to your hips.
You let off a moan, “So big, ‘Toru…”
Every fiber of his being almost snapped his hips up into you at the sound of that. You had no idea the things you did to this man—letting out a moan like that, telling him how big he is, and using that goddamn nickname…
He can only nod, “Uhuh, I know, I know,” Then, Gojo’s attempting to collect himself because everytime he speaks in that low tone of his, your cunt is gripping onto his fat cock tighter, “J-Just-, hah, just take your time, sweets.”
That’s the last thing he wanted you to do because half of his cock was feeling absurdly neglected at the moment but, he couldn’t help but want to take things slow. After all, the sex was just to keep you from falling asleep, right?
As such, Gojo tightens his grasp on your hips and helps you ease down another inch or two— a hiss leaving his lips with the way your walls squeeze down on his cock.
“So fucking tight,” He breathes, “R-Relax, sweetheart… gonna make me cum before I even get all the way in.”
You start to lift yourself again as if to escape his thick inches squeezing into you, “S’too much, I-I can’t-“
He’s cutting you off and pulling you right back down with a groan, “Shhh, yes you can-, fuck, yes you can,” Gojo coos, leaning up and helping you sink onto him once more.
A moan of his name leaves your lips at the stretch of his cock, your eyes fluttering shut. Gojo’s steady to ease you all the way down until your cunt is meeting his heavy base, and both of you moan once he’s fully inside you.
You’re both panting in sync as you sit there with his throbbing cock inside you, his hardened tip kissing your sweet spot, and your walls clamping around him with every subtle movement of his hands or your hips.
You end up leaning back against his chest and Gojo buries his face into the crook of your neck, breathing hotly against your skin. His arms wrap around you and it was like he didn’t even need you to move yet. This was perfect for him. Just relishing in the warmth of your pussy for a few minutes, feeling every twitch and every squeeze whenever he kisses you was simply perfect.
The movie that’d been playing in front of the two of you is soon remembered as you return your attention back to it and keep Gojo’s cock sitting inside you with little to no movement for a while.
He was okay with that because, hell, part of him never saw himself even getting this far with you. Although, at some point, without him even saying anything, he feels your hips roll forward and a grunt is ripped from his mouth immediately.
Given his sound, you only grow encouraged to continue and barely lift your hips to bob your cunt up and down a few inches of his cock. The movement was minimal but it was enough for both you and him. Gojo’s hands dance up and down your sides. One moment he’s holding your waist and the next he’s slumping back against the couch and holding onto your hips, watching his cock disappear in and out of you as you ride him in earnest.
“Fuck me,” He ends up moaning. That alone has you bouncing on his cock within a few minutes.
Gojo’s usually so confident and suave with his words and actions but here he was moaning so prettily into the air due to the way you were riding him in reverse. Every roll of your hips and the way your sheeny slick made his cock glisten under the dim living room lighting had him gasping at some point.
He’s pretty sure even you forget about the movie at some point because you’re just throwing your ass back on him over and over again, the constant thwack of your rear against his toned pelvis as you plopped down on him was making his moans come out in a stutter.
You’re pretty sure that if you listened closely enough, you could hear the man choking out some small whimper at some point. But he masks that by giving your cunt one experimental thrust, earning a delicious moan from you.
And of course, it doesn’t stop there. He only continues after that, matching the way your cunt sinks down on him with heavy thrusts as he holds onto your hips for dear life.
“‘T-Toru, fuck, m’close,” You soon whisper.
He hardly hears you because he’s too busy trying not to cum inside you, “You feel so fuckin’ good-, God-, fuuck… s’too good,” Gojo babbles, completely pussydrunk at this point and struggling not to finish before you.
Your pussy’s just gushing around his shaft and he swears he can hardly think at some point. Maybe it was because he hadn’t had sex in a while, or maybe it was just you in general and the way you have the nerve to look back at him again and purposefully clamp your goopy walls down around his cock but, either way, Gojo can’t even warn you before he’s shooting a thick load of cum deep inside you.
One look from you and he was losing his damn mind, throwing his head back in both pleasure and embarrassment, fingertips trembling as his hips stutter, and a shaky groan slipping out from his lips while you just keep going.
Then he faintly hears your voice, “Did you just cum?”
All he can do is give you a hard lucid lil’ nod, “Uhuh,” He breathes, still cumming inside you like he had no care in the world.
His cum is warm against your insides, making his cock a creamy mess as you slide your pussy up and almost all the way off of him just for him to catch sight of the filthy mess he’d just made.
Gojo doesn’t even care at this point because all he does is slam you right back down, the squelch louder than ever and one of his hands snaking around you. He’s quick to bring two thick fingers to your clit and lean up to your ear, “Need you to cum for me now, p-please, I'm s-so fuckin’ embarassed,” He admits right against the shell of your eat hotly.
You can feel his desperation in the way his fingers roll messy and needy little circles around your sensitive bud. Then he’s whispering plead after plead into your ear, his cock throbbing and twitching against your pussy, cum forming a ring of filth around his base, and your mind going blank with how eager he is.
You think you cum after he says something along the lines of, “Need it-, shit, need it sweetheart, need you to cum on me,” through slightly gritted teeth and his voice cracking somewhere at the end of his words…
☆ Nanami Kento — You wouldn't stop moving.
He should've known better than to let you climb into his lap like that. Each time something exciting or interesting would display over the screen ahead, your hips would roll 'n swerve about his lap and his body would tense beneath you.
From the first shift he should've moved you off of him. Hell, from the moment you asked to sit in his lap to "platonically cuddle" he very much should have told you no.
Alas, Nanami is a very simple man, and for you? He's a very simple, perverted man who couldn't pass up the opportunity to feel the weight of you on top of him.
It wasn't long before you could feel him twitching just under the soft curve of your ass, dick begging for some proper attention despite the way his mouth refused to move with the intent of acknowledging it.
And since you happened to be just as much of a pervert as he was, only a couple of his twitches went by before you were moving yourself. You were dizzy between your motions, turning around and giving him glossy fuck-me eyes for a few seconds before his mouth was on yours.
It would've been one thing to have you beside him and squirming about, but what was he supposed to do when you were sat on top of him and gyrating your hips in the most gorgeous of patterns?
Somewhere between his tongue slicking past your lips, his hands had begun to travel the expanse of your skin—leaving no tense inch untouched.
Next thing you know and you're underneath him, falling victim to the repercussions of teasing him via dragging your ass across his lap for one minute too long.
It didn't take much for you to realize Nanami likes rubbing his thick, drooling cockhead in between the syrupy slit of your cunt for what feels like forever before he slips inside you.
He lazily dragged his plump tip around your twitching clit in tantalizing lil’ circles and let out low curses in reaction to the way you drip all against him—making the filthiest mess on the couch below. His steady hands would have the meanest grip on your thighs, keeping you spread nice and wide for him the entire time.
All he’s doing is rutting his hips back and forth and back and forth, watching his fat cock slide against your pussy over and over again. It’s almost more arousing than when he’s inside you.
Nanami loves the expression you make when he does this too. The way your brows twist up right as you grow impatient, the greedy hand you shot down to try and angle him into yourself, and the honeyed whines that exit your throat in such raw desperation.
Those fawn eyes of his would soften at the gorgeous sight of you below him and his cock would throb directly against your soaked folds.
Of course he wants to he inside you, he wants to make you feel good and listen to you moan his name all sweetly but… this—the heavy draggg of his cock all over that drooling hole of yours, the feeling of you lathering him up in aroused slick, and the mix of his precum all makes him dizzy with lust. Plus, it's only fair that he gets back at you for teasing.
Somewhere deep down inside, he actually wanted to finish that movie you put on.
Eventually though, he moved one of his hands and wrapped his fingers around his girthy base, tugging his cock a few centimeters up before slapping the weight of it back down against you and causing the nasty sound to flit into the air. Then he’d do it again.
And again, and again, and again until he can feel your leg twitching beneath his palm. “You want it, huhh?” Nanami would drawl out in that stupidly deep and lust-driven tone of his. “‘Want that cock deep inside you, sweet girl?” He’d slowly angle his tip against your hole but his hips are unmoving.
All you feel is the heat of his cockhead pressing against you, the thickness of it, the fucking throb. You can’t even manage out a reply before he’s just barely pushing into you.
Nanami always stretches you so steadily when he fucks you but, after making you wait for so long you can’t help but crave for him to just thrust every inch in at once. You want that rude stretch, that mean, unforgiving spread of your cunt around every pulsing vein of his cock.
Yet, being such a man of aggravating patience, Nanami pulls back just as quickly as he pushed in. You’re left whining without thought, “Kenn—“
“Hmm?” He’d cut you off in a way that lets you know he did that on purpose.
What a tease.
Then he’s pulling back a bit more and his hand starts moving up and down the length of his dick. You think you can feel a nasty trickle of drool slithering out from the corner of your lips as you watch him selfishly jerk off in front of you.
“Kento please,” You’d breathe out all over again, as if that would get you a different result.
It doesn’t. Instead, Nanami’s hand picks up and you watch his breathing grown heavier just as his eyes flick up to your face. Then he cocks his head to the side, “Tell me how you want it, love.” He’d request all of a sudden.
You’re confused and too horny to think so all you sputter out is an airy, “What?”
Nanami lets out a heavy pant and his lashes flutter a bit. “My cock. Tell me how you want it.” He repeats ever so sternly.
Defiantly, you fight back a groan before mumbling to him, “You know how I—“
“Easyy, sweetheart.” Nanami cuts you off in that cooing voice he knows you love.
His head weighs to the left a bit and you watch the way he brings his free hand up to your face. “Look at me,” He whispers, smiling once your eyes so politely meet his own. “There she is, there’s my gorgeous girl.” The praise, uttered so huskily that you’re left dazed beneath him. “Now, talk to me nice.”
With glossed eyes and a slight pout you can’t seem to control, “Ken,” You mewl, reaching your hand down as you desperately ache to feel him.
As if to taunt you, Nanami watches your hand move with a smirk on his face—his own hand tugging at his cock faster now.
He’s all breathy for a moment as he lets your hand wrap around him and pull him closer to you. “Hm? Is that it?” Your roommate whispers, allowing himself to be guided back to your drooling cunt.
The second his fat tip slips against you again, he’s cursing under his breath and letting his hands go to the underside of your legs.
“Fuck.” Nanami breathes, “Is that how you want it?” Then he swats your hand out of the way and moves his own to your lower abdomen. “All that teasing’s got you desperate for it now, huh?”
You whine and he groans at the sound alone. God, you drove him insane. Just looking at you as you laid beneath him a complete desperate and aching mess would be enough to make him cum.
“Kento,” Your voice finally sounds a bit more steady now and you place your hand over his while sprawling your legs out all the more wider. “Just fuck me already.”
It’s rare but, Nanami flashes this cocky expression before tilting his head, “And if I don’t?”
You can feel yourself soaking his tip even more from his taunting alone. Your brows tense and you’re whining all over again, “Please-,”
He cuts you off, “Mhmm, thaaaat’s it.” Nanami praises as he finally finally starts to push his hips forward, letting his cockhead slide right into you. “Beg for it.”
The hand you have on top of his claws at his skin and your hips lift in an attempt of getting him to push deeper, “Kento, fuck..”
“Beg for that cock, c’mon sweetheart.” He teases again, tugging his hips back as he then starts to fuck only his tip in and out of you. “It’s right there, don’t you want it?” He coos—mocking you now.
“Please,” You’re gasping once he lets himself get an inch in, “Shit, Kento please keep going.”
At that, he can’t help but push all the way in. Nanami could only deny you for so long before he was stretching you nice n’ wide for him, sliding every mean inch of his in until he could feel the bulge beneath his palm.
“Fuck.” He curses sharply, appling a bit a weight to his hand just so he can hear the way you moan out his name. “Look at that,” His hips draw back just barely before he thrusts in again, “Can you really feel me in there? Am I really that deep?”
Your eyes lull on back to your skull and now you’re holding onto his wrist as he works up a mean pace. Nanami hits the spot that’s got you drooling in seconds—fucking you exactly the way he’s learned how to.
It takes you a moment to reply to that question of his since you’re too busy moaning at how his filling you up but eventually you babble a cute, “Uhuh..”
To which a fucked-out smile spreads onto his face and his hand presses down harder “Yeahh? Then cum on it,” He instructs, his thrusts beginning to match pace with the not-so-distant knocking of the headboard against the wall.
He feels the way you’re squeezing around him and sees the utterly slutty expression you’ve got on so of course he encourages your orgasm when he begins to feel it.
“Mhmm, all over me, pretty.” He huffs, letting his hand slip just to rub that gorgeous clit of yours, “Just. Like. That.” He grunts between each pounding thrust of his.
You cry out as you make the sweetest mess around his cock and Nanami can’t help but let out a moan of his own. Watching you shiver through your very hard orgasm, he just has to lean down and press his lips to your ear.
“Such a good girl for me.” He whispers with a deeper and heavier roll of his hips as if to fuck you all the way through it.
In which: Bruce Waynes daughter, Y/N Wayne is a full time party girl. Club hopper, party animal, hedonist. Whatever you want to call it. To full the void her father left, she turns to nightclubs, dingy bars and basement raves.
Chapter eleven. If I get high.
Fic masterlist!
cw: Reader is in hospital, breathing machines/masks, medical talk, inaccurate medical information (i tried but im not a doctor), mentions of addiction, mentions of underage drinking, Reader has bad mental health, reader undergoes a mental health evaluation- suicidal talk, depressive thoughts, reader is not well mentally, mentions of trauma. - I DO NOT CONDONE OR SUPPORT ANY UNDERAGE DRINKING OR SMOKING, stay safe stay in school
Jason runs his hand through his hair with a long face. He grits his teeth and sucks a mouthful of air through the cage in his mouth. “Alright, sit down. It’s a long story.”
No one dares to break the silence. Not yet. If they left it unbroken, they could pretend they hadn’t heard what you just said. Everyone could live in la la land, where nothing went wrong and no one ever had to confront anything that made them uncomfortable.
You look from the left of the room to the right and take in the strange picture. From your left, Damian perches on the edge of a blue plastic chair, Dick hovers behind him, Alfred by his side, and finally Bruce, who looks like he’s just seen a ghost.
His grip is tight, as if you might float away, and that feels stupid because you’ve never felt so heavy. Every bone in your body is an anchor tethering you to the bed. Even though it hurts a little, you don’t want him to let go. He hasn’t held you like this before, like you meant something.
You think about saying something smart like ‘well I’m already sat down’ or, ‘it’s not like i can go anywhere else’ but your throat is too sore. It’s a strange feeling, not scratchy like a cough, more like graze. It feels like a scrapped knee. Inside you.
Tim’s eyes dart from Jason, to you, to Bruce. He’s searching for something. You know his tells. The same way he knows yours. Sometimes better than you do. Does Tim know this guy too?
Dick shatters the silence.
“This is Jason-”
“She knows his name.” Damian is the second to break it. His posture is similar to a cat moments before jumping off a ledge. Poised but hesitant. “She just said it, Grayson.” He’s never defended you like this before, if that's what you could call this.
“Both of you shut up.” Jason groans. He exhales, his shoulders tightening up, and then he begins. “I’m Jason.” He says it like it’s supposed to mean something. When you don’t get the hint, he continues. “Todd.” It rings a bell but it doesn’t connect any dots yet. Trying to remember anything feels like flying a kite. You’ll get a running start, and it’ll take off, but then the wind disappears and the kite falls.
All eyes are on you. Again. This whole thing starts to feel like a monkey's paw. You used to be afraid of that story when you read it in the Manor’s library. It went something like this- A married couple are gifted a mummified monkey’s paw. They are told that each finger of the Monkey’s paw can grant a wish, but it will have disastrous consequences. The husband wishes for money. The next day, his son dies at work, but he gets bereavement pay from his son’s employer.
When you think about the story, you remember the tiny note written at the bottom of the first blank page. Property of Jason Todd. Return if found. No. That doesn’t make any sense.
“What?” That's all you can say. You don’t have time to think of a smarter question.
“Just listen to him.” Tim urges with a tone that borders on patronising.
“I used to- shit this is hard to explain. Okay. My name is Jason. When I was a kid I lived ‘round Crime alley. Bruce took me in. But I… I ran away, and didn’t come home. But I’m back now.”
Even under the influence of the medicine, you can smell that bullshit from a mile away. “But you died. Right?” You turn to Alfred in hopes he would back you up, but instead he just gives Bruce a look, a silent message, and says nothing.
“Jason died. You told me he died. And that doesn’t-” You cut yourself off with a violent cough, one that rattles through you like sharp wind in tunnel. It reverberates loudly thanks to the oxygen mask on your face, making it sound worse than it was. Everyone lurches at once. Like that would do anything. You want to swat them away, but a tiny part of you tells you that if you push them away now, they’ll never come back. You wanted this right?
You rip the mask off your face and let it dangle around your neck. The first hit of fresh air is magical. Not perfectly fresh, it tastes stale, but it’s a welcome change.
“That doesn’t explain Damian.” you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand when your coughing fit stops. You feel gross. This isn’t the first time you’ve woken up and felt disgusting. Some days you wake up with smeared makeup and new bruises. Sometimes it's in someone else’s bed. But there’s always a cloud of shame. Over time it’s become something akin to a friend in the sense that it’s familiar, and you know it will always be there.
“Why did you tell me he died?” This time your eyes are on Bruce. Something shifts behind his eyes. Not pity or disappointment. Something else you can’t point. “At the time, we thought he did.” He moves his hand from your shoulder and adjusts the neck of the hospital gown. When you took it off, the cord of the oxygen mask had caught on the edge of the neckline.
He noticed. His movements are slow and tactile, painfully comforting. You could’ve had this before. There could’ve been a world where he held you with that same gentleness, but you weren’t in that world.
“We didn’t know how to explain it to you.” He concludes. “I thought that, given your past, you’d find it overwhelming.” You want to cry. Or scream. Or hit someone, maybe even yourself. Why does everyone treat you like you’re stupid?
“How does Damian know him then? Didn’t you think he’d find it ‘overwhelming’?”
Damian’s posture straightens like he was anticipating a move. “I asked.” He says simply.
“Oh so it’s my fault for not knowing? Sorry, let me understand this- I was supposed to go up to Bruce and ask ‘hey is Jason still dead or did he crawl out of the grave and come home?’ Is that what you’re telling me?” The room goes uncomfortably quiet.
Oh no. No no no. It’s going to happen. They’re going to leave you. You pissed them off. That’s why they’ve shut up. The Monkey’s paw. Behind you, the heart monitor starts to escalate. Your chest feels breathless. But you can’t move.
Alfred clears his throat. He breaks from the crowd around you and ushers Bruce out of his spot without a word. Bruce complies. When Alfred sits, he picks the mask you tore off and holds it to you. Not an order. But you both know it’s not a question. Your fingers shake when you try and put it back on so he has to help.
“I think it would be best if everyone gave you some space. For a minute”
The men, and Damian, take the hint. One by one, they slowly filter out. Dick offers a small smile before he goes. Damian straightens out your blanket but doesn’t look at you. Tim delivers an awkward side hug, careful not to touch the equipment around you. Jason does a slight nod, the kind you give a stranger when you hold the door open for them. Bruce is the last to go. He squeezes your hand and stands up. Hesitates. Then his hand holds the side of your face and he plants the smallest kiss on the top of your head.
You freeze. This has never happened before. Not with him. Ever. Burning tears start to bloom in the corners of your eyes. He leaves before they grow.
Alfred starts to stand but your hand darts out and holds onto his sleeve. “Don’t go.” He sits back down and gives Bruce a nod. Then the door closes.
“Good save.” Dick’s sarcasm is laced with anxiety. No one could’ve planned what just happened. Unfortunately for you, you live with detectives who live double lives 24/7. They created that story on the spot. This wasn’t the first time they’d run with a fake story. Undercover work wasn’t anything new, but this was different. “Ran away? Really Jason?”
“What else was I supposed to say?” Jason chides. He tries not to let his face show it, but he’s scrambling. He’d only ever seen you under the influence, so he hadn’t expected you to be so sharp when sober. This was the first time he’s seen you string together coherent sentences without slurring or stammering.
A lot of things were clicking into place. You had told him about your brothers, now he could put a face, or faces, to the names. The Oolder brother who doesn’t really like you’ was Dick. He pins Tim as the ‘Only nice one’, and all signs for ‘The one who is embarrassed of you’ point to Damian. You never named them, he reasoned you didn’t want to give all your personal life to the big bad Red Hood. Maybe if he pressed you would’ve spilled, but then what good would that have done?
“You think she’d be completely fine with the pit? That wouldn’t raise any questions at all.” He mirrors Dick’s sarcasm but the nervous edge Dick flavoured it with is gone, instead Jason peppers his bite with venom.
Bruce clears his throat and all eyes go to him. Jason feels his shoulders rising, squaring up against a potential threat from Bruce. Like a junkyard dog moments before being thrown into a fighting ring. Bite or get bit. Though they were mostly cordial now, not like how it used to be, there was always a part of him that told him he had to always be ready for anything. To get ready to kick and bite. Sometimes that part felt so big that he wondered if it was a part of him, or if this was him.
“We’re going with Jason’s story.” He decides. And then it’s law. “Jason left, and now he’s back.” It isn’t a perfect story, but he thinks it will pacify you for now.
He did love you, he does love you even, but in a broken way. When hasn’t Bruce loved someone in a broken way? Instead of holding you and telling you every day that you were enough, he left you to your own devices. He wants to lie and say it was out of nobility, that he believed it was the most ethical choice, but it wasn’t. Every time he smelt the alcohol on your breath, or saw the bruises on your legs and arms, when he caught your eye and saw how spaced out your pupils were, it reminded him of everything he was.
Self destruction. Trying to escape yourself. Filling an endless void with material goods, with drinks and drugs, just for the hole to deepen. Being surrounded by people but feeling like you're alone in a lifeboat in a cold and uncaring sea. The eyes that dissect your every move. Chasing pleasure from people you won’t remember thinking that’ll change something, and when it doesn’t, you just find someone else and try again.
You were both in that lifeboat. In the vast unfeeling ocean, and you were clinging to him, begging him to pull you up. There’s a boat in the distance, a ship, salvation. He flags it over. When the boat comes, he climbs the rope ladder. You reach to be pulled up. If he takes your hand, you could lose your balance and fall in. So he leaves you. From the deck, he looks down on your lifeboat. You’re alone. If he lowers the rope back down, it means he’ll have to get back into the boat. He leaves the ladder dangling from the side, an open invitation to a party, but there is no one to escort you there.
Every time he took someone under his wing, they broke. But, at least they could break together. He left you to fall apart all by yourself. If you were going to drown in that sea, he should’ve held your hand and sunken with you.
But you were sinking. Every night you were drowning yourself in a bottle. You had called for help, leaving your proverbial SOS in the sky. Leaving empty bottles in plain sight. Cigarette butts on your windowsill. Eating breakfast in front of him with dark eyebags.
You were shot in front of him.
Even though you cried and begged not to die, he knew that look. Relief. Maybe your conscious brain couldn’t register it, but he’s certain that subconsciously you knew you’d die if you ran down that alley.
He’ll drop the ship’s anchor. He’ll climb down the rope ladder and pull you up, out of that darkness. He’ll pull you onto the ship’s deck and hoist the ladder back up, so you’ll never go down again. The storm will calm, and the waters will still.
Bruce exhales, freeing himself from the image. Today, it will change.
Alfred keeps fretting with the cord of the mask, adjusting it over and over again so it fits snugly without digging into your skin. You want to enjoy the attention, but you can’t focus on anything. Since you woke up, there’s been this… itch. If you can call it that. Like fingernails scratching at your chest from the inside. Everytime you think about the alley, it comes back. When you think about anything but the present, the scratching starts. You’ve felt anxiety before, you’ve had a handful of acid induced panic attacks before, but this feels so much worse. Like the breath in your lungs is slowly being siphoned off by invisible claws.
Neither of you speak, just enjoying the silence. Well, you aren’t enjoying it, but it’s easier than talking. Everything takes effort, breathing, blinking, thinking. You wonder if you’ve actually woken up, or if you’re still dreaming.
“You know you’re lucky, don’t you?” Alfred cracks the silence. There’s a tone in his voice. It makes you want to cry immediately. Normally you’re better at hiding that. But when doing literally anything takes effort, it’s easier for the dam to burst. The tears roll down and trickle around the mask, not breaking the seal. Alfred looks taken aback, instead of continuing his lecture, he just thumbs away the tears.
The anger you felt at your family, for hiding such a big lie, is still hot, but not like fire, like boiling water. It bubbles and rages inside you, but it isn’t quick hot anger, it's a slow, wet kind. The kind that makes you upset for feeling angry. Like a child regretting their temper tantrum after they’ve been put in timeout.
You lift your head when the door opens again, thinking it’ll be the gaggle of men and boys, but instead a single doctor comes in. His clipboard is snug against his chest and he walks like he’s being watched. That’s when you see a shorter doctor behind him, she carries herself with grace and controlled confidence.
They greet you but it feels stiff. Something’s wrong. The scratching gets worse. “Good morning Miss Wayne.” the taller one greets, his voice a little shaky. He looks like he’s five minutes from imploding under stress. “How’re you feeling?”
It takes you a moment to find the words. “Fine. My throat hurts.” You’ve never liked going to the doctors. “My stomach hurts too. But I mean I was shot, so.” Trying to find the humour in the situation backfires because Alfred tuts. That signature, ‘you’re better than this’ tut.
“Considering..?” Alfred pries.
The doctor seems to find it funny at least. The taller one gives a small smile and checks the clipboard again before looking back up to meet your eyes. “Well your charts look… surprisingly good. Considering everything else.”
“Her, uh, condition on intake. Although we can’t trust these charts 100%, there could still be some floating in her system. But all things considered, you’re looking well. But uh, we’ve- uh”’
“I’ll say it.” The short one pipes up, clearly irritated by his stuttering. She takes the board from it and clasps her hands together in front of her. “Miss Wayne, we want to keep you under observation for another seventy-two hours after you’ve healed from your surgery."
“What? You said I was fine-” Alfred takes your hand in his, a silent grounder. The scratching ramps up. “I’m not sick, I didn’t break anything. You already did surgery on me, right? Look, I just want to go home.”
“This isn’t about the surgery.” Her voice is clipped but there’s a softer ring to it. She’s exercising restraint. “We’re concerned about your substance intake. If you drink, or take recreational substances while on the medication we’ve prescribed for you, I’m not going to beat around the bush, it could turn lethal. Do you understand that? If you continue to abuse your body, you’ll die. We want to keep you under observation to make sure you put yourself in danger.”
Humiliation burns through your core. This is rock bottom. You feel like you’re back in school, getting told off for not doing your homework in front of the whole class. You wish you didn’t ask Alfred to stay. Having him hear this makes everything feel so much worse.
You really are the worst daughter ever. No wonder they don’t want you. God if Mother could see you now she wouldn’t recognise you. She’d leave you too. If she wasn’t dead, she’d have left you.
“How long do I have to stay?” Your voice is shaky and embarrassing.
“Depends on how quick your stitches take to heal up. After that, we’ll keep you on some antibiotics, and once you’ve finished the course, you’ll be okay to go home.” The taller one pipes up.
When you don’t reply, but instead just nod, they take their leave. “Someone will come by later and ask you some questions. Don’t think too deeply, just answer them honestly.” The shorter one finishes. “I hope you’ll feel better soon.” And you believe she means it.
The group is divided. Jason and Damian come in just after the Doctors leave. Jason still looks uncomfortable. You wish you could’ve met under different circumstances. It would be nice to be alone. Or make a better first impression. He stands in the back of the room, not making any first moves, so you end up being the first to try and break the ice.
“I’m not normally like this.” You broach weakly. “I mean, I don’t dress like this normally.” Sheepishly gesturing to the hospital gown and mask. “I’m Y/N.”
Jason bites back a quick ‘I know’ and instead just dips his head. “Yeah, well, weird circumstances.” he summarises. You notice the scuff marks on his jacket. His clothes don’t look new and pristine like everyone else’s. They’re clearly lived in. The leather is old and worn, with discoloured patches on the elbows. He must work with his hands.
“I like your jacket.” You try. A tiny, almost invisible, smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Nah, this thing? It’s ancient. Bet it’s older than Damian.”
Damian’s always envied how easily you connect with people. Something so simple as a trivial compliment, and you’ve already started hacking away at Jason’s icy walls. You had a charm that he lacked, and that drove him mad. How are you able to be so likable, even now when you’re practically strapped down to a bed, unwashed and dressed in thin, flatout ugly attire?
“How come you two know each other? I know I asked but you didn’t really answer.” You try again.
“His Mom knew mine. I left home to find her but, well it’s done now.” He puts his hands in his pockets.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, you didn’t do anything.” He scoffs.
“Where are the others?” Alfred asks, finally standing up and stretching his legs. You wonder how long he waited for you to wake up. How many hours had he been by your side?
“Outside getting air.” Damian clips. He’s sat back on the same chair he was before he left, right by the bed.
“Tim’s vaping, isn’t he?” You muse, a tiny laugh fighting it’s way out. God you’d kill for a vape right now. You normally hate it, and tease Tim for 'not committing to real tobacco', but you’d do anything for a hit. Something to damp down the scratching anxiety.
“Yeah.” Jason makes a noise, something like a laugh but more subtle, like he’s surprised you can still joke in this situation.
“I’m going to join Master Bruce. Some fresh air will do me good.” Alfred lets go of your hand and you miss the warmth when it slips away. You feel so cold. “I’ll be back soon.” he promises, then closes the door behind him.
Great. Now you’re stuck with Jason and Damian. You had turned Jason, or rather the vague concept of Jason, into an imaginary friend for years and vented to the fictitious friend about anything and everything. Now he was real, and old, and breathing. Old was a stretch, older is the right word. Part of you felt guilty for warping him into something he wasn’t. He wasn’t yours, it was wrong to impose an identity onto him when he wasn’t there. But it was nice to have a friend that couldn’t leave, or hurt you.
When the door closes, the shift in the air causes the book peeking out of Tim’s backpack to fall out and hit the ground. You didn’t realise he left it there. Then you recognise the cover, it was the same book you were struggling to get through the other day. The one you were trying to read to pass the time before you went to Roy’s.
Jason bent down to put it back, but when he saw the cover he paused. He turned it over in his hands, checking the back, then looked up at you. “This yours?”
“Yeah.” you admitted with a twinge of embarrassment. It was below your reading level. You found it in the library one day and held on to it. It was a little older than what you were used to, to the prose and language was harder to understand.
“No way. I used to love this one.” He handed it to you with care, like the pages would fly out. During your walks with Red Hood, you never mentioned reading.
“Really?” He swore he could see something in your posture shift, like you were getting less afraid of him by the minute. “I haven’t gotten super into it yet. Is it good?”
He starts a small rant about it. Jason doesn’t get to talk about his interests much. There’s a light in his voice, strong but not overpowering and loud, just passionate in a confident way. He knows what he’s talking about, he doesn’t overexplain anything.
To be honest, you aren’t really listening. A lot of it goes over your head. He talks about the themes and the character dynamics, how the time period influences their choices and actions, but a lot of it gets drowned out. You’re just grateful to have something else to focus on. Something other than the beeping of the monitors, the cords rubbing against you, the way the gown feels against your skin.
Damian doesn’t interject, but you can tell he wants to say something. You won’t force him to. If he feels like it, he’ll talk. It’s still painful to be around him. Everytime you see him in your peripheral vision, you see yourself pushing him. You feel like a monster. A beast.
Before he can finish, the door knocks. It’s a different doctor this time, one you haven’t seen before. She isn’t dressed like the other ones. She’s not in a lab coat, but instead just wearing a simple button up and a cardigan. She looks more like a teacher than a doctor.
“Sorry to interrupt, I’m Dr Wyatt, I’m here to ask you some questions.” Her voice is soft and direct. Jason and Damian exchange a look and reluctantly leave the room.
“You guys are coming back right?” Your hand grips the edge of the thin blanket tightly.
Damian nods. Then they leave. And it’s just you and the Doctor alone. You haven’t had a single minute to yourself yet and it’s starting to drive you crazy.
You sit up in the bed when Dr Wyatt sits down in the chair Damian was in. You’re assuming the questions will just be ‘how are your stitches’ or asking if you want anything to eat, but instead she pulls out a thick stack of papers from her bag. They’re stapled together and frighteningly official looking. You decide to take the oxygen mask off if you're going to be talking for a while.
“Now Y/N, I’m going to ask you some questions, and there is no right or wrong answer, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Okay, good. Now, when I ask you a question, you can answer it with ‘Never’, ‘Sometimes’, ‘Most of the time’, or ‘Everyday’. You understand? And again, there are no right or wrong answers. Or judgement. This is only for me and the Doctors to see.”
“Okay.” your voice quivers a little.
“Alright, I’m going to start now. Over the last two weeks, how often would you say you’ve been feeling anxious, or on edge?”
Oh. It’s those questions. When Mother died, you remember a lady at the social services building asking you similar stuff. You don’t think it went anywhere though. Maybe it’s the near death experience talking, but you don’t feel shame when you say “Sometimes.” Normally, you placate yourself, you water down your feelings, you make them smaller to avoid bothering anyone. But now you don’t want to be small. You want to be seen.
“Okay, and do you have any trouble relaxing?”
The question makes you snort. That catches her attention. You can already see her scribbling something down. “Something funny?” her tone isn’t accusatory.
“No,no, it’s just- I’m really good at relaxing. I don’t do anything. I’m not in school. I don’t have a job. Or hobbies, or friends, or anything a normal person does. So I don’t do anything. I lie in bed. Or on the floor. I sleep through the day. I doomscroll. I drink.”
You’ve never said that part outloud.
“Or I smoke. To pass the time. Then I go out, and I party. It relaxes me I guess. Then I go home and sleep for ages. That’s pretty relaxing.”
She writes something down quickly and looks back up at you. “And do you find yourself becoming easily irritable or annoyed?”
“Back off!” You fight back your growing frustration. It burns in your throat with a flaming chokehold. Your lip quivers under the heat. It’s wet and raw, warm like blood. “I’ve had a shit day and I don’t want to spend another minute here.”
“Sometimes. Yes.” It’s clipped and avoidant.
“Have you felt little interest or pleasure in things you normally enjoy?”
You have to think for a moment on how to word your answer. “Sometimes. I used to really enjoy partying. But, I uh, I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like I have to do it. Like, if I want to drink, I have to go to a party. I don’t just want to drink at home. If I’m outside, and I’m with people, then it feels less… weird.”
“And can I ask who these people are? In your own words you ‘don’t have friends.’ So who are you partying with?”
“I don’t know. Just people. I meet them randomly. I don’t know them. I just talk to them and then we drink.”
“Do you feel down or hopeless?”
“.. Yes. Most of the time”
“Do you feel that you’ve let someone down? That you’ve failed.”
You think about your college friends' graduation pictures. Of the life you could’ve lived. You think about school. How your grades were only ever fine. Average, bordering on underachieving. “Yes. All the time.”
“Do you have trouble connecting with something, like reading a newspaper or watching TV?
“When I try to read I can’t think about the words. It’s like autopilot. Most of the time. I watch TV but I'm not really taking it in, it just passes over me”
Doctor Wyatt pauses before asking the next question. “Do you have thoughts about dying? That you’d be better off dead, or hurt?” Her eyes are soft as the press.
“Yes.” it shocks you to admit it. “When… When I got shot, I think I didn’t want to wake up. I didn’t want to die, but I didn’t want to wake up. Does that make sense? It’s stupid. And pathetic. But I just, I don’t know anymore. I think I’m tired of trying, but then I haven’t done anything. I’ve never really tried to be anything. So what's there to be tired of? It’s disgusting.”
“You aren’t disgusting Y/N.”
You needed that more than you knew. You break into tears immediately. Again. Wyatt hands out a tissue for you and you wipe away the rolling tear drops. One strays against your lip and you taste the salty sweet residue.
“Do you have repeating memories of a traumatic event? Recent or Old.”
“Sometimes I see my Mother. And I see her yelling at me. And I see her body at the morgue. I was the only one that could identify her. She didn’t have friends. Or family. She died- killed- when I was thirteen. I used to get nightmares. But, when I drink, or get high, or whatever to distract myself, she’s not there anymore. And then I get sad that she isn’t there. So I go home.”
“Where’s home?”
“I live with my Father, but my Mother’s home was on Birch street. So I just wait outside the apartment building for her to come out. But she doesn’t.”
“Do you find yourself bothered by strong negative beliefs?”
“What does that mean?”
“Thoughts like, ‘something’s wrong with me’, or ‘the world is out to get me’.”
“Yeah, sometimes. I mean, I know there’s something wrong with me, I know I’m bad, but I think the world is just the world. I think life just sucks for everyone, I think some people are just better at managing it.”
“How many times a week do you consume alcohol?”
“Pretty much every day.”
“When you start drinking do you find yourself unable to stop?”
“Yeah. I just, I don’t want to be sober. I want to stay drunk. Everything feels easier. I feel normal.”
You don’t have an answer. Dr Wyatt continues. “Has a Doctor or a relative expressed concerns, or asked you to cut down?”
“How can you tell when you’re drunk if you’re never sober?”
“Sort of. I mean, my brother does sometimes. But he doesn’t stop me.”
She writes on her notepad and you watch her face twitch. Her eyebrows knit together and droop at the end. When she stops, she gathers the papers together and looks back up at you as she stands up. “Thank you for your time Y/N.”
“It was nice to meet you.” You try a smile but you doubt she bought it. You’ve never been that open with anyone. Not even imaginary Jason. There was something freeing about deciding not to care anymore. “Do you think I can take these things off? I need the bathroom?”
At Dr Wyatt’s request, someone comes in to take off the mask and the monitor attachments, freeing you from the bed. Your feet feel like mud when you put weight on them. For a second you nearly stumble, but you catch yourself. There’s a tall window in the room, so you prop it open to get some air in. Then you head to the bathroom.
One day, those feelings will end, right? They have to, because there must be more to life than this. Chasing something that’ll never come. When you look in the mirror, you see her. The thirteen year old you whose life stopped because one man couldn’t take no for an answer. She’s afraid of you. Of course she is. You look awful. Her eyes are still bright. When did that light go out?
You want to hold her close and never let go. To melt into her and try again. Go back and make better choices. Beg Mother to stay. You’d never fight with her again, you’d be her good girl. You’d let her shout and belittle you without protest if it meant she’d stay. Try school again, make friends that wouldn’t leave you. Become a better person. Be kinder. Less selfish. Choose a normal, uninspiring life. Work a job you feel ambivalent toward. Take home a paycheck that keeps the lights and fridge on. Live in an apartment that feels like it’s actually yours, not just a guest room in a hotel.
In the blink of an eye, she’s gone, and it’s just you and staring at yourself. The last person you want to see right now.
WE’RE HERE TEAM WE DID IT.
GOD LIFE GOT WEIRD AFTER CHP 10. Okay so- I got my apartment keys, only for my landlord to give me the wrong ones, so I had to sort that out. And then when I started to finish packing, i got a tooth abscess which WAS THE MOST PAINFUL THING EVER OMFGG. I literally couldn’t do anything but lie in bed, even sitting up hurt. I was on strong painkillers so I couldn’t focus on anything- ended up just watching Malcolm in the Middle while trying not to move too much.
I finished my assignments and the universe immediately struck me down. We ball. The sun is shining and I’m moving soon. Life will be good.
synopsis. Your husband is a complicated man. He is a dragon at his core, fierce and lethal, and insistent that dragons are not tamed easily. But when you argue that dragons were meant to be ridden, how could he refute you?
beware. smut - minors dni | pnv sex | unprotected sex | riding | bottom aerion | slight allusions to abuse | switch!reader and aerion | allusions to murder | dark content | mentions of blood | brief lyonel mention
✉️ from aria. aerion targaryen, your bratty pout and cruel entitlement has charmed me… i feel like this is so ass but i had to write for him.. i mean look at him.
“You misspeak, wife.” Is all your husband dignified you with, dismissing your suggestion—no, declaration that you were going to claim him like he’d claimed you many a time—with an amusement that can only stem from overbearing arrogance. His lips twitched, as if to smile, like he thought it the most silly thing you could ask of him. “A dragon does not submit for anyone.”
He is condescending in the way his eyes momentarily flit to you, as if to say ‘you know better than that’, like you are simple.
You fight the urge to roll your eyes. He is calm now, but you know your husband can be temperamental. Should you misstep, allow him to feel disrespected at all, this could escalate from a conversation, albeit one-sided, to something much more violent fast.
“I am not suggesting you submit, Aerion. I am not such a fool.” You rise from where you sit opposite him before the hearth, the wood of the chair creaking beneath the release of your weight. His violet eyes trace you as you step carefully, walking behind him and settling your hands on his shoulders. He smirks, as if you’re predictable—like he doesn’t care what you’ll say next, because either way, his answer is final.
But you know better.
You’ve seen the glint in his eyes when you snap at a servant after a particularly long day, when you roll your eyes when Daeron stumbles into dinner with all the grace of a drunkard, when you even go as far to tell him off.
You know your husband. You know he needs to release all the anger that is endlessly swimming behind his eyes, find reprieve from the constant pressures of court. The human expectations of a dragon.
“You are a dragon,” You hum, hands smoothing the wrinkles of his deep velvet tunic. You know just what to say to gain his silent approval. “you’re a Targaryen, a prince of the realm. You are no mere man, and a beast is not to tame.”
“Make your point.” He snaps lightly, hand reaching for his goblet. He is not angry yet, but his patience wanes quick.
You smile, fingers moving to massage him gently. He tenses, as if to overcompensate for how it disarms him.
“A dragon does not submit.” You affirm. You lean down slowly, thumb brushing the back of his neck. You place your lips close to his ear. “But a dragon is made to be ridden, my prince. ‘Tis what they are gloried for.”
His head tilts subconsciously towards where your breath fans his skin, his sharp jawline brushing your chin. You lean back a slight, your eyes meeting his own. He looks at you almost incredulously, but there’s an underlying curiosity behind his irises.
“The rider is the one who gathers the glory.” He argued. His voice is quieter now. “It is no small feat to ride a dragon.”
Your lips tilt higher. “A rider is nothing without her dragon. The glory is his.”
At that, his eyes flick back the hearth—watching the flames as they dance.
He hums in his chest, hesitant now to deny you. He’s considering it. Anything but a doubtless decline is a yes from your husband.
Victory greets you.
The sight before you is shameless.
You lips curve up into a satisfied smile, feeling accomplished in your pursuit. Your eyes don’t stray from Aerion’s face.
The expression he wears looks almost pained. His brows are pinched together, his violet eyes narrowed in concentration, bottom lip pulled so tight between his teeth that blood has spilled between the gaps. He looks furious — likely because he is. With you, with your hips that are relentless in how they grind down against his, pushing him deeper into your cunt with each movement. With himself, for allowing this to go as far as it has. For enjoying it.
He is trying to hide it, but you’ve adapted to have a keen eye for his body language. That way, you can always decipher his mood. And right now, it’s beyond doubt — Aerion is liking, no, loving this.
The chair creaks beneath the two of you as you push your hips down harder, and a grunt punches out of his chest, pale lashes fluttering. He tries to swallow the moan that follows. It rumbles in his throat.
He’s looking up at you like you’ve grown a second head. Disbelief and anger swirls behind his pupils, and his fingers tighten where they hold the flesh of your hips, nails digging in so deep that blood droplets emerge in their wake. You gasp at the feeling. He shudders.
You are his undoing. The only woman in the Seven Kingdoms who has ever, and will ever, have the privilege of seeing him like this. Vulnerable, weak, human. He briefly wonders whether you’re a sorceress sent to destroy him, manipulate his will until he is no more than a man.
Your cunt flutters around him, and he chokes, his thoughts interrupted. You breathe a laugh, finding his surrender thoroughly entertaining. Frustration flares inside him, wanting to regain control of the situation, of you, but he finds he can’t move so long as you keep dragging your cunt off of his cock, then dropping again. And again. And again. The white tuffs at his base are matted against his skin with the mix of yours and his arousals, and he feels utterly humiliated. Betrayed, even. You’ve gone against his wishes, vanquishing his dignity. He could have your head.
Instead, all he wants is more of your pussy.
“Do you like that?” You whisper, voice shaky and breaths coming harsh with the labour of riding him. Still, your lips are curled in an everlasting toothy grin, self-satisfied and almost mocking.
He doesn’t reply. His fingers momentarily tighten against you. His eyes clamp shut, as if to will away the sound of your voice—the twitching of his cock.
You won’t have that. Your hand that was settled at the base of his neck move to glide through his pale hair, fingers gently moving through the snags with reverence—enough to make him sigh with relief. Then, your fingertips tighten and meet in a fist, and you tug his head back, relishing the wince that crosses his features, and the flash of fury in his eyes as he glares up at you. Murderous. Needy. His throat catches on a sound closer to a whimper than a moan.
“Careful, wife.” He spits the word at you, brows furrowing and breath coming in ragged gasps. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. “You are.. riding a dragon, not some…” His words are lost to a strangled, unwilled noise when you tug again. He snarls at you. A true beast.
“Am I?” You fire back. Your voice is strained as you slow the pace, hips moving more sensually against his, silkily and smooth. He growls in his chest. He’s not used to the wisp of gentleness, much preferring the blazing hard thrusts you were gracing him with earlier. You frown at him, feigning disappointment. “Good dragons obey their riders.”
His frown grows ever deeper. His breath catches. His lip curls into an angry grimace. “Is this not obeisance?” He snaps with self-disgust. His body tenses, offence flaring in his gut. “You are lucky to be-”
“I would be lucky to have a dragon worth claiming,” you snarl, tugging his head further back until the back of your hand digs into the cool wood of the chair. “It seems you’re not so much the dragon you style yourself to be, husband.”
The glint in his eyes grows murderous. His arms strain as if he considers throwing you off of him. Perhaps into the fire. Watching you burn, dead and still wet from his cock, ought to make the point.
He is a vessel for the ancient magic of his house. Fire and blood. It all courses through him as one.
His hand snaps from your hip to your arm, the one holding him by the hair, nails digging into your flesh as if to rip the bone itself from its place. He says nothing. The hardness of his breath as it heaves from his lungs are enough to convey his fury.
You stare back at him, ceasing your movements altogether. Despite the coolness of your glare, fear flares in your stomach, inevitably taking root. You’d taken it too far. Insipid, it was—allowing yourself to be roped into the moment, thinking him not as likely to be provoked in such an intimate setting. You swallow, anticipation consuming you, waiting for him to thrash you, throw you to the floor, perhaps even push you onto his dagger if he’s feeling angry enough.
The air between the two of you is electric, not just with the lingering need of desire, but now the unpredictable nature of his wrath. His eyes don’t stray from yours as his grip grows impossibly tighter around your arm. You try not to gasp.
You fail.
At the small sound that emits from your agape lips, triumph fills his gaze. His hips snap up against yours with such force that you’d nearly gone flying from the chair, if not for his free arm wrapping around the back of your waist. He rags you against him, your chest flush as against his, and he slams his lips against yours.
You kiss him with a fervour that rivals his, need erupting once again as his hips meet yours roughly, his cock hitting all the spots inside of you that make you see stars. The arm that’s wrapped around you shifts to your ass, and begins to manually move you back and forth against him.
It’s his silent way of approving—allowing you to claim him.
Your hips move again, with doubled vigour, and his lips break from yours to let out a groan. His lips remain open now, careless in the way that noises tumble from them.
His eyes stay on yours as you grind against him with all the elegance of a needy maiden, cunt growing impossibly more slick around him as you feel your peak become more imminent.
Aerion watches you with sick fascination. The hand that was gripping your arm moves to grab at your own hair, the way you’ve held his, and he sinks his own fingers in deep to mirror yours. The moan he lets out when you pull at his hair is guttural.
The sounds of his cock sinking in and out, and in and out, and in and out again are incredibly lewd—wet and loud, enough to make a whore blush. It twitches inside of you, and Aerion lets out a groan loud enough to rival the volume of the Laughing Storm himself.
The arm on your back slides around to your front, experienced fingers deftly finding your clit amongst the frenzy of your joined movements. He rubs your bundle of nerves in tight circles. The moan you let out is surely heard all the way to The Wall.
He grunts in response, brows pinching together as he twitches inside you again. And again. He’s close—and if not for how close you were, you’d relish in the fact that he’s reached the edge quicker than usual. Likely due to his buried need for a position such as this.
He snaps your name, and your eyes flick open to meet his. They’re glossy, slightly unfocused and pupils blown so wide his eyes appear almost black. His fingers tug at your hair again, before pulling you into him.
“Come.” He whispers against your ear, words harsh and breaths fanning your skin with such force it almost scalds your skin. “Now.”
You gasp, chest heaving for air as your cunt clamps down on him. Your forehead falls against his, eyes clenching shut as you surrender to the feeling of his tip meeting that spot inside of you over and over and over.
He moves, nose brushing your temple. His tongue darts out, licking your cheekbone, nipping your ear. “Come.” He repeats, voice becoming high-pitched and desperate.
And who are you, if not a dutiful wife?
Your orgasm hits you like a bull—vision practically abandoning you as you melt against him, hips growing uncoordinated and forced as your peak washes over you like a monsoon. Your eyes roll back into your skull as your cum coats his already soaked cock.
Over the ringing of your ears, you briefly hear the whine of your name that he garbles out. You can somewhat feel how his nails scratch at your scalp from where he digs them into your hair so deep. You definitely feel his cum spurting into you, filling you so thoroughly that it drips from your cunt and onto his thighs, and the poor chair that sounds as if it’s a second from collapse.
Your chests rise and fall together as you both catch your breath, both going limp in each other’s hold. Your hand leaves his damp hair, falling over the back of the chair. Your skin is wet, sweat gathering at your hairline, the hearth still ablaze behind you.
Your head shifts, nose nudging his cheek as your eyes flutter open. His are still closed, processing his position as his cock softens inside you. Utterly spent. Utterly yours.
Your gaze traces the rest of the room. They land on the grand bed a few paces behind him.
You smirk. His eyes open blearily to glare at you.
☆ ──꒰summary꒱ ❞ aerion says sex is something for best friends, and that it’s a secret just for the two of you. after finding a dirty magazine in your older brothers room, you have some ideas on how to expand your friendship.
contains! p-in-v, manipulation, modern au, doggystyle, semi-public sex.
requested material
೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢 ⠀ᰋ “whats eatin’ at ya, sweetheart?” Aerion asked, spitting tobacco into the grass. you had been worrying the hem of your shirt for five minutes straight, your eyes fixed on your shoes, and he’d gotten annoyed with the lack of talk from you.
“i want to try our… best friend thing but, in a different way.”
Aerion straightened up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “a different way? well, we already got the basics down, so i guess it’s time to move on…” he mused, “you got something particular in mind?”
“i found a book…” you started, your face already flushing red, “and the lady in the picture was on her hands and knees, and the man was… he was, um, behind her. i wanna do that.”
Aerion froze, his eyes widening before a laugh erupted from him. “where the hell did you learn about that? you been peekin’ at filth?”
truthfully, you had found said literature in your brothers bedroom, hidden in a closet that your mother had told you to clean out because he refused to. the dirty magazine now laid under your own bed, hidden behind a pair of shoes that you were saving for next years easter sunday. “it was just there!” you simply said, covering your hot face. “is that how best friends do it too?”
“course they do, sweet thing. best friends do whatever feels good.” he wrapped his arm around you, using it to guide you towards the shadows of the nearby toolshed. “now, uh, get that dress up baby. ’nd get down on your hands and knees.”
he liked commanding you. he liked watching the things you’d do for him, how far you’d go. and right now, he was thoroughly enjoying watching you obey, hands digging into the cool grit beneath you, flipping up the skirt of your dress so that he could see the cute little cotton panties you were wearing today.
you stared at the grass that your hands pressed into, listening to the familiar sound of the unbuckling of his belt. you closed your eyes as you felt him move in close, his knees on the grass while he positioned himself behind you.
the head of his cock rubbed your folds, then positioned at your entrance. “you ready?” he asked, slowly nudging in. Aerion didn’t really care about permission, he just liked the way your voice sounded when you told him you wanted it, all needy and soft.
“yes, Aerion, please.” you whined. he drew in a sharp intake of breath, your tone washing over him like something warm and pleasurable.
he buried himself inside you, your head dipping down and momentarily brushing against the tall grass. “fuck you’re tight.”
he started to thrust, already at a hammering pace. something about this position made it feel deeper, like his cock was hitting somewhere that had never been touched. it made your arms shake and struggle to hold you up. he gripped your hips, hips slapping against your ass sharply. you moaned, the pleasure overwhelming.
“does it feel good?” he grunted.
“yes!” you cried. Aerion reached around, maneuvering his arm underneath you to find your clit, his rough, calloused fingers rubbing the small nub with rough, aggressive pressure that made your legs feel like jelly. “it feels… it feels so good, Aerion. you make me feel so good…” your voice was breathy, your nails digging into the dirt.
“you’re gonna cum for me, ain’tcha, baby?”
“uh huh, i think i am…”
he increased the pace, his cock slamming into you while his fingers ground relentlessly into your clit. your breath came in short, sharp hitches. the tension built until you couldn’t breathe, your internal muscles clamping down tightly around him.
“c’mon, baby, give it to me.” he said, rubbing harder, chasing your orgasm.
you screamed into the grass as a violent orgasm ripped through you. your pussy pulsed in waves, squeezing his shaft as you came hard.
Aerion Targaryen x wife!reader - A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
Summary: Aerion's lady wife keeps sneaking out of their bedchamber at night. Aerion is determined to find out why. Can be read as a oneshot. Can be read as a chapter in Growing Strong series. Set after Growing Familiar but before Deep in the Meadow.
Warnings: SMUT 18+ p in v, unprotected sex, obsessive behavior, breeding kink, power imbalance, talks about killing, Aerion has insane ideas. Dual pov?
The first months of your marriage to Aerion Targaryen, he bedded you every night without fail. It did not matter if you were tired from a day of riding or bored from hours of needlework or still irritated from some sharp word he had thrown at you over dinner. It did not matter if you drifted off before he even finished unlacing his breeches. Aerion Targaryen took what he wanted, and what he wanted, night after night, was you.
The first time you fell asleep before he came to bed, exhausted from a long day of travel, your body aching from the saddle, you woke to the feeling of his hands on your thighs, pushing your nightdress up to your waist. The room was dark, lit only by the dying embers in the hearth, and his silver hair gleamed like moonlight as he knelt between your legs.
"Aerion," you mumbled, still half-asleep. "What are you..."
"Hush." His fingers found your center, stroking with practiced patience. "Go back to sleep if you like. I will be quick."
You did not go back to sleep. You could not. His touch was too skilled, too knowing, drawing moisture from your body despite your exhaustion. When he finally pushed inside you, your back arched off bed and a broken moan escaped your lips.
"Shh," he breathed, his hips rocking in a slow, steady rhythm. "There you are. My sweet wife. My soft, warm, perfect wife. Just let me take what I need. You do not have to do anything."
And you did not. You lay there, drowsy and pliant, while he chased his pleasure in your body. His hands gripped your hips, tilting you to the angle he preferred, and his violet eyes were fixed on your face, watching every flicker of expression that crossed your features. When he finished, spilling inside you with a low groan, he pulled out slowly and pressed a kiss to your belly.
"A son," he murmured against your skin. "Give me a son, my sweet rose."
Then he gathered you against his chest, pulled the furs over you both, and fell asleep with his face buried in your hair.
This became your routine. Every night, without fail, Aerion took his pleasure from your body. And every night, you fell asleep immediately afterward, your body spent and satisfied, sleeping through until morning like a babe in a cradle.
He had to wake you each day by smacking your arse. A sharp, stinging slap that jolted you from sleep with a yelp and a flurry of tangled limbs.
"Aerion!" you protested, rubbing the smarting flesh. "That is not a proper way to wake one's wife."
"You do not wake to gentle words," he pointed out, already dressed and immaculate, his silver hair pulled back from his face. "I have tried. I have whispered endearments. I have kissed your brow. I have called your name a dozen times. You sleep like the dead, wife. Only pain rouses you."
"It is not pain. It is...surprise. And indecency."
"Call it what you like." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, brief and almost tender. "You are awake now. The day awaits. I have duties, and you have whatever it is you do when I am not bedding you."
You restrained yourself from glaring at him. He could only tolerate so many complaints until he turned insufferable in return. You had learnt to pick your battles. You had also learnt that if you slipped out of the role of the charming wife, the lovely lady Tyrell, instead of figuring out you had never wanted to play the part of his wife in the first place, he'd think you were deeply upset about this one particular thing and he'd fixate on it. So you rose, and you dressed, and you went about your day, and at night he came to you again.
Nothing deterred him. Not your moon blood, you had been mortified the first time, stammering apologies and trying to push him away, but he had only laughed.
"The wetness is different," he had said, his voice dark with fascination. "Hotter. Slicker. I like it." And he had taken you anyway, slower than usual, watching the evidence of your body paint his length with each withdrawal. Afterward, he had kissed your belly and wished for a son, same as always, utterly unbothered by the blood that stained the sheets.
Not even your fights deterred him. If anything, they made him more ravenous. The night you quarreled over some petty thing, you could not even remember what, some slight or sharp word that had spiraled into shouted accusations, you had retreated to your chambers expecting a night of cold silence. Instead, he had come to you with fire in his violet eyes, spun you around, bent you over the bed, and taken you from behind with a ferocity that left you gasping.
"You are all the more delicious when I am angry," he had panted against your ear, his hips slamming into you with bruising force. "My sweet rose. My infuriating, stubborn, impossible wife. I should hate you. I should cast you aside. Instead, I cannot stop wanting you. Cannot stop needing you. What have you done to me?"
You had no answer. You could barely form words, too consumed by the pleasure and pain of his possession. When he finished, he had pulled you upright against his chest, his arms wrapped around you, his face buried in your neck.
"I do not wish to fight," he had whispered, so quiet you almost did not hear. "I do not know how to stop. But I do not wish to fight with you."
And then, because he was Aerion and could not let tenderness stand unadorned, he had smacked your arse and sent you stumbling toward the bed. "Sleep. I will wake you in the morning."
You had fallen asleep within moments, as always, and slept through until his hand connected with your rear at dawn.
That was simply how things were for some time.
You began to build stamina. Your body, accustomed to his nightly attentions, no longer collapsed into exhausted slumber the moment he spent himself inside you. You still fell asleep before him, Aerion had always been a restless sleeper, prone to lying awake and staring at the canopy while his mind churned, but you no longer passed out like a candle snuffed.
One night, however, Aerion woke in the small hours of the morn and found the space beside him empty.
He assumed you had returned to your own chambers. It was not unusual, you kept your own rooms, as was proper for a lady of your station, though you spent nights in his bed. Perhaps you had needed something. A different gown. A book. A ribbon for your hair. He rolled over and went back to sleep.
But it happened again. And again. And again.
The third time, he mentioned it over breakfast. "You left last night."
You looked up from your plate, your brow furrowed. "Did I?"
"You did. I woke and you were gone. Did you need something from your chambers?"
You blinked, clearly confused. "I...do not recall. I must have been half-asleep. I am sorry if I disturbed you, husband."
He let it go. But the fourth time, and the fifth, and the sixth, he began to wonder.
"You left again," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Three nights this week. Where do you go?"
"I have no idea what you are talking about." Your eyes were guileless, your expression genuinely bewildered. "I sleep through the night, my love. You know this. You are the one who complains about having to smack me awake each morning."
He studied your face for any sign of deception. He found none. But Aerion Targaryen had been raised in the Red Keep before Summerhall, had survived the viper's pit of court politics, had learned to see lies even when they wore the most innocent of faces. His wife was a Tyrell. She had been trained in deception since birth. If anyone could lie to him convincingly, it was her.
The suspicions only began to grow, curling through his mind like poison ivy. She was leaving his bed in the night. She claimed not to remember. Where was she going? What was she doing?
His mind, ever prone to darkness, supplied answers that made his stomach clench.
A lover. She was sneaking off to meet a lover. Some handsome knight, perhaps, or a lord's son with a pretty face and gentle manners. Someone who was not cruel and sharp and difficult. Someone who could give her soft words and tender touches instead of games and barbs and rough handling. He could not think about it without murderous rage. He could only imagine all the painful ways he would kill the man.
Not a lover, mayhaps, but conspirators. She was a Tyrell. The Tyrells had been loyal to the Targaryens during the Blackfyre Rebellion. Leo Tyrell won notable victories in the Reach against Daemon Blackfyre's supporters, though his forces were unable to gather quickly enough to arrive in time for the battle of the Redgrass field. But loyalties shifted with every harvest in the Reach. Perhaps she was meeting with agents of her house, passing along secrets, plotting against him. Perhaps their entire marriage had been a scheme from the beginning, a way to place a Tyrell close to the throne, close to Summerhall, close to his father Maekar.
Perhaps, and this thought hurt most of all, she simply did not truly love him. Perhaps she left his bed because she could not bear to lie beside him. Perhaps she waited until she thought he was asleep and then fled to her own chambers, where she could breathe freely without his suffocating presence.
Aerion did not sleep that night. He lay beside her, listening to her soft breathing, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. She looked peaceful in sleep. Innocent. Beautiful. When he finally drifted off, his dreams were troubled.
The next morning, he smacked her arse to wake her, same as always. She yelped and swatted at him, same as always. But when she smiled at him over breakfast, he found himself searching her face for signs of guilt, for evidence of betrayal. He found nothing. She was either innocent or a very, very good liar.
That night, he decided he would catch her.
He feigned normalcy. He unlaced her gown with practiced ease, as he always did. He kissed her throat and her breasts and the soft curve of her belly, as he always did. He took her slowly at first, then with increasing urgency, until she was gasping and clutching at his shoulders and crying out his name. Afterwards, he pressed his lips to her belly, just below her navel.
"A son," he murmured against her skin. A tradition by now, a ritual, his way of sayinga prayer. "Give me a son, my sweet rose. A strong son. A dragon."
He paused. Something caught in his throat, words he had rarely spoke aloud, words that terrified him more than any battle or tourney ever could.
"I love you," he whispered, so quiet that he was not sure she heard. "Even if it causes me pain to say it. Even if I cannot admit it when you are awake to hear. I love you, and I cannot...I cannot lose you. I cannot bear the thought of you slipping away in the night, going somewhere I cannot follow, seeking something I cannot give."
He fell silent. She did not stir. Her breathing was slow and even, her face peaceful in sleep.
He pretended to sleep. Hours passed. The candle burned down to a stub. The fire in the hearth faded to embers. Aerion lay still, his breathing deliberately slow, his eyes cracked open just enough to see the room in shades of grey and shadow.
In the deepest part of the night, she moved.
He watched through squinted eyes as she sat up slowly, her movements strangely fluid, almost mechanical. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a long moment, utterly still. Then she rose, her bare feet silent on the stone floor. She found her slippers, felted wool, soft and quiet, and slid them on. She found her robe, a heavy thing of green velvet, and wrapped it around her shoulders.
She did not look at him. She left the bedchamber.
Aerion counted to ten, his heart pounding. Then he threw back the furs and followed.
He kept to the shadows. He had learned to move silently through corridors patrolled by guards and servants and spies. Trailing his wife through Summerhall was child's play.
She went first to her own chambers. Aerion's heart seized, this was it. She was meeting someone. A lover hidden in her rooms. A conspirator waiting in the dark.
But she did not stop. She passed through her chambers without pausing, movements unhurried, and continued through a side door that led to the gardens.
The gardens. Of course. A secret meeting among the roses. How fitting for a Tyrell.
Aerion followed, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. The night air was cool and sweet, heavy with the scent of night-blooming flowers. Moonlight silvered the paths and the fountains and the carefully tended beds of roses, red and gold, the colors of his house and hers intertwined.
She walked. And walked. And walked.
No one met her. No shadow detached itself from the hedges. No whisper greeted her from the darkness. She simply walked. Around the fountain. Down the rose path. Past the marble bench where they sometimes sat together in the afternoons. Her steps were slow and aimless, her arms loose at her sides.
Aerion watched her for what felt like an eternity, his confusion mounting. What was she doing? Where was she going? Why was she... She turned a corner and nearly walked directly into a rose bush, its thorns gleaming in the moonlight. Aerion moved before he could think. He strode forward, caught her arm, and pulled her back from the thorns. She did not resist. She did not react at all.
"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice too loud in the quiet garden. "Where are you going? Who are you meeting? Tell me now, wife, and I may yet show mercy..."
She did not answer. She did not even look at him. Her eyes were closed.
Aerion's words died in his throat. He stared at her face: peaceful, serene, utterly unaware of his presence. Her lips were moving, forming words too soft to hear. He leaned closer, his heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.
"...roses need pruning," she was mumbling, her voice distant and dreamy. "The red ones first. Grandmother always said red roses first. Then gold. Then the path to the fountain..."
She was not meeting a lover. She was not conspiring against him. She was not fleeing his bed because she could not bear to lie beside him. His poor, sweet wife was sleepwalking.
Relief crashed over him like a wave, so intense it left him dizzy. He stood there in the moonlit garden, holding his sleeping wife's arm, and laughed: a shaky, breathless sound that was half-sob.
But the relief faded quickly, replaced by a new and different fear.
She could have walked into that rose bush. She could have torn her skin on the thorns, could have bled into the garden soil while he lay sleeping in their bed, oblivious. She could have fallen into the fountain and drowned. She could have wandered out of the gardens entirely, into the darkness beyond, where anything might have happened to her.
She could have been hurt. She could have died. And he would have woken in the morning to an empty bed and no explanation.
His grip on her arm gentled. He stepped closer, sliding his hand down to clasp hers.
"Come," he said softly, though she could not hear him. "Come back to bed, my sweet rose. You are safe. I have you."
She did not respond, but she did not resist when he turned her gently and began to lead her back toward the castle. Her feet moved automatically, following his guidance, her face still peaceful and blank.
As they walked, Aerion's mind raced with plans.
He would have to lock the bedchamber doors at night to keep her safe. He would put the key somewhere she could not find while asleep. Under his pillow, perhaps. Or around his neck on a cord.
He would have to put away all sharp things. The letter opener on his desk. The small knife he used for cutting fruit. Her sewing scissors. Anything she might stumble upon in her dreaming wanderings.
He had heard, somewhere, that a wet cloth placed on the floor beside the bed could help wake sleepwalkers. The shock of cold on bare feet, jarring them from their dreams before they could wander far. He would have the servants place one on her side of the bed each night. He would check it himself before they slept.
He would protect her. He would keep her safe. He would not lose her to something as absurd as a sleepwalking accident.
They reached his bedchamber. He guided her inside, closed the door behind them, and made a mental note to have a new lock installed in the morning. A sturdy one. One she could not open without a key.
He led her to the bed and eased her down onto the bed. She went willingly, her body limp and pliant, already sinking back into deeper sleep. He lifted her legs onto the bed, arranged the furs over her, and stood looking down at her for a long moment.
Her face was peaceful. Beautiful. Utterly unaware of the terror she had put him through. He climbed into bed beside her and pulled her against his chest. She mumbled something unintelligible and burrowed closer, her hand fisting loosely in his nightshirt.
"I will keep you safe," he whispered into her hair. "I will do whatever I must. You will not wander where I cannot follow. You will not come to harm."
a/n: You can donate on Ko-fi, your support helps me write more: https://ko-fi.com/catbayunthestoryteller <3
a/n: This was a random fic but I missed Growing Strong!Aerion hehe. I had the last chapter of the series, named Valyrian Legacy, typed up. Then I realised it sucked so now I'm going to do it in a completely different format. I now understand how George R. R. Martin feels about finishing his book.
⭑ when he first saw you, you were everything he did not look for in a wife. you turned out to be stubborn, from the very beginning you made it clear that he would not get obedience from you, and you were too confident. of course, he knew you were a lady from high society, so your way of life was not that different. but the main thing aerion caught was how spoiled you were. he expected to see a traditional bride: one who would flinch from every wrong look and obey every word — like septas who worshipped the god. instead, he got you.
he never intended to tolerate anyone’s whims — whether from his own family, and especially not from his wife. and if someone had asked him directly, he would have confidently said that he had no idea how it happened. but there were signs.
⭑ they told him to show you around the gardens of your future castle — so you saw everything and got used to the place. and he, naturally, refused. why would he waste his time and entertain you like a fucking servant? but under maekar’s supervision, he agreed after all.
he walked too fast. you clearly fell behind and did not intend to hurry or run after him. noticing that, he suddenly turned around. “do you have the legs of a five year old? can you walk faster?”
you did not even speed up. “i can,” you answered calmly. “but i will not. you walk like a horse and my legs are tired.”
he only looked at you for a few moments. “you are acting like a child.”
you shrugged and kept walking at your own pace. but you noticed how he slowly, almost unnoticeably, slowed down to walk next to you.
⭑ at the wedding, when the hour of the common cup came, you took the heavy silver cup from the steward's hands. you hesitated. you brought it to your face, smelled the sharp sour wine, and the corners of your lips dropped.
"i will not drink this," your voice sounded quiet but petulant. you pushed the cup away, almost spilling the wine on the white cloth.
"it is part of the rite," he answered, enough for you to understand how important it was.
you frowned. tiredness hid in the creases of your forehead, your lips were pressed tight. the candles danced in your eyes. "it is too sour," you said, like a child who did not want to take bitter medicine. "i do not like it."
aerion slowly turned his head to you. his eyes, usually feverishly bright, now looked at you with close attention. he was silent for a few heartbeats, then slowly turned his head and nodded to a servant.
"change all the wine to sweet."
and later, at the feast.
the feast was only growing stronger: the music became deafening, the laughter of neighbors too sharp, and the gazes of the drunken lords too intrusive. you felt your head start to hum from the chaos.
you touched aerion’s shoulder, interrupting his conversation with daeron. “it is too noisy here.”
aerion raised an eyebrow and looked at you as if you'd said something foolish. “this is a feast. did you expect silence like at a funeral?”
you did not answer — you just pressed your lips together and turned away, staring into emptiness. he immediately felt the change: you no longer tugged at his sleeve, no longer criticized the serving of dishes, and no longer rolled your eyes at the stupid jokes of the retinue.
aerion exhaled loudly, cutting daeron off mid-sentence. he suddenly stood up, firmly grabbed your hand, and pulled you with him, forcing you to rise.
“we are leaving.”
⭑ "i want candied flowers."
aerion raised his eyes from the scroll slowly, as if he did not hear you correctly.
"flowers," you explained, brushing your hair in front of the mirror. "the ones they make in highgarden. white, pink, in sugar glaze. they say they melt on the tongue like the first snow."
he rolled his eyes, the gesture came out almost too dramatic. "it is pointless," he dropped. "highgarden is weeks away."
you pressed your lips and turned away to the window, not saying another word. the evening passed in a heavy silence, you went to bed with your back to him.
he did not apologize. aerion targaryen never apologized, you learned that long ago.
on the fourth morning, you entered your chambers and stopped at the threshold. on the dressing table was a casket. black wood with silver inlay, too elegant to be just a box. you opened the lid.
flowers lay in rows. roses, violets, petals of plants unknown to you — each covered in the thinnest crust of hardened sugar, sparkling like frost. you breathed in the delicate scent and smiled brightly, looking at him as he stood by the fireplace.
"do not ask for more."
you took a white flower and brought it to your lips. the sugar crunched on your teeth, the petal melted — and he was right. like the first snow. "they are cold," you remarked.
your husband only raised one eyebrow. "the road is long."
"should have been faster."
he slowly walked closer, thinking about how he no longer even felt angry at such remarks of yours, only fully accepting them. "next time," he said, "go yourself. and we shall see how fast you return with flowers in your hands."
you took another one. a pink one. "you would not allow it," you answered him back, "for your wife to freeze somewhere on a distant road."
aerion closed his eyes. he was silent for a long time. and then the corner of his lips twitched. "no," he said so quietly that you barely heard. "i would not."
⭑ night fell on the castle, heavy as a blanket of lead. you did not speak for several hours — since he said: "no. i only got you the valyrian steel last moon" when you asked for a necklace of that rare blue stone.
you did not argue and did not fight, but simply went silent and lay on the very edge of the bed, turned away to the wall and did not even fix the blanket — let it be cold, let him get out to his own chambers.
aerion sat in a chair by the fireplace for a long time, drank wine, looked at the fire. he was right, and he knew it: you were unbearable, capricious, demanding the impossible with such an air as if the air around you should turn into gold. any other husband would have sent you to a family estate long ago to learn humility. but you were not just anyone. and he was not any other husband.
aerion set aside the glass, stood up, walked to the bed and looked at your back — offended, beautiful and sometimes (always) unbearable. he did not lie down at once: first he just sat on the edge, then slowly stretched out beside you.
you felt how he moved closer — the mattress sank under his weight, the warmth from his body reached your back. his hand lay on your waist.
"do not touch me," you whispered to the wall.
he did not remove his hand. on the contrary — he pulled you closer, insistently and pressed his chest to your back, buried his face in your hair and was silent for so long that you thought — he fell asleep.
"in a week," he said suddenly into the top of your head, muffled and tired. "your necklace will arrive."
⭑ well, he remembered everything about you.
he might seem busy talking to the lords, but his gaze was always on you. if you kept your hand on the fabric of someone's dress for even a second or looked with interest at an unusual brooch on a guest's shoulder, aerion noted it to himself. a week later, exactly the same thing, only more expensive and of better quality, waited for you in your chambers.
if you tried to express delight or ask how he knew, he only jerked his shoulder irritably. last moon, you kept your eyes on a silver tiara in a merchant's shop — for exactly one second, no longer. a week later, it lay in a casket on your table. you did not even remember it.
"it will suit you," he said, seeing your questioning look.
⭑ you were often capricious — sometimes because of trifles, the wrong fabric, the wrong taste, a word said at the wrong time. it would irritate anyone else to the limit. it irritated aerion too. for a second.
today was the fitting of a new dress. you turned in front of the polished steel mirror for an eternity, frowned, and pulled the lace on the sleeves. "it is terrible," you announced, pulling a ribbon off your shoulder. "the color makes me pale, and the style is baggy, as if i am a servant."
aerion raised his gaze and looked at the dress, then at you. "the dress is just a dress."
you froze, slowly turning your back to him — so proud, offended, with pressed lips and tense shoulders, as if he just insulted your entire existence.
"fine," he said more quietly, almost tiredly, and rose from his chair. he walked closer, stopped by your shoulder. "tell me how it should be."
you turned fully — still sulking, still with a stone face, but in your eyes was already that same spark which he learned to recognize since your first wedding night.
"silk, not brocade, the color lavender, not blue, lace only on the collar and take the waist in by three fingers." aerion listened, did not interrupt, and then nodded to the tailor, ordering him to begin.
he looked at you — there was no irritation in his gaze, only endless patience of a man who surrendered long ago and was even glad of it. "is that all?" he asked. you thought for a second. "and pearls along the hem." aerion closed his eyes, then opened them. "fine. pearls along the hem."
⭑ he loves when you sulk. when you cross your arms on your chest and turn away with pouting lips.
at first, of course, he ignored it — he pretended that he was busy, that it did not concern him, he even spoke to some knight louder as if on purpose, but he still looked at you out of the corner of his eye. the pause stretched, you did not move, did not even look in his direction — and he could not stand this. "again?" he said with light irritation, but he already walked closer, leaned down, and caught your gaze. "what now?"
"nothing," you stubbornly shook your head and turned away again. he exhaled, his hand laying on your chin. he turned your face to him, squinting slightly. "you do not know how to do 'nothing'," he said quietly.
you were silent and pouted your lips again, making him lean down and kiss you shortly and softly. he pulled away first and looked closely. "now?" you still frowned, but already weaker. "still nothing."
he laughed quietly — almost unnoticeably, only the corner of his lips twitched — and kissed you again, longer this time, warmer, as if he tried to fix your mood just like that. "is that better?" he asked in a low voice. you paused as if you thought about it, then nodded slightly. "perhaps."
⭑ aerion targaryen wasn't stupid. he distinguished a real tantrum from a theatrical one, a sincere offense from a fake one. he knew when you were truly tired, and when you simply wanted his attention. and still — every damn time — he gave it to you.
because the point was not whether you outplayed him or not.
— summary: while lunching in the red keep’s gardens with the targaryens, ser duncan spots prince aerion behaving like a civilized man beside a kind, sun-bright lady. bewildered by the rare sight, poor dunk assumes she must be prince baelor’s daughter, patient and too compassionate—because surely no woman of sound mind would choose to spend time in aerion’s company on purpose.
— pairing: aerion targaryen x wife!reader
— word count: ~2.5k
— content: sunshine x grumpy!!, domestic fluff, humor, protective!aerion, himbo!dunk, romance, pda, poor dunk can't catch a break with these people, probably ooc!aerion.
⋆ . ۰˚ ౨ৎ ── series masterlist with different characters’ versions: here!
Ser Duncan had always known that princes were strange.
That, at least, was something he’d made peace with.
They were born strange, raised strange, and lived their lives in a world that did not much resemble the one the rest of them walked in. They spoke in courtesies that meant threats and in threats that meant nothing at all. They smiled when they were angry and grew angry when there was no cause he could see.
Still, he thought he understood them well enough—he’d been wrong all along.
He knows he is wrong because there he is, seated at a crystal big table amidst the gorgeous midday sun-drenched gardens of the Red Keep, ogling like a big oaf at Prince Aerion Targaryen—no, not at him, but at the lady sitting by his side, near the head of the table.
She is laughing, that is the first thing he is struck by. A melodious, gentle sound, like sweet honey. And then, the second thing that hits him is the sight of Aerion laughing with her as well, very quietly, with his head tilted towards her.
Hearing him laugh with genuine joy must be the most unnatural and eerie sound Duncan has ever heard.
Her hand rests casually on Aerion's forearm, intimately and so naturally, as if that's where it belongs. As if it's always belonged to touch him.
Dunk frowns and then he frowns even harder as his thoughts stumbled over themselves.
He keeps watching as she says something else—he can't hear what—and Aerion gives a slight tilt of his head, not in a scornful way, but in an expression of attention and delight.
Of course, Dunk has seen you before. You are no stranger to the Red Keep. You address the guards by name, thank the servants when they bring you things or offer assistance. Once, you even had smiled at Dunk himself, and he nearly tripped over his own feet when you did.
You are kind, gentle, and sweet. Everything Aerion is not, so Dunk naturally kept assuming you must be some cousin or sister or relative to the royal family.
Dunk just sits there, taller and clumsier than usual, and definitely feeling like a fish out of water among the majority of the Targaryens. He fiddles with his fingers in front of him, like that might stop him from saying something stupid, but it's already too late.
Next to him, Prince Aegon devours a fig with an expression of utter indulgentment; they went through this phase of confusion weeks ago and now seems to find it a source of amusement.
“Is something wrong, Ser?” asks Egg, his mouth partially full. “You’ve got that look on your face again.”
Dunk doesn't respond immediately. His eyes remain locked on the other side of the table, where the shade of the vines reaches upon you and your husband.
Aerion, who usually looks at everyone as if they were insects beneath his boot, is doing the most horrifying act: he is peeling an orange with the greatest of care. In one perfect spiral, he strips the peel and offers it to you along with a faint smile.
“She's Prince Baelor's daughter, right?,” Dunk asks cautiously, leaning toward Egg as far as he can without falling over. “A niece. Or maybe a distant cousin whom Aerion has kindly decided not to terrorize today for reasons of royal courtesy.”
Egg chokes a little on the piece of fig and bursts out in a dry laugh, which sounds more like a little bark. “My Uncle Baelor's daughter? Oh, Ser—”
At that very moment, your laughter fills the air at something Aerion whispers in your ear. The Prince allows himself another smile; not one of those malicious grimaces that Dunk knows so well, but a genuine, gentle one.
You place a hand on his cheek, caressing the edge of his jaw with a tenderness that makes Duncan's stomach churn with unbridled astonishment and revulsion.
“Come on, Ser, let's go meet her!” Egg suppresses a mischievous grin as he tugs on the sleeve of his tall friend's doublet, urging him to stand up as well. “I can see you like her. Let me introduce you, then.”
Dunk lets himself be led along, trying to remember every lesson in courtesy he never really learned, and as they reach the table, Aerion lifts his gaze. His eyes narrow with that characteristic coldness as he recognizes the knight, and all his gentle, carefree demeanor from mere seconds ago seems to vanish when he lays sight on Duncan.
“Ser Duncan,” Aerion drawls the name, his voice reverting to that harsh, extremely contemptuous intonation. “What a surprise. I didn’t know you were coming. It seems you're encroaching on my family's privacy a little more each day—”
“Prince Aerion,” Dunk greets him back dismissively, disregarding what the prince is saying to him, and not even bothering to listen to his passive-aggressive nonsense, since he is too concerned on gazing in awe at you. “My lady.”
“It's a pleasure to have you here.” You flash him a cheerful smile, glancing sideways to see Aerion's plump lips gaping in shock and offense at your side. “Ser...”
You pause for him to introduce himself, and he rushes to do so, inclining his head once more.
“Duncan, my lady,” the tall knight pronounces his name with more trepidation than pride. “At your service.”
Aerion frowns, his eyes squinting with growing annoyance. “Your service? What—”
“You are very kind, Ser Duncan,” you interrupt your prince, struggling to stifle a giggle at his expression of pure bewilderment. “Thank you for taking such good care of Aegon.”
“You don't have to thank me at all, my lady,” Dunk replies, his voice coming out softer. “Looking after Egg—Prince Aegon, is truly an honor. And seeing you here, being so patient... well, it just confirms what everyone at court says.”
You tilt your head curiously, as Aerion stares at him with cautious defiance.
“Oh? And what do they say, Ser Duncan?” you ask with a twinkle of amusement in your eyes.
“That you have a noble soul,” Duncan states with complete conviction, nodding to himself. “One can tell in a heartbeat that you are Prince Baelor's daughter”
And he carries on, even when Egg sneaks a kick to his shin, and the whole dining table drops silent, with everyone turning to look at him with expressions of either bafflement or disgust—in Maekar's case.
“He must be immensely proud to have such a kind and compassionate daughter. Only someone with his blood could have the strength to...“ His blue eyes glance at Aerion with barely concealed distaste, “Well, to spend the entire day entertaining your cousin Aerion and still keep a smile on your face. You are an exemplary cousin, my lady.”
Egg muffles out a strangled laugh and has to cover his mouth with both hands to keep from spitting it out.
Aerion, for his part, is not amused and remains petrified beside you. His lips part, uttering a gasp of outrage, and his violet eyes gleam with a fury that promises a death of agony.
“Daughter?” Aerion hisses, his voice rattling like a viper’s threat. “Did you call her my uncle Baelor’s daughter? And my cousin?”
You blink, glancing first at your husband, whose face is flushing through various hues of red, and then at the tall knight standing in front of you, who is frowning in innocent confusion.
“Ser Duncan...” you begin, trying to maintain your composure as the situation descends into absurdity. “I’m afraid your compass for kinship is a little... misguided.”
“Misgui—what?” babbles Dunk, batting his eyelashes as slowly as an ox that has just been struck on the snout.
Before your husband or you can answer, a soft, vibrant laugh comes from the head of the table. Prince Baelor is leaning back in his chair, attentive to the unfolding scene before him, in his usual courteous silence. His eyes now sparkle with genuine amusement.
“Gods be good, Ser Duncan,” says the King's Hand, his fingers absentmindedly twirling the wine glass he holds in his hand. “I appreciate your loyalty and your high regard for my character, but I fear you are attributing merits to me that I do not possess.”
“Prince Baelor is my uncle-in-law, by marriage, not by blood, Ser Duncan.” you clarify, reaching out to Aerion’s hand, that had been resting on your lap the moment Duncan had arrived at your side. “I am Aerion’s wife, not cousin.”
“W–wife?” Dunk repeats, his voice breaking with disbelief. “Aerion's? But, my lady, you're kind and beautiful and—”
“For five years, you bloody twit!” Aerion explodes, springing up from his seat now in defense of your honor and his own as well. The chair scrapes violently against the floor. “She’s been my wife for five years! My wife!”
You quickly rise to your feet as well, standing between your husband's fit of fury and Dunk's monumental state of embarrassment.
The difference in height is almost laughable: you attempting to calm a fuming Aerion, with Duncan looming over you both, appearing to wish the ground would open up and swallow him now that he has finally realized the mistake he has just made.
You bite your lower lip, battling to keep from laughing, knowing that would only further wound Aerion's pride.
“Calm down, my love,” you coax him gently, pressing both hands on his chest to push him back a step away from Duncan. “I’m sure Ser Duncan meant no harm.”
“He called you my cousin!” Aerion retorts, his burning gaze finally dropping from Dunk and focusing on you, relenting at the way you’re gazing at him, fearful of his anger.
His hands immediately curl around your waist, drawing you closer to him reassuringly and further away from the hapless hedge knight.
Dunk is as red as a tomato and his ears are turning crimson.
“Oh fuck— I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, my prince, my lady,” he blurts out, bowing his head apologetically over and over. “I didn't mean to... it's just that she's such a good person, and you're... well, you're...” His voice trails off the instant Egg kicks him again, without even trying to be subtle about it this time. “A thousand apologies to both of you for my clumsiness. Five years... Seven Hells, five years—”
“Cease your stammering, you simpleton!” a sharp voice growls from the other end of the table. “Have you no sense at all in that thick skull of yours?”
Prince Maekar is looking at Dunk with his characteristic loathing, there is a hint of fatigue in his eyes, as if being surrounded by such a load of idiocy is costing him years of his life.
“You've caused enough of a commotion with your lack of brains, Ser,” Maekar went on, glaring at his son Aerion to shut him up as well. “Sit down and keep your mouth shut before I decide that your penance for being a dimwit should be spending the rest of lunch standing next to the horses!”
Baelor breathes out another quiet snicker at his younger brother's interruption, visibly enjoying his nephew's humiliation.
Dunk straightens up at once, rigid as a plank, still pleading for your forgiveness under his shaky breath.
“There's no need to apologize, Ser Duncan,” you try to soothe him, leaning against your husband's chest.
Clinging to your body, Aerion glares at him with hateful, menacing eyes. “I won't forget this.”
“Aerion,” you call out in disapproval, pulling yourself back in his arms so you can face him, but he just keeps eyeing Duncan, who finally stumbles away from you two and back to his seat at the table.
You seize the moment to gently tug at your husban's hand, forcing him to sit back down as well. And he lets himself fall into the chair, still holding you in his arms, and pulling you onto his lap. And you let out a light, melodic laugh as he does, twisting a little in his arms to nuzzle your nose against his affectionately.
The garden eventually settles back into its rhythmic hum of clinking silverware and low conversation. The initial shock of Dunk’s blunder lingers only in the faint, lingering flush on his face as he focuses entirely on his plate, determined not to breathe in the wrong direction.
Aerion doesn't let you go. Even as he resumes eating with his free hand, his other arm remains firmly wrapped around your waist, his thumb tracing idle, possessive circles against over the fabric of your dress. He leans his head against yours appreciatively.
“He thought we were cousins even when we treated each other like this,” Aerion whispers into your ear after taking a bite of his slice of strawberry cake, his words still laced with indignation, although you can taste the sweetness of the pastry in his breath. “How could anyone be so—”
“Oh, hush,” you whisper, your eyes gazing at his with amusement and then you pick up the small silver spoon from the edge of his plate, scooping up a generous portion of the creamy pastry. “Now, stop pouting, my love. Open up for me.”
Aerion’s obeys you, naturally, leaning forward to take the sweet offering from your hand. He chews slowly, his violet softening eyes never leaving your face.
“Is it good?” you ask softly, wiping a tiny stray bit of cream from the corner of his mouth with your thumb and sucking on it to taste the flavor yourself.
“It’s tolerable,” Aerion purrs, and then kiss your lips tenderly, his mouth lingers close to yours as he pulls away, flashing you a mischievous look. “Hmm, that is far more delicious...”
While Duncan sits frozen—staring at his plate as if the roast swan might testify against him—the rest of the table barely bats an eye at the scene unfolding at his opposite side over the table.
For the Targaryens, such public displays of affection are a common occurrence, perhaps too common during family gatherings or outings or feasts.
Maekar, though still wearing a permanent scowl, simply reaches for the wine carafe, maneuvering his arm around Aerion’s sprawling form without a word. He’s seen his son go from a bloodthirsty terror to a purring housecat in your presence too many times to count. To Maekar, your lap-sitting and sweet-feeding is a necessary evil—a price he’s willing to pay for a quiet afternoon without Aerion setting something on fire.
“You see, Ser Duncan?” Prince Baelor calls out, his voice smooth and teeming with mirth as he watches you feed Aerion another spoonful of the cake, but loud enough to make the hedge knight jump in his seat. “The Prince is quite manageable when he is well-fed and well-loved. It is a pity we cannot bottle his lady wife’s influence and distribute it among the rest of the Realm.”
Your husband scoffs, though there's no real heat in it as he tries to steal another kiss between your spoonfuls, making you laugh.
Dunk, eventually looks at Aerion and then back at you. He still doesn't quite get it—how the most difficult prince in the Seven Kingdoms ended up with a woman who treats him like a pampered house cat—but as he watches you laugh again at something the prince whispers in your ear, he decides that maybe he doesn't need to understand.
SUMMARY dex obliged your every want and need, even now, as you asked to play a game of cat and mouse.
NOTES please tell me if any of this didn't make sense, i'm on new meds and i'm feeling so spaced out. this took days to finish because i would just stare at my screen like 👁️👁️.
WARNINGS 18+, smut, p in v, fucking in the woods, being chased, dex referring to your pussy as she, not proof read
MASTERLIST
It was simple. An urge you wished for Dex to satisfy, and one he was willing to oblige. After you had asked so sweetly, and so persistently. He had seen how excitable you got when he'd come home at night, adorned in his gear, doing things he'd never give you much detail of, to keep you safe. To keep his North Star burning brightly.
You would pounce on him when he would come home, stalking through his own apartment so as not to wake you. But you'd be awake anyway, mind alive with thoughts of Dex's body and how his shirt compressed his build so deliciously.
"You should be asleep, sweetheart." He would whisper into your face, cradling your cheeks in his hands. "You have work in the morning."
"How can I sleep thinking about all of this?" You tightened your grip on his biceps, feeling him chuckle against your lips.
"Sleep. Now." He twisted your body, gently shoving you toward his bed. Returning to your nest of soft fabric to find sleep, as Dex undressed himself. You would lie awake as he shredded his gear, meticulous in his placement of each knife around the room. Throwing his shirt and pants atop the laundry basket in the corner of his room.
"What would you think of a game?" You suggested, turning on the mattress to allow your much bigger boyfriend to squeeze in beside you.
This had been his favourite moment of the day; falling asleep with you. No expectations to act a certain way, no responsibilities to uphold, no masks to wear. Just the two of you, in utter silence, sandwiched together in search of sleep. He would draw patterns on your skin as you had always fallen asleep first, and he would fuss over you until sleep had claimed him too.
"A game? Now?" He scoffed, laid on his side to face you as you stared up at the ceiling. His hand rested on your stomach, thumb grazing softly over your skin. "You don't listen, do you?"
"I do!" You exclaimed with a giggle, quickly ridding him of his sternness. You did it so effortlessly; made him forget every reason to be mad at you, or scold you, so quick to get yourself out of trouble.
"Not now," you turned onto your side, faces inches apart in the dead of night. "But a game of cat and mouse."
He cocked his brow, entirely confused.
"Chase me. You know," you urged him to finish your dirty thought, "as Bullseye."
"You want me to chase you? Why?" His hand had taken hold of your hip. The need for constant connection so obvious, so undeniably needy of you.
"It's thrilling. Hot."
Dex weighed his thoughts. Chasing you as Bullseye sounded predatory, but hearing you speak with such heat enticed him. Dex was wired to make you happy, believed it had been his sole purpose. To be good to you. To make you happy. And so, whatever you wanted, you often got. Though the idea of being chased had not come up in the past.
"If I catch you," he breathed, inching closer to your face to connect your forehead with his, marking you with him, an animalistic way of claiming his territory on you, "I'm going to fuck you."
"Bet."
Rules had been established, safe words discussed, and safety measures taken. It was to happen in a much more secluded area, because civilians wouldn't take too kindly to a woman being chased by a large, domineering masked man through the streets of New York. Dex was allowed to use his knives, because you trusted him entirely. And if you felt truly scared and wished to stop, you would call him by his first name, which had felt so foreign to him, that it would surely pull him from his lustful daze.
You were stood at the entrance of the wooded area just outside of town, in Dex's favourite dress of yours. You'd done your hair just as he liked, though he claimed to like your hair however you styled it. You looked good enough to eat, Dex maintaining his control as you stood so innocently beside him. He took your hand in his, a small smirk containing his excitement for the chase.
"Ready, sweetheart?" He whispered into the skin of your knuckles, pressing a swift kiss before dropping your hand.
You nodded, your expression unreadable. There had been hints of fear, of excitement, of arousal.
"Go on, you've got a minute head start."
He'd leant against the car, rolling a coin between his fingers and watching you saunter off behind the trees. That had been five minutes ago. And now, the hunt had begun.
You were a smart girl, he knew that. He'd taught you, after many miserable attempts, to fight off an attacker. He would go easy on you, allow you to scratch, punch, slap at him to fend him off, feeling proud of yourself for a job well done. You knew how to protect yourself in the case of Dex not watching over you. You were a very smart girl, which is what made the hunt so fun. It had him so hard as he stalked through the woods to find you, trailing you by scent and sound.
Your heart was slamming against your chest, as you clutched a nearby tree to hide behind. No sound of footsteps. No knives dug into the bark of the surrounding trees. No sign of your boyfriend. Which was terrifying. It was beginning to get dark, the sun glistening against the lower branches of the trees. The wind nipped at your skin, sending a chill through your bones as you advanced further into the woods.
For all you knew, Dex knew exactly where you were, he was just toying with you. He had shown no signs of himself, not a knife, not a whistle or a laugh, not a sweet siren song of pet names that made your knees buckle. Nothing.
Until a snapped twig in the distance had sent your legs forward once more.
"Sweetheart, I can see you." He called out, your mouth drying at his wicked tone. His boots picked up pace as your legs had, weaving amongst trees and brambles to gain distance on him. Your heart was racing with the thrill of being hunted by Dex, clad in his mask and gear.
You wanted to trip up, stumble and fall to the ground, so he would claim you in that very spot. You ached for him to do as he pleased with you, take your pleasure for himself. But you carried on, passing each tree with swift pace away from Dex. Though he hadn't run after you, he hadn't exceeded a walking pace in chase of you. He could keep up perfectly, his eyes following your pretty white dress as it furthered toward the tree line.
But he'd grown tired, as he was sure you had to. He'd let you have your fun, get all your energy out, before he took you. And with one subtly curved wrist flick, he'd flung a knife in your direction, pinning you to the tree you clutched by the skirt of your dress. The metal had been inches from your thigh, but Dex was nothing if not precise.
He had taken strides over to your captive body, ripping the mask from his face before hoisting you into his hold with one arm. Such little effort on his part to lift and hold you against the tree, detaching the knife from your pretty dress. His lips were drawn to yours the moment proximity allowed it.
"Dex." You giggled between kisses, arms latched around his shoulders to steady yourself. "You ruined my dress."
"Oh, poor baby." He grunted into your mouth, rutting his hips into yours. He'd been hard for near twenty minutes, chasing after you with rampant thoughts of just how he wished to take you. "I can buy you another."
His lips drew down your chin, across your jaw, laying fire in their wake as he trailed down your neck. Pent up arousal now marking your skin, the sounds of your whimpers speaking through the flesh of your neck. Only making him throb beneath his pants.
"Sweet girl." He breathed, detaching to take your jaw into his grip. "You really tried, didn't you?"
You nodded with the little allowance of movement he gave you, before pressing his forehead to yours. It was a habit of his, completely primal. When he felt wired with whatever emotion, it had become his grounding technique. Foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, lost in the contact of your minds— your souls.
"Can't run from me. Say it." He ordered, though his tone had been not at all convincing. It felt more like a desperate plea than a controlling order.
"Can't run from you, Dex." You repeated against his lips, reaching out to kiss him. "Don't want to."
He used the leverage he had with you sandwiched between him and the tree, to unbuckle his pants and pull your panties to the side. His finger dragged between your folds, feeling the wetness that had gathered on his hunt of you. How even your body, separate from your mind, had chosen him. You had chosen him.
"So wet for me." He chuckled, eyebrows furrowed with intense concentration on the pleasure that pulsed between his legs. "You like being chased, hm?"
You nodded once more. Losing the fight in keeping your eyes on him, your mind warring so mightily to let them roll back. His touch felt like fire, setting your skin alight and letting it burn deliciously. The rough bark pressed into your back, undoubtedly marking you, but you paid no mind to it. The feeling of Dex's fingers stretching you open had been your centre point.
"Is she ready for me now?" He hummed, steadfast with his head against yours. "She been waiting for me all this time?"
"Fuck me." You cried, words barely audible through your whiny tone. God it made him so hard to hear you overcome with such emotion for him.
"Say it again."
"Fuck me, Dex."
He pressed the tip against your entrance, willing it in gently. Letting you adjust to his size as he always had, ever the thoughtful lover. Though it would never last long, Dex would often be held hostage by his pleasure. It was something he seldom experienced before you, and had untapped a previously locked up part of himself with you. You had become the focal point of his life; his pleasure, his happiness, his mind, body and soul had all been tethered to you.
His gentle strokes had fastened, his slow breaths had deepened to blunted pants. His mind wrapped in silk and lace and pure sex. He loved the way you cried in his ear, the way your nails would dig into the skin of his back, even the way your limp legs would bounce against him as he fucked into you.
"Such a smart girl." He choked the words out in form of a growl, eyes closed to keep composure of his primal urges. "But you can't outrun me, can you?"
"No, Dex." You whimpered, forgetting the night air, the vast forest that cradled you, the bark in your back. You had forgotten where you were, because you had been so wrapped up in Dex. You couldn't stifle the moans that he pulled from your throat, nor could you stop the tears falling from your eyes.
"Quiet for me, sweetheart." He shushed you, taking the fingers that were once buried within you, stuffing them into your mouth. "Don't want anyone hearing your pretty sounds, they're mine."
You nodded, sucking on the fingers that graced your tongue. His pace was relentless, unforgiving, in stealing pleasure for himself. Pulling your own orgasm to the surface with his own. He was close, evident by the iron grip on the flesh of your hip. He had every intention of finishing inside you, as he always did. It made him feel secure, laying claim to you despite your birth control pills. You would still hold him within you.
"Dex, I'm gonna—"
"I know, baby, I know." He panted, pulling his eyes open to look at you. The way your eyebrows tilted upward, your damp cheeks glistening with tears, your bottom lip between your teeth. He would happily die in such a way, burrowed within you like a parasite.
Even as he came, sweating forehead pressed against yours, the security surged through his veins. You pulsed around him, hips quivering in the aftershock of release, meeting the softness of the come down. He laughed with you, at your newfound arousal of being chased, at the situation you found yourselves in tonight. You were as much his, as he was yours.
tim drake is pathetic during sex and you absolutely cannot convince me otherwise
it was almost funny. tim drake— a calculated genius, one of the world’s greatest detectives and son to one of the richest men in america— was absolutely whipped for you. and he wasn’t ashamed
especially with the sounds he was letting out, he definitely wasn’t ashamed. not when you were on top of him, riding his cock and cooing praises in his ear, your tight pussy being the only thing that was clouding his mind
“fuck, you feel so good” tim whined, his grip on your waist tightened as he panted, dazed blue eyes on yours. your hands that lay flat on his abs slowly trailed up, a whimper leaving his swollen lips as he felt your hands now cup his face
your warmth touch on his face alone made his cock twitch in you, making a dazed smile form on your lips as you leaned in to make contact with his lips, kissing him slowly yet hungrily
“doing so -well- for me” you moaned on tim’s lips when his tip hit your cervix, making you gently bite his bottom lip and hearing a whine of your name leave his tongue while you continued with your muffled whispers, rolling your hips with a pace and depth that was eye-rolling
“that’s it, my pretty boy doing so good”
“stay just like— mh!— that”
“always so g-good for me”
and judging by the way tim’s breath got more hitched and how his grip now trailed to cup your ass, you could tell he was close
you broke the kiss with a string of saliva connecting your lips to his for a split second, pushing back his hair to get a good view of his fucked up expression. “cmon baby” you panted. “tell me h-how bad you wanna cum” you felt his tip hit your cervix again, making you moan his name and dragging your thumb to his bottom lip. “let me hear you, pretty boy”
god, you didn’t have to tell tim twice. with the way you looked like a goddess taking him, the mumbling and whimpering started to flow out of his lips
he nodded frantically, tears now forming in his eyes from the pleasure now building up. “wanna cum” he whined. “wanna feel you when i cum, plea—” tim moaned when he felt you purposely squeeze your walls all over his cock
“god, baby i’ll do anything i— mmm”
“need to cum, pleeease pleasepleasepleaseplease”
and when he does, tim’s jaw dropped so low that a silent gasp comes out and blown, widened eyes of pleasure were on yours, the sensation of your walls around him when he cums making him lose it
“oh shiiiiit, oh fuck. thank you baby, oh thank you—fuck, you’re a goddess”
what did i tell you? pathetic
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masterlist!
(a/n: its been A HOOOOT MINUTE since i wrote anything for tim ugh i missed you too king)
