── .✦ apologizing after yelling at your warrior husband sukuna in front of his men (oops) ✧.*
"'kuna."
your husband said nothing. he merely continued to brush his horse down, barely acknowledging your presence behind him. your fingers fidgeted with your sleeve, nervous and guilty.
only an hour ago, you had argued with him openly in front of his men over something trivial. it should've occurred to you that something was wrong when he didn't even say a word in response. he only let you rant as he stood silent, jaw tightening. when you were done, you had just stormed off without giving him a chance to reply.
as your anger subsided, you had started to realize how he must have felt. being a formidable warrior with a fearsome reputation, sukuna never once showed a hint of weakness except with you. he had always been intimidating, terrifying, powerful. and there you were, undermining him with just an indignant lecture and no care at all for who he was with.
sukuna always met your fire with just as much ferocity. deep down, he loved to fight with you because he knew you could take whatever you dished out. the two of you would row it out until it ended in begrudging apologies and laughter while tangling under your sheets.
yet now, he didn't even deign to look at you. it hurt more than you could admit.
"'kuna, please," you pleaded softly, fingers brushing the muscles of his back. "truly i didn't mean to lose my temper, i'm sorry."
without him even turning, you knew the face he was making. eyes shut, teeth grinding, refusing to meet your eyes despite how much he might have wanted to. you didn't back down. a pout pulled your lips as your voice turned exaggeratedly plaintive.
"if i have offended my lord husband in any way, i wish to repent." your arms came around his torso, cheek resting against him. "it wasn't my place to speak to you that way," you murmured, coy, docile, so unlike yourself that sukuna would've laughed any other day. "i'll suffer any punishment you see fit."
still, he didn't move, though his hands almost paused, then tightened on the brush, resuming. you could feel his resolve breaking bit by bit, and you latched on to it.
"yell at me, curse me, scold me, do whatever you'd like to me," you walked around to face him, stood between his horse and his broad chest. you looked up at him through your lashes, then hugged him again as his whole body tensed up, still acting like you weren't there.
"just please, look at me again. i can't bear being apart from you."
after a few moments of tense silence, sukuna cursed under his breath and suddenly moved. strong arms wrapped around you in a crushing embrace, bringing you closer to him, and you hid a triumphant yet relieved smile.
"you provoke me, over and over again," he began, growling. "and the second i turn away from you, you cling like a vine." his fingers grabbed your face and forced it upwards as he glared down at you. "spoiled brat."
"will you forgive me?" you asked, voice muffled as he squished your cheeks. he let out an exasperated huff.
"let's see how i feel once i give you the punishment you so sweetly asked for," he pinched your ear and suppressed a smirk, making you whine. you didn't move away from him, though, content to be right where you were. and you suspected your husband was, too. no matter how mad he got, he was always weak for you in the end.
a/n: tysm for 200 followers !! im in disbelief ✧.*
Pairing: incubus!Gojo x pro hero!Hawks x succubus!reader
They always said not to play with your food. Too bad the food is so easily played.
Content Warnings: smut, MDNI/18+ only, fem!reader, porn with little plot, threesome, mind tricks, cowgirl, slight dacryphilia, whiny Gojo and Keigo, cervix fucking, creampie(s), mentions of past breeding/breed kink, so much oral (m! & f! receiving), bukkake, cum eating/swapping, making out, marking, anal fingering, alternating POV's, mostly Keigo's POV WC: 11.9k
My entry for @madamechrissy's JJK Crossover Event. Happy 2 years on Tumblr! 🤍 (Let's pretend like I'm not late) Gojo art by formerly @/sheng5381 on X (if you know the artist's current account pls lmk) & Hawks fanart by @/kanton811 on X. Banner by @cafekitsune
“You’re so sensitive today, Satoru,” you purr out at the man under you. Rolling your hips again, he bucks up into you once more. A little whine forces itself from the back of his throat as his hands dig deeper into your skin, dimpling it under the pressure.
“‘M not,” he mewls, blue eyes finding yours as he tries—and ultimately fails—to compose himself. There are tears in his eyes as his hips twitch underneath you as you lift yourself up once again, only to drop down, his tip smooching your cervix.
“Sure you’re not,” you coo. Your tail swishes behind you before the pointed end gently trails over his flushed skin—trailing up from his abs that tense up at the touch, all the way up to his nipples, circling them slightly.
Throwing his head back, a tear finally slips down the apple of his cheek. It glints in the light spilling into the bedroom, enunciating the pretty sight. “Stop teasing.”
“But you look soooo pretty like this.” You wipe the tear away with your thumb before sucking on the pad of your finger, forked tongue swirling around it—a sight he definitely doesn’t miss by the way his cock twitches inside of you, more pre spilling from his slit, clinging to your walls. “Imagine what the others would think, seeing you like this.”
Shaking his head, little strands of hair clinging to his forehead, Gojo just whines once more. Of course he wouldn’t want others to see, and you’re not going to show anyone else what’s yours anyway, but you can’t help but tease the man a little.
Ever since the two of you had gotten into a relationship, others of your kind shot the both of you looks—some dirty, other envious. Because who wouldn’t want to be with your boyfriend? Both men and women line up for him, offering their bodies up even though it doesn’t feed him.
It almost makes you laugh, thinking about how desperate others could get, saying they would be a better fit for him, telling him they would let him pursue anyone he wanted, as long as he came back to them at the end of the day.
Not that Satoru ever took the bait, though. No, he just stayed by your side, rejecting everyone left and right. Telling them he had already found his mate for life—a thing you normally wouldn’t hear out of an incubus’ mouth. But fuck, if it wasn’t the hottest thing you’ve heard in all of your living years.
You’d given him head until his balls were empty that night, swallowing every drop he gave you with a small thank you falling from your lips every time he came.
And that sight—the one of him cumming, groaning your name, blue eyes hazed over—was for you alone to enjoy. And the humans the two of you went after, but that’s a whole different thing.
This sight, the one of him tearing up—crying, even—and pre dribbling out of him like a broken faucet, however, is yours alone.
It’s not something that happens often. Hell, in your time together it has only happened twice. The first time more than a millennia ago, when the two of you were freshly dating and couldn’t keep your hands off each other. He was constantly over you, putting you in every position imaginable, pounding your poor cunt until the both of you were exhausted—and that was a feat in itself.
The second time was a few years ago, after he had somehow gotten baby fever—a demon, getting baby fever! Truly something unimaginable—proceeding to keep you locked in your room until you were filled to the brim, his cum spilling out of you even days later.
That was truly the first time you also got that sensitive. The both of you not having fed in weeks—yes, that little psycho kept you locked (and filled) in your shared bedroom for weeks on end—resulting in getting more sensitive.
And now here you two are again today, Satoru not having fed enough the last time. It’s not like you can blame him, you did have most of the fun with the human he had chosen for the two of you, while he was stuck fucking you for majority of the time.
While it was fun, these were the consequences of those actions—having him writhe beneath you as his poor overstimulated cock gets milked by your snug walls once again.
Warmth floods your cunt for the nth time that night, Gojo’s abs and balls contracting as he cums once more. His back arches from the bed, lifting you from the bed—along with his own hips—slightly.
That was another thing that was different between the two of you right now. Normally Gojo could easily overpower you, throwing you around like you were merely a rag-doll he was playing with (and you absolutely loved it when he did). But right now his energy was depleted enough that he had difficulty doing what he normally does.
“Love you, love you, love you,” he babbles. His blue eyes shining a little brighter when he looks at you with that half-lidded gaze of his. If he could, he would have hearts in his eyes right now.
Leaning forward, you press your lips to his, nipping at his bottom lip slightly, before snaking your tongue into his mouth. The kiss is more teeth and tongue than anything else.
When he finally comes down from his high, you lean back slightly. “Ready for one more?” you whisper, nail grazing his jaw slightly as you look down at your boyfriend. Nodding his head, you smile slightly before giving him a quick peck.
Planting your feet, you finally begin chasing your own high, hips lifting before dropping them down onto him again and again, tip hitting your cervix every time. A small ring of white begins to froth at the base of his length, visible every time you lift your hips.
Sweat is finally starting to bead down your own forehead, trailing down until it drips down your chin. It mixes with Gojo’s own sweat, his entire body glinting in the low light of the room, making him seem even prettier.
His white hair sticks up at odd angles where you ran your hands through earlier, and it makes him look all the more adorable.
“Found someone we can feed on,” you begin, hips never once stopping their motion. It takes a while before Satoru focuses on you again, blinking away the haze he was just in. “Yeah? She pretty?”
“He is very pretty. I think you’ll like him. And from what I could gather, I think he would also like you.” Another roll of your hips has his eyes roll to the back of his skull, a small moan falling from his lips as he starts fucking up into you, the blue end of his tail pressing down onto your clit, having you keen out.
“G-give me the details later, first gotta get you to cum again,” he grunts. His balls slap against your ass as you lean forward with a slight squeal, hands planted on his chest.
He applies more pressure to your clit. At the same time he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, sucking and twirling his tongue around the sensitive peak. “Cum with me, my love. Please. Please?”
“Yes, yes, I will, baby.”
And you do, coming undone at the same time as him. His warm seed fills you to the womb, the feeling never failing to make you feel good. Your snug walls contract around him, milking him for everything he’s worth as you shudder on top of him, tail moving wildly behind you.
As the two of you come down from your high, you finally lift yourself off him. His cum bubbles out of you, dripping onto his abs as you maneuver yourself off him.
“So… what was this about that ‘pretty’ human of yours?”
If he gets called out of bed one more time, he swears he’s going to snap. His wing joints ache, back muscles burning from all the flying he’s been doing, and the eyebags are getting harder and harder to hide by the day.
The HPSC has been calling him non-stop since the last mission. All the calls are for minor inconveniences, but considering there has been an uprise of criminal activity lately, they can’t be too careful.
It’s not like he doesn’t get it, trust me, he does. But it still annoys him to no end that it’s just him, and not anyone else that’s getting called out of bed only forty minutes after laying down for some rest—he can’t even call it sleep with the hours he’s getting.
And fuck, if it isn’t starting to take a toll on him—both physically as emotionally.
His feathers are all crooked and bent, stress keeping him from quickly regrow his feathers. Hell, he hasn’t even gotten the time to properly preen them lately. And that certainly didn’t go unnoticed by the public.
If he has to believe the headlines, people are starting to wonder if he can even keep up the hero life he has chosen for himself. Only, he didn’t choose it for himself, the Hero Commission did. Picking him from the literal streets at six years old, promising his mother that he would be in good hands in exchange for some money and a roof above her head.
Well, he can’t really blame her for accepting the deal. She was trying to survive after all. But some part, deep down in his heart, he sometimes wonders if she couldn’t have tried a little harder.
Still, he can’t blame her. Not for selling him off, not for not protecting him from his father—hell, not even for staying with him for as long as she did. She covered for his crime, after all. The two of them were felons.
And to make matters worse, he has lost the last thing he had of her; the Endeavor plushy she bought him when he was younger.
It was a small thing, something he could clutch to his chest at night as his father would drunkenly yell and smash things downstairs. But it was at least something he had, a small beacon of hope, of proof that his mother, despite not outwardly showing it much, did love him.
Of course the little plush also held symbolic power to it. Endeavor was the one who arrested his father, got him out of the hell-hole that was home. Or well… it was supposed to be called home, but he never felt like it was one.
The feathers on his back twitch yet again. They’re all irritating the wing bone, heavy on his back as he drags himself to bed once more. Hopefully this time he could get at least three hours of sleep in before he had to start patrol again.
Wishful thinking.
Dropping his visor on his nightstand, he toes off his uniform boots before face planting onto bed, not bothering to even get under the duvet.
He’ll take a quick shower in the morning—or the dead of night, considering how you look at it. That’s the last thing he thinks about before sleep takes him under. Blond eyelashes fluttering shut as he fully relaxes the crimson feathers along his back.
“You look tired, pretty bird.” a soft voice from behind him speaks out, catching his attention. Turning around, he looks at the girl that’s standing in his living room. It’s not someone he’s familiar with—fortunately, or unfortunately for him, he remembers most if not every criminal face.
Letting his shoulders sag, he drops down onto the couch. The cushion sags a bit beneath his weight, and it almost feels unreal.
He looks at the girl once more. She takes a few tentative steps toward him, before stopping just shy of the edge of the couch. She’s… pretty, he supposes. A certain allure you don’t just find in anyone else. He thinks Uwabami would be very happy to model a few shoots with her. Or maybe Mt. Lady would be jealous if she were a hero.
That thought almost makes him chuckle. The rookie hero, recently debuted, immediately caught the attention of the cameras. Some say her heroic actions made her debut so attention-worthy (of which Hawks is pretty sure was actually Kamui Wood’s arrest), while others say it’s because she’s pretty,
Just like the girl that’s standing in front of him. She tilts her head to the side, hair swaying with the motion, as she fiddles with her thumbs a little. “Have you eaten today?”
Her voice is sweet, drifting through the air like the smell of chicken—something that catches his attention completely.
Hawks hums a little, letting his head fall back onto the couch. A golden curl bounces off his forehead, nearly poking him in the eye. He should probably get a haircut soon— not that he has the time for any of that, though.
“I’ve had a chicken sandwich,” he replies. Voice a little lower than normal, a small rumble from the back of his throat that he would never let the public hear. Tired. Even from his words he sounds tired. But he can’t keep pretending like everything is fine.
There’s a vague recognition in the back of his mind where he realises he’s asleep. One of those dreams that feel like he isn’t really dreaming, aware of everything that’s going on around him. He can even move his own arms, look around the room, as if he were awake.
Letting his head loll to the side, he eyes the girl. She’s frowning now, a small pout forming as she slowly sits down on the couch beside him—too close for his liking, but not close enough for him to actually voice it.
If he were awake, he would retract his wings, make sure no one would be able to touch his oh-so sensitive feathers. The red little plumes look sad, even from his own view. Dull where they once were glossy. Brittle and dirty. Yeah, he really should take a shower to scrub his feathers clean.
“You can’t keep going like this.” That makes him snap his attention back to her, eyes finding her form immediately. And it’s not like she’s lying, he can’t keep going like this. The amount of caffeine he consumes just to stay awake has been through the roof lately—which says a lot considering he normally already chugs coffees back like they’re energy drinks.
It’s almost like his subconscious has made a human just to tell him he’s slowly starting to kill himself with his sleep and work-schedule.
“I made a promise to keep people safe,” he says, not fully knowing if he’s trying to convince himself or her. But from the way her eyes soften, it is working, even if slightly. “But you also need to keep yourself safe. You almost flew into a building today,” she whispers back.
He almost cringes at the thought. Because, yeah, he did almost do that. His eyes having fluttered shut for just a second—a second too long, because by the time he opened the again, his nose nearly kissed the glass of one of the high-rises.
It’s not like he’s never flown into a building before. He has, just not in his adult years. Back when he was a little kid and was still learning how to fly under the watchful gaze of his handler, he had flown into many obstacles.
They weren’t all too happy to see the little control he had whilst flying. But over time it luckily had gotten better, veering right before banking straight down. His control nowadays was immaculate, being able to dodge buildings at speeds of hundreds of kilometers an hour.
Which is why it made it all the more embarrassing to almost fly head-first into a building. A building where people resided no less.
Would you imagine that. The number Two hero flying straight through your window and crashing into your living room, just because he’s so tired. Fuck, the headlines would have a field day if that ever were to happen to him.
“Temporary lapse of judgment,” he mumbles, too tired to clearly form a counter argument against the girl. Or rather his subconscious mind? Whatever, he doesn’t want to think about that for too long, he’s supposed to be asleep, and by the way this dream is going, he doubts he’ll feel rested when he has to wake up again. “Won’t happen again.”
“It better not, birdie. I need you alive and well,” she whispers back, letting herself relax a little more into the couch. From the corner of his eye, he can see the way she is careful not to brush against any of his wings, staying clear of the odd feathers that are sticking out.
Alive and well. The first one he can do, though not guarantee with his job. The second one, however, is much harder. He hasn’t been well in a long time if he were to be honest. Not that he would ever voice that out loud, though. He’s a hero, the Number Two Hero, the HPSC’s perfect weapon. No one is supposed to know that he isn’t doing well.
Before he can think further about it, movement from the corner of his eye catches his attention. The girl has leaned forward, more into his space now. She’s still careful not to sit on any feathers, or even brush against them with her leg. But her hand is hovering in front of his face now.
The crimson plumes along his back sharpen the moment he sees how close she is to touching him. Her hand immediately stops, eyes tracking the way the once-soft feathers are now as sharp as knives.
“You- I-” her fingers twitch where they’re in front of his face. Swallowing, she finally moves her arm again in a slow, careful movement. Her thumb brushes his forehead slightly, before it presses down between his eyebrows. “Just relax a little,” she murmurs, smoothing over the pinch between his brows he didn’t even know was there.
Once Hawks realises there is no threat, he forces his feathers to go back into their resting state. From sharp to soft, brushing against the couch.
He does as she says—letting himself fully relax. Something he hasn’t done in ages, evident by the frown lines between his brows and the strain in his muscles.
The touch is soft, soothing. There are no words spoken anymore, just a thumb that rubs relaxing circles into his skin. It makes him close his eyes, letting himself get lost in the soft touch he hasn’t felt in… maybe ever.
That isn’t something he wishes to think about, though. Right now he just wants to let himself feel this, not think about anything—the HPSC, villains, civilians, weird billboard rankings, the way he must look to her.
“Go to sleep, birdbrain. We’ll meet again soon,” she whispers into his ear, just before a feather-soft kiss is placed upon his forehead.
This time, when he opens his eyes again, he’s met with his ceiling. No longer sitting on the couch, but rather laying on the bed—where he fell asleep. Because it was a dream. Just a dream, nothing more, nothing less.
Looking over at his bedside table, he sees the glaring red numbers of his alarm clock blink back at him. 3:57 AM. An hour before he was supposed to wake up for patrol. Which also means he still has an hour of sleep left.
But his brain is running hundreds of miles an hour, thinking about the pretty girl of his dreams. It was… unusual. Normally he doesn’t even dream about things at all; going to sleep and waking up straight away, or well… what feels like straight away anyway.
Running a hand through his wind-tousled locks, he groans. He knows he should get some more sleep, but he also knows that he can’t go out looking like this. So with much reluctance, he pushes himself from the bed and goes to his bathroom to finally scrub himself clean.
If he can’t sleep, the least he can do is make himself look like the presentable hero he has to be.
Not that it matters much, grime and blood cover him at the end of the day once again. It had been a long day, fighting crime and keeping civilians safe.
The HPSC is right to send him out all the time. Crime rates haven’t been this high in forever, but he can’t help but wonder if there’s anything more to it. Not that he has time to wonder. Taking a quick shower, he almost falls asleep under the spray of warm water, relaxing his over-used muscles just slightly.
When was the last time he was this tired?
Gosh, it must’ve been ages ago, when he was just a little boy. The HPSC has trained him for as long as he can remember, but never once did he feel like this—like he would keen over if someone so much as blew on him. Like a little feather in the wind.
Collapsing onto the bed, he lets himself stare up at the ceiling for a little while. The day was long, having saved loads of people, using a lot of his feathers in the process. His wings are starting to look a little bare, some gaps visible.
But fuck, if it doesn’t make him feel good. He signed up for this. Signed up to be the protector of those who can’t protect themselves—whether legally or just because they can’t in general, just like he couldn’t all those years ago.
Closing his eyes, he lets himself relax, body moulding to the bed. Wings finally relaxing a little, their weight no longer dragging on his back as he’s laid down.
It’s only when he tries to empty his mind that he gets reminded of last night. Or well, of his dream. The one where that pretty lady visited him. That is if she’s real, and not something his mind completely made up to warn him that he’s slowly killing himself with the way he’s going right now.
He’s seen it before, of course. Hero’s who burn out, both rookie as veteran heroes who try to take on too much work. Destroying their minds and body at the same time, not taking enough breaks.
Fuck, when’s the last time he’s had a break? Two, three months ago?
That seems about right.
Food is another thing. With the constant quirk usage, he should be eating more—way more. The constant use of his wings and feathers means he burns a lot of calories. The intake, however, isn’t something he’s proud of.
Earlier in the shower he noticed how lean he’s starting to look. Sure, he’s always been on the leaner side compared to some of the other heroes—he needs to be, otherwise he can’t comfortably fly anymore—but he was never this lean.
It’s also noticeable that he can’t comfortably get to the speeds he once could. Flying at three hundred kilometers an hour should be easily doable for him—hell, he’s hit eight-hundred before, though that wasn’t in a city, but rather when flying to the other side of the country. But he just… has to exert more energy to hit his normal speed.
For a moment he wonders how long it’s going to take the HPSC to notice it. Notice the fact that their perfect weapon is slowly starting to fall apart right in front of their noses. Notice that their constant demands are starting to eat away at him.
Then again, they would do anything to use him. And he gets it. He’s been trained for this after all, but that doesn’t make it any easier.
Yes, he wants to help people. Yes, he would do anything to protect them. But then he thinks back on last night, on how that girl was telling him he should take better care of himself. At least eat a little more.
Will she be there again tonight? Stand in the same room as him, looking him over, assessing his state. Would she notice that he looks cleaner now, more presentable—more hero-like. Or would he not dream of her again.
The only way to find out is fall asleep. And even though he would love to, he just can’t shut his mind off. It’s racing at a hundred miles an hour, thinking back on villains and the information they all accidentally dropped without even realising.
Is there a connection between them? A small group of villains acting, or is it just individual people who think they can get away with it—as if they can outrun him, the fastest hero in all of Japan.
Stupid, honestly.
By the time he finally falls asleep, it’s almost a whole hour later. His eyes slipping shut as he was still thinking about everything that has happened over the past few weeks.
“I thought you were gonna skip out on me.” Is the first thing he’s greeted with when he opens his eyes again, this time still in his bed. It makes him freak out a little, because is she really in his bedroom, or is this a dream again?
Turning his head, he can see her sit on the floor at the end of the bed, head propped up on her fist as she cocks her head to the side. Hair cascading down her face, making a makeshift curtain. The moonlight from outside slipping in, illuminating her figure.
For a second, just one, he swears there’s something waving behind her—almost tail-like. Thin and black. But it’s gone as soon as he saw it.
She grins when his eyes find hers again. Blinking a few times, he sits upright. “You were waiting for me?”
“Of course I was. I told you I would, didn’t I?” She easily replies, a little teasing lilt to her voice. Her eyes crinkle as she grins a little wider, almost as if he said something funny.
And it’s true, she did say that she would meet him again soon, but he didn’t realise soon meant the literal next day. “Soon isn’t the same as ‘tomorrow’”
There’s a glint of amusement in her eyes now. Something so different from yesterday, he has to blink a few times to really see if this is the same person.
Her eyes rake down his body, stopping slightly at his bare waist. Her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip, before she looks back up at him again. “Did’ya eat today?”
Ah, there it is again. That concern she had for him yesterday. The grin gone, replaced with a slight frown as she sits upright—still at the end of the bed. Not sitting next to him this time.
“Had a few chicken skewers from a little vendor down,” he admits, rubbing his nape as he looks away. There’s something about her gaze that makes him a little nervous. Him, Hawks, the one who eyes people like they’re mere prey, feeling nervous from a pretty girl just looking at him as if he doesn’t have a whole fan base that thirsts after him.
Her eyebrows twitch a little at the confession, not a full scowl, but clearly not fully happy, either. “That’s the only thing you ate the entire day?”
Hawks has to look away for a second, suddenly feeling much more conscience about the fact that he hasn’t been eating much, especially lately. Yes, his days are hectic, but some proper nutritions should be the least he gets in a day. “Mhmm.”
“I thought I told you to eat more. Need you alive and well and all that.” She pouts, lower lip pushing out as she finally goes to sit on the bed, still not next to him, but at least a little closer than she was before. “At least you cleaned up a little.”
She’s referring to his wings, no longer dirty but rather a pretty, shiny red. Sure, they’re a bit dirty from the fact that he’s been flying around all day, fighting crime and all that, but it isn’t nearly as bad as it was yesterday.
“Mhmm, found some time before patrol to clean them,” he mumbles back, watching the way her fingers are twitching beside her, almost as if she wants to reach out to touch one. Still, she doesn’t. Fingers staying clear of the red plumes, just like yesterday.
“Good, that’s good. Mean you’re at least taking a bit more care of yourself.” She nods to herself, hair swaying with the motion as she finally looks up at him with a small smile. “Now you just have to get more sleep and eat more.”
It’s not so much a statement as it is a request. Almost like she’s trying to force him to eat and sleep more. Well, she did tell him that he couldn’t continue living like this, and that part is true.
The fact that the HPSC doesn’t even see it is quite alarming to be completely honest. But he’d rather be the one they call on—despite the fact that he wants to snap whenever they do call him out of bed—than that they try to raise some just like him.
He knows what it’s like to be raised between those walls, and he wouldn’t want to wish that upon anyone. So he has to endure this.
But maybe, just maybe, there is a solution to his problems. He isn’t sure what, but he’s going to figure it out. And he voices as much out loud. “I’ll figure something out.”
He isn’t sure if it’s to assure the girl that’s sitting on the bed with him, or himself. Not that it matters much, he knows she’s right. He should eat more. His back absolutely burning from all the flying he’s been doing lately.
“Good, because you’re way too young to burn out like this. Now go to sleep, you clearly need it.”
And he does, closing his eyes again, this time no pretty girl sitting next to him on the bed, but just a static black feed behind his eyes all the way until he wakes up.
The next few weeks continue like that—falling asleep and finding her sitting next to him. And each and every time she comes a little closer to him, getting out of her shell a little bit. Telling him about herself, sitting closer to him.
Of course he can’t forget the most important thing of all—she told him her name. A name he wasn’t familiar with, but sounded so pretty when she said it.
She still asks him if he’s eaten, and much to his credit, he has been eating more again lately. Something that’s definitely noticeable by the way he’s bulking up a little—not getting fat, but actually gaining back some of his muscles that he lost over the past few months.
She’d smiled when she saw the difference, though it was still a work in progress, it was at least something.
The eyebags under his eyes also definitely lessened. Getting more rest—not more hours of sleep, but just rest in general—than he ever has. No longer having to use a tube of concealer a week just to keep the bags away from the people.
They would probably be so worried when they saw the state he was in when he left the house. But with the constant reminder from the pretty lady in his dreams, he ate and slept more. Getting healthier by the day, even if the HPSC was still on his ass.
It’s not like crime had stopped in the meantime, petty criminals and actual drug rings popping up left and right. But with some of his strength being restored, those also got handled much quicker than before—something that definitely showed in his rating.
Not that he looks much at those ratings, knowing that the HPSC is skewing the percentages behind the scenes a lot. He’s good, he knows he’s good, but he isn’t number two good if he would look at the actual numbers.
Oh well, not something he really minds.
All he really cares about is you—the pretty lady in his dreams that tells him he’s doing so good lately. Telling him that he looks good, and not just in the way that his fans tell him he looks good; no, she means that he looks healthy again.
Fuck, the way you were running your hands through his shorter hair—because yes, he finally got that haircut as well—telling him you were so proud of him for doing good, almost has his feathers fucking tremble.
Without realising it, he has started to look forward to get into bed—to see you. Wishing the day would fly by faster so he could just close his eyes and see your beautiful figure standing in the same room as him.
The problem is that others have started to notice as well. Not his fans or the press necessarily, but rather his handler from the HPSC. They came up to him earlier today, asking him if he had someone waiting for him at home.
Technically he doesn’t, but the fact that they could even notice that he was more eager to return home after a long day of work is a problem. (How they can see that, but not see that they’re working him to the point of almost falling asleep whilst still flying astounds him.)
Getting cornered like that really didn’t sit right with him. His wings almost puffing up in defense, before he controlled them enough to not be noticeable.
Those same feathers your fingers ran through just last night, his brain working overtime as you oh-so gently ran your fingers along his wing bone, down his big, soft primaries. It almost makes him hard yet again.
But how would he tell his handlers that he technically doesn’t have someone waiting at home for him, but rather in his dreams.
Fuck, they would call him delusional, run scans on him to see if it’s someone’s quirk affecting him—as if he hasn’t tried to research that himself. Spending nights to see if there was any entry of your name in the system with a matching description, only to come up empty.
His not-so-real girlfriend turned real inside of his dreams.
Maybe they would give him some days off, saying he’s hallucinating or something like that. But he knows somewhere deep inside his brain that you are real, just not in the world where he’s awake.
Quite frankly, he doesn’t really care about the logistics anymore. Not after that one night where you ran him a bath and carefully preened his crooked feathers, massaging the knots out of his back from the long hours of flight he has been doing.
To trust someone like that—the President would have his head if she ever found out he’s been getting ‘lax’, even in his dreams.
For just once in his life, he wants to have something of his own, even if there is a possibility that all of this is fake—his mind making up things as he’s asleep; something he wants but can’t have in the real world.
Still, he knows that he’s fucked. …Just not fucked enough to not almost pounce onto the bed, pulling his blanket over him and fall asleep almost immediately.
He’s expecting to hear your voice, that pretty lilt in your voice as you tell him he did good today—having eaten much more than the first time the two of you met a few weeks ago, keeping himself clean, and actually getting a nap in during his supposed patrol (don’t tell the President that, though).
Instead, he’s greeted by a mop of white hair. A mop of white hair that belongs to a guy—not you—with the prettiest blue eyes he’s ever seen. If he had to even try to compare them, he thinks Endeavor’s eye colour would come closest to it—and even then, it’s not even close.
Still, he wasn’t expecting this. The fact that there’s a man in the living room with him, instead of his the pretty girlfriend.
Looks like the stranger notices, tilting his head to the side, bangs brushing his forehead with the motion. “Expecting someone else?”
That… is not what Hawks thought would come out of the guy’s mouth. Is this his subconscious trying to fuck with him once again? Could you not make it, and did his brain know, trying to make up for the fact that you’re not here.
Without even realising it, a small pout forms on his face. Thinking about how, after a long day of work, all he could think about was to pull your body against his, hold you close as you ramble about your day instead.
Now he can’t even do that, considering you’re not even here.
“Don’t look so sad. You have me here now,” the white-haired guy speaks up once again, trying to gain Keigo’s attention.
The hero looks over to where the guy is perched on the couch—much too close for his liking, but juuust far away enough that he doesn’t have to calm his feathers down. “You’re not her.”
That makes the guy smile, a certain glint of amusement passing through his eyes as he looks over the crimson-winged hero. “Astute observation. Though, I can take care of you, too, y’know.” There’s a slight pause before the white-haired guy adds: “In whatever way you want.”
The smug cadence in the guy’s voice makes Hawks stop for a second. Sure, he’s thought about wanting to kiss you and definitely more than just kiss you, but never did he think about actually doing those things. When he still doesn’t answer, the white-haired guy tries again.
“Look, if you wanted her here so bad, then why am I the one that’s here instead? This is your dream, so clearly you wanted me to be here.”
Right, because whatever way he looks at it, Keigo is still asleep. Not actually meeting up with a girl he likes. It’s just him, lucid dreaming about a girl his mind made up and do stuff with. And now apparently there is a guy in his dreams. A very handsome guy.
It’s not that Keigo doesn’t have eyes! The guy in front of him is objectively fucking attractive, but he still can’t help but feel disappointed that you’re not here with him.
“Just let me rest for the night,” he manages to mumble out, golden eyes slipping close already as he relaxes himself on the couch, wings actually tucked in for the first time in forever when he’s asleep.
Much to his surprise, the white-haired guy doesn’t actually say anything further, just lets out a little hum, but actually does let him sleep. Not disturbing him—though very clearly eyeing him with those pretty blue eyes of his, considering Keigo can almost feel them on his skin—until his alarm goes off.
The rest of the day has him feeling rather odd. His mind not completely in the game when he has to catch more villains—of course he still gets his job done, he is Hawks, the Number Two hero after all. But it isn’t quite as smooth as normal.
His mind still back at the pretty guy who showed up in his dreams instead of you. But then again, the guy did have a point about it being his dream, so somewhere in the back of that stupid brain of his, he conjured up that tall, handsome man.
Would you be there tonight, or is it the same guy again?
Well, he doesn’t have to wait long for that answer; going to sleep and opening his eyes to see bright blue eyes staring back at him, a small smirk tugging on the guy’s face. It has Keigo groan out, having hoped to spend some time with you again.
“Oh come onnn,” the guy whines, moving closer to where the hero is sat. “What’s so bad about me, hmmm? Is it because I’m a guy?”
“I just wanna see my girlfriend,” the words slip out before he even realises it. It’s not like you’re his girlfriend, but this guy doesn’t have to know that. Plus, this is inside of his damn mind! He can say whatever he wants to.
Seems like that was the wrong thing to say, though. The white-haired guy tilts his head, blue eyes blinking down at him as he grins. “I can be your boyfriend in the meanwhile.”
That’s how this weird dynamic begins. Keigo doesn’t really trust Gojo—as he said his name was—the same way he trusts you, but much to the guy’s credit, he does actually do a decent job at filling the gaps where you normally were.
Gojo asks him about his days, if he’d eaten today, all while playing with Keigo’s hair or sometimes massaging his shoulders—all things you also do.
So when days blur into weeks, and the blond hasn’t seen you ever since Gojo showed up, he doesn’t think much of it. Feeling more and more relaxed with the tall man around. But then there you are again, sitting on the couch with a pretty smile on your face like you haven’t been gone for weeks.
It makes his mind buffer for a little while, this time having expected Gojo here instead of you. Which is quite ironic when you think about it, considering he didn’t want anything to do with the white-haired guy before, and now he’s almost expecting him to be here.
But it doesn’t matter much, not when you coo at how pretty he looks added with a small kiss on his cheek.. Ushering him to the couch to ask him about his day.
So sometimes you’re there in his dreams, and other times it’s Gojo. He never knows when his mind decides to set him up with you or Gojo, but it doesn’t matter all that much to him anymore. All he knows is that he can feel comfortable around the two of you, no matter which one it is.
“Poor thing, losing most of your feathers in battle like that,” he hears you purr from behind him. Delicate fingers tracing over his lower back as you walk in front of him, staring at his face. Cupping his cheek, he lets himself bask in the warmth for a little, not sure when the next time ’s gonna be he sees you again.
But it isn’t until he feels another hand—bigger, a bit more rough—splayed along his back that he realises it isn’t just you in the room with him. He distantly recognizes the fact that you’re letting go of his face, but all he can think about is how a white mop of hair and blue eyes are looking at him.
It makes his mind buffer a little, having both his boy- and girlfriend in the room (he has long since disregarded anything that makes sense, in his mind the two of you are? Were? The same entity, something his mind conjured up because he’s so fucking lonely. But there was also something real about it.)
Not that it matters much when Gojo pushes out that plump bottom-lip of his, already glinting with some saliva. The thing looking almost kiss-bitten already, red where they’re normally a lighter shade of pink. “What happened to your wings, pretty boy?”
Hawks opens his mouth a few times, wanting to tell the two of you what exactly happened, but his mind is still buffering from the fact that you’re both here—at the same time.
“I just- battle gone wrong. What… what’s happening?” He breathes out, confused. Golden eyes tracking the way Gojo now is also standing in front of him. But instead of those pretty blue eyes looking at his own golden ones, they’re completely focused on you.
You, who smile up at the white-haired man. A smile so devious, Keigo isn’t sure he’s ever seen it before—it was much more in character for Gojo to smile at him like that, not you. Especially when you’re looking at someone who’s supposed to be a stranger, or that’s what Keigo thought anyway. But from the way you two are looking at each other, it certainly does look like you two have known each other for a while.
And as if he wasn’t confused enough already, Gojo surges forward, crashing his lips upon yours. There is no sweetness in it, not the way he has kissed him before, with those tender kisses being placed upon Keigo’s scarred, suntanned skin. No, this is all heat and passion—teeth and tongue.
Your hands move to Gojo’s hair, tugging on it so harshly, it gains a groan from the white-haired man. That same groan that does something to Keigo he isn’t sure how to admit.
Gojo pulls your body further against his, chest to chest, him having to bend down a bit to fully reach you as your tongues clash. And all Keigo can do is watch the two of you just blatantly make out in front of him.
That should be him …right? So why does he feel so turned on when watching his whatever-the-fuck the two of you were of his, make out with each other?
A low, needy noise escapes his lips without even realising it. But it seems like, despite being so preoccupied, both you and Gojo could hear it loud and clear. Disconnecting your lips from one another, a thin string of saliva connects the two of you. It glistens in the low bedroom light, gaining Keigo’s full attention before it snaps.
Your eyes are half-lidded as you look at the hero, chest heaving up and down with each ragged breath you take. Your hands slooowly sliding from Gojo’s hair to his chest. “I think someone wants in on the kiss,” you comment to Gojo before cocking your head to the side. “Don’t you, baby?”
Keigo can only stand there, hands clenching and unclenching as his heart beats against his chest. A small nod is all it takes for the two of you to move.
Gojo moves to his back, one big hand gripping his waist as the other perches on his hip. They move up and down slightly as you position yourself in front of the blond. One hand trails from his chest all the way up to his jaw. Your fingers leaving behind a trail of goosebumps on his scarred skin. “Need you to use your words for me.”
“Yes please, wanna kiss you.” Keigo swallows, blown-out pupils looking you over as you smile up at him. “Attaboy,” you whisper, before your lips meet to move his.
It isn’t as rough as the kiss between you and Gojo, not with the way you’re trying to coax his lips open with your tongue. Nor with the way you keep the speed down a little, letting it drag out a little.
Keigo’s hands find your hips, pulling you further into him. Feeling the way your breasts are squished against the hard planes of his body. At the same time, he can feel Gojo’s hand squeeze his own hip. Lips ghosting Keigo’s ear. “Doing so good for us.”
That makes the blond moan out into your mouth, the praise traveling directly south—something you can definitely feel. Especially when you disconnect your lips from his, lips swollen from the kisses as you look at Gojo. “Seems like he’s enjoying this, a lot.”
The white-haired man raises a brow before he looks over the shorter man’s shoulder, looking at the obvious tent in Keigo’s trousers. “How cute, getting that hard over a couple of kisses. And you haven’t even kissed me yet,” Gojo grabs the blond’s chin, turning his head to face him. “Don’t worry, I also get hard embarrassingly fast when she kisses me.”
Before he can even ask what Gojo means, said man already crashes his lips upon his own, muffling the sound. Keigo has to stand on his tippy toes a little to kiss the taller man back, twisting his torso around awkwardly—not wanting to have his sensitive wings squished to his body.
Your sweet giggles fill his ears. “So eager. Knew you’d be perfect for us,” you purr out, one hand cupping the bulge as you pepper open-mouthed kisses along his exposed neck, suckling on the skin.
Keigo groans out into Gojo’s mouth, the feeling of your fingers tracing his hard-on through his pants has him bucking up into your hand, hips moving on its own as he’s completely lost in the way the white-haired man is kissing him. It’s so different from the way you kissed him—sweet whereas the other man is a bit more mean, saliva getting swapped in a filthy exchange.
Fuck, he’s not sure he can keep up with the both of you touching him like this.
There’s a gasp of air when Gojo finally pulls back, blue eyes almost completely disappearing to the black of his irises, only a thin ring of blue remaining. The two of them breathing heavy as they just look at each other for a couple of seconds, before a small thud! finally grabs both their attention.
Snapping his gaze to the sound, he sees the way you’ve dropped to your knees now—not even realising that you stopped touching him—an innocent smile on your face as you look up at the two men in front of you.
Gojo just chuckles, moving to stand beside the shorter man now. Running a hand through your hair, you lean into his hand, eyes flicking between the two of them. Your hands find themselves on Keigo’s thighs that flex under the touch. Your head moving to lay itself on there too, nose brushing against his bulge as you look up at the blond.
“Wanna suck you off,” you place a few teasing kisses on his covered cock. “Please?”
“Y-yeah. Fuck yeah, of course you can, dove,” he stammers out, completely entranced by the way your eyes are so doe-like right now. A complete opposite to how they looked just a few second ago.
A smile stretches across your lips as you unbuckle his belt, trying to get the useless fabric out of the way as fast as possible. And who is Keigo to deny such a pretty girl his cock? Moving his own hands to help you get rid of the garments quicker, his cock springs up the moment the clothes pool around his ankles.
There’s pre beading down his slit, shaft already glistening with it. A prominent vein pulsing on the left side of his cock as the hairs at the base are trimmed at best. It twitches a few times under your gaze, before you spit into your hand and finally wrap it around his girth.
A groan immediately punches from the back of his throat when he feels your delicate fingers tug on him. The little stubs on his back twitch with the touch, a small tingle going down his spine at the feeling. He has to hold himself back from cumming right then and there—already embarrassingly close from just a few kisses and touches.
Placing a few kisses to the underside of his shaft, you let your tongue loll out of your mouth, giving it a teasing lick before wrapping your lips around the swollen head. Your hand still moving uuup and down his shaft, pulling moans and groans from the blond like they’re free candies.
“Look so pretty for us like this,” Gojo murmurs, not sure if he’s talking to you or Keigo. Not that it matters much to the shorter man, words only fueling him more. Eyes fluttering shut as you suuckk on his tip, tongue swirling around as you start bobbing your head up and down his shaft.
“O-oh shit,” Keigo moans when your nose meets his pelvis. His hand shoots down to your head, fingers hovering just over your hair as they flex, not sure if he’s allowed to grab your head like that.
Seems like you notice, though. Pulling yourself off him, lips shiny with saliva and pre, hand still jerking him off as you smile up at him—all innocent, like you didn’t just have him down your slutty throat. “Go on, you can do whatever you want.”
With that, you take him in your mouth again, throat bulging slightly as you deep throat him once more.
This time Keigo’s hand threads through your hair, fingers digging into the back of your skull as his own eyes roll back, only the whites visible. Abs flexing as he oh so desperately tries not to buck his hips forward, burying his cock down your throat like he wants.
“Taking me so good,” he whimpers—fucking whimpers out. Completely lost in you that he’s forgotten that there’s another presence in the room.
“You can be rougher than that, she takes cock like a champ. Don’t you, babe?” Keigo startles, eyes opening to see the other man completely bare. When did he even take his clothes off? Cock standing proud, tip a pretty blush colour as pre gathers along his slit. The sight makes the hero absolutely salivate.
The words don’t even process in his mind until you pull yourself off Keigo’s cock with a wet little pop! some saliva dripping down the corner of your mouth, despite the blond not being as big as your boyfriend. A whine escapes him as your warm, wet throat leaves him. The cool, chilly air of his bedroom making his ever-sensitive dick twitch a few times.
Luckily for him, your hand wraps itself around the blond’s cock, keeping him stimulated as you give teasing kitten licks to the neglected cockhead of your boyfriend’s cock.
Groaning, Gojo puts his hand on the back of your head, guiding your mouth until it’s wrapped around him. The tip grazing the roof of your mouth as you steady yourself with one hand on his big thigh.
Gojo starts fucking into your mouth with deep, harsh trusts. And fuck, the sight has Keigo buck his hips into your hand. It was clear that you could take a lot, especially with the way you were sloppily making out with his tip before sinking down to the base, his tip reaching the back of your throat. But seeing you swallow Gojo’s dick that is at least an inch and a half bigger than his own, yeah, taking cock like a champ is exactly right.
The room fills with the wet sounds of your gurgles, Gojo’s balls hitting your chin over and over again, and the sound of the white-haired man whining out your name between praises.
Gojo doesn’t let you come up for air even once. Not that you want it, from your expression. Literal hearts in your eyes as you look up at the man who’s currently rutting into your mouth like there’s no tomorrow, head thrown back, eyes closed.
You haven’t forgotten about the blond, though. Hand still moving up and down his shaft as you get absolutely used by the other man, your fingers digging into his thigh.
Keigo can feel himself get closer by the second, already having trouble not cumming right now—watching the way you’re taking all of Gojo like it’s your job. Even when the white-haired man’s hips buck uncontrollably, little whines leaving his lips as you keep sucking him off.
Pulling you off his girth, Gojo groans. “F-fuck sweetheart, let us cum on your face, hmm? You’re close too, right, handsome?” Keigo just nods his head, golden curls bouncing with the motion. “Of course you are, such a good boy.”
That does it, sending Keigo right over the edge. Hot white spurts landing on your face as you close your eyes and open your mouth.
Gojo is not far behind, cumming with a groan. Their release mixing on your face, painting you in white.
You scoop some of the cum from your cheeks, lips closing around your fingers as you lick it all up. A moan ripping itself from the back of your throat when the mixed cum hits your taste buds.
Keigo can’t even properly come down from his high—dick still twitching a few times, wing stubs moving on his back—before Gojo helps you stand, and licks some of the release from your face. His tongue lapping over your cheek, before sharing a filthy kiss with you, swapping the cum around in your mouths.
If Keigo’s dick wasn’t twitching before, it certainly is now. Getting half-hard again already, watching the way you two are just drinking each other up—and the cum, of course.
It’s only when Gojo scoops some of it from your cheek onto his fingers, that the blond comes to his senses a bit more. “C’mon pretty boy, you don’t wanna know how sweet we taste together?”
Gojo taps his cum-covered fingers on Keigo’s bottom lip, smearing some of it on there. For one second, just one, those golden eyes find yours—seeing the way you’re biting your lip, rubbing your thighs together where you’re still sat on your knees, eyes half-lidded—and he’s done for.
Opening his mouth, he sucks on Gojo’s fingers. The taste of both him and the other man filling his taste buds, and he can’t help but let his eyes flutter shut.
“Fuck, he looks so pretty like that. Almost makes me regret not asking him to suck me off with you,” Gojo whispers, blue eyes looking down at the other guy that’s currently sucking on his fingers like it’s his dick.
“We can always do that another time,” you reply. Having stood up from the ground, only to discard your own clothes. Not that Keigo notices that detail, eyes opening to directly stare up into those pretty blue orbs, tongue still swirling around those thick digits.
It’s only when you move to stand behind him, breath ghosting the shell of his ear as you lean forward, one finger tracing his spine, going especially slow when you’re close to his wings, that he snaps out of whatever trance he was in.
His wing stubs move erratically on his back, the sensitive skin your finger is currently grazing making him so fucking sensitive. A small whine leaving his throat when your finger comes down on what’s left of his wing bone.
“Maybe we can also play with those feathers of his next time.” The thought makes a shiver go down his spine, already thinking about how the two of you would use his feathers.
Fuck, would Gojo put him on his lap, back against his chest, those red feathers getting squished between bodies as he cards his fingers through the crimson feathers? All while you jerk him off, that devious throat of yours taking all of him in when he’s already sensitive.
Multiple scenarios flash through his head at once. You, on your back, fingers clinging to his biceps and shoulders, leaving behind angry marks he can admire for the rest of the day when he wakes up again.
Him, sinking down on Gojo’s ridiculously large cock, wings twitching as he tries to fit all of him in. All while Gojo whispers condescendingly praise into his ears, telling him how pretty he is when he’s struggling to take some cock.
Fuck, now is not the time to think about it, but rather to act it all out. And it seems like the two of you agree with that sentiment, especially when you try to take his shirt off, leaving him just as bare as you and Gojo already were.
“Think you can take me?” Gojo asks the blond, giving his own cock a few tugs.
Can he? He honestly has never even tried something this large before, only having a handful of experiences with other guys, where he topped most of the time. The few times he bottomed wasn’t with guys who were this big.
Keigo looks down once again, and he can swear Gojo has gotten even bigger somehow between fucking your throat and now. Surely a trick of his mind, getting a bit overwhelmed at the thought of all of that trying to fit inside of him.
“‘S okay if you can’t, baby,” you, still stood behind him, rubbing his shoulders a bit, say. “You two can fuck me instead if you don‘t think you can take it.”
Gulping, he looks at you for a few seconds, golden eyes completely blown out when he feels the way you’re pressing against him. Then looks back at where the taller man is standing, cock hanging from how heavy it is, glistening in the low bedroom lighting, making it all the more inviting.
“I can take it,” he responds, even though the thought of fucking you also weighs heavy on his mind. Thinking about how your walls would be clamping around him as he fucks into you the same time Gojo does.
But he can’t deny that he also wants Gojo, having daydreamed about what the tall man would do to him if he ever let it.
“Attaboy. We’ll take such good care of you,” Gojo whispers, sealing his promise with a filthy kiss. “Go on, lay down for me.”
He does as told, leaning back on the bed, propping himself up with his elbows so his wings don’t touch the bed.
At the same time you go to lay down beside him, legs spread. There’s slick along your inner thighs, glistening in the light. Of course Keigo can’t help but look at it, eyes immediately snapping towards your puffy folds.
Not that he has a view of it for long, because there’s a groan from the other man before he’s on you—eating you out like a man starved. There’s sweet moans falling from your lips as you fist some of the white hair, bringing Gojo closer toward you.
Speaking of, it’s not like they completely forget about him. One of your hands creeps over to where Keigo lay, wrapping around his base and giving him a few pumps, thumbing the slit with each pass of your hand.
Leaning over, he captures your mouth. Kissing you like there’s no tomorrow. The sound of the wet shlick shlick shlick along with the wet squelch of Gojo’s fingers moving in and out of you fills the room.
Before he knows it, you cum with a cry. Back arching as you moan out into Keigo’s mouth. “That’s it, sweetheart. Cum all over my tongue,” the white-haired man mumbles from between your legs. Before he finally lets up, removing his fingers from your dripping core, only to lap them clean. Shufflinf over to seat himself between Keigo’s legs now.
For a second, looking down at the man that’s currently looking at him like he wants to absolutely devour him, Keigo swears he sees something on his chest. A small marking that wasn’t there before. Tilting his chin further down, he can see it more clearly now, and it has his heart and mind absolutely racing.
It almost looks like a tattoo, in the most beautiful shade of blue he can even think of—almost the same shade as the man’s eyes who is currently between his legs, sucking hickeys into his skin he definitely has to cover up when he’s cleared to go on patrol again. (God forbid someone somehow saw one of the markings, he doesn’t have the time to explain to everyone that he’s a human being with needs.)
But the tattoo holds his attention, a small little heart with swirls all around them. It almost looks like it’s glowing, and his fingers can’t help but creep towards the mark.
“Isn’t it pretty?” Keigo startles when he hears your voice, much closer than he had anticipated it to be. Turning his head to the side, he’s met with you. Perched on your knees as you sit right beside him now, no longer laying on your back. Eyes wide, he can’t help but look you over for a few seconds.
His eyes go to the swell of your breasts, looking at the way they look so inviting to suck. Then travel down, all the way until he sees a similar mark on your own lower stomach—the same pretty shade of blue, a little heart with markings all around. A fucking womb tattoo.
How didn’t he notice it when Gojo was absolutely lapping you up? When your back was arched so pretty, eyes fluttering close.
“Since when…?” He can’t really find the words he’s looking for, golden eyes still trained on your womb while Gojo has finally stopped his ministrations, instead laying his head on Keigo’s thigh.
“Back when I made her my girlfriend—made her mine,” the taller man replies, blue eyes flitting between the two marks; eyes lingering on your tattoo a bit longer than on Keigo’s one. “As for yours… the first time we met.”
Keigo furrows his brows. The day they met? Surely he would’ve known if someone gave him a tattoo, especially on his chest. Plus, he’s never seen it before in his life. Sure, he was tired all the time, but not tired enough to miss a whole ass tattoo on his chest.
When the blond stays silent for longer than expected, Gojo pouts a little, glossy lip pushed out as he playfully bites the blond’s thigh. “Do you not like it?”
“I do! I do! It’s just… How did I miss this before?” He mutters more to himself than to either of you, but you perk up a bit. “Because we’re only showing it to you now, pretty boy.”
“What does that even mean— O-oh fuck!” He gets cut off when a warm mouth wraps around the tip of his blushing cock, tongue lapping up all the pre that was dripping already. One of his scarred hands flies down to tangle into the short, white locks of Gojo’s hair. Who is currently looking up with an amused glint in those pretty blue eyes.
Pulling himself off, a small pop! echoing through the room. “Sorry, did you want to ask something?”
“N-not really,” Keigo rasps, his hand trying to guide Gojo back to his swollen cock head. Gojo just chuckles, giving the blond a small wink, before he places small kisses all over the shaft—from his glossy tip to his frenulum, a small moan escaping the hero’s lips when he feels the teasing kitten lick over the thing, all the way down until his lips find the delicate skin of Keigo’s balls.
Wrapping his lips around them, Keigo has to focus on not bucking into the lager man’s hands. Small moans escaping his lips as Gojo plays with his balls, all whilst still jerking him off. The sight of such a pretty guy sucking on his balls while his hand is pumping him, has him positively twitching in the white-haired man’s hands.
“Didn’t forget about me, did you?” you purr at the blonde, one finger trailing from his throat down to his chest, where you circle one of his nipples. Shaking his head, curls bouncing with the motion, he cups your jaw to bring you in for a kiss.
At the exact same time, Gojo pulls away from his balls, only for two wet, cold fingers to circle his entrance. Pulling back from the kiss, he looks down to where Gojo is smearing the substance—of what he guesses is lube—in a messy circle around his hole, blue eyes staring up at him. “This okay?”
“Mhmm, yeah.” Keigo nods back, giving the okay for Satoru to sink one of his fingers inside of him. The foreign feeling has him hissing out, the slight stretch almost completely unfamiliar to the blond. You brush his fringe out of his face, a few golden curls stubbornly springing back into place. “Relax for him, pretty bird.”
He tries to do as much, just letting himself feel how Gojo is slowly moving his finger in and out of him. Finger sometimes crooking up, trying to find that spot inside of him. The white-haired man places a kiss on Keigo’s hipbone.
All while you lean over the blond, placing small kisses all on his shoulders and collarbones, sucking small marks into his skin.
The feeling of two sets of soft lips upon his skin makes him relax a bit more, enough that Gojo can sink his entire finger in. Trying to get him used to the stretch to get a second finger in. “Doing so good for me.”
Keigo’s cock twitches where it’s laying on his stomach, the soft amber lighting in the room annunciating the way his entire cock is glossy from pre and saliva. Throwing his head back, he doesn’t see the way the white-haired guy now leans up.
Grabbing the hero’s cock, Gojo wraps his lips around his shaft once more, trying to distract the smaller guy from the fact that he’s adding another finger in, slowly stretching him out more.
Keigo clenches around both digits, a small moan escaping him as he feels all too much—Gojo’s digits slowly scissoring him open while the white-haired male also lets his tongue lave over Keigo’s slit, and then there’s you.
Soft lips placing open-mouthed kisses over his skin, sometimes stopping to let your teeth sink in or suck a mark into the suntanned skin, until you stray a bit further down, your lips find the mark on his chest.
Hawks’ back arches from the bed, and Gojo has to wrap his free arm over the man’s waist, pinning him down so he doesn’t accidentally hurt the smaller guy; fingers still slowly moving inside of him, cock now buried in Satoru’s throat. Not that you’d know from the way the guy doesn’t even blink at the sudden movement, only sinks his head down further until his lips reach the base.
“Shit- fuck, what the fuck?” He groans, one hand finding the back of your head—where you’re still licking and sucking on the tattoo, and it’s almost like there are thousands of little nerve endings on the thing, making his dick twitch and pulse inside Gojo’s mouth.
Placing a small kiss on it, you look back up at Keigo, a smirk tugging on your lips. “Pretty nice, huh?”
He can’t find the words, especially not when you lick a broad stripe over the mark. His back arches, the stimulation of the mark plus the way his cock feels in Gojo’s tight throat and the three fingers currently moving inside of him, hurtles him over the edge.
It isn’t long before Gojo is pulling off and out of him, licking his lips like he was just served a meal. Throwing an arm over his eyes, he let’s himself breathe, chest heaving up and down.
“You ready for another?” The arm slides off his face to look at Gojo, who’s standing at the side of the bed, hand wrapped around his cock as he gives it a few lazy strokes. The confusion must show on his face, because both you and Gojo chuckle in unison. “I hope you ate enough to get plenty of energy, because we’re far from done with you yet.”
♡ summary: after two terrible days, all you want is to use your boyfriend as a mattress. unfortunately for you, gojo satoru is very easily distracted.
♡ warnings: 18+ mdni • explicit sexual content • established relationship • oral (f!receiving) • multiple orgasms • piv sex • praise • possessive language • dirty talk • creampie • fluff
♡ author’s note: this was inspired by a post from @silentlunarkiss based on this fanart 😭 i screenshotted it immediately because i knew i wanted to write it, then somehow lost the original post before i could tag them. finally found them again!! ♡
banner by @pixopix
The apartment is quiet when you finally drag yourself through the door, your work bag feeling like it weighs a thousand pounds. Your feet are killing you, your brain is fried, and all you want is to collapse into bed and not move for approximately twelve hours.
You kick off your shoes and shuffle down the hallway, already pulling your hair out of the bun you'd done up that morning, now mostly falling out on its own. The bedroom door is cracked open, and when you push it wider, you find exactly what you were hoping for.
Satoru is sprawled across the bed like a starfish, still wearing his teaching clothes—black pants and a rumpled button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His blindfold is tossed carelessly on the nightstand, and his white hair is an absolute disaster, sticking up in every direction like he's been running his hands through it all day. His eyes are closed, one arm thrown over his face.
He looks as exhausted as you feel.
"Rough day?" you ask, and he groans without moving.
"The first years tried to fight a curse three grades above their level because Yuji said it 'looked easy,'" he mumbles into his arm. "I had to bail them out. Again. Then Megumi and Nobara got into an argument about mission protocol that somehow turned into a full-blown screaming match about who ate whose leftovers from the fridge. I had to separate them like they were toddlers."
Despite your exhaustion, you snort. "Sounds about right."
"And then," he continues, finally moving his arm to peek at you with one brilliant blue eye, "Yaga cornered me about paperwork I was supposed to file last week. Do you know how much I hate paperwork?"
"I'm aware." You're already moving toward the bed, unbuttoning your work pants. "You complain about it literally every time."
"Because it's the worst. I'm the strongest sorcerer alive. I shouldn't have to file incident reports."
"Mm-hmm, very tragic." You shimmy out of your pants and leave them in a heap on the floor—a problem for future you. Your blouse follows, leaving you in just your bra and underwear. "My day was also shit, for the record."
"Yeah?" He's watching you now with lazy interest, too tired to even sit up but still tracking your movements.
"My boss is an idiot, the coffee machine broke, I had to sit through a two-hour meeting that could've been an email, and Janet from accounting passive-aggressively cc'd the entire department on an email about someone stealing her lunch. Which, for the record, I didn't do, but she definitely thinks I did based on the way she was glaring at me."
"Want me to hollow purple Janet from accounting?" he offers, completely serious.
"Tempting, but no." You crawl onto the bed and without ceremony, flop directly on top of him, your full weight pressing him into the mattress. You bury your face in his chest with a long, dramatic groan. "I'm dead. This is me, dead."
"Hi, dead. I'm also dead." His arms come around you automatically, wrapping you up even though you're both too tired to really move. "We're both corpses now. This is our life."
"Our death," you correct, muffled against his shirt.
"Our death," he agrees solemnly.
For a moment, you just lie there, breathing in sync. He smells like his cologne mixed with the faint scent of the training grounds—sweat and grass and something distinctly him. It's comforting in a way you can't quite articulate. This exhausted, collapsed-together moment feels like home.
His hand starts moving on your back, slow and gentle, rubbing up and down your spine. It feels incredible, and you make an embarrassing sound of contentment that you'll deny later.
"You're tense as hell," he murmurs, fingers working at a knot between your shoulder blades.
"You try dealing with Janet's accusatory emails and see how relaxed you are," you mumble, but you're already melting into his touch.
"I'd just block her."
"You can't block coworkers, Satoru."
"You can if you're powerful enough." His hand slides lower, still rubbing your back, and you feel some of the day's tension starting to ease. "This okay?"
"It's perfect. You're my favorite human pillow."
"Just human pillow? Not devastatingly handsome boyfriend who you're lucky to have?"
"That's implied," you say, but you're smiling against his chest.
His other hand joins the first, both of them working at your tired muscles, and you honest-to-god almost start purring. This is exactly what you needed. Just this—him, the quiet apartment, his hands on you, the weight of the day slowly lifting.
But then his hands start to wander.
It's subtle at first. His fingers drift from your back to your sides, tracing the curve of your waist. Then lower, skimming over your hips. And then—
He grabs your ass. Both hands, full handfuls, squeezing appreciatively.
"Really?" you ask, lifting your head to look at him. "We're both dead, remember? Corpses don't grope."
"I'm a very motivated corpse." He squeezes again, shameless, and there's a grin tugging at his lips now. "Can't help it. You're lying on top of me in your underwear. What did you expect?"
"Self-control? Restraint? Basic human decency?"
"Baby, you know me better than that." His hands are still kneading your ass, and despite your sass, you can feel heat starting to pool low in your belly. "Besides, you love it."
"I love that you can't even wait until we've recovered from our respective terrible days before getting handsy?"
"Exactly." He's fully grinning now, that cocky, insufferable grin that makes you want to kiss him and smack him at the same time. "Your ass is the best stress relief. It's science."
"That's not science, you idiot."
"It's my science."
You snort, but you're not moving away. His hands are warm and familiar, and honestly, after the day you've had, this isn't the worst thing in the world. You let your head drop back to his chest, eyes drifting closed.
"Comfortable?" he asks, voice softer now.
"Mmm," you hum in agreement. "Don't stop."
"Wasn't planning on it."
For a while, it's just quiet. His hands keep moving—sometimes squeezing, sometimes just resting there, thumbs drawing lazy circles. You can hear his heartbeat under your ear, steady and strong. The tension in your shoulders is almost completely gone now, replaced by a different kind of warmth, something slower and heavier.
You're half-asleep when you feel it—the unmistakable hardness pressing against your hip.
"Satoru," you mumble, not even opening your eyes.
"Hmm?"
"Are you seriously getting hard right now?"
There's a pause. Then he says, "...Maybe."
You lift your head to look at him, one eyebrow raised. He has the decency to look slightly sheepish, but there's heat in his eyes now, that familiar hunger that never really goes away when it comes to you.
"We were having a nice moment."
"We still are."
"You've got a boner."
"I do…That doesn't cancel the nice moment."
You stare at him for another second before letting out a laugh.
"Seriously?"
"What?"
"I come home exhausted, use you as a human mattress for ten minutes, and somehow I'm the problem?"
"You are absolutely the problem."
"I literally haven't done anything."
"You climbed on top of me, got all comfy, made that little happy humming noise, and then fell asleep on my chest."
"I hummed?"
"You hummed."
"I don't hum."
"You do when you're really comfortable."
You narrow your eyes. "I've never noticed that."
"I have."
You glare at him.
"…Baby." He exhales dramatically, like he's carrying the weight of the world. "You're makin' me so hard."
You snort. "You're unbelievable."
"I'm trying to be respectful."
"Are you?"
Silence.
"…No." He grins without an ounce of shame. "Not really."
Despite yourself, you laugh again, dropping your forehead back against his shoulder.
"You're ridiculous."
"I know."
His arms tighten around you just a little. "But you look so comfortable."
His voice is quieter now. "So happy."
You burrow your face further into his shoulder.
"…I like when you're like this."
You feel yourself smile before you can stop it. "You're such a sap."
"Only for you."
There's a comfortable silence. Then his hands drift just a little bit lower again.
"…Okay," you mumble. "Now you're definitely not being respectful."
"No." He gives your ass another shameless squeeze. "I'm definitely not."
Before you can respond, he's sitting up, keeping you in his lap, and capturing your mouth in a kiss that's hungry and demanding. You can taste his desperation, feel it in the way his hands grip you like he's afraid you're going to disappear.
When he pulls back, his lips are already swollen, his eyes are dark with want. "I need to taste you," he says, and it's not a request. "Get up here."
"Up where—"
But he's already moving, sliding down the bed and pulling you with him. "On my face. Come on."
"Satoru—"
"Please." And there it is, that needy edge that makes your stomach flip. "I've been thinking about this all day. About you sitting on my face, riding my tongue until you come. Please, baby. I need it."
How are you supposed to say no to that?
"You're ridiculous," you say, but you're already moving, letting him position you. He's lying flat on his back now, looking up at you with such raw want that it makes you shiver.
"Not ridiculous. Desperate." His hands come up to grip your thighs, pulling you forward. "Now stop stalling and sit on my face."
"Bossy," you mutter, but you're lowering yourself down, and then—
"Oh fuck," you gasp as his tongue makes contact, sliding through your folds in one long, deliberate stroke.
He groans under you, the vibration going straight to your core, and his hands tighten on your thighs. "That's it," he mumbles against you. "Right there. Don't move."
But you're already moving, you can't help it, grinding down against his mouth as he licks and sucks and devours you like a man starving. His grip on your thighs is almost bruising, holding you exactly where he wants you, and when you try to lift up, worried about suffocating him, about being too much—he just pulls you back down harder.
"Satoru—"
"Stay," he demands, voice muffled. He pulls his face back to look up at you. "Fuck my face. Come on, baby, I can take it. Give it to me." Then he lowers his mouth to you again.
It's obscene, the wet sounds of his mouth on you, the way he's completely lost in it. His tongue circles your clit, then dips inside you, then back to your clit, and you're already shaking, already so close.
"That's it," he encourages, and you can hear the smugness in his voice even now. "You're dripping, baby. such a mess on my face."
"Shut—up," you gasp, but there's no heat in it because he's right—you can feel how wet you are, can feel it on his chin, his lips, and it should be embarrassing but it's just hot.
"Make me," he challenges, and then he's sucking your clit into his mouth, hard, and you cry out.
Your hands fly to the headboard, gripping the edge to steady yourself as the pleasure intensifies. You start to really move now, riding his face with purpose, and he moans underneath you like this is exactly what he wanted all along.
"Fuck, yes," he groans against you, the vibration making you gasp. "Just like that. Use me, baby. Take what you need."
His hands guide your hips, encouraging the rhythm, and his tongue is relentless—circling, flicking, pressing flat against you in a way that makes your thighs shake. You can feel yourself getting closer, that coil of heat tightening in your belly.
"Satoru, I'm—fuck—"
"Do it," he demands, voice rough. "Come on my face.”
His tongue flicks rapidly over your clit, and that's all it takes. Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, pleasure rolling through your entire body. You're grinding down against his mouth, riding it out, and he's groaning underneath you like this is the best thing that's ever happened to him.
When you finally come down, shaking and oversensitive, you try to move off him, but his hands tighten on your thighs.
"Not yet," he mumbles, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, your hip bones, anywhere he can reach. "Just—give me a second. You taste so fucking good."
"You're gonna kill me," you pant, but you're smiling.
But he's already diving back in, and you gasp as his tongue finds your clit again. Your whole body jolts at the sensitivity, but he doesn't let up—he's relentless, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as he works you over. The pleasure is almost too much, bordering on overwhelming, and you're already moaning his name.
"Satoru—fuck—it's too much—"
"I know, baby," he groans against you, the vibration sending another wave through you. "But you can take it."
He's eating you out like he's starving, like he can't get enough, and your whole body is shaking. Your hands grip the headboard tighter, your hips moving against his mouth almost involuntarily. The pleasure is building again, impossibly fast, and you're gasping and moaning as he works you toward another orgasm.
"Oh god—Satoru—I'm gonna—"
"That's it," he encourages, his tongue flicking faster.
Your second orgasm hits you like a wave, even more intense than the first, and you're crying out as pleasure crashes through you. Your thighs are shaking so hard you can barely hold yourself up, and he's groaning underneath you, clearly getting off on how much he's affecting you.
When you finally collapse, completely spent and oversensitive, he finally releases you, and you fall onto the bed next to him, breathing hard and trembling.
"And I'm dramatic?" He's grinning like he just won the lottery, his face wet, his hair a complete disaster. "That was—fuck. I love you, baby."
"You're insane," you say, but you're pulling him in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips.
"About you? Absolutely." His hands are already roaming again, cupping your face, then sliding down your sides. "But I'm not done with you yet."
"Oh really?"
"Really." He's kissing you again, slower this time, deeper. When he pulls back, there's something vulnerable in his expression beneath all the confidence. "You have no idea what you do to me."
"Then show me," you challenge, and his eyes darken.
"Oh, baby."
He's fumbling with his pants, shoving them down along with his boxers, and his cock springs free—flushed and hard and already leaking. You reach for him, wrapping your hand around his length, and he hisses.
"Fuck, baby—"
"What?" You stroke him slowly, base to tip, and he's already trembling.
"Your hands—shit—they're so much smaller than mine. Look so good wrapped around my cock."
"Yeah?" you tease, giving him another slow stroke.
"Yeah." His voice is strained.
He gently removes your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm, and then he's pulling you against him. His arms wrap around you, one hand sliding up your back, the other gripping your hip possessively. You can feel him, hard and hot against your thigh, and he's just... holding you there.
"Satoru—"
"Give me a second," he murmurs, his voice already rough. His breathing is uneven against your neck, and you can feel the tension in his body—the way he's trying to maintain control. "Just—fuck—you feel so good.”
His hips shift slightly, and you feel the length of him drag against you—not entering, just the pressure of him sliding through your wetness. The friction makes you gasp, and he groans.
"There it is," he breathes. "That sound. The little gasp you make when I—" He does it again, a slow roll of his hips, grinding against you. "When I touch you just right."
"Satoru, please—"
"Please what?" His hand slides down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter against him. "Tell me what you want, baby."
"You know what I want."
"I do." Another slow grind, and you can feel how wet you are, how easily he slides against you. "But I wanna hear you say it. Love the way your voice gets all breathy when you're desperate for me."
"You're killing me—"
"Good." He's kissing your neck now, teeth grazing your pulse point. "You've been killing me all day. All week. Every time you look at me with those eyes, every time you smile at me like I'm the only person in the world—fuck, baby, you have no idea."
His voice is shaking now, and you realize he's not teasing anymore—he's barely holding on. The head of his cock catches at your entrance, and you both freeze.
"I can't—" His forehead drops to your shoulder. "I can't think straight around you. Can't control myself. You just—you exist, and I'm gone."
"Then stop trying to control it," you whisper, and you feel him shudder.
"Fuck." He shifts, lining himself up properly, and then he's pushing in—slowly, so slowly. The stretch is intense, pleasure edged with the sweetest hint of pressure as he fills you inch by inch. "Fuck, baby. You feel so good. So tight. So perfect."
"Satoru—"
"I know. I've got you." He's only halfway in, taking his time, letting you adjust. His forehead is still pressed to your shoulder, and you can feel how much restraint this is taking him—the way his muscles are tense, the way his breath comes in short gasps. "You're taking me so well. You always take me so well."
Finally, finally, he's fully seated inside you, and you both just breathe for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of being completely connected.
"Okay?" he asks, lifting his head to look at you.
"Yes baby," you manage. "You can move.”
"Thank fuck." He pulls out slowly, almost all the way, and then thrusts back in. The drag of his cock against your walls makes you gasp, and he groans. "That sound. Fuck, I love that sound."
He sets a steady rhythm, deep and deliberate, each thrust making you feel impossibly full. His hands are everywhere—cupping your face, tangling in your hair, gripping your hips—like he can't decide where he wants to touch you most.
"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs, watching your face. "All flushed and breathless. The way your eyes get all hazy when I'm inside you—fuck, it drives me crazy."
"Satoru—"
"I love you so much." His voice is rough with emotion now, not just desire. "Love everything about you. The way you feel, the way you look at me, the way you let me have you like this—"
"I love you too," you gasp, and his hips stutter.
His eyes squeeze shut for a moment, and when he opens them again, there's something raw there.
"Say it again."
"I love you."
"Fuck." His pace falters, becomes less controlled. "You can't—you can't just say it like that when I'm inside you. You're gonna—shit—"
"You feel so good," you tell him, cupping his face. "So perfect. You always make me feel so good."
His breath catches, and suddenly he's kissing you desperately, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, less measured.
"You're everything," he gasps against your mouth. "Everything to me. The way you trust me, the way you look at me like I'm—fuck, baby, I can't—"
"You are," you insist, and his composure cracks completely.
"Fuck—" He's moving faster now, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "Love how you fit around me. Like you were made for me. Like we were made for each other."
"We were," you gasp, and his eyes flash with something fierce and possessive.
"Damn right we were." He shifts slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly every thrust is devastating. "There it is. That's the spot, isn't it?"
"Yes—fuck—right there—"
"I know, baby. I know." His voice is breaking now, emotion and desire tangled together. "Gonna make you come again. Wanna watch your face when you—fuck—when you come because of me."
The pleasure is building so quickly you can barely breathe. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, his back, trying to anchor yourself as he drives into you again and again.
"That's it," he encourages, watching your face like he's memorizing it. "I can feel you getting tighter. You're close, aren't you? So fucking close."
"Don't stop—"
"Never." One of his hands slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel it. Let me see you."
The combination of his cock hitting that perfect spot and his thumb on your clit is too much. Your orgasm hits you hard, pleasure crashing through you in waves that make your whole body tense and shake. You're clenching around him, and he groans at the sensation.
"Fuck, yes," he breathes, still moving, fucking you through it. "That's it. That's my girl. You're so good. So beautiful. Fuck, I love you so much."
When you finally start to come down, gasping and trembling, you expect him to follow you over the edge. But instead, he slows his movements, pressing soft kisses to your face.
"Satoru—"
"Not done with you yet," he murmurs against your lips.
Before you can respond, he's pulling out and lifting your legs, draping them over his shoulders. The new position opens you up completely, and when he pushes back in, he's somehow even deeper than before.
"Oh fuck—" you gasp, and he groans.
"There we go." He starts moving again, and this angle is devastating. Every thrust feels impossibly deep, hitting places that make your toes curl. "How's that, baby? That good?"
"Yes—fuck—Satoru—"
"I love you so much," he says, his voice rough. "You know that? I'm never letting you go. You're mine. Always gonna be mine."
"Yours," you agree breathlessly, and something in his expression goes even more intense.
"That's right." His thrusts are harder now, more purposeful. "Gonna take care of you. Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna love you for the rest of my life."
His hand moves to your stomach, pressing down, and suddenly his eyes go wide. He can feel himself inside you, the bulge of his cock with each thrust, and something feral takes over his expression.
"Holy shit," he breathes, completely mesmerized. His hand traces the outline, feeling himself move in and out of you, and he starts fucking you even harder, unable to look away. "Look at that. Look at you taking me so deep."
You're already building toward another orgasm, the intensity of this angle and his words and the way he's looking at you like you're the most incredible thing he's ever seen—it's all too much.
He's transfixed, watching his cock disappear inside you again and again, feeling the movement under his palm. His breathing is ragged, his movements becoming more frantic.
"Can you feel that, baby?" he asks breathlessly, his voice completely wrecked. "Fuck—I'm so fucking deep—you feel that?"
You look up at him with half-shut glazed eyes, your mouth parted open, completely fucked out. "Yes—fuck—yes, Satoru, I feel it—"
He groans at the sight of you—at how thoroughly wrecked you look, at the way you're falling apart beneath him. "You're so hot. So fucking hot. The way you look right now—fuck—I'm obsessed with you."
He's fucking you harder now, more urgently, his hand still on your stomach feeling himself move inside you with each thrust. The visual seems to drive him wild, and his movements become almost desperate.
"Come for me again," he demands, his other hand finding your oversensitive clit. "I know you can. I know you've got one more in you. Come on, baby. Give it to me."
"Satoru—I can't—it's too much—"
"You can." His thumb presses harder, circling your clit. "You can, baby. I need you to.”
The pleasure is building impossibly fast, almost painful in its intensity. You're so sensitive from your first two orgasms that every thrust, every touch feels magnified.
"That's it," he encourages, watching your face. "I can see it. You're right there. Just let go, baby.”
His voice is breaking, his control completely shattered, and then something raw escapes from him.
"I want you—" His hips snap forward harder. "Fuck—want all of you.”
His composure finally snaps.
"They've been on my ass my whole life about the bloodline. About heirs. About duty." Another hard thrust, his voice is cracking. "And I never—fuck—never wanted it."
He's breathing hard, almost gasping between words.
"Not until you."
His forehead drops closer to yours, his movements becoming more frantic.
"Only you. Want to marry you—want to wake up to you every day—want to call you my wife and—ah—know you're mine—"
Your orgasm crashes through you even harder, triggered by his words, by the desperation in his voice, by the sight of him completely undone above you. You're clenching around him so tight he gasps, your whole body shaking with the intensity.
"Fuck, yes—" He's just… staring at you, still moving, still feeling himself inside you. "So beautiful—The way your face—the way you sound—fuck—"
The sight of you completely wrecked under him, the feeling of you clenching around him, the way you gasp his name—it pushes him over the edge.
"Ah—fuck—fuck—fuuckk—" He buries himself as deep as he can go and comes hard, spilling into you in hot pulses. His whole body shudders with the intensity of it, and you can feel him throbbing inside you, can feel the warmth spreading.
He collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you but clearly boneless. For a while, you just breathe together, sweaty and satisfied.
"Holy shit," you mumble.
"Yeah." He's pressing kisses all over your face—your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips. He can’t seem to stop touching you, his hands running over your skin like he needs the contact. "You're amazing. Incredible. Best girlfriend in the entire world."
"Best girlfriend, or best pussy?" you tease, and he pulls back to look at you with mock offense.
"Both. Definitely both." He's grinning now, that soft, genuine smile that he only gives you. "But mostly you. I love you. Like, so much. An embarrassing amount."
"I love you too, you needy disaster."
"Your needy disaster," he corrects, and he's still touching you, hands running over your skin like he can't bear to stop. "Mine now. No takebacks."
"Wouldn't dream of it," you say softly, and you mean it.
He pulls you closer, tucking you against his chest, and you can hear his heartbeat starting to slow. The exhaustion from earlier is creeping back in, but it's different now—satisfied, content, the good kind of tired.
"We should probably shower," you murmur, but you're already half-asleep.
"Later," he mumbles into your hair. "Right now I just wanna hold you."
"Clingy."
"Yep." He doesn't even sound ashamed. "You're stuck with me. Forever. Hope you're ready for that."
"I think I can manage," you say, smiling against his chest.
And as you drift off in his arms, you think that yeah… you can definitely manage. This ridiculous, needy, perfect man is yours, and you wouldn't have it any other way.
satoru loves listening to you, especially when your lips are against his. . .
the room is quiet enough that every little sound feels louder than it should— the soft rustle of blankets, and the tiny laugh that escapes you when satoru steals another kiss before you even finish your sentence.
“you know,” you mumble against his lips. “you should really listen to me right now.”
“i’m listening,” he replies, barely pulling away. his lips brush yours with every word. “you said i’m handsome.”
“i definitely didn’t.”
“no? must’ve imagined it.”
you roll your eyes, though he can’t really see it from how close you are. your noses bump together, and he smiles before giving you another slow, lazy kiss.
“you interrupted me again,” you say.
“m’sorry.. keep talking, sweetheart.”
another kiss.
“i’m trying to tell you,” you whisper, your lips still resting against his. “that we need groceries.”
“we’ll figure something out,” he hums thoughtfully, his breath warm against your face.
“i doubt it, you big back.”
“you’re so mean to me.”
you laugh, the sound breaking into another kiss because satoru seems physically incapable of letting more than a few seconds pass without stealing one.
“kissing me until i forget what i was saying?”
“…is it working?” he muses.
you pause. “…maybe.”
“i know you‘re enjoying yourself,” he says softly, brushing his lips over yours again. “you haven‘t pulled away yet.”
“seems like i’ve made questionable life choices.”
he gasps dramatically, though his smile gives him away.
“oh? dating me is questionable?”
“sometimes.”
another kiss.
“when you leave your socks everywhere.”
mwah.
“when you eat all my snacks.”
mwah.
“when you—”
he kisses you longer that time, lingering just enough that you forget where your complaint is going.
“…see?” he murmurs.
“you are so annoying.”
“but?”
“but…” you smile. “you’re very cute.”
his grin is immediate, and he kisses the corner of your mouth
“what do you want for dinner?” you ask.
“hmm…” he pretends to think hard, his forehead resting against yours. “you.”
“oh my god,” you groan. “you’ve been waiting to say that, haven’t you?”
“maybe.” he grins into the next kiss.
“you should be embarrassed.”
“can’t hear your mean remarks when you’re this close.”
your lips meet in soft, absent-minded kisses between tiny conversations about nothing at all. whether the laundry is finished, whether the weather looks nice tomorrow, or how his teaching is going.
“toru—” kiss. “—how am I supposed to—” another kiss. “—focus?”
“why’d you need to?” his smile softens into something quieter, gentler than his usual teasing grin.
after all the pain you endured during your delivery, SUKUNA refuses to ever let his wife go through it again
★ based of that one scene in "when life gives you tangerines"
11 hours, 34 minutes, and 34 seconds. then 40. then more. sukuna counts them all without meaning to, like something wired too deep into him to stop. each second stretching, dragging, carving itself into his bones as time refuses to move fast enough.
his eyes burn, raw and unforgiving, a kind of ache he’s never known. not even in those long, merciless nights bent over a laptop back in his college days. this is worse. dark circles bruise the skin beneath his eyes, lashes still damp.
he sits rigid in a cheap, dark blue hospital chair, one that creaks every time he so much as breathes too deeply, yet he hasn’t moved from it in hours. maybe longer. his body feels locked in place, but his mind drifts, slipping in and out of a dull haze until the sound of a door jolts him upright again, sharp, alert, feral in the way his gaze snaps toward it. every time without fail. his hands rest on his knees, fingers twitching, trembling despite himself, nails pressing into fabric as if grounding himself is the only thing keeping him together.
the baby is fine. he knows she is. he’s checked too many times for anyone to comment on without risking the look he’d give them. each visit ends the same way: standing on the other side of the glass, large hand pressed flat against it, breath fogging the surface as something unfamiliar tightens in his chest. he doesn’t stay long. he can’t. not when you’re not there.
everything in him had gone cold— no, empty the moment they rushed you away. the world had narrowed down to the sight of you on that bed, face twisted in pain, your fingers clutching his with a strength that spoke of fear you rarely ever showed. and he had felt it too, sharp and suffocating, coiling tight in his chest in a way he couldn’t fight, couldn’t control.
then a clipboard had been shoved into his line of sight, a nurse speaking too quickly. “mr. ryomen, you need to sign this form in case the baby—”
“my wife.”
his voice had cut through hers without hesitation. not loud nor panicked. just final.
for a moment, everything had stilled. even you had looked at him, eyes wide despite the pain. He hadn’t even looked back at the paper.
“i choose my wife.”
after that, they had forced him out, the doors closing between you with a finality that made something ugly claw at his ribs. since then, all he’s done is wait, endless, suffocating waiting, counting seconds like they’re the only thing he has left to hold onto.
people came. of course they did. gojo, loud and insufferable even in a hospital, arms filled with gifts that cost more than necessary. geto, calm, offering congratulations that barely registered. toji lingering off to the side, megumi in his arms as he tried, awkwardly, to show him the newborn through the glass, jin nearby with itadori and choso, their presence filling the hallway with low conversation and quiet excitement.
sukuna acknowledged none of it beyond a glance at best.
because none of it mattered.
not the gifts, not the voices, not the child he had already seen and silently loved.
the only thing on his mind was you.
his wife.
“mr. ryomen?”
his name lands and something in him snaps taut and slack all at once. sukuna is on his feet before he’s fully aware of moving, the chair scraping faintly behind him. the sudden shift makes his vision tilt for a second, exhaustion catching up, but he steadies through it, jaw set, legs carrying him forward even as they threaten to give.
“she’s awake, everything is stable. you may see her now.”
that’s all he needs.
the door barely has time to open before he’s through it, pace quick, bordering on reckless, yet each step feels impossibly heavy as the weight of the past hours clings to him, refusing to let go. the sterile white of the room greets him, too bright, too clean, and then—
you.
everything else falls away.
you’re laid against the stark sheets, small in a way he’s never seen you before, exhaustion carved into every line of your face, the aftermath of something brutal and beautiful all at once. you look fragile. spent. human.
and still— still you’ve never looked more perfect to him.
his chest tightens, something sharp and overwhelming lodging itself beneath his ribs as his eyes lock onto yours. they find him easily, soft despite the fatigue, a faint smile ghosting over your lips as your hand lifts, barely reaching for him.
“my love…” your voice is hoarse, worn thin, and it nearly undoes him.
he closes the distance in seconds, dropping to his knees at your bedside without care for anything else, large hand immediately enclosing yours as if to confirm you’re real, warm and alive. here. he brings it to his face, pressing slow, reverent kisses to your knuckles, your palm, your wrist, lingering like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you all over again.
something wet slips against your skin.
“ryo…?” your voice is softer now, concerned, your fingers twitching as if to pull away, but he doesn’t let go not out of force, never that, but out of something far more desperate.
he tightens just enough to keep you there, head bowed, shoulders trembling in a way that doesn’t belong to a man like him.
“there…” his voice catches, rough, uneven, breath hitching as the memory crashes back; your face twisted in pain, the sound of it, the helplessness of being torn away. his brows pull together sharply, grip faltering for a second before tightening again. “there won’t be another.”
he presses another kiss to your skin, slower this time. like sealing a vow into you.
“there won’t be another,” he repeats, quieter, but no less absolute.
you blink at him, caught off guard, and then despite everythin a soft, breathy laugh escapes you. “don’t be stupid, ryo.”
his head lifts just enough for you to see the way his expression twists, raw and unguarded, eyes rimmed red, lashes clumped.
“i don’t—” his breath stutters, voice breaking in a way he doesn’t bother to hide, “—want to see you like that again.” his hand curls into the sheets beside you, gripping the fabric tight as if grounding himself, “not like that. not ever.”
you soften instantly, both hands coming up carefully to cradle his face, guiding him closer despite the way he resists for half a second.
“did you see her?” you murmur, thumb brushing beneath his eye, catching the dampness there.
he nods, quick, almost eager despite everything, leaning into your touch without thinking. “i did… but—” his voice drops, “i wanted to see my wife.”
“oh, ryo…” you pull him closer, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, then the bridge of his nose, and finally his lips; soft, lingering, tasting faintly of salt.
he exhales against you, eyes closing briefly, forehead coming to rest against yours as his hand finds its place around yours again, unwilling to let go.
“there won’t be another,” he says, quieter now. final.
you study him for a moment. at the fear still lingering beneath the surface, and the love that outweighs everything else, and your expression softens into something certain.
“okay,” you whisper, brushing your nose against his. “there won’t.”
★ it's 2:49am i should fucking sleep but i finally got the idea how to write this and i had to
you find a grey hair in SUKUNA'S beautiful pink locs
you run your fingers through sukuna’s soft pink locks, gently ruffling them as he melts further into your hold with every passing second. his arm stays snug around you while the two of you lie tangled on your couch, lazily watching reels from his phone.
that’s when you see it.
“sukuna.”
“hm?” he nudges you lightly when you go quiet, shifting just enough to glance up at you. “what’s up?”
“y-you…” you hesitate, fingers brushing through his hair again. this time a little more focused. “you have a grey hair!” you point at it, eyes wide.
he lets out a quiet huff. “so what?”
“wait— wait! there’s more!” your fingers keep searching, and he groans, tossing his phone aside.
“you done? it’s just a few grey strands. what’s the big deal?”
your expression crumples, nose scrunching in that way he knows too well… cute, but dangerous. his hand comes up instinctively, cupping your cheek.
“what are you crying about now, brat?” the “insult” doesn’t stick, it never did even from the moment he met you.
you don’t answer, just sniffle quietly, and he sighs under his breath before shifting. he maneuvers you down beside him on the too-small couch, half his body hanging off the edge, but he doesn’t care. his arms wrap around you, warm and steady.
“love,” he murmurs, voice low and gentle, “you gonna tell me why you’re crying, hm?” his thumbs brush the tears under your eyes.
you sniffle again. “it’s just that… it means you’re getting old…”
he huffs out a quiet laugh. “you worried i won’t be as handsome?”
you lightly swat his arm. “never! i’ll just have more competition…” you mumble, embarrassed, and he chuckles into your hair.
“i’m flattered you’re crying over me getting older.”
“when i get a grey, will you cry?” you pout, and his eyes flicker down.
“yes.” he answers without missing a beat.
“is it because i’ll be ugly—”
he bites lightly at the junction of your neck.
“ow— ow! it was a joke!”
he presses a soft kiss over the spot right after, lingering there as he buries his face into your neck. “no. i won’t cry because of that.”
“then what for?”
you feel the warm puff of his breath against your skin as he pulls you closer, arms tightening just a little.
“it’ll just means my dream is coming true…”
he lifts his head, looking at you with so much quiet adoration it makes your chest ache. his eyes soften, almost glassy, like he might cry if he let himself.
“i’ll grow old with you.”
★ yooo i finally got ideas and posted hell yeahhh, it might be shitty but hey at least it's something
ryomen "my girlfriend beats me" sukuna. aka, the time where sukuna thought it would be funny to announce to onlookers that his girlfriend beats him.
it some random saturday where your friend group decided to go bowling. after you all had gotten tired of gojo's whines since he was losing to geto, you all decided to head out. on your way out though, gojo pointed out the arcade room and bought game cards for everyone before anyone could complain.
among the rigged games, there was a boxing machine where a small punching bag would dangle. someone would then step up and hit the bag as hard as possible, allowing the machine to "measure" the strength of the hit. the current high-score was 920. it was actually sukuna that dragged you over to the machine and told you to give it a shot. he swiped the game card he purchased earlier and leaned on the side of the machine as it let the punching bag dangle, awaiting your hit.
"go on, baby. give it your best shot," sukuna says, the smug look on his face making you want to hit him rather than the machine.
as if he read your mind, gojo pipes up and says, "yeah just pretend the bag is his face, yn!"
you roll your eyes and have half a mind to just give it a half hearted punch just to get it over with. until you get another look at the smirk on sukuna's face. the asshole just wanted you to go first so he could go after and show off. you found that your boyfriend likes to take any opportunity to show his strength. whether it's tightening jars so you would have to ask for his help or doing stupid arm wrestling at the parties when he's had a few too many drinks. just the thought of the ego boost this would give him made your eye twitch.
so you take a stance you remember sukuna showing you when he insisted you learn self-defense. you raise your arm and pivot your body as a practice punch that didn't hit the bag just yet. using that momentum, you land a hook powerful enough to shake the machine as the numbers on the screen shot up before stopping at 999, the max.
choso and shoko clap in praise from behind you as gojo and toji let out a couple hollers and whistles. the commotion from the impact of your punch caused a couple people to look over and upon seeing the number on the screen, a couple of them clapped a little too.
you look over to sukuna with a smirk, expecting to find nothing but shock only to get irritated when he looked prouder than before. you watched in real time as the idea formed in his head before he cupped one hand around his mouth as his other hand points at you.
"she's my girlfriend!" sukuna calls out, loud as fuck. "she beats the shit outta me!"
as if the commotion from your friends' cheers weren't enough, of course sukuna decides to be an attention seeker. his comment earns some laughs and toji even adds on, "don't worry, he's exactly where he wants to be."
sukuna saunters over to you before pulling you into his chest by your waist. "damn right i am," he tells you with a grin.
you land a soft jab into his side in protest, "if someone calls the cops on me for domestic abuse, i swear ryomen."
“fuck is this about?” he asked as his gaze stayed on the screen, the camera already recording. you giggled, a sound he’d once admitted was his favorite with all its sweetness, and he sighed deeply, already accepting defeat. because who the hell did he think he was, before his sweet girl he’d certainly burn the whole world for?
“you’ll see.” you mumbled, a playful grin stretching across your face. the camera angle was already perfect, catching both his figure and every grumpy expression, but you kept checking it just to be sure.
you had stumbled across the trend while scrolling, knowing your boyfriend probably hadn’t since he avoided social media like the plague, claiming that place was full of dimwits. from the moment you’ve seen the trend, you’ve always wanted to try it. and now, quite late to the trend, he stood there with his hands shoved into his pockets, an amused look resting on his features, about to partake in a trend he wasn’t even aware of.
after checking the camera one more time, you made your way over, still giggling with a disturbingly joyous tone.
“you sound fucking evil.” he groaned at the sight of your grin since he was already familiar with the scene, aware that you were planning something.
you stopped in front of him, your eyes were sparkling with joy and you were barely containing your laughter. he, visibly defeated, also smiled warmly, a sweet gesture he only ever showed to you. the stretch on his lips could’ve looked unfamiliar to anyone else, but to you it was known and comforting. a gesture so unlike him yet so much of him. so much of a part of him only you knew.
you gently took his arms, lifting them above his head. “the hell?” he asked, but you simply shrugged, making sure he keeps them there. for a moment, you also enjoyed the vision, his tight tee clinging onto his huge biceps and stretching the poor fabric.
then you tangled your fingers into his short, pinkish hair, and rose onto your tiptoes to meet his lips. the moment your lips caught his, he let out a low groan, straight from his chest.
his hands dropped almost instantly. they smoothly found your hips, pulling you against him, his warmth seeping through his hands to your body.
you’d guessed he would probably lower his arms as he openly disliked listening to others, but then again he had built an habit of obeying you over the years you were together —and still, even if he did lower them, you hadn’t expected it to be this quick.
“kuna you are so weak-“ you barely breathed the words with a pleased laugh out before he cut you off, crashing his lips onto yours again with aggressive yet careful moves.
“babe, let me breathe— okay the trend’s over-“ you tried to speak, laughing against his moist lips, as his hands wandered all over your body.
“trend?” he muttered, merely pulling back as his lips still hovered over yours, his brows furrowing, and you laughed.
“mhmm, to see if you’d melt into the kiss. you are sooo weak baby.” he glanced at the camera, and rolled his eyes as he finally understood the situation. even so he kept his hands on yours again hips, his grip tightening just slightly.
“yeah,” he said, a wicked grin tugging at his lips, “so fucking weak.” he said, before leaning in to kiss you again, muffling your laughter with a warm look in his eyes, and an amused glint beneath his gaze.
It’s not that you spent too much, or that you were too controlling of the list, or that you didn’t help.
For some reason, you were so touchy. Not that Nanami would ever complain about such affection, no. He loved it, truly. However, it felt as if you had been possessed by a succubus whenever you both stepped foot into the food shop.
Your hands would trail everywhere, along his waist, fingers delicately wrapping around his bicep and squeezing every few seconds. In empty isles, his ass would be slapped until he was sure you’d left a mark, him silently ticking off items as you tried to act nonchalant playing with his belt loops.
What was a girlfriend meant to do, though, watching the handsomest man ever walk around with reading glasses perched low on his nose? Biceps flexing as he pushed the cart in front of him, brows furrowed in concentration as he checked over the list again and again. Were you really expected to keep your hands off?
Unfortunately for Kento, you couldn’t. Hell, he almost got a boner halfway through the shop when you decided to palm his bulge firmly in an empty isle. Nanami’s head tipped down with a groan, one hand gently taking ahold of your wrist and trying to pull it away.
“D-Darling, I appreciate the affection but maybe we could save it for somewhere more… private?”
You pout up at him, dropping your hand with a huff. “Fine, I’ll wait.”
Until the car.
Good thing Nanami parked in the back corner of the car park otherwise you were sure the whole town would have seen the vigorous rocking of the car as you pushed Nanami into the back seat, mounting him like some wild animal in heat.
You sunk down onto his thick cock quickly, head tipping back and moaning whoreishly. Nanami kissed up your breasts, quickly attaching his lips to yours as he guided you up and down on his cock, the wet phap phap sound filling the silence of the car. Your fingers entangled into his blonde locks, messing up the neatened style.
Heat bloomed in your lower belly all too quickly, movements faltering as his grip tightened, moving you himself as your legs practically gave up on you.
You came at the same time, one hand gripping the back seat headrest as thick ropes of semen shot up into your womb, leaving you feeling bloated and full as you pulled off with a sheen of sweat covering your forehead.
If this was what happened after every shopping trip, then Nanami couldn’t find a reason to complain.
helping toji work out always gets a little distracting. . .
“c’mon, you gotta count, doll.”
toji’s lying flat on the floor, hands behind his head as he starts another set of crunches. you’re sitting comfortably on his hips to keep him in place, but you’re clearly not taking your job very seriously.
every time he sits up, instead of calling out the next number, you lean in and give him a quick kiss.
“that was… um…” you mumble, tapping your chin like you’re actually thinking. “three? no… wait— four?”
he comes up again— another kiss.
“you forgot already?” he says, clicking his tongue after.
“…maybe.”
another crunch. another kiss.
he smirks, finally catching on.
“you’re not even trying to help me work out here.”
“i am!”
“nice try.” he raises a brow. “you’ve had me on the same rep for two minutes.”
you try your hardest to look innocent, but the smile on your face gives you away.
“i just keep losing count..”
“mhm.”
he comes up again, stopping just inches from your face before you can steal another kiss.
“if you want a kiss,” he says, that smug grin spreading further across his face, “you just ask, hm?”
“but this is more fun..” you pout.
he sighs, but one hand settles on your waist.
“fine.”
this time, he leans in first, stealing a kiss before dropping back down.
“…now count for real.”
“one..” you start counting again.
he sits up again— you kiss him.
“…one,” you repeat.
toji just looks at you for a second before letting out a laugh.
oml hubby!nanamin reminding you to breathe during smex!
sorry for such the long hiatus loves :((
“where do you feel me baby? tell me.” you nails dug into the back of the man currently fucking the shit out of you, to the point where you were incoherent. your thighs pressed against your sweat glazed torso, his hips harshly colliding with yours, hitting the deepest and most sensitive spots you have.
“mmm! n-hereeeee!” you weakly moved one of your hands to your womb. he smiles, kissing your lips and then making home on your sensitive neck. where his moans and groans went straight to your ear.
nanami makes LOVE. he never fucks.
he wants you to lose yourself in the pleasure he gives you, always to the point where you’re overstimulated and almost can’t take it.
one thing nanami always noticed was how you don’t breath whenever you guys have sex. it’s not like when you ask him to slightly choke you, or when he shifts his weight on top of you when you guys are in prone bone. it’s whenever you guys are intimate in general, he has to stop and remind you every time :(
“baby, baby. breathhh.” he halts his hips, holding your face so your gaze is only focusing on him. not even a second passed and you’re gasping in and out, tears cradling down your brown cheeks. “there you go baby, there you go..” he slowly picks up his thrusts again, causing you to whine and whimper. trying your best not to fall into the habit of holding your breath again.
“m’gunna cuhmmm n-nana!” — “that’s my good girl. y-yeaa.” the knot in your stomach about to burst. his tip constantly hitting that spot that makes you feel dizzy. “it’s t’much!”
you whined. pushing against nanami’s abdomen, attempting to halt his thrusts for a moment. but he didn’t let up. “uh, uh baby. let out for me, let it out for your nana.” grabbing your wrists, and pinning it above your head.
the knot in your stomach snaps. squirting all over your husbands and thighs, coating them with your essence. it wasn’t too long until nanami reached his high. quickly pulling out and finishing on your stomach.
“did so good for me baby,” he lifted his hand from your wrist, using it to caress the side of your face.
ಇ.content & warnings: ꒰fingering ⋮⋮ oral (reader & satoru rec.) ⋮⋮ p slapping! ⋮⋮ pet names heavy! ⋮⋮ cum in mouth ⋮⋮ cum play ⋮⋮ both at the same time ⋮⋮ p in v ⋮⋮ dp ⋮⋮ tummy bulges ⋮⋮ c-pied꒱
You’re sprawled across Eren’s lap like always, legs dangling off the arm of the couch, head tucked under Satoru’s chin while he scrolls aimlessly on his phone. The three of you have been tangled like this for hours, while some dumb action movie flickers on the TV that none of you are really watching.
It’s the kind of Friday night that’s happened a hundred times before: snacks scattered, blanket fortress half-built, your body slotted perfectly between theirs like you were custom-made to fit the negative space they create when they sit too close.
Eren’s thumb keeps brushing slow, absent circles over the bare skin of your thigh where your oversized hoodie rode up and you're only wearing panties underneath. Satoru’s fingers are threaded loosely through your hair, tugging just enough to feel possessive without ever admitting it. They’re warm. They’re always warm.
And you’re so used to it, the casual touching, the way they both smell faintly of cedar and whatever cologne they stole from each other, that you never question how heavy their breathing gets when you shift and your ass presses back against Eren’s hips.
You yawn, stretch like a cat, and announce it without thinking.
“I’ve got a date tomorrow night.”
The room doesn’t freeze. Not exactly.
But the lazy thumb on your thigh stops dead. Toru’s fingers pause mid-scratch against your scalp. The only sound left is the muffled explosions from the television and the sudden harsh rhythm of Eren’s exhale through his nose.
“A date,” Eren repeats. Flat. Like he’s tasting something bitter.
“Yeah,” you hum, oblivious, scrolling through your phone now. “This guy from chem. He’s cute. Kinda tall. Said he’d take me to that new ramen place downtown.”
Toru’s voice comes quieter than usual. Almost gentle. “Tomorrow.”
“Mhm.” You tilt your head back to look up at him, smiling all sweet and glassy-eyed like you always do when you’re happy. “Why? You guys wanna come third-wheel? I can ask if he’s cool with it.”
Eren laughs, but it’s wrong. Sharp, with no humor in it at all.
He shifts under you suddenly, strong hands clamping around your hips, keeping you pinned right where you are. You squeak in surprise, thighs squeezing together on instinct.
“No,” he says. Low and dangerous. “We don’t wanna third-wheel, princess.”
Toru’s hand slides from your hair down to your throat…not choking, just… holding. Collarbone to jaw. His thumb brushing the soft skin under your chin so you have to look at him.
“You’re not going,” he murmurs.
You blink up at him, lashes fluttering. “Huh?”
“You’re not going on a date,” Eren cuts in, voice rougher now, hips rolling up just enough that you feel exactly how hard he is. Not subtle. Not pretending anymore. The thick outline of him presses insistently against your ass through thin layers of fabric. “Not with him. Not with anyone.”
Your breath catches. You’re still trying to process, still trying to stay in that sweet, fuzzy headspace where they’re just your overprotective best friends so when Toru leans down and kisses the corner of your mouth soft, teasing and barely there, you're a bit stunned to say the least.
But Eren doesn’t tease.
He grabs your chin, turns your face towards him, and kisses you like he’s been starving for it. Deep and messy, his tongue sliding against yours before you can even gasp. One hand fists in your hair while the other slips under the hoodie, rough palm skating up your bare stomach until he’s cupping your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple like he’s done it a thousand times in his head, he grabs it and balls up the fabric in his palm and tugs it off you, throwing it behind the couch without care.
When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard. Your lips are swollen. His eyes are dilated, black eating the emerald green.
“We’ve been good,” he rasps. “So fucking good. Letting you prance around in those tiny shorts, letting you sleep between us, letting you rub that pretty little body all over us every night like it’s nothing. But a date?” He laughs again low and bitter. “Nah, baby. That shit ends tonight.”
Toru’s mouth finds your neck. Open-mouthed, he sucks a bruise right under your jaw while his hand slides between your thighs, not touching your pussy yet, just cupping you over your panties, letting you feel the heat of his palm.
“You’ve been so sweet to us,” Toru whispers against your skin. “Letting us hold you. Letting us get hard and pretend it’s an accident. But we’re done pretending, baby.”
Eren’s fingers pinch your nipple harder and you whimper embarrassingly which makes them both look at each other in unison and smirk.
“We both think about this cunt every single night,” he growls. “Every time you fall asleep between us, we’re rock fucking hard imagining how tight you’d feel. How wet you are, how you’d cry our names when we finally stretch you open.”
Toru hums in agreement, middle finger pressing just enough against your clit through the cotton that your hips jerk.
“You’re ours,” he says simply. Like it’s obvious. Like it’s always been obvious. “Always have been. You just didn’t know we were waiting for permission to take what’s ours.”
Eren leans in again, lips brushing yours.
“Tell us you want it,” he murmurs. “Tell us you want both of us. Or we stop right now… and you can go on your little date tomorrow like a good girl.”
His thumb brushes your bottom lip.
“But if you do…” He smiles slowly, a feral glint in his eyes,"We're not letting you leave this couch until your pussy’s so full of us you can’t even think about another man’s name.”
Your thighs tremble.
Your heart hammers, you aren't entirely sure if the imagery Eren’s just conjured up is what has your body on fire and mind in disarray with boiling want. Do you really want them both at the same time, your best friends…were you always this naive about them or did you just realise that you want them too.. God, yes you fucking do.
And between them now, with their warmth, dicks hard and unyielding tension, you feel something inside you finally give in.
Soft and sweet and a little dumb with want.
“…please,” you whisper.
Eren groans like you just handed him the keys to heaven.
Toru smiles against your throat.
“Good girl.”
You’re still trembling from the way they pinned you down, Eren’s mouth bruising yours, Satoru’s teeth grazing your throat and when Toru shifts, sitting up straighter on the couch. His hoodie is rucked up just enough to show the sharp cut of his hips, the light trail of hair disappearing into gray sweats that are doing nothing to hide how fucking thick he is.
“Baby,” he says, voice all soft velvet now, “need your mouth.”
Your eyes drop automatically. His hand catches yours, guides it down slow until your palm presses flat over the obscene bulge. Even through the fabric you can feel the heat, the heavy throb. He’s so hard it looks painful, long, thick and curving up toward his stomach like it’s begging.
“See, baby? m’hard for you,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over your knuckles while he makes you feel every inch. “Been like this every night you sleep between us. Couldn’t help it. Your little ass grinding back, those tiny whimpers you make in your sleep… fuck.”
You swallow. Your mouth feels too wet, too empty.
He tugs the waistband of his sweats down just enough. No underwear.. you think thats gross but also fucking hot ugh. Just him and his fat, flushed cock, the tip already slick and shiny with precum that beads at the slit and drips slow down the underside. It twitches when the cool air hits it. So pretty. So stupidly big. The kind of cock that makes your thighs clench on instinct.
You’re sweet about it. Always sweet. You lean forward without being told twice, pressing the softest, open-mouthed kiss right to the fat head. Your lips brush the sticky tip and he hisses through his teeth, hips jerking like he can’t help it.
“Good girl,” Toru breathes. One hand cups the back of your head, not pushing, just holding. “Just like that. Kiss it again. Taste me, pretty please.”
You do. Another slow, filthy kiss. Then another. Letting your tongue flick out to lap at the precum, salty and warm. He groans low in his throat.
“Open up, baby. Gonna teach you exactly how I like it.”
You part your lips. He guides himself in slowly, inch by thick inch, until the head sits heavy on your tongue. Your eyes water instantly at the stretch, but you don’t pull back. You just look up at him with those big, glassy eyes while he starts telling you what he wants.
“Suck the tip first.. yeah aaaah- just like that. Swirl your pretty tongue around it. Fuck… goodness baby. Now take a little more. Relax your throat for me, sweet thing. Breathe through your nose.”
You try. You really try. He’s so big it makes your jaw ache already, but the way he’s looking at you like you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen makes you want to take all of him. You hollow your cheeks, suck soft, letting your tongue drag along the thick vein underneath.
Behind you, Eren’s been patient. Too patient.
His hands find the backs of your thighs, prying them apart until you’re spread wide across his lap. Cool air hits your soaked panties and you whimper around Toru’s cock.
“Come on, baby girl,” Eren growls against the shell of your ear. “Won’t you let me see this pretty pussy? Been dying to look at it properly.”
His fingers hook into the crotch of your panties, tugging them to the side. You’re dripping. Embarrassingly so, strings of slick connecting your folds to the fabric when he pulls it away and he groans like he’s in pain.
“Fuck. Look at her, Toru. She’s fucking soaked.”
Toru’s hips stutter forward, pushing a little deeper into your mouth at the sight. You gag softly but keep going, drool's already slipping down your chin.
Eren’s fingers slide through your folds slowly with deliberate care, coating themselves in your wetness before he finds your clit. Cute little swollen thing, peeking out and begging. He rubs it in tight, mean circles with his thumb while two fingers tease your entrance, not pushing in yet. Just circling. Spreading you open.
“So wet for us,” he mutters. “This little cunt’s been waiting, huh? Knew you needed both of us stretching you out.”
You moan around Toru’s cock, the vibrations making him curse under his breath. Your hips buck forward into Eren’s hand without thinking, chasing the pressure on your clit.
Toru’s grip tightens in your hair. “That’s it, baby. Keep sucking. Gonna fuck your mouth slow while Eren plays with this perfect pussy. You’re doing so good for us.”
Eren slips one finger inside you, then another immediately, curling them just right while his thumb keeps working your clit in relentless little strokes. You’re shaking now, thighs trembling, drool dripping down Toru’s cock as you try to take him deeper.
Eren hooks his fingers into the thin waistband of your panties now, tugging them down with slow, patient care, down the swell of you ass and the crotch is soaked, from his spit and your sticky slick. Once he gets it off he presses an open mouthed kiss to your pretty cunt, his mouth fully englufing you with no barrier stopping him anymore.
They’ve got you right where they want you, split open between them, mouth full, cunt dripping, completely theirs.
And they’re only just getting started.
Toru’s grip in your hair turns firmer but not cruel, just enough to remind you who’s in control. He rocks his hips up slow, feeding you another thick inch until the head bumps the back of your throat and your eyes water instantly. You gag around him, soft and wet, helpless little sound that makes his abs flex and his breath hitch.
“Fuck, baby… that’s it,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Gag on it. Let me feel that tight little throat squeeze me. You’re so sweet when you try to take it all.”
Tears prick your lashes. Drool spills from the corners of your mouth, slicking down his shaft, dripping onto your chin and the couch beneath. You’re messy for him, always so eager to please and he loves it. Loves the way your tongue still tries to swirl even when you’re struggling, the way your cheeks hollow every time he pulls back just to push in again.
Behind you, Eren’s done playing nice.
He’s got your thighs shoved wide, knees hooked over his shoulders now so your ass is lifted just enough for him to bury his face where he’s been dying to be. Rough hands spread your cunt open, his fingers digging into soft, slick flesh, holding you apart like he’s displaying you. You’re so wet it’s obscene: glistening folds, clit swollen and throbbing, strings of arousal clinging to his fingers when he pulls them away.
“Look at this sloppy little pussy,” he mutters against your inner thigh, hot breath fanning over your core. “Dripping all over my hand just from sucking him off. You love being used like this, don’t you?”
Before you can even whimper around Toru’s cock, Eren slaps your pussy, a sharp, wet smack that makes your whole body jolt. The sting blooms fast into heat, clit pulsing harder. You cry out muffled around the thick length filling your mouth.
Eren does it again. Harder. The sound is filthy, each wet smacks echoing in the quiet room. Your hips buck uselessly, cunt clenching around nothing.
“Sensitive already?” he taunts, voice low and mean. Then he spits, right on your clit, a thick glob of saliva landing perfectly, sliding down your folds. He watches it drip with dark eyes before leaning in and dragging his tongue flat from your entrance to your clit in one long, slow stripe.
You sob around Toru. The vibration makes him curse and thrust deeper, holding you there until your nose brushes his pelvis and you’re choking sweetly, and tears streaming.
Eren eats you like he’s starving. Tongue flicking fast over your clit, then sucking it between his lips with hard pulls that make your thighs shake. He alternates: sloppy open-mouthed kisses to your folds, tongue dipping inside to fuck you shallow, then back to circling that needy little bud. Every time you get close, your hips grinding and muffled moans turning desperate, he pulls back. Just enough.
Edging and Torturing you… keeping you right on the brink.
“Uh-uh,” he growls when your cunt flutters, so close you can taste it. Another slap, lighter this time, but it still makes you yelp around Toru’s cock. “Not yet, baby girl. You don’t come until we say.”
Toru’s breathing is ragged now, hips stuttering as he fucks your throat in shallow thrusts. “She’s gonna make me come if she keeps moaning like that,” he warns Eren, but there’s no real complaint in it, just raw need. “Fuck… her mouth’s so warm. So fucking wet.”
Eren hums against your clit, the vibration ripping another choked sound from you. He spits again messily then sucks your clit back into his mouth while two fingers slide inside, curling against that spot that makes your eyes roll back.
You’re shaking. Drooling. Gagging sweetly every time Toru bottoms out. Cunt clenching around Eren’s fingers while he edges you mercilessly with every lick, suck, slap, spit, repeat.
They’ve got you trapped between them, mouth stuffed full, pussy spread and devoured, body trembling on the edge of something massive.
Toru’s thumb brushes a tear from your cheek, almost tenderly and he slips his cock out of from your mouth and taps the tip of his cock to your lips as you catch your breath, smearing bubbly saliva and pre over your lips messily.
“Such a good girl,” he whispers. “Taking us both so pretty.”
Eren pulls back just long enough to murmur against your dripping folds:
“Gonna let you come soon, baby… but only when you’re choking on his load and begging for mine.”
Your whole body clenches at the promise.
They’re not stopping.
Not until you’re ruined for anyone else.
Eren pulls back from your dripping cunt with a wet, obscene sound, his lips shiny, chin slick with you. He’s breathing hard, eyes dark and blown out like he’s high off the taste. Without a word he shifts, lying flat on his back along the couch, one arm hooked behind his head while the other reaches for your hip.
“Come on, baby,” he rasps, voice rough from all the growling and licking. “Sit on my face. Need this pretty pussy grinding on my tongue right fucking now.”
You’re still dazed, mouth swollen from Toru, thighs shaking from the edging, but the command cuts through the fog. You crawl forward on shaky knees, straddling his head. He doesn’t wait for you to settle. Big hands clamp around your hips and yank you down hard until your soaked cunt is pressed flush to his mouth.
The first swipe of his tongue is filthy, long and flat dragging from your entrance all the way up to your clit. He groans into you like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted, vibrations ripping a broken moan from your throat. Then he’s eating you messy: lips sucking at your folds, tongue fucking inside shallow and greedy, nose bumping your clit with every tilt of his head. He’s loud about it slurping, sucking and growling against your core like he’s trying to drink you dry.
Your hands scramble for purchase, fingers digging into the back of the couch as your hips rock instinctively, grinding down on his face. He loves it. Encourages it with bruising grips, guiding you to ride his tongue harder and faster.
Toru’s been watching the whole time, stroking himself slow and lazy while you gagged on him earlier. Now he stands up beside the couch, his sweats shoved down to his thighs, cock flushed dark and glistening from your spit. He steps closer, one hand fisting the base while the other cups your jaw, tilting your face toward him.
“Open up again, baby,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Gonna fuck this pretty mouth while he eats you out.”
You part your lips on instinct, still so sweet, so pliant and he slides back in. Not gentle this time. He pushes deep right away, hitting the back of your throat until your eyes water fresh and you gag around him, sloppy and wet. Drool spills immediately, running down your chin, dripping onto Eren’s chest below you.
Toru starts thrusting in, slow at first, letting you adjust, then deeper, harder. One hand tangles in your hair to hold you steady while the other braces on the back of the couch. “That’s it… throat me like a good girl. Fuck, look at you nmgh taking it so sloppy, making such aaah mess.”
Every time he bottoms out you choke. Sweet, wet gurgles that make Eren groan louder into your cunt. The sound vibrates straight through your clit and you buck harder against his face, smearing yourself all over his mouth, his nose, his chin. He doesn’t care. He just spreads you wider with his thumbs, tongue flicking fast over your clit before sucking it between his lips again, relentlessly.
His own hand slips down, his fingers wrapping around his neglected cock, stroking himself in rough, tight pulls while he devours you. The wet schlick of his fist mixes with the filthy sounds of his mouth on your pussy and Toru’s dick sliding in and out of your throat.
You’re caught perfectly between them: hips grinding desperate on Eren’s tongue, throat stuffed full of Toru’s thick length, drool and slick everywhere. Your moans are muffled and broken, vibrating around him every time Eren licks that perfect spot inside you with his tongue.
Toru’s hips stutter, breath hitching. “Fuck… gonna cum soon if you keep choking on me like that, baby.”
Eren pulls back just enough to growl against your folds, words muffled but clear. “Not yet. She comes first. Then we both fill her up.”
He dives back in, sucking your clit hard, tongue flicking merciless while his fingers dig into your ass, spreading you even wider so he can bury his face deeper.
You’re trembling, thighs quaking, so close it hurts.
Toru fucks your mouth faster. Shallow, sloppy thrusts that make spit drip down onto Eren’s abs.
Eren strokes himself harder, hips bucking up into his fist like he can’t help it.
They’ve got you right there teetering, dripping, stuffed full and theirs.
Just a little more.
And you’re going to shatter.
It hits you like a wave you can’t outrun.
Eren’s tongue is relentlessly sucking your clit in hard, pulsing pulls while his fingers dig into your hips, holding you down so you can’t escape even if you wanted to. Your thighs lock around his head, whole body seizing as the pressure snaps. You cum hard shaking. Cries muffled around Toru’s cock, hips grinding down messy and desperate onto Eren’s face. Slick floods his mouth; he drinks it up greedily, groaning deep vibrations straight into your core that drag the orgasm out longer, sharper, until you’re sobbing with it.
Your cunt pulses around nothing, clenching on air, dripping down his chin, his neck. He doesn’t stop licking, not even when you’re twitching and oversensitive. Just softer laps now, soothing the raw edges while you shudder through the aftershocks.
Toru’s been fucking your throat steady, but the way you choke and moan around him when you come tips him over. He pulls back suddenly. Only the fat, swollen tip still resting on your tongue and strokes himself faster and rough.
“Fuck ngh open wide, baby,” he pants. “Gonna, fuck- give it to you.”
You do. Tongue out, lips parted, eyes glassy and teary from everything staring up at him. He groans low, hips jerking, and comes thick, rope after hot, heavy rope painting your tongue white. It’s so much it spills a little at the corners of your mouth before you can catch it all. Warm and salty, thick enough that it clings n pools heavy in the center of your tongue.
He milks the last drops out with slow strokes, smearing the tip across your lips like he’s marking you.
“Don’t swallow it yet, pretty girl,” he murmurs, voice wrecked and soft all at once. “Need to see it first.”
You stay like that, kneeling between them, thighs still trembling from Eren’s mouth, mouth full of Toru’s load. Eren finally eases you up just enough to sit back against the couch arm, pulling you half into his lap so you’re still facing Toru. His hands slide up your sides, possessively, while he watches with dark emerald, hungry eyes.
Toru steps closer. Cups your jaw gently but firm, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth where a little escaped.
“Show me,” he says.
You part your lips slowly, careful not to let any spill. Your tongue coated, its thick, pearlescent-white, his cum sitting heavy and pooling in the middle, strings of it connecting to the roof of your mouth when you part wider. It’s obscene. Beautifully yours.
Toru exhales shaky. “Fuck… look at that. All for us.”
He reaches in, two long fingers sliding past your lips, pressing into the warm pool of his own release. He stirs it lazy, coating his fingertips, feeling how thick and sticky it is while you whimper softly around the intrusion. Your eyes flutter, lashes wet.
Then he pulls his fingers out, glistening, dripping, and brings them straight to his own mouth. Sucks them clean and slow, tongue swirling around the digits, tasting himself mixed with the faint sweetness of your spit. His eyes never leave yours, cerulean eyes a hint darker and possessive, like he’s claiming every part of this.
“Sweet,” he murmurs against his fingers. “But not as sweet as you’re gonna taste when we both fill that pretty cunt next.”
Eren’s hand slips between your thighs again, fingers brushing your still-throbbing clit, making you jolt.
“Our turn to mark you inside,” Eren growls low against your ear, nipping the lobe. “Gonna stuff you so full you’ll be leaking us for days.”
You’re still holding Toru’s cum on your tongue, thick, warm and waiting.
Toru leans down, kisses the corner of your mouth softly.
“Now swallow, baby,” he whispers. “Take all of me… then we’ll give you both.”
Your throat works. You swallow slow, feeling it slide down, warm and heavy while they watch like it’s the hottest thing they’ve ever seen.
And when your lips part again, empty now, Eren’s already shifting you, lining himself up.
They’re nowhere near done.
Not even close.
Eren’s hands are already on your hips the second you finish swallowing, rough palms sliding up your sides, guiding you with that same possessive grip he’s always had but never let loose like this. He pulls you forward until you’re straddling his lap, knees sinking into the couch cushions on either side of his thighs. Your arms loop around his shoulders automatically, fingers digging into the back of his neck, forehead dropping to rest against his as you try to catch your breath.
He’s hard again, thick and flushed, leaking at the tip from stroking himself while he ate you out. The head nudges against your soaked entrance, slicking itself in your arousal without even trying. You whimper at the contact, hips twitching forward on instinct.
“Easy, baby girl,” Eren murmurs, voice low and wrecked. One hand stays clamped on your hip while the other reaches between you, guiding himself right to your opening. “Gonna take me slow and let me feel every inch of this tight little cunt finally wrap around me?”
You nod dumbly and eager, still hazy from coming so hard, and you start to sink down.
The stretch is immediate. Intense. He’s thick enough that your walls flutter and grip around the head the second it pops inside, and you gasp sharply against his mouth. Eren groans like he’s been punched in the gut, head falling back against the couch for a second before he snaps it forward again to watch your face.
“Fuck… look at you,” he breathes. “Taking me so pretty already.”
You keep sinking down slow and carefully, until he’s buried halfway in. Your thighs tremble from the burn of it and that’s when Toru moves.
He’s been right behind you the whole time, silent and patient, stroking himself lazy while he watched. Now he presses in close, chest flush to your back, one arm banding around your waist to hold you steady while his other hand slides down between your spread thighs.
As you take another inch of Eren, Toru shoves two fingers into your dripping cunt right alongside Eren’s cock.
The stretch doubles instantly. Your walls clamp down hard, fluttering wildly around the sudden fullness. You cry out high and broken, head tipping back against Toru’s shoulder.
“Fuck, baby,” Toru whispers hot against your ear, fingers curling deep, pressing against that spot that makes your toes curl. “So tight. So fucking full already and we’re just getting started.”
Eren’s hips jerk up on instinct, pushing deeper while Toru’s fingers thrust in shallow, matching the rhythm. The drag is obscene, Eren’s thick length stretching you open, Toru’s fingers rubbing against him through your walls, slick sounds filling the room every time they move.
“You’ll let me stretch this pretty pussy out too, hm?” Toru murmurs, voice all soft velvet as makes it sounds more like a promise than a threat. He scissors his fingers in slower, spreading you wider around Eren’s cock, making room. “Gonna open you up nice and slow so you can take both of us. Gonna feel so good when I slide in right next to him… gonna ruin this little cunt for anyone else.”
You’re shaking between them, overwhelmed and suffed, dripping down Eren’s shaft and Toru’s wrist. Eren’s mouth finds your throat, sucking a fresh bruise while he bottoms out fully, hips flush to yours. The pressure is insane, Eren’s cock throbbing deep inside, Toru’s fingers still working you open, curling and thrusting until you’re clenching so hard it hurts in the best way.
“Goddamn,” Eren growls against your skin. “She’s gripping me like a fucking vice. Keep going, Toru ngh stretch her more. Wanna haah feel you in there with me.”
Toru adds a third finger in slow and carefully and you sob, nails digging into Eren’s shoulders. The burn blooms into heat, into pleasure so sharp it whites out your vision for a second.
“That’s it,” Toru praises, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Such a good girl. Taking us both already. Gonna fuck you together soon… gonna fill you up until you’re leaking us for days.”
Eren starts rocking up into you with shallow thrusts that make his cock drag against Toru’s fingers with every stroke. You’re so full you can barely think, just feel. Just take.
They’ve got you pinned perfectly, in the front and back, cock and fingers, mouths and hands everywhere.
And they’re only warming you up.
Toru’s fingers are still buried deep, three thick digits stretching you wide around Eren’s cock. When he finally starts to pull them out, slow. Every inch drags against your fluttering walls, against the heavy length already filling you, making you whimper and clench harder around Eren.
You’re shaking in Eren’s lap, arms locked around his shoulders, forehead pressed to his as you try to breathe through the overwhelming fullness. Eren’s hands grip your hips like anchors, keeping you seated deep on him while he watches Toru over your shoulder with those emerald, impatient eyes.
Toru’s voice is low against the back of your neck, lips brushing skin. “Gonna replace these fingers now, baby. Gonna slide right in next to him… gonna make this pretty pussy take us both.”
He shifts closer, chest flush to your back again, one hand steadying your waist while the other guides his cock down. The fat, slick head nudges right against your already-stretched entrance, pressing insistently beside Eren’s shaft. You feel the pressure immediately, hot, blunt, and impossible… fuck- it feels impossible and your breath hitches into a soft, panicked whine.
“Shh,” Toru soothes, kissing the curve of your shoulder. “Relax for me. You’ve been so good… you can take it. Just breathe.”
Eren groans low when he feels Toru start to push, feels the thick head crowding in, stretching you further. “Fuck… yeah, push in slow. Let her feel every inch.”
You’re so wet it helps, slick dripping down Eren’s balls, coating Toru’s tip but the stretch is blinding. Toru rocks forward gently at first, just the head breaching you alongside Eren. Your walls burn, fluttering wildly, trying to accommodate the impossible double thickness. A broken sob tears from your throat; your nails dig crescent moons into Eren’s shoulders.
“Too much?” Eren murmurs against your lips, kissing you soft and messy to distract you. “You’re doing so good, baby girl. Look at you, taking two cocks like you were made for it.”
You whine, embarrassed by the fact of his words. Eren soothes you gently, petting your back with slow strokes, shushing you in his arms.
Toru takes that as a sign to sink in deeper, inch by slow, torturous inch, until he’s buried to the hilt right next to Eren. The fullness is obscene: two thick lengths pressed flush together inside you, walls stretched thin and tremble around them. You can feel every vein, every throb, the way they twitch against each other through the thin barrier of your body.
“Goddamn,” Toru breathes, voice wrecked. His forehead drops to your shoulder, hips flush to your ass. “So fucking tight… can feel him right next to me. Feel how full you are, baby?”
You can’t speak… the words are stuck, you just nod frantically, tears slipping down your cheeks from the intensity. Eren starts moving first. Shallow, careful rolls of his hips that make both cocks drag inside you at once. The friction is electric; every slide rubs them together, rubs against that deep spot that makes your vision blur.
Toru matches him after a moment, pulling back slow while Eren pushes in, then switching. They find a rhythm quick: one in, one out, seesawing deep inside you so there’s never a second you’re empty. The drag is relentless, stretching, filling. Utterly overwhelming.
You’re crying now, soft and overwhelmed sobs into Eren’s neck while your hips start rocking back on instinct, chasing more even though you’re already so full it hurts in the sweetest way.
“That’s it,” Eren growls, one hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb flicking your nipple. “Ride us, baby. Fuck yourself on both our cocks. Show us how much you love being stuffed like this.”
Toru’s hand slips around to your clit, fingers finding the swollen bud and rubbing tight, fast circles while they keep thrusting. The added stimulation sends sparks up your spine; you clench hard around them both, making them groan in unison.
“Gonna come again?” Toru whispers hot against your ear. “Gonna soak us both? Milk us until we fill this little cunt up?”
Eren’s thrusts get harder, deeper. Hips snapping up to meet yours. “Come on our cocks, pretty girl. Let us feel it. Then we’re gonna pump you so full you’ll be dripping for us so beautifully.”
You’re trembling, teetering, so close again, your body stretched to its limit, clit throbbing under Toru’s fingers, two thick cocks ruining you from the inside out.
They’ve got you pinned, claimed and completely theirs.
And when you shatter this time it’s going to be devastating.
They’re moving in perfect, brutal sync now, Eren thrusting up deep while Toru drives in from behind, cocks sliding against each other inside your stretched, fluttering walls. Every push rubs them together through the thin membrane, friction so intense it makes your eyes roll back. You’re creaming around them. Thick, milky slick coating both shafts, dripping down Eren’s balls and Toru’s thighs with every wet slap of skin on skin.
Your tight walls grip them like a vice, milking desperately as they fuck straight into your cervix, blunt heads battering that deep, sensitive spot over and over. The pressure builds fast, sharp and overwhelming; your tummy bulges visibly with each thrust, the outline of their cocks pressing outward against your lower belly.
Eren notices first. His hand slides down from your hip, palm flattening over the soft swell. He pushes on it firmly, gently and deliberately, right where the bulge is most pronounced.
“Fuck, look at that,” he growls, voice wrecked. “Can feel myself right here… feel how deep we are inside you, baby girl? Stretching her little pussy so wide she’s bulging for us.”
You whimper broken and high, hips jerking between them. The pressure of his palm combined with the relentless pounding sends sparks shooting up your spine. Toru’s hand joins, fingers splaying beside Eren’s, both of them pressing down in tandem as they thrust harder, deeper.
“Gonna make you come like this,” Toru murmurs hot against your ear, teeth grazing the lobe. “Gonna feel you cream all over both our cocks while we kiss your cervix, hm baby want us deep in there?.”
You bite your lip, and it hits you suddenly and violent.
Your whole body locks up, back arching, thighs quaking, a raw sob tearing from your throat as you come harder than before. Walls spasm wildly around them, clenching so tight it drags broken groans from both their throats. Slick gushes out in messy pulses, soaking their cocks, dripping down in thick rivulets. Your vision whites out for a second; you’re shaking, crying, completely lost in the overwhelming fullness and the way Eren’s palm keeps pushing on that bulge, making every pulse of your orgasm feel deeper, sharper.
They don’t stop, can’t stop. They bury themselves to the hilt in one final, synchronized thrust, Eren’s hips snapping up, Toru slamming forward until there’s no space left inside you. You feel them throb, swell, and then they’re coming hard.
Hot, thick spurts flood you at the same time, Eren's cock pulsing deep against your cervix while Toru unloads right beside him, ropes of cum mixing, filling every inch until you’re overflowing. The pressure is insane; your walls flutter helplessly around the double load, trying to take it all but failing beautifully.
Toru pulls back just enough, barely an inch while staying buried deep. His free hand slides down between your thighs, thumb hooking one swollen lip and spreading you open wide. The sight is filthy: your pussy stretched obscenely around both cocks, creamy white cum already leaking out in a fat, slow spurt. It slips from between their shafts thick and pearly dripping down Toru’s length in a heavy trail, coating his balls, pooling on Eren’s thighs beneath you.
“Fuck… look at her leaking us,” Toru breathes, thumb rubbing slow circles through the mess, spreading it over your clit. “So full she can’t even keep it all inside.”
Eren groans low, hips twitching with aftershocks as another small spurt escapes him. His palm stays pressed to your tummy, feeling the faint throb of their cocks still buried deep.
“You’re ours now,” he rasps, kissing your sweaty temple. “This pussy’s marked. Stuffed. Leaking both of us.”
You’re trembling between them overstimulated, full to bursting, cum dripping slow and steady down your thighs. They don’t pull out. Not yet.
They just hold you there, cocks softening slightly but still thick inside, keeping every drop plugged deep while their hands roam lazy over your body.
Claimed.
Ruined.
Theirs.
The room feels heavier now, thick with the smell of sex, sweat, and the faint salt of cum. You’re still straddling Eren’s lap, thighs quivering, body limp and boneless between them. Their cocks are softening inside you, but neither has pulled out yet, just resting there, keeping you plugged full, every tiny shift making a fresh trickle of their mixed release slip out.
Toru moves first.
He eases back slow and carefull, so so gentle, until his cock finally slips free with a wet, obscene sound. A thick gush of cum follows immediately, spilling from your stretched hole, running hot down your inner thighs and dripping onto Eren’s lap. You whimper at the sudden emptiness, walls fluttering around Eren’s length like they’re trying to pull him deeper to compensate.
Toru doesn’t go far.
He leans in close behind you again, chest pressed to your back, arms wrapping around your waist in a loose, possessive hold. His lips find the side of your neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses. Trailing up the curve where he’d bitten earlier. Gentle now. Soothing. Each press of his mouth feels like an apology and a promise at once.
“You did so good, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and wrecked. “Took us both so perfect. Look at you… all messy and full of us.” Another kiss, slower, right under your ear. His tongue flicks out to taste the salt there. “Gonna take care of you now. Promise.”
His hands slide up your sides, warm palms smoothing over ribs, petting you like you’re something fragile and precious. One hand cups the back of your neck, thumb brushing the base of your skull while he keeps kissing your throat, your jaw, the soft spot behind your ear.
Eren’s still buried inside you, half-hard, twitching lazily every time your walls flutter. He shifts just enough to sit up straighter, pulling you flush against his chest so your breasts press to him. His mouth finds yours immediately, a slow, deep kiss that tastes like your own slick and his tongue. Lazy. Unhurried. Like he’s savoring every second now that the frantic edge is gone.
One hand slides up to cup your breast, thumb circling the nipple soft and unhurried, teasing it back to a stiff peak. He pinches gently, rolls it between his fingers, then soothes with the flat of his palm. The other hand stays low, splayed over your lower belly where the bulge has softened but you can still feel the faint throb of him inside.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful like this,” he mutters against your lips, kissing you again, messy and open-mouthed, tongue sliding slow against yours. “All flushed and leaking us. Our pretty girl.”
He keeps playing with your tits, kneading one while he kisses you deeper, then switching to the other, thumb flicking the nipple until you arch into his touch with a soft whine. Every tug sends little aftershocks through your oversensitive body; your cunt clenches weakly around him, milking another small bead of cum that drips out around his base.
Toru’s mouth never leaves your neck, kissing and sucking soft bruises into fresh skin, whispering praise between each press of his lips.
“So sweet… so fucking perfect… ours, baby. All ours.”
Eren breaks the kiss just long enough to murmur against your mouth, “Gonna stay like this a while. Keep you full. Keep you warm.”
His fingers keep teasing your nipple with gentle pinches and slow circles, while Toru’s hands roam your sides, your back, your hips. They’re everywhere and nowhere all at once, soft touches and warm mouths, their low voices rumbling praise into your skin.
You’re boneless between them, head lolling back against Toru’s shoulder, lips parted on shaky breaths, body humming with the quiet afterglow.
They don’t rush.
They just hold you.
Kiss you.
Pet you.
Like they’ve got all night.
Like they’ve finally got what they’ve wanted for so long.
nanami laid you down gently on the mattress, his familiar scent crowded you almost immediately as you buried half your face deeper into his pillows, filling your nose with a propinquity that felt like home.
nanami stood close by the bed, gazing at you in a state of unreadiness. his usual slicked back hair was now down and unruly, navy shirt fit him snugly making his arm looked extra delicious, loose pants hanging on his torso. it had been a little late when you called him drunkenly to pick you up, he knew you were on a night out with shoko.
“ugh, it’s so hot,” you mumbled, reaching out to grab the hem of his shirt; nanami played along with a quiet smile on his face, moving a step closer just so your hand could reach. you pulled, beckoning him to sit on the side of the bed, he obliged easily, brushing away the hair that’s sticking on your face. “it’s warm, take off your shirt,” you blinked at him, as he chuckled softly.
“why should i take off my clothes when you’re the one feeling warm, hm?” he asked with a soothing voice, stroking your hair over and over.
“global warming, and stuff,” you rambled, giving up in putting sense on your sentence. nanami looked at you with wonder, curious to hear what amusing things will come out of your mouth next.
“i wonder what’s going on inside this head right now,” he said, rubbing his thumb gently at the side of your forehead. you sighed deeply, enjoying his touch.
“i want a kiss,” you claimed suddenly, proving his point. nanami shot a defeated smile, his eyed narrowed in adoration as he caved, planting a short kiss on your lips; his hair tickling your skin as he leaned down. nanami pulled away before you could savor the feel of his mouth thoroughly.
“more.”
he kissed you once more.
“more.” you whined softly, not liking how he ended each kiss so fast.
the only respond you received was a soft brush of his finger on your bottom lip as he said, “that’s all you’re getting tonight love.”
nanami saw your dramatic expression change, frowning as though it’s the end of the world. a hearty laugh escaped him at your theatric, rubbing your cheek with the back of his index finger, his touch felt feather light against your side, “you’re terribly drunk, the only thing you need to be doing right now is sleep.”
“not drunk,” you mumbled, even though sleep sounded amazing in your ear right now as you felt your eyelids getting heavier by the second, nanami’s ever so softly touch didn’t help you in staying awake at all.
“if you say so,” he replied easily, getting up from his spot without words, leaving you alone in bed. you flashed an exaggerated pout as if the man could still see you, not knowing he’s already returned to the same spot within a minute with a familiar looking bottle on his right hand.
“i don’t wanna drink anymore,” you murmured, giving him a pleading look. nanami chuckled.
“i’m not making you drink this, silly girl,” he claimed gently, pouring three drops of the liquid content to a cotton pad you’re just now seeing, before wiping away your face tenderly like you’re made of glass.
right. that’s your bottle of make up remover. “oh.”
the soft dab of the cotton on your face over and over made you sleepier, the consistent rhythm of rubbing and tapping nanami was working wonders, almost like a magician in soothing you. but the focused expression on his face as he leaned close to you held you back from going into the dream land.
“you’re so handsome,” you whispered, staring the man like he hung the moon.
“am i? thank you love,” he replied without missing a beat and at this point you knew this man would always respond patiently to whatever nonsense you were cooking in your mind even though it's easier to ignore what you're saying while you’re under the influence, instead he was spoiling you rotten.
“what about me? am i pretty?” you asked, eyes half-lidded.
“the prettiest.” he smiled tenderly, stopping just to give you a smitten look before going back to work, the soft wipes of cotton underneath your eyes knocked you right into a daze, deciding to just close your eyes because it was too mush work to keep them opened
“ken?”
“yes love?”
"d’you think cats are sad they don’t get to blow candles on their birthday?” you asked in a serious tone, half your body felt like it’s being pulled into slumber, nanami’s laugh sounded like as though it’s underwater.
“maybe, but they’re going to be even more sad if you don’t go to bed now,” he said, the last thing you heard was the sound of an object being put on the bedside table and the feeling of your hair being brushed gently. nanami saw it happened as your breath slowed, head limping to the side.
he kissed your head softly, adjusting the blanket and tucked you all proper.
꒰ 𓏲๋࣭࣪˖🌷.ᐟ Satoru Gojo is the loudest, prettiest boy on campus — and secretly the biggest nerd you've ever met. You make a list of twenty ways to make him yours. It works better than expected. ꒱
ᘛ ꒰ satoru gojo x reader | university au | fluff, crack-ish, mutual pining, 3.4k wc. no real warning, this is pure fluff. art by @/to00fu dividers by @uzmacchiato and @pixopix ྀིა
Gojo Satoru did not look like a nerd. That was the first thing you had to get past.
He was six-foot-three, white hair that looked like he'd bleached it out of spite, and a jawline that made underclassmen forget how to walk in straight lines. So the first time you sat next to him in Intro to Theoretical Physics and watched him correct the TA's derivation on the whiteboard— politely, cheerfully, in a way that made the TA visibly reconsider their choice of career— you assumed it was a fluke. A pretty boy who got lucky on one problem set.
It was not a fluke. It happened every single week.
By week four you knew: underneath the sunglasses he wore indoors "for the bit," underneath the easy charm and the way he called everyone "sweetheart" like it cost him nothing, Gojo was the single biggest nerd you had ever met in your life. He annotated his textbooks in four colors. He had a ranked opinion on which university library floor had the best "ambient silence." He once spent twenty minutes explaining the Fermi paradox to a girl at a party who had asked him, literally, where the bathroom was.
And somehow, against every instinct you had about self-preservation, you'd fallen for him anyway.
The problem was that Gojo Satoru was completely, catastrophically oblivious to the fact that you liked him. Not because he was dumb— the man had a 4.0 and could recite pi to sixty digits when he was nervous— but because emotional self-awareness was, apparently, the one subject he'd never taken.
So you did what any reasonable person would do. You made a list.
Not a real list, not at first— just something you texted your roommate at 1 a.m. after he'd walked you back to your dorm and then said "anyway, goodnight, study buddy!" like a golden retriever who'd just learned the word "goodnight." But it grew. Item by item, week by week, you built yourself a plan. A syllabus, if you wanted to be annoying about it. A plan for how to make a nerd— your nerd, if you had anything to say about it– fall for you back.
Here's what the list looked like, three weeks later, mostly executed and slightly out of order:
1. Ask him to explain something you already understand
Not because you need it explained. Because Gojo lights up like a Christmas tree the second someone asks him a real question, and there is nothing in this world cuter than a six-foot-three man drawing a diagram of quantum entanglement on a napkin at 9 p.m. because you asked "wait, but how does that actually work?" He'll talk for eleven minutes straight. You will not understand half of it. You will not care.
2. Bring him coffee exactly the way he takes it, without asking.
Oat milk, two sugars, and— this is important— he needs it slightly too hot, because he likes complaining that it burned his tongue and then drinking it anyway. The first time you showed up to your study session with his order memorized, he stared at the cup for a solid five seconds like you'd handed him a diamond instead of a four-dollar latte.
"You remembered," he said, and for once he didn't sound like he was performing anything.
"It's not that hard, Satoru."
"No," he agreed, still staring at the cup. "I guess it's not."
3. Steal his hoodie and never give it back.
This one is less a strategy and more just theft, but the effect is the same. You took it during a group project when the library air conditioning decided finals week was a personal vendetta, and you simply forgot to return it. He noticed. He did not ask for it back. He instead started "accidentally" leaving other sweaters at your dorm, like he was building a small collection of hostages in reverse.
4. Beat him at something. Anything.
Gojo has never lost gracefully in his life. He is aggressively, hilariously competitive about things that do not matter, like Mario Kart, or who can name more moons of Saturn, or whose flashcards are better organized. Beat him once— just once— and watch a switch flip behind his eyes. He will demand a rematch. He will demand several rematches. He will, three rematches later, forget that he is supposed to be trying to win and just start trying to make you laugh instead.
5. Notice the thing he's insecure about, and don't make a big deal of it.
Underneath the confidence, Gojo has Opinions about his own eyes— the pale blue, the way people stare, the way strangers sometimes ask invasive questions like he's a museum exhibit. You noticed early that the sunglasses weren't entirely a bit. So you never once commented on his eyes unless it was in passing, the same way you'd mention someone's nice handwriting. Ordinary. Unremarkable. Just a fact about him, not a headline.
He clocked that you'd clocked it. He didn't say anything. But he started taking the glasses off around you more.
6. Let him info-dump. Then remember what he said.
Two weeks after the Fermi paradox incident, you asked him— out of nowhere, mid-lecture— "okay but statistically, if the paradox holds, doesn't that actually support the idea that we're early, not alone?" He turned to look at you like you'd grown a second head. A good second head.
"You remembered that?"
"You explained it for twenty minutes to a stranger looking for the bathroom. Of course I remembered."
7. Make him carry something heavy for you.
Not because you need the help. Because there is a specific, devastating satisfaction in watching Gojo Satoru— who could probably bench-press the entire physics department— insist on carrying your grocery bags, your laundry basket, your six textbooks, all at once, while pretending it's nothing, while very obviously flexing about it.
8. Show up to his study group uninvited and stay anyway.
He runs a Tuesday night study group that is, allegedly, "for anyone who wants to come," but somehow the same three terrified freshmen show up every week and leave within the hour because Gojo cannot resist turning every session into a TED talk. You started showing up too. You did not leave within the hour. By the third week, he'd started saving you a seat next to him without being asked— the one by the outlet, because he'd noticed your laptop charger was fraying.
9. Text him something dumb at 2 a.m. and let him overthink his reply.
You know this one works because your roommate is somehow also friends with his roommate, and the intel came back within the hour: Gojo spent eleven minutes composing a response to your "ok but if a vending machine gains sentience is it a philosophical zombie or just annoying" text. Eleven minutes. For a joke. He sent back four different drafts before landing on one, and it was still unhinged.
10. Compliment his handwriting, not his face
He gets told he's hot approximately nine times a day, by everyone, including strangers on the bus. It means nothing to him anymore— it's just weather. But tell him his lecture notes are genuinely, freakishly beautiful— every equation boxed, every margin annotated in four colors like he's illuminating a medieval manuscript— and watch him go quiet in a way he never does when someone calls him pretty.
11. Let him see you fail at something.
Gojo doesn't actually want a girl who has it together 100% of the time— he wants someone real, though it took you a while to realize that. The night you completely bombed a presentation and cried a little in the stairwell after, he didn't try to fix it or hype you up with empty noise. He just sat down on the concrete step next to you in his very expensive jeans and said, "okay, worst professor you've ever had, go," and let you complain until you'd laughed the tears away.
12. Ask about his family. Actually listen.
He deflects hard whenever anyone brings up the Gojo name, the money, the expectations. Most people either fawn over it or pretend it doesn't exist. You did neither— you just asked, once, gently, "is it heavy? Carrying all that?" and let the silence sit instead of filling it. He didn't answer for a full minute. Then he told you more than he'd told anyone all semester. He told you about his twin.
13. Give him a nickname that isn't about how he looks.
Everyone calls him "Six Eyes" as some ironic school-wide joke about how much he supposedly sees. You started calling him "Professor" instead, low and teasing, every time he got insufferable about a fact nobody asked for. He complained about it constantly. He also, notably, never asked you to stop.
14. Show up to his dumb extracurricular thing
He's in the university's astronomy club, which meets on the roof of the science building at ungodly hours to look at things you cannot see because of light pollution. You went once, mostly out of curiosity, and ended up going every month after, wrapped in his stolen hoodie (see: item 3), while he pointed at smudges in the sky and insisted, with total conviction, that one of them was definitely Saturn.
"That's a plane, Satoru."
"It's Saturn, and I won't be taking questions."
15. Get jealous. Badly. On purpose.
You are not proud of this one, but it worked, so it's staying on the list. A guy from your seminar started sitting suspiciously close to you during group work, and Gojo— usually the most chill, unbothered person alive— suddenly developed a burning need to sit in on your seminar "for fun." He is not enrolled in your seminar. He does not need to be there. He was there anyway, arms crossed, radiating an aura your professor mistook for academic passion.
16. Take care of him when he forgets to take care of himself.
For someone so smart, Gojo is disastrous at remembering to eat during midterms. You started leaving snacks in his backpack without telling him— protein bars, the specific brand of gum he chews when he's anxious, a note sometimes. He never mentioned it directly. He just started leaving you snacks back, an unspoken little economy of care neither of you would put a name to yet.
17. Let him walk you home even when you don't need it.
It's fifteen minutes out of his way. He does it every time anyway, sunglasses off, hands in his pockets, talking the entire walk about nothing and everything, and you've started timing your goodnights to be a little longer than they need to be.
18. Catch him staring, and don't look away first.
It happened in the library, over a stack of shared notes— you looked up and he was already looking, not at your notes, at you, and for once in his entire dramatic life he didn't have a single word ready. You didn't look away. Neither did he. Somebody's highlighter rolled off the table and neither of you moved to catch it.
19. Tell him, out loud, that you like the nerd version of him best.
Not the flirt. Not the golden retriever performing for a crowd. The version that gets quiet and intense over a whiteboard, that memorizes the digits of pi when he's anxious, that lit up over a napkin diagram because someone finally asked him a real question. You told him this on the roof, under his fake Saturn, and he went so still you thought you'd broken him.
20. Kiss him first.
Because he will never, ever make the first move— not out of fear, but because some small, stupid, sincere part of him doesn't believe someone like you would actually want someone like him, underneath all the noise. So you have to be the one. You kiss him on the roof, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, his ridiculous fake constellation still glowing faintly behind him, and he makes a sound against your mouth like every ounce of composure he's ever performed just short-circuited at once.
When you pull back he's staring at you the way he stares at a problem he's finally solved— stunned, delighted, a little smug that he got there at all.
"Say something smart, Professor," you tell him, breathless.
"Give me a second," he says. "You broke my working memory."
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