gyomei himejima is addicted to back scratches ꒰ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
Oh, how you love when your husband arrives exhausted to your estate. Some women wait for their husbands completely bare in bed, some wait for them with a warm dinner. He's just happy if you keep your nails long. Gyomei arrives an hour before dinner, taking off his shoes and haori before peeling the rest of his clothes in your shared room, where you are waiting for him.
"My dear." He moves his head around the room, searching for a sound that tells him that you're there. Luckily, you take his hand and tug him down with you. "Hi, my dear."
"Hi," you whisper back, kissing his cheek and then his lips. After you kiss him, he's the only leaning closer to trap your lips again in a longer kiss. "You're warm."
"Sweaty?" he questions, with a tiny pout. The idea of having to bathe before back scratches sounds terrible.
"No. Just warm," you tell him, pushing his hair back to see his face better. "Come here."
He follows where you guide him, his head landing in the softness of your stomach, his massive frame careful not to crush you. The moment his bare back is exposed, you see the tension still clinging to the broad planes of muscle, the faint marks from the day, your fingers itch to help.
"Nails?" you ask, already knowing the answer.
A shaky exhale leaves him. "Please."
You drag your nails slowly down the length of his spine, firm enough to make him shiver and the sound he makes is pure relief. A rumbling purr starts in his chest, vibrating under your palms as you dig in a little harder between his shoulder blades. His whole body goes soft under you, melting both of you into the futon.
"Ah… there," he breathes. One of his huge hands reaches until it finds your waist, squeezing once before going still again. "You always know… exactly…"
He loses his voice when you press down his favorite spot, watching the way his shoulders drop further with every pass.
"I love you," he whispers against your throat, the words lost in another contented purr. "So much. My dear… my light…" His lips brush your pulse point again, then the hinge of your jaw, clumsy and sweet because he can't see but he knows every inch of you by heart. "Please don't ever cut your nails."
You huff a laugh, closing your eyes as you shake your head. "I won't, love."
You keep scratching and very so often he presses another kiss to your neck or the underside of your chin, whispering how much he loves you.
It is beyond belief that Marquis Gojo Satoru would lose a battle. And when he thinks death will welcome him with its cold clutches, someone else appears. A simple woman who reduces the Marquis to nothing but a humble man, ready to give up his noble life just for a sweet touch of hers.
prequel to this story, but can be read as part one or a standalone!
˖𑣲⋆ ݁˖ pairing: ꒰ Marquis!Gojo Satoru x Noodle Seller!Reader ꒱
˖𑣲⋆ ݁˖ content & warnings: ꒰ fluff fluff fluff :: set in Ancient China :: based on Pursuit of Jade :: but Satoru's simply obsessed :: miserable Satoru :: smut :: gentle sex :: breeding :: mentions of pregnancy :: he falls first and harder :: oral sex :: he's madly in love from the very start :: domestic life :: first time :: reader is a sort of minx :: class differences :: mating press :: squirting :: belly bulge ꒱
˖𑣲⋆ ݁˖ words: ꒰ 17.3k ꒱
˖𑣲⋆ ݁˖ notes: Pray forgive me for waiting that looong for this part! I loved writing it and I think it's the longest oneshot I have written so far.
The air was biting cold, and the river was softly frozen. Not completely, but laying peppered kisses of snow on a shimmering surface, as the moon reflected off it, bathing the side of your face in a gentle glow.
The donkey stood restlessly, shifting from foot to foot and nudging your arm with its warm nose as you stroked it gently.
"I think he wants to go back," Maki chuckled, patting the greyish mule on its back. "Thank you for dropping by. It's been a hectic week." She said, pressing her hand to her now slightly swollen belly.
She gave birth at the start of December, just a week ago, so you came to help her tidy up a bit and offer a full pot of your famous pig-intestines noodle soup. Rich and delicious, that made Maki cry when she finally tasted it after a long and difficult labour.
"Don't thank me. Just send Yuta to the village if you need anything else. And when you feel better, just take a walk to the restaurant," you smiled, tightening a fur headband around your head.
Maki nodded, and Yuta soon joined her outside, wrapping a heavy coat around her shoulders. You rolled the heavy slats of meat from two fatty pigs on the cart and took a deep breath. Yuta helped you cover them with a soft material to keep them out of the curious onlookers' sight.
A thank-you gift from both of them, after you looked after the heavily pregnant Maki for the past few months while Yuta ran their own restaurant in the larger village not far from yours.
"I can walk you back," he offered, gazing at the plush snowy road that stretched through the forest. "It's only a one-hour walk each way, and I'm sure you'll prefer some company."
"It's fine, I can manage. You both should rest too; Iori has been giving you a hell of a week," you chuckled, looking over their shoulder as if you could peek at the softly cradled baby boy sleeping tight inside their house. "Besides, Bao will keep me company."
The donkey huffed and again nudged your arm with his nose, as if exhaustion had weighed on his eyelids too. His lovely, furry face shook from the snowflakes, and you noticed that the gravel road was slowly turning into an unfathomable, almost fairy-tale-like realm of ice and frost.
"Come visit the restaurant when you have time. Oh, and we'll see each other next month during the Lunar New Year, right?" you said, checking whether the donkey was harnessed to the cart.
You patted his back to signal it was time to leave. Bao began to walk slowly, remembering the straight road to your village in his young, tender heart, and so he led the way, with you a few steps behind.
"How about you come to us the day before? We can cook together!" Maki smiled, waving you gently goodbye.
You nodded and waved back as well, walking backwards just to keep their beaming faces in view for as long as possible. The powdered coldness beneath your feet crunched, while the evening's biting wind nipped at your cheeks with icy kisses.
After a while, as the road curled, they disappeared behind the tall trees, and so you joined Bao's side, chattering away in his soft ears.
"I'll earn a lot during the Lunar New Year and buy you plenty of hay. Oh, and also the salt blocks. I know you love those, but they're too expensive," you giggled, watching Bao's calm muzzle. Still, his ears twitched and his short tail wagged happily, so you knew that the donkey loved your company just as much as you loved his. "And then we can open a second restaurant. What do you think? Perhaps I’ll even get you a friend, just to keep you company."
Bao huffed warm air and blinked slowly, still walking forwards.
The forest road soon widened, and the tall trees opened out onto a broad riverbank. Crystalline water flowed gently, carrying thin plates of ice that melted, froze, and melted again, dampened by the river. The brisk, freezing air bit into your lungs, slipping through the constantly babbling mouth. The skin on your lips was slightly chapped, so you licked them out of habit and cursed shortly after.
As evening turned into night and heavy clouds blanketed the round moon, you hung a small lamp on the cart. The flame flickered along with the rolling court, giving you a faint light.
You were close, just twenty minutes on foot or so, as you've noticed the familiar old wooden bridge crossing the river and the soaring tree that has stood there since the day you were born. Now, bare like a baby, with lush leaves long gone and branches stripped and frozen, with an icicle hanging from them like a threat.
Bao suddenly halted in the middle of the road. His two coal-black eyes looked down, and his nose huffed warm breath onto the snow.
"What is it, Bao?" you asked and squatted down. "Why did we stop?"
But the donkey was tugging at something with his nose, pushing and pushing until, with a faint warmth emanating from the lamp, you realised that something was hidden beneath the snow.
"Oh my, is that another treasure?" you giggled, recalling the time when you'd found a freshly killed fox and made yourself a warm coat out of its lush fur.
But Bao was just huffing and puffing, melting the thick powder with his warm breath. You helped him dig out whatever was hidden beneath it, and… oh.
You jumped back, suddenly landing on the frosty ground. Your breath hitched, stuck in your chilled throat. Eyes bulged like two porcelain plates as they glanced down at the face that surfaced from beneath the waves of heavy snow.
White and pallid, reminding you of a ghost you've only heard about in cautionary tales, and so you were told not to wander alone at night. All the stories you've listened to as a child suddenly flooded your mind, because now, right there, the ghost must have been right in front of you.
But the Bao wasn't panicking. If he did, it would mean that the man covered in snow was a spectral creature indeed. Yet he wasn't, because the moment Bao licked his pale cheek, the man's brows furrowed and a low groan slipped past his lips.
He was alive.
Barely, yet alive, so you crawled closer and dug him out from beneath the snow. The long, white fingers looked almost purple, and his breathing was shallow, but he was alive.
A bit dirty and bloodied, as you've noticed a crimson trail slipping down his temple. The lean cheeks flushed with colour, lips pale, and you gazed at him for a long time before Bao nudged your arm.
You couldn't bring the man home. As you were unmarried and living alone at that. Taking a man back home would lead to the generational scandal the village had never seen before.
The image of all the elderly aunts flooded your mind – their scrunched faces, spit landing in front of your gate, the gossip that would fill the whole village to the point where you would be forced to move somewhere else. The house and a small noodle shop after your parents were all you had left and all you had been fighting for over the past few months, so you could give up on it for the sake of some stranger.
Beautiful, simply ethereal, yet a stranger.
Bao was looming over your shoulder. His warm breath hit your cheek as he nudged it with his nose.
"I can't," you whispered, pressing the hand to the man's cheek. "I don't know what to do. Taking him back is too risky," you looked over your shoulder, eyes crossing with two shining coals.
Bao didn't say anything. Of course he didn't, but simply nudged your cheek again, as if wishing to let you know that it was the right way.
That's what your parents would want.
Because Bao was your father's dearest donkey ever since he was saved from a butcher. One year old then, he began to follow your father everywhere – whether in the fields or on a simple walk to the larger village – and so they enjoyed each other's company for three whole years. Then, both he and your mother died, leaving you and Bao on your own.
You knew he was an animal. Yet, sometimes, you thought that years spent in your father's presence taught him about the unwavering morality and kindness your father held in his heart for others. For people and animals and the gods who walked the earth among everyone else, as no one should be in pain and no one is doomed to a life of misery.
The man lying in front of you was one of those, your father would help headfirst. Dressed in nothing but a flimsy, wet robe. The river must have spat him out, and so he rested there for half the day.
By morning, he would be dead.
Bao nudged your arm again. A long, heavy breath escaped your throat, head hanging between slumped shoulders.
"Fine," fell quietly, almost a murmur, but the donkey heard it.
His fluffy ears trembled, and long, sticky tongue pressed against your cheek.
"Oh, Bao, but you must come closer with this cart. I need to pack him up there."
The donkey, as the smartest animal you truly thought he was, stepped forward and let the cart roll closer to the man.
He seemed tall and muscular, but you've been kneading dough and lifting pigs since you were a teenager, so lifting him was no problem. With a quick squat and a hand wrapped around his arms, you hoisted him onto your back. Too short to take him whole, but strong enough to roll him onto the cart. Under the white material, he was joined by the fresh, bloody pig's meat.
You bit the inside of your cheek as you saw this ethereal man lying among the heavy, grimy slabs. His white hair clung to the raw flesh, cheeks stained crimson, and his body curled around the pig's heart you had saved for the tasty broth.
"I'm sorry," you whispered and covered him back with a cloth. Your palm met with the donkey's back as you giggled. "Let's go, Bao! Lives have to be saved!"
𑁤 𑁤 𑁤
Satoru didn't feel cold anymore.
The snow that had melted beneath his body was gone, and the peppered flakes covering his cheeks suddenly vanished.
His fingers could move despite the biting frost seeping through his skin, and his head rested on something plush.
He no longer felt cold; instead, a deep heat licked his back, with a sizzling, flaming tongue beading sweat on his forehead. A fever, perhaps, or just heaps of fur that he noticed the moment his eyes opened.
The place felt strange. Certainly not a tent he would use on the battlefield nor his quarters in the capital. It wasn't lavish at all, dressed in the rich style he was accustomed to, but he wouldn't call it poor either.
Rather cozy, homey, and he looked around the wooden walls and thin rice-paper doors that now were shut tight. The small bed was creaking under his body as he wriggled, trying to free himself from the heavy piles of fur.
Turning his head to the side, he noticed how tiny the room truly was. Just a small bed, a table with a stool, and a bookshelf filled with folded clothes instead. A bowl of fruit sat on the small table, and a cup of paste – smelly, thick. When his eyes dropped to his bandaged chest, he saw dried traces of it on himself, seeping through the white cloth.
His head throbbed, and his mind sounded an alarm – the sooner he left this place, the better. There was a battle to finish. An empire to defend. An emperor to whom he needed to report.
An army to take care of.
He was the Marquis of all – the highest in rank within the imperial army, wielding an authority that clasped the entire empire in his iron fist.
He was important.
Yet now, he could barely move, and an attempt to sit up was enough to bead another droplet of sweat upon his forehead. The bleak dizziness covered his sight for a brief second, but long enough for someone to slip into the room.
He didn't have his sword, so the only option was to reach for the chopsticks lying carelessly on the bedside table and prepare himself for an attack.
If it was just one man, he would deal with him without a problem. It wasn't the first time he fought with broken ribs and a twisted ankle, yet surely the first time he was alone, without any of his soldiers to cover his back.
Even so, the moment his eyes landed on a person slipping through the door, something within him melted.
Fingers let the chopsticks fall onto the fur bedding, and air pressed against his lips, ready to be inhaled in a gasp. Eyes, mingling like two snowflakes, bulged as he saw a woman slowly walking his way with a trail.
With lovely cheeks kissed by the lantern's dancing flame, stained with a red mark of sorts. Hair falling loosely over the blue robes. Plain, yet neatly embroidered with brown thread that wrapped around the wide, fur-lined sleeves. A white collar loosely hugged your neck, revealing another layer of robes hidden just beneath.
When your eyes looked up from two warm bowls, Satoru thought he had never seen a smile so radiant. Forming your cheeks into soft dumplings – sweet and giggly – as you walked gently towards the bed.
"Finally!" you clasped the moment two bowls were put down on the table. "I was afraid I'd killed you!"
Satoru's lips parted slightly. His eyes remained fixed on your face, as if its mere beauty had taken his breath away. He didn't say anything – he couldn't say anything – and so fluttered his lashes a few times.
And you, on the other hand, stepped from toe to toe, with shame and humiliation filling you up to your fingertips. You knew he was someone of noble descent, but only now, seeing his face fully awake, you've truly felt like a simple, foolish peasant.
Slightly too strong for a woman and too smart-mouthed. With an almost too demanding manner and a not-so-charming side whenever someone bothered you. You were hot-headed, acted too masculine, as aunties in the neighbourhood loved to chirp, and carried yourself with an air that simply scared off potential husbands.
You were anything but lovely, unlike the noble ladies who reminded you of delicate jasmine petals blooming during spring. So now, standing in front of the man who could have been the imperial son himself, you coughed shyly and wavered on your toes.
"But I didn't," you simply added, noticing his bulging eyes. Blue, almost white, like the snowflakes clinging to the papered windows. "It's just that… I've never treated a human, and so I gave you half the horse dose of medicine. But that's because you're tall and heavy, so I thought that it would… well…"
Your fingers fiddled with the hem of your robes, and a warmth hit your cheeks as you noticed his eyes follow you up and down. Surely inspecting all the oil stains and mud sticking to your robes.
You quickly sat on the bed, right in front of him, still watching the startled expression contort his face. His lips looked pale, almost purplish. Face white as snow, creamy and soft, yet bore a small, solitary cut on his plush cheek. White hair fell loosely over his forehead, with a few strands clinging to the droplets of sweat beading on his temples.
And his eyes were still shockingly, almost amazingly fixed on your face.
The night was cold, but warmth started bubbling on the back of your neck as you pressed your hand to his forehead.
"You no longer have a fever. Are you feeling too hot? Those furs might be a little too warm, let me..." You muttered, avoiding his gaze. With a gentle pull, you removed a few furs from him, revealing a naked, bandaged chest. "Oh, I'm sorry. But your trousers stayed on, I swear."
A soft curse slipped from your tongue as you spoke what was on your mind before you had a chance to bite your tongue.
"That was inappropriate. I'm sorry."
Your voice sounded fragile, and when you finally looked up with those shy, doe eyes, Satoru remembered that he needed to say something.
"I don't mind."
Oh dear.
This time, both of you blushed with rosy shame, gazing at each other with fingers clutching your robes.
He coughed, diverting his gaze from your face. Perhaps if he didn't have to look at you, speaking would be simpler.
"I wanted to say, thank you, for the medicine. Even if it was meant for a horse," he grimaced, yet noticed with a corner of his eye your smile. "I don't know who brought me here, but I wish to thank him too."
You chuckled. "Him? I brought you here."
Satoru frowned as he watched you kneel on the floor. One bowl was left lying on the ground, while you lifted a small, entire table and rested it on the bed, with a large bowl of noodles right beneath his nose.
"You brought me here all the way from the forest?" he peered through the slightly open window, noticing that the room he was resting in was on the second floor. "And hauled me upstairs?"
You nodded, placing fresh chopsticks next to his bowl. A gentle flush coloured your cheeks as you nodded, avoiding his gaze. Your hands quickly adjusted the two large pillows behind his back to help him sit more comfortably.
"But how?"
You tucked a lock of hair behind your ear with a shy smile. "I'm quite strong," you said quietly, then quickly added, trying to distract him from the fact that you had hauled a grown man upstairs on your back. "I prepared it for you. You didn't eat anything for three days except the porridge. I've noticed you were slowly waking up, so I've made a fresh broth."
He looked down into the large bowl, filled with clear soup. Salty and aromatic, packed with meat that bent and curled almost wickedly, and so he felt a fat globe stuck in his throat.
It didn't look like something he was used to eating back in the capital.
Back there, the tables bowed under the weight of rare meats, exotic fruits, and spices reserved only for the highest nobles. He would be served rich dishes of glazed beef and rabbits, hunted from private grounds. Oranges plucked straight from the imperial garden and peaches, their sweetness dripping down his chin.
Here, he was served a bowl of noodles, with long, wrinkled pieces of meat.
A second later, he heard a loud slurping, almost obscene. When he looked around, he saw you sitting cross-legged at a smaller table, eating noodles with a hum. Crimson oil splattered across your cheeks each time you sucked a noodle in.
He looked at you with slightly parted lips, and when you noticed, another wave of humiliation washed over your spine. But your cheeks were already filled to the brim, like two fat dumplings, so you could only chew the noodles while meeting his gaze.
The chilli oil stained your lips red, and you wiped it away with your thumb. To which he responded with a frown once again.
Oh dearest.
"Do you not like it?" you asked, scrambling to your feet and sitting on the bed. "Do you need help? I didn't add many spices to it, your body is still too weak."
But he said nothing, simply gazed at the full bowl with a gentle, almost childlike frown wrinkling his forehead.
You looked down, a small oh rolling off your tongue.
"Do you not like… intestines?" You asked carefully, and he looked up at you, almost horrified.
"Intestines?"
"Pig intestines," you repeated, watching his eyes bulge again. "Oh, but I cleaned them very carefully! They've been soaking in salt and vinegar for two days; I've also rubbed them clean, so..." shut up, shut up, shut up. "... there's no faeces. Not any more."
Satoru was on the verge of fainting. But his stomach was growling with hunger, and the soup, aside from the obvious fact of what was swimming inside, smelled delicious, making his taste buds drool.
So he needed to eat it.
Because he was starving.
Or… maybe not truly.
Perhaps he needed to eat it because the sight of your ashamed, sorry face struck him like a hammer. Your eyes, fixed on fingers fiddling with the hem of your robes, as you refused to look at him. Again.
He couldn't see your eyes, but something deep inside his heart told him that if he did, crystal tears would be covering your lovely irises.
"I'm sorry," you whispered. The softness of your voice nearly crushed his soul. "The pig is cheap, and… I didn't have the money to buy you something better. I'm sorry I can't offer you anything else."
If Satoru could pierce himself with a sword, he would do so without hesitation. Never in all the years of his life would he have imagined that the sorrowful look on the strange woman's face would crumple his heart so miserably.
He refused women before. Noble birdies and princesses too, yet not even a single pout on their powdered faces could match the heartbreaking sulk of yours. With an oil stain still coating your cheek and something resembling flour dusted on your hands.
So he took a deep breath, grasped the chopsticks, and took a first bite. Then came the second, and the third, and before he knew it, the clear broth was splashing over his chest as long pieces of meat met with a low, satisfied hum.
You looked up, brushing your slightly wet eyes with a sleeve. "Do you like it?"
He loved it.
And so he looked up from the steaming bowl. His cheeks were creamy with a mix of noodles and meat, eyes shining bright like two lovely snowflakes. The small lamp bathed half his face in warm, gentle light as the rosiness returned to his body.
You slipped back onto the floor and sat by your small table.
For a few minutes, the room was filled with nothing but your hums and slurps. The chewing of fresh noodles that melted on your tongue and his eyes, fluttering whenever he glanced down at your stuffed face.
Something swelled beneath his chest every time you looked up. With doe eyes shining with pure bliss, a few more specks of chilli oil coated your skin. The tip of your nose, the corner of your lips, and your chin creased when his gaze lingered on you a little too long.
"Are you still hungry?" You mumbled with a full mouth. "I cooked a whole pot."
But Satoru shook his head. "I was wondering what your name is."
A small oh fell past your lips as you muttered your name next.
His lips curved into a gentle smile, and a hand stretched out towards you. You looked at it with a frown before placing your palm on his.
He laughed, yet didn't take his hand back. But simply pulled you onto your feet again and sat down on the bed.
Hand still opened, as he spoke softly. "Write the characters down."
With a bite on the inside of your cheek, you placed a finger on his skin. Slightly hard and still covered in cuts, you began painting the characters. With delicate precision, you remembered the order of strokes by heart.
The only words you've ever learnt.
He watched it carefully before repeating your name once more. It sounded different this time – more elegant, almost noble – and you wriggled in your seat as he murmured it repeatedly under his breath.
"What's yours?"
He smiled and this time took your hand, spreading it open. His long finger pressed against your skin before it started moving. Dancing across your palm, he painted neat, straight lines, of which you had no knowledge.
You've recognised the character five. Then, there was something else you'd seen standing before the character for noodle. Yet the last you simply couldn't recognise. It reminded you of something, but you couldn't recall what. When he finished, both of you looked up at the same time.
And not a second had passed before the warmth stung both of you. He was sitting close. But perhaps a little too close, and you could feel the heat radiating off his bare chest.
His breath on your cheeks, and another hand cupping your hand, as if wishing to simply hold it up in the air.
Your eyes quickly fell back to your palm, as you confessed, shyly. "I don't know the last character."
"Oh," slipped past his lips, as he wrote all three of them again. But this time, much slower, as if letting you remember each curve and stroke. "Go, Jo, Satoru. My name is Gojo Satoru. But you can call me just Satoru."
You looked at your palm, as if the characters were still etched into the roughness of your skin. Slightly stained with chilli oil, a bit too dry from spending too long outside.
"Gojo Satoru," you whispered. For your ears only, yet he heard it nevertheless. "Satoru."
Something within, deep beneath all the scars slashing his skin, the burning muscles, and the coldness he had kept inside for too long – suddenly swelled. A feeling he had never felt before, carrying a warmth that spilled across his chest. Wrapping snugly around his rigid heart, which suddenly began to flutter tenderly, almost shyly.
And the longer he looked at your face, with eyes still tracing the last marks of the name he left on your palm, the more uneasy he became.
Because he suddenly thought that eating pig intestines wouldn't be so bad if it meant seeing your smile until the end of his days.
𑁤 𑁤 𑁤
Days went by slowly. Satoru couldn't really leave the bedroom, so he relied solely on your kindness.
He spent the days sitting on the plush mattresses, silently gazing out the window, discreet enough not to let the neighbours realise that a man had been spending the night in your house. In your bedroom.
Considering you run the restaurant just downstairs, he had plenty of time to observe you from high up. And he used this opportunity, gazing down at you with a hand resting on his chin, a gentle smile creasing his eyes.
He watched you carry the sacks of flour, lifting both without a bead of sweat. Sometimes you went out with your donkey to pick fresh vegetables, only to return with a sack of pig's meat slung over your shoulder, the butchering knife clutched in the other hand.
Lovely and blushing from biting cold, yet with the usual frown wrinkling your forehead.
Whenever you caught him staring at you from the window, your face froze in terror. The sack was quickly dropping down the wooden cart, the knife hidden behind your back. A lovely, awkward smile tugged at your lips as you disappeared behind the house, where you probably cut all the meat into smaller pieces.
Only to bring him another bowl of noodles a few hours later. Fresh and delicious, rarely with intestines, you knew he wasn't particularly fond of them.
When the restaurant was full, he heard your loud, chief voice bickering with clients.
Sometimes, you would carry the overly drunk customers out, gripping their collars with your hands, threatening them with a knife until they left your possession.
And even then, he would gaze at your flaming, reddened cheeks with a tilted head and a quiet chuckle slipping from his throat.
And even then, you would look up and freeze in place, quickly tucking locks of hair behind your ears. An awkward smile twisted your lips before you ran back to the restaurant, trying to veil your embarrassment with a wide chopper.
You rarely ate breakfast and dinner together because you spent most of your time in restaurant.
But evenings… evenings were always reserved for you two.
And when Satoru recovered enough to stand with the help of a wooden crutch, you began eating at one table.
Sitting in the restaurant with the doors and windows closed tight, only a few candles illuminating the small space as you ate, laughed, and talked. Of all sorts and matters, like two friends, soulmates, drunk on their own company.
Because you wished to know about Satoru as much as he wished to know about you. And so he asked you about everything, from childhood and family to dreams, your current life, and the restaurant.
When you confessed that you were alone in this world after your parents were murdered by the bandits while returning from the village – his heart ached.
The restaurant, Bao and this house were all you had left. With no siblings or other relatives that could offer you some help.
"Oh, aside from my father's brother," you said, snacking on the osmanthus cake you bought in the town today. "He's trying to take over the house. And as I'm unmarried, there's a good chance he'll succeed."
The sorrowful look filled your eyes whenever you spoke of it: the village you truly loved and the house where you were born. Of Maki and Yuta, your closest friends who lived a short walk from here, and of everything this place had held for the past twenty-three years of your life.
"I can't marry into someone's family, and no man in his right mind would want to marry into mine," you joked, serving him a second helping of the soup. "I have nothing to offer. There's no dowry, and as soon as I speak, everyone flees."
You tried to laugh it off, but Satoru saw it. The sadness and humiliation that sometimes seeped into your eyes, as your voice caught in your throat for a few seconds. Usually, you would break eye contact and focus on your own bowl, picking up the remaining uneaten noodles.
"I guess everything would be easier if you just married me," another joke.
Slightly drunk after I've pleased yourself with a few cups of wine. Your eyes clearly not registering the words, lips curling cheekily as you propped your chin on your hand.
You joked, but something deep within his heart fluttered with warmth, and so a low "I can," fell past his lips.
He knew your weren't serious, but he… he was.
Satoru didn't know why, but the moment you told him you were unmarried – at first he thought he would have to fight a man named Bao, before realising it was just a donkey – a spark of happiness blossomed in his chest. No, rather an overwhelming joy, as the thought of you smiling that way at any other man but him would kill his slowly warming heart.
You were always truthful with him, like an open book, not hiding any part of your painful life.
And he… well.
He was a scholar from a royal academy who got lost during his travels. His feeble body fainted, and he ended up in a river that carried him ashore near your village. His father was also an imperial scholar, and so Satoru aspired to join the ministry in the future. As someone important, but not overly so.
After all, there were other people who wielded much crucial power.
"Oh, for example, Marquis?" you said, pouting softly. "The recent gossip says he died in the last battle. I wonder if it's true."
Satoru tensed at first upon hearing the title he had somehow forgotten after a month living under your roof, but a playful, gentle smile soon returned to his rosy cheeks.
"Hm," he tapped his finger onto the table, chin perched on a hand. "What do people say about him?"
Oh dearest, now he needed to get his ego stroked.
You looked up from a bowl. "About a Marquis?"
Satoru nodded.
The candle bathed half his face in warmth, the flickering flame making his two blue eyes stand out in the darkness. Night had fallen quietly, and only a few lanterns lit a short path through the tiny village.
Satoru wasn't used to the quiet and serenity of such things. However, after a month, he couldn't imagine falling asleep without the stars dancing above his house and snowflakes softly clinging to the windows.
The aroma of osmanthus filled the restaurant as you held the fresh cup of tea. "He's a monster, I've heard. Brutal and merciless."
Satoru frowned. You weren't quite wrong, but the gossipers might have exaggerated the whole situation a little.
He pulled the warm blanket more firmly over his shoulders and bit the inside of his rosy cheek.
"Do you…" He took a deep breath, glancing almost shyly at your oblivious face. "Do you also think that way?"
You probably did, because what reason would you have not to follow the information spread in the village? And given that you couldn't read or write, it was easy to feed you all sorts of facts. Not quite true, yet still close to reality.
And yet, you simply said, "I don't," and took a sip of your tea.
"Really?" his voice wavered.
"Hm, yes. He sure must be powerful, but if his heart wasn't in the right place, would he protect the people of the empire as he has for the past few years? I've never seen the Marquis, but… I just think, deep down, he must be a good person."
Satoru's breath hitched. He wouldn't call himself a good person. Not even a benevolent one.
But then, sitting in the darkness of your small restaurant, while the snowstorm danced outside the little wooden house, he felt the need to be someone deserving of your praise.
A man worthy of your smile.
"So…" you started chewing on the osmathus cake. You really loved those flowers, and so he made a quick note to buy you plenty when the next winter comes and– "When are you planning to leave?"
Oh.
Right.
His shoulders visibly slumped, and his eyes softened with a feeling unnoticeable to you.
"I don't know," Satoru murmured, playing with his empty teacup.
You did the same, as silence threaded between your fingers. Mere millimetres apart, yet not close enough to even touch.
You looked up for a second. Just to see if he was looking at you. But he wasn't, so your eyes dropped back to the teacup.
"I'm sure you have a lot of things to do," please say you don't, please say you don't.
"Mhm," he hummed.
"Your ribs should be healed before the Lunar New Year."
A smile tugged at his lips, but it wasn't quite the one you often saw as he peered down at you from the bedroom window. This one felt much less genuine, almost forced.
"Right."
"And I'm sure your family is worrying about you."
They weren't. Satoru knew that no one did.
You took a deep breath. "And your wife too?"
He suddenly looked up. "My wife?"
You nodded.
"I don't have a wife."
"Oh."
Silence fell once more in an awkward manner. The chill seeped through the flimsy windows, and the tea was long finished.
You cleared your throat and finally looked up to meet the tenderness in his gaze. Warm, gentle, and once again with this strange feeling that almost reminded you of a beaten pup. As if he were begging for something, yet he refused to say it aloud.
"But…" you started, immediately noticing the gleam of hope in his eyes. "But if you wish to stay a bit longer, and maybe spend the New Year with me…" The back of your neck burned. "I would be very glad. I know you're healing fast, so you don't have to–"
"I want to," Satoru quickly stated, his handsome, pale face burning red. "I want to stay with you. For the New Year, that is…"
A soft good, slipped past your lips, before your gaze fell back down to the teacup.
This time, the silence didn't feel uncomfortable at all.
Rather, it felt quite cosy, even intimate, as Satoru pushed his teacup closer to yours. Just a little, a few centimetres truly, but enough to extend his small finger and brush the softness of your palm.
It lasted just a second, and it might have been an imagination of yours, but he was warm. And gentle. And his cheeks were burning with rich flame, as he coughed and propped his chin back on the hand.
This time, turning it to the side, just to hide his face from your giggly smile.
But, oh, if it wasn't one of the happiest evenings of his life.
𑁤 𑁤 𑁤
The Lunar New Year fell at the end of the month. Satoru was able to walk quite well by then, and the wooden crutch was often left behind in your bedroom.
He still only left the house at night, yet you allowed him to sit in the kitchen during the day.
Although he could offer little to no help, as the life of luxury taught him that there was no need to bother himself with any other skills besides the martial arts.
And thus, during the day, he sat hidden in the kitchen and chopped the pork with slow precision. Washed the vegetables until the skin shone crystal-clear like the snow piling up outside, and simmered the soup with long, patient strokes.
Very, very slowly.
"Your patience is truly lacking, darling," he chuckled once, noticing the scowl between your eyebrows. "Patience is a virtue."
You scoffed at his unhurried, relaxed movements. "Good I wasn't rich enough to become a scholar, then," and with a smile, you grabbed two bowls of steaming noodles from his hands.
Since the quiet night spent at the restaurant, Satoru hasn't brought up the topic of his departure anymore.
And you didn't either, letting it sit heavily on your stomach, as you secretly wished for him to stay longer than until the end of the month.
Yet a foolish wish it was, as you knew, that Satoru would never belong to you.
To a pretty, noble lady? Sure.
To the imperial throne? Yes.
To knowledge and wit and riches? Of course.
Yet, never, in a thousand years, to an uneducated, simple woman like you, who spent her days kneading noodles and cutting meat.
Perhaps you should keep some distance from him, but a foolish desire of yours was to seize all the moments, the sweetness blossoming within your tender hearts, with your greedy fingers.
You allowed yourself to become intoxicated by his smile, his soft, gentle voice, and eyes that always seemed to watch over you.
To let his hand sometimes be bound with yours, and during the deep, deep nights when the snowstorms rapped on the windows, allow his fingers to gently push aside the locks of your tired, sleeping face. Cheek pressed to the table, as you accidentally fell asleep in the restaurant.
To feel his lips mere millimetres from yours. Warm, trembling, yet never pressing against yours.
His strong, muscular arms wrapping around your body as he carried you effortlessly back upstairs. Gently tucked into the bedroom beside his, covering you in heavy furs.
And when you thought he would leave you there and go back to his bedroom – he always stayed.
Kneeling by your bed, as his big, warm head caressed your hair with long, tender strokes. Brushing hair away from your lovely cheeks, as the faint glow of the candle lit the side of your sleeping face.
"The days I'm spending in your presence…" he whispered, pressing a warm thumb between your eyebrows. "… are the happiest moments of my life."
In times like these, your heart would race, trembling like the earth beneath the hooves of thousands of horses crossing the empire's lush plains. It was surprising that he didn't seem to hear it. Yet if he leaned just a bit closer, he would surely hear the shaky breath.
"Don't chase me away," his hand pressed to your cheek. Warm, soft, caressing your skin with a thumb. "Let me stay a bit longer."
So you did just that. Stayed calm, asleep, allowing him to rest his head on the mattress. His eyes remained fixed on your face, and you could almost feel the hole his gaze burned in your cheeks.
Yet finally, as his hand stroked your head gently, you fell asleep at last.
And when you woke up the next morning, he was still there. Sleeping half-folded, still kneeling on the floor, with his hand clasped around yours. Not too tight, yet enough to keep it warm.
You've noticed he was dressed only in night robes, so you pressed your hand to his cheek, feeling how cold it was.
"Satoru," you mumbled, brushing his flushed skin with a thumb. "Satoru, you can't sleep like that. You'll get sick again."
You didn't realise that Satoru didn't get sick easily. In fact, he could spend days on the battlefield, hiding deep in tall, cold bushes, covered only in mud. There were battles when he did exactly that, so resting in your warm room, with a gentle chill wrapping him freshly, was nothing compared with everything he was accustomed to.
Yet his eyes opened slowly, and his lips pouted sweetly, as if the chill truly seeped deep into his marrow. "Are you going to cook me some soup?"
You chuckled, brushing the messy, sleepy strands of hair from his forehead. "I don't know. Do you feel sick?"
He hummed, allowing himself to nuzzle into your hand. "Very. I may as well collapse any minute now."
The sun was already high in the sky, slipping into the bedroom almost shyly. It cast long, warm stripes across the wooden floors. It was still early, and the restaurant wouldn't open until lunchtime.
You let out a deep sigh, yet the corners of your eyes curled into a giggle. "Fine. Come down in ten minutes. I still have a bit of broth left from yesterday."
Satoru smiled as your figure gradually vanished behind the paper doors. Only when you closed them did he finally release a deep, trembling breath from his throat.
His head dropped back onto the mattress as he groaned in embarrassment.
What was he thinking, staying all night by your side?
How foolish, even disturbing, it was to watch you sleep until sunrise, when the golden rays of sunlight only began to seep through the thin windows?
His heart pounded and cheeks burned. Swollen, tired eyes stayed closed, and fingers curled into the plush bedding you'd slept beneath. Still warm from your body, carrying the sweetness of your sweat.
Oh dearest.
He groaned again, knowing that the warm sensation spreading across his chest wasn't so strange anymore.
Now, after spending almost two months in your presence, he could recognise it by a tremble of his heart alone.
And this alone was making him lose his mind.
A moment had passed when he heard your voice coming from downstairs.
So he dressed himself properly and neatly, wrapping himself in simple robes you pulled from your father's old closet, and slowly came downstairs to join you.
The crisp air was seeping through the open window, snowflakes landing softly on a wooden table. He took a quick look outside, watching the fairy-like landscape bathed in thick powder.
The empty roads, wooden houses blanketed in biting cold, and trees bare and sorrowful. Still, there was something enchanting about the paleness of this scene, with roofs covered in rolling piles of snow and icicles hanging beneath them.
The river was still frozen, and bare branches gleamed with a sheen, icy kisses bouncing off rays of warm sunshine. Not warm enough to melt the snow, yet the sunshine bathed the whole village in soft, golden touches.
The red lanterns and decorations that appeared a few days ago enhanced the festive spirit in the icy land. Satoru noticed the long red paper couplets stuck to the neighbours' doors, their characters seeming to bend and twist into unfamiliar sentences.
Satoru chuckled, trying to read the couplet on the neighbours' house across the road.
Something about luck, and fortune and health, but some strokes were not in the right places, and the lines seemed a bit too long.
Only then did he realise that your house didn't have the wishes. Not on the door nor on the wooden fence, and so he furrowed, already rolling his sleeves up to the elbows.
You were still in the kitchen when he hurried back upstairs. A few days ago, he was poking around the bedroom he had stayed in, clearly recalling a few pieces of red couplet paper and an ink stone that still looked quite fresh.
He checked the small bookshelf and all three rows of cardboard. The things he was searching for were hidden in the last one.
"Oh," your voice suddenly echoed into the bedroom as you saw Satoru sitting by the small table. "The soup is ready." Your gaze shifted to the red paper and an ink stone. "Do you want to…"
Satoru smiled, stretching his hand towards you. "I've noticed we don't have the New Year wishes on our doors. Allow me to write some, hm?"
You nodded shyly, placing your hand in his and letting him draw you closer. Until you sat beside him, watching as he ground the wet stick against the ink stone. Until it melted softly, letting the liquid darkness cover its surface.
"Your father could write?" Satoru asked, pressing the paper in half and wetting the tip of a brush in ink. "Everything seems to be quite new."
He noticed the shy shaking of your head. Your eyes dropped down to your hands, crumpling the old fabric of your robes.
"Not really," you mumbled, feeling another wave of embarrassment creep down your spine. "After they died, I wanted to learn how to write. It's just... I never really had the time. That's why everything is barely used."
The brush Satoru held suddenly hung over the paper.
He put it back on the little stone, keeping it above the table.
"Come here," his voice fell softly. A hand, warm and strong, pulled you by the arm. "Let's do it together."
He pushed the table, creating a space right in front of him for you. A clear uncertainty flickered in your eyes, but you let him draw you closer. Until you sat with your legs folded, your back pressed against his chest, a strong arm wrapping around yours.
His gentle breath tickled your ear, and white strands of hair brushed against your cheek.
It was the closest you'd ever been since the day you drew each other's names on your palms. But then you didn't feel his heart beating against your back. You didn't feel his body pressing against yours, his lips almost brushing your ear as he taught you the proper way to hold the brush.
"Just like that," his low whispers sent shivers down your spine. "The brush needs to be just above the paper."
It absorbed black ink with its soft bristles. The long couplet paper was spread across the table, and you wondered whether tiny droplets of obsidian liquid would fall onto its surface.
"Now, what do you wish for?"
You didn't allow yourself to desire too much. Perhaps something everyone else wished for too – money, health, simple happiness. Nothing overly greedy. Too risky, that would put too many foolish thoughts into your head.
Satoru's chest was pressed against your back in a distracting way, and despite all the thoughts urging you not to dream of anything out of reach, you still said:
"Love."
Satoru's breath shuddered by your ear.
Your head turned slowly, just slightly, as you peeked over your shoulder to make eye contact with his deep, ocean eyes that always remained fixed on your face.
"I wish to find love. Someone with whom I could grow old together."
He didn't move for a while, and you didn't either.
Just allowed your eyes to stare into his, as if wishing for all the kept feelings, all the restless nights spent thinking about him, to somehow roll clearly from a single gaze of yours.
His lips looked soft and plush, much better than when you first met him. And so, you wondered how they would feel pressed against yours.
Would he taste of jujube candy he snacked on every day?
Or maybe of osmanthus, strong and flavourful, as you both nibbled the soft cookies in the evenings?
But he didn't do anything – didn't say either. So you turned back to the paper, letting your whole body fill with warmth.
The brush hung over it before Satoru finally moved your hands.
Pressing the little tip to the its surface and painting the vertical rows of characters.
There was a heart, and there was two. Something about feeling and hundreds of years, yet you truly couldn't read the full sentences.
But he knew. And so his silky voice once again wrapped around your ears.
"Two hearts beat in one and delight in each other," he whispered, painting with your hand a first column of the phrase, before moving to another piece of paper. "A harmonious bond bringing joy for a hundred years."
Each character was written slowly, carefully, letting your eyes soak in the painting appearing right beneath your hands.
The meaning of the wishes carved deep within your heart, as you still heard Satoru's voice bouncing inside your mind.
Two hearts beat in one and delight in each other, a harmonious bond bringing joy for a hundred years.
It didn't sound like a simple wish.
Rather like a love ballad, written with a tenderness for the person most cherished.
"Is it a poem?" You asked, not daring to look over your shoulder.
But Satoru said nothing. He simply set the brush down and quickly stood up, moving the table closer to the window so the sun could spill its warm rays onto the drying ink.
He sat with his back to you for a few seconds, and you noticed the unnatural redness of his neck. Not even his white strands could fully mask the blush.
"I'm hungry," he said with a slightly muffled voice. "Can we go back down and eat breakfast?"
"Oh," fell quietly past your lips as you slowly stood up. "Yes, the broth… I bought a lamb yesterday. You like the tender meat so… well. Just join me downstairs when you're ready."
Satoru nodded, not turning his head even when you left the bedroom.
He was too busy thanking the Gods that you somehow, by a pure miracle, didn't notice a big, wet bulge coating his robes.
𑁤 𑁤 𑁤
Three days later, a day before the eve of the Lunar New Year came, and so it was time to set out on a short trip to Maki's and Yuta's house.
It was still early morning when you began packing. You spent most of your time preparing fresh noodles, meat, and vegetables for the New Year's hot pot.
It was nearly the end of the month, and so both you and Satoru knew that another conversation about his stay would come very soon.
You didn't want him to leave. As the days spent in his company were some of the happiest moments of your life.
And Satoru didn't bring up the topic either, merely letting the serenity and affection fill your peaceful days.
"Are you sure I can wear it?" he asked from the bedroom next to yours, and you could see the shadows of his figure through the paper walls.
His broad, muscular back was being dressed in your father's old festive clothes, as you dug them out from the depths of the chest. Too beautiful to simply toss aside, so you gave them to Satoru to prevent him from visiting your friends in his usual hemp clothes.
"Mhm, no one is using it, so take it."
He hummed under his breath, and a moment later left the bedroom.
You were applying simple makeup now, nothing elaborate, just a touch of blush and redness to look more festive.
His heavy footsteps echoed along the hallways, and your bedroom door slid open wide.
"I could've been naked, you know?" You chuckled.
He smiled, coming inside and showing himself in full view.
And he… he looked majestic. Beautiful. Dressed in long black and red robes, with a fur collar wrapped around his neck. The silk belt loosely encircled his thin waist, wide sleeves swooshed in the air, and white fur threaded through his pale skin.
Now, finally dressed in anything other than the hem robes of dark blue and earthy hues, he truly resembled a noble.
And you needed to remind yourself that he was a noble.
"You look handsome," was the only thing you managed to choke out.
His head tilted, and eyes shifted over your figure, hunched on the stool. Your thumb was reddened as you dabbed powder on your lips.
But you didn't look as breathtaking as he did – or so you thought. Dressed in much simpler robes of red and dark blue, woven with a touch of warm linen. The festive red made your lips stand out, and the pins decorating your hair were rather plain too. Nothing he was probably used to seeing.
And yet, he bit the inside of his cheek and kept his eyes restless on your body for much longer than they ought to.
He took a few steps forward and knelt right in front of you, just to cup a warm cheek with his hand. "You're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."
The blush you applied to your skin was red enough, yet now, blending with your natural warmth, it must have made you appear foolish.
Your lashes fluttered softly as you turned your head away. "I know you don't mean it. The noble ladies sure are much lovelier."
He chuckled and pinched your chin to draw you closer again. Deep, ocean eyes gazed at you with tender sweetness as he brushed your lower, red lip.
"And yet, none of them made me fall in love with pig intestines."
You laughed, ugly, pushing him away. "Rude!"
He chuckled, sitting down on your bed. His eyes still watched the way you applied makeup, with gentle fingertips smudging the crimson powder over your lips.
"I speak of truth only, darling."
You hummed, still not quite believing his charming words. "Mhm, go downstairs and check whether the cart is fully packed."
When you saw his furrow in the mirror's reflection, your head quickly turned to look back at him again. "What?"
He sighed. "I don't think Bao likes me."
"Of course he does. He likes everyone."
Satoru shook his head. "Not me. He actually bit me the last time I rubbed his head."
You smiled, and your cheeks formed into two plush dumplings. "No, he didn't."
But when Satoru rolled his sleeve up to show a nasty, purplish bruise on his forearm, you bit down on your lower lip.
His eyes narrowed. "You want to laugh."
Your head swiftly turned back to the mirror as you covered your lips with a nearby hand fan. "No, I don't. That looks quite bad indeed."
But your eyes creased into a smile, even slightly moist, as the thought of Bao biting Satoru out of pure jealousy for you genuinely made you burst into laughter.
"Go downstairs then and put it into the snow."
Satoru rolled his eyes and let the sleeve fall back down to his wrist. "A truly heartless woman you are, darling, to care for this mull more than for me."
You knew he was joking, and so you traced his handsome grin all the way back to the door, before he winked at you and disappeared behind the paper surface.
The sweet, heated days couldn't last too long.
And you knew it all too well, for the restless sensation weighed heavily on your heart. Something ominous was approaching. A plague, or a curse, that would tear through the peaceful moments spent in Satoru's company.
The uneasiness gripped your heart even then, as you added the final touches to your makeup.
It's here, a sudden thought wrapped around your mind. Whatever curse is coming, it's already here.
And, oh, how badly you wished for it not to be the truth.
But then you heard a woman's scream and a low man's voice rambling in such a familiar way. Low and slightly drunk. The voice of your uncle.
You stood up immediately, rushing downstairs and stumbling over the long robes. Your breath caught in your throat, chest aching with pain and a hope that Satoru wasn't the one who caused the sudden ruckus.
If they found him, a young, unmarried man in your house, where none of the elders could keep an eye on your two tender hearts – you didn't want to consider the consequences.
Certainly, the move would be unavoidable. As your reputation becomes tarnished by a nasty, humiliating patch, the wicked aunties of the village would surely cling to your name.
There were good people too, and yet the power of gossip in a small community like yours was truly disheartening.
So you ran downstairs and hurried, and when you didn't see Satoru or anyone in the kitchen or the restaurant's main inn, your heart leapt once again.
"And who are you, young man, to bother her at home?"
Oh dearest.
Within two steps, you pushed the door open and encountered a scenery you desperately wanted to avoid.
Your uncle and aunt were once again in your possession, holding a document of ownership in their hands. The one you had refused to sign for the past few months.
Satoru stood right in front of the house, packing the last items onto the wooden cart. His brows knitted tightly, eyes narrowed, and you've never seen such a fierce expression contort his face.
All the traces of gentle warmth were washed away; solely a wicked, cold severity pressed his lips into a tight line.
And what was worse – all the villagers were gradually gathering outside the low wooden fence, whispering and talking, staring between the three of you in utter shock.
Your uncle moved his gaze to you, pointing at Satoru with his finger. "Who is he?!"
The situation wasn't that bad, you thought.
Because Satoru was of noble descent, he looked much more impressive than all the other men in the village – handsome, broad, and radiating a dominant, daunting aura that did not blend into the community.
Satoru could simply state that he was a scholar asking for a way back home.
And then he could leave, healthy and fed, letting himself forget the past two months he had spent in your company.
In fact, he had an easy way out.
So you looked at him, wishing he would do it too.
But he didn't.
Instead, he watched the Bao's reins resting in his hands. Old and scratchy, because you couldn't afford to buy new ones.
He watched the hem of his dark robes and slightly worn shoes, embroidered with golden thread by your own hands.
His eyes fell on the snow. He took a deep breath of fresh, biting air that tickled him with icy pinches. But he didn't mind.
His belly was full and his mind, for the first time in a few years, calm.
And his heart, oh his heart, was heavy and warm, swelling as it pulled him towards a woman who was ready to risk her reputation and well-being to keep him safe.
The one who couldn't read or write and lacked the virtues the noble ladies possessed, yet spent nights sitting by the small table, with a single candle casting a gentle glow on her face, her trembling fingers trying to form curved characters.
Just three, always the same, and once, when you fell asleep again, with cheek dirtied with ink, Satoru recognised all three of them.
His name.
The first characters you thought of learning were his name.
"I'm asking you something! Who is this man?!"
Your uncle was fuming. Aunt looked between you and Satoru with narrowed eyes, while the other older women in the village had already begun their gossip.
You needed to end it.
"He's–"
"I'm her future husband." His voice was stern. Fully serious. "I came to ask for her hand."
Your lips fell open. Eyes wide and shining, as he looked at you over his shoulder. Just for a moment, before his gaze went back to your uncle.
"I came to place an offering for her parents. To marry into her family and ask for the blessing to take her hand."
Your finger clutched the hem of your clothes tighter. Teeth biting the inside of your cheek to stop the tears that wished to swell beneath your lids.
Satoru stepped closer to your uncle and aunt. He was tall – much taller than they were – and his wide, muscular shoulders loomed over them both, casting dark shadows across the soft snow.
His eyes, icy cold, slipped down to the document your uncle clenched in his fingers, and he pulled it with a quick move.
Your aunt gasped, but she didn't take a step forward. She just grabbed her husband's arm, gritting her teeth until you could hear her jaw cracking.
"I think it belongs to me now, doesn't it?" Satoru muttered, looking at the document. His eyes traced the characters, written in bends and curls, and brows furrowed. "Where's the magistrate's stamp?"
Your uncle looked up at him with clenched fists and gritted."I don't know what you're talking about."
Satoru smiled. Slyly, almost wickedly, with a grin that sent shivers down your spine.
"I'm sure you don't," he chuckled, then crumpled the document in his fist. "You wanted to use the fact that she can't read, huh? Force her to give you everything she owns and leave with nothing?"
The whispers of the villagers mixed with gasps and snickers, as both your aunt and uncle flushed in humiliation.
"How dare you!" The woman pointed a finger at him, yet still gripped her husband's arm tightly. "You're not married yet, so what right have you to it all? And so what if we don't have the magistrate's approval! Why should we live in a cramped house while she has all of this to herself?!"
"Hmm," Satoru's eyes narrowed as he leaned over both of them. The paper in his fist was now ripped to shreds, and he slipped it into the pocket of his robes. "We're to be married in three days. And as the joyous holidays have come, I'm sure the magistrate won't be working for quite some time."
Your aunt and uncle shuddered beneath his gaze. Wild yet still collected, as he finally straightened up.
"You–"
"If you wish to talk to her…" Satoru added, ignoring your uncle's fuming cheeks. "You're the first to speak to me. You do not contact her, nor do you bother to send another false document. We can speak before the magistrate or simply part ways here."
He didn't wait for their answer.
But turned on his heel and headed towards the house, where you still stood in the doorway – with trembling lips and fingers gently wiping away tears from your cheeks.
He pushed you inside, not saying a word, before closing the door shut.
His back hit the wooden surface, and head fell low between slumped shoulders. The thick, creamy redness once again crept up his neck and to his ears, yet he didn't have the courage to show you his face.
The small space of the restaurant was filled with your snotty breaths that rolled heavily past your lips.
You were never a crybaby. Yet the warmth that suddenly settled in your heart sent trembling kisses up to your fingertips. His words still echoed in your mind, loud and unbelievable, so you stepped closer and lifted your fingers to tug at his robes.
"Why did you say it?" you whispered. "Satoru, you could have just lied. Say you were a simple scholar who came to the restaurant."
His head was still hanging low.
"Satoru," you repeated, tugging at his robes. "Do you know what you have brought upon yourself?" When he ignored you again, you finally pinched his chin and lifted it. "Sato–"
His face – handsome and gentle – was plagued by the juiciest, loveliest embarrassment you've ever seen. His cheeks were like two cherries, plump and sweet, as he looked at you with a maddened, almost miserable frown.
Eyes glistening with fondness, lips drawn in a line, as he finally allowed his breath to escape through his tightened throat.
"What if I want to?" He said.
Your forehead furrowed, and fingers pinching his chin fell away. But not completely, as he quickly grasped your hand and pressed it back to his cheek. Nuzzling into the softness of your skin and relishing the gentle, flowery oil you had smoothed over yourself.
"What do you mean?" Your voice slipped more flinchy than you wished.
Satoru closed his eyes, and before you knew it, his lips landed on your palm. Placing a short, gentle kiss, sending shivers down your spine.
"What if I wanted to be your husband?" he asked again, this time a little more confident. His eyes opened, staring at your dazed, lovely face. "What if I hadn't lied?" he bit the inside of his cheek. "What if I truly understood the meaning of love after meeting you?"
You didn't say anything back. Just stared, allowing him to push out all the restless emotions that had been building deep within his heart for the past months.
"The thought of ever returning to my old life and forgetting the days spent in your presence feels like a nightmare," he trembled. His lips, eyes, and fingers clutched your hand tighter.
No one ever made him feel as vulnerable as you did.
"Satoru–"
"I don't do it out of pity," he quickly added, as if afraid your thoughts might slip that way. "I'm genuinely, madly, sincerely, darling, in lov–"
He didn't finish.
But he couldn't, as your lips suddenly pressed against his. In a messy, awkward, and sloppy kiss, you pulled him closer by the collar. His eyes stayed open for a while, watching your lids close tight, as you pressed yourself against him, sweat and stress beading on your forehead.
And when the first shock passed, he smiled. Parted his lips gently and let your tongue lie plush against his. Strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. One stayed just above your hips, the other slipping up to rest on the back of your neck.
The softness of your skin made his mind spin, and saliva, sticky and sweet, coated the surface of his tongue.
But he didn't mind, drinking your shy gasps and letting your lips work in harmony. Till you needed to push him away and take a deep breath.
With cheeks burning warmth and lips slightly swollen.
"I love you," he finished. "I love you, I love you, I love you so much," he peppered gentle kisses over your cheeks, nose, and chin. A soft giggle slipped past your throat, and you had to push him away. "I can't cook or sew, and I may spend too much time staring at you at night, but…" He took a deep breath, staring into your mellow eyes. His hands slipped up, both palms landing on your cheeks. "But if you'll give me a chance, I'll be the best husband you could dream of. And I'll love you, maybe a bit more than you would. And I'll build you a bathtub because I know how much you wanted it, and I'll do anything to befriend Bao. Just, please, let me marry you."
Your hands covered his, warming up the chill that somehow coated them with a sheen of kisses.
"I don't know how to read," your voice was soft as fingers squeezed his. "And I don't know how to write either. I've never kissed anyone before, and my temperament may not be the loveliest. I don't know how to be a good wife. And I'm not sure whether I can be one, but…" You pressed his hands against your cheeks. "If you'll build me this bathtub, I can learn how to be one."
Satoru chuckled. At first, softly and shyly, before he began to laugh with pure, sincere joy. His lips once again pressed to yours. Once, twice, three times as he kissed you and whispered tender thank you thank you thank you, while you giggled in his arms.
"Besides," he started, brushing your cheeks with his thumbs. "You've already proposed to me once."
Your eyes, wet, furrowed. "Me? When?"
"Hm, just a week after you saved me. In the kitchen, slightly drunken."
Your lips fell open, and he pushed your chin up to close them.
"Oh my god!" An embarrassed choke rose in your throat. "How could you take it seriously?"
But Satoru only chuckled. And kissed you again - softly, slowly, with a hum of fondness that filled his heart.
Because back then I was already slowly falling for you, and even such a small, silly confession made him believe that whatever fate held for him, it would be nowhere but in the warmth of your arms.
𑁤 𑁤 𑁤
"There's a man behind you," Maki whispered as you and Satoru knocked on her door. "A handsome one, at that."
Two hours later, you finally arrived at Maki's and Yuta's house, warm and slightly flushed, fingers entwined in a warm tangle.
You heard Yuta's laughter and the sweet, mellow bubbling of their child.
The spicy, rich fragrance was coming from within, quickly wetting your tongue with a ravishing hunger.
"He's–" You started.
But it seemed Satoru felt overly confident after your sheepish confessions from hours earlier, so he quickly added, "Her husband."
Maki's lips parted as she slipped her gaze back to you. "What?!"
"My future husband," you pointed, shooting Satoru a look over your shoulder. "We're not married."
"Yet," he added with a smile.
"Yet?" Maki asked, letting both of you come inside. "Yuta, we have guests!"
Her husband slipped from the main inn, with a baby warmly cradled in his arms. Dark eyes, slightly sleepy yet as always kind, quickly glanced at Satoru. Travelling up and up, oogling the tall man in a daze.
"Oh, hello," he said, bowing softly, before he quickly gazed at Maki.
She sighed. "Her husband."
Yuta gasped, looking back at your flushed face and grinning Satoru. "Husband?"
"No yet!" you groaned, as embarrassment crept up your neck. "Dearest, let's sit first, and then we can talk, hm?"
Yuta gave a little Iori to Maki, and together with Satoru, they went out to pick up the prepared food from the cart and hid Bao in their little stable.
Maki followed them both till the door shut behind their backs, and she could finally pinch your soft, red cheek. "You!"
"Ouch!"
"Is that why you didn't visit us for the past two months? Playing with a handsome scholar, huh?" She laughed as you stepped into the main room together. The main pot was already on the table, but the soup wasn't boiling. "I can't believe you didn't say anything!"
Still rubbing your cheek, you took Iori from her arms and followed her to the kitchen.
Their house was much more spacious than yours, simply because Yuta's business was doing much better. The bigger cities offered more clients, and although they said a couple of times that nothing would make him happier than hiring you as the main cook, you somehow couldn't leave your restaurant.
Your parents, childhood, the restless days spent helping your mother knead dough for noodles – everything was still shut there. Warm and alive, as if the memories of those days were still within reach of your fingertips.
"I'm sorry," you pouted, speaking to Iori rather than to Maki herself. "I met him on the evening I was heading home. If I hadn't saved him, he would have been dead by the morning."
Maki narrowed her eyes and pushed her glasses up as they slipped off her nose. "And instead of treating him and letting him go back, you decided to keep him to yourself?"
She wasn't wrong. You never ordered Satoru to go home. In fact, you never intended to do so, thinking he would naturally leave your house at some point.
But he didn't, and now you were meant to get married in three days.
"He could leave any time," you scoffed, softly pinching Iori's dumpling cheek.
Maki cut the vegetables for the hot pot, placing them in separate bowls. The Sichuan pepper tickled your nose with its spicy fragrance, warming your belly just a bit.
"But he didn't."
"No."
"And you didn't kick him off."
"I didn't."
Maki sighed, bringing the bowls back to the main room and setting up the table.
"So there's the wedding and then what. You want to have a family with him?"
Her dark eyes oogled your warm cheeks. The sheer thought of sleeping with him in the same bed sent thousands of sweet pinches down your spine, yet the idea of actually giving him a child… boiled something deep in your lower belly.
"I don't know," you whispered, looking at the tiny baby in your arms. "I always wanted to be a mother. But… if he doesn't want a family, then that's fine too."
The morning sun was slowly giving way to an afternoon glow, and as the winter days grew shorter and colder, the evening would fall in just a few hours. Your belly growled with hunger, and the warmth and spiciness of a soup slowly boiling in the pot made you salivate.
Maki was sceptical. You knew it, saw it in the way she looked at Satoru as he came back in with Yuta. Jars of wine and freshly made noodles gripped in their hands, they placed everything by a small table.
Now with four places.
Maki didn't say anything, but simply followed Satoru's figure, drawing closer to you. Clad in warm, elegant clothes, he placed a quick kiss on your forehead before looking at the baby in your arms.
"Oh, he's beautiful," he said, looking at Yuta and Maki. Iori curled his tiny fingers around Satoru's larger one, squeezing it with a giggle. "Hm, he has a good grip. I can teach him to use a sword if you'll let me. I've learned something back when I was younger."
Maki furrowed her brow, and before she could say anything, Yuta gasped. His dark eyes glimmered and lips fell open as he clasped, looking at his wife with a beaming smile.
"Oh, should we do it? Imagine Iori with a sword!"
But Maki sighed and shook her head, returning to the kitchen to prepare the rest of the food. She ordered Yuta and Satoru to prepare the fireworks for the evening's celebration, then kicked them out of the house.
Satoru chuckled, looking between you and a baby with a smile. Warm, making your cheeks burn with a feeling you wouldn't have described just a few months ago.
But now you knew it was this maddening, endless loyalty that beamed from his plush lips against yours as he stole a quick kiss. Short, but sweet enough to make your heart flutter.
Your fingers wrapped around a little Iori more tightly, as Satoru's warm eyes looked between you and a baby with a smile.
"We're next, darling," he chuckled, winking with his cheeky, mischievous smile, then followed Yuta back outside.
Four hours later – you were already drunk.
Drunk and warm, with lips swollen from spicy soup and mind dizzy, you rested against Satoru's shoulder. His cheeks were sweetly rosy, and eyes wet from laughter, yet he wasn't as drunk as you.
Yuta and Maki quickly warmed up, and it was the first time you saw Satoru around other people. Oh, how much you loved it – seeing how effortlessly he knew how to fit in just right.
His jokes were turning your belly upside down, and attention was split equally between you, Yuta and Maki. He knew what to say to make Yuta feel the bond between them growing. He managed to slip past Maki's iron walls, making her chuckle a few times and even ask whether he needed another portion of rice.
He was great with children, too, cradling Iori close to his chest as the boy tried to grasp the snowy strands of his hair.
He… his hand didn't leave your thigh for even a second after you finally sat down to celebrate. He fished out all the best pieces of meat and put them into your small bowl. Cooked vegetables for just the right amount of time, then blew his wine-sweetened breath to cool the food before he put it with his chopsticks straight into your mouth.
Maki and Yuta watched you two with clear amusement, yet you noticed the warmth bubbling in your friends' eyes.
The comfort and relief that there was finally someone ready to fall in love with you madly, recklessly, without fear or shame about their feelings.
Four hours later, your head was resting heavily on Satoru's shoulder. Drunk and in love, you wrapped yourself around his arm and sighed deeply.
"Darling, should we go back home?" He chuckled, pushing back a few locks of hair, brushing your cheeks.
Your head shook. "Mmm, it's too early."
Satoru chuckled. Fireworks burst high in the sky, bathing his handsome face. His eyes shimmered beneath the warm light from the lanterns as arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer.
"Sleepyhead," he whispered, pinching your swollen lower lip. "How about we go home and get ready for bed, hm?"
You were too lazy to go back. And too tired. And the night air was cold, unpleasant, biting at your skin, making it feel cooler than usual. Here, inside the house, the fire from the hot pot was warming you up, and sweet wine was twisting through your body, filling it with sizzling kisses.
"You can stay the night if you want," Maki said, looking at the very drunk Yuta. "We'll be going to bed too. But there's one bedroom we're not using. You can use it if you want."
The warm bed sounded good. Satoru nodded, quickly lifting you up. One of his arms under your knees, another behind your back, as you nuzzled into his warm chest.
He carried you effortlessly, walking up the stairs, before he entered one of the bedrooms. Maki brought you clothes to change into, along with a small bowl filled with warm water. A cloth to it, to let you clean your body just a bit.
And with a small yet crafty smile, she looked at you before shutting the door.
Leaving you alone.
Only when Satoru sat you down on the bed, the candle casting a warm light on the side of his face, did your mind register what was happening.
The room was small but cosy. The bed was big enough to fit you two, and snowflakes clung to the shut windows. A big bowl steamed with hot water, and Satoru wet the cloth slightly before he started cleaning your forehead. And cheeks, neck, lips, removing the light makeup.
His ocean eyes followed your face carefully as your gaze dropped to your hands, which were playing with the hem of the robes.
When the warm cloth slipped onto your neck, your breath hitched.
And he noticed it.
"I'm sorry," slipped in an almost inaudible whisper. "I… I'll leave so you can finish. Just call me if you need anything."
Perhaps it was the alcohol.
Or the courage that was bubbling inside your body for far too long.
But before he could fully stand up, your fingers wrapped around his wrist. With a firm grip, you loosened your hold the moment his eyes widened.
A silence stretched between your feverish bodies. The room was stuffy, maybe a bit too warm, and the lack of fresh air left beads of sweat on your temple.
Or maybe it wasn't the room alone, but rather the nerves that dripped in droplets down your spine.
"You can stay," your voice was weak. "If you want. You can help me."
Before he said a word, your trembling fingers slipped down to the belt wrapped around waist. Letting the material fall loosely onto the bed, the outer, heavy robes followed, revealing another layer of clothing, this time much, much thinner. White and slightly crumpled, banded with a warm, fur-like lining.
Satoru remained silent. But his fingers gripped the wet cloth a little tighter and jaw clenched as he watched your trembling hands unwrap the inner robe too.
"We don't have to do it," his voice was gentle, sweet, and eyes filled with worry.
But something else too. Something hungry, restrained, yet still brimming with fondness.
A shy smile tugged at your lips. "I know." Your fingers unfastened the thinner belt at your side. "But I want to."
His eyes remained on your face.
When you slipped your arms from the inner robe. When it fell loosely, pooling around your hips. When the softness of your skin shimmered beneath the candle's warm light and the snow still danced outside the windows.
The fireworks, bustling somewhere far beyond your small bubble, blushed your skin red. No cold slipped through the wooden sills, and no sound except your mingling breaths echoed off the walls.
And his eyes still didn't stray anywhere below the tremble of your chin.
Yet fingers wetted the cloth in hot water and went back to cleaning your skin. Starting from the collarbones, shoulders, and the softness of your chest, before gradually slipping to the swell that settled warm in his hands.
The cloth brushed the underside of your breasts. The softness that melted under his fingers and perked nipples, pushing a lovely gasp past your lips.
Your fingers curled into the bedding, crumpling it as Satoru slipped lower. Through the plushness of your belly and hips, rubbing the skin gently, wetting it with unhurried strokes. When he reached your tightened legs, ocean eyes looked up.
"We don't have to," he repeated.
You bit on the inside of your cheek. "Do you… not want to do it?"
He chuckled, putting the cloth away. Big, warm hands settled on your thighs, thumbs rolling soft circles across your skin.
"There's nothing else I wish for at this moment but to love you madly." His eyes glimmered with sincerity as one hand lifted to slowly remove the pins still adorning your hair. "But if you want to do it after the wedding… or any other time. In a month, a year," he took them out one by one, letting your hair fall loosely. "Or never. I'll be fine with it too."
His palm rested against your cheek, and you nuzzled into its warmth. "And what if I want to do it right now, before the wedding? Will you think ill of me?"
Satoru wanted to chuckle. But he didn't. Instead, he let his other hand slip from your thigh and grabbed your ankle. Lifting your foot, he pressed it against his crotch, still covered by two layers of robes. Even then, you could feel the wet bulge pressing against the thin sole of your foot.
"There's nothing you could do that would turn my heart against you."
Your neck burned with fire, and the warmth filling the small room added to the heat in your body. You didn't take the foot away, but instead pressed it a little harder, slowly parting your thighs.
Feeling the sticky wetness that stretched between them and pooled right under your hips. Feverish, almost burning your core with a need for his gentle touch. A pulsation that set your mind ablaze and tingled all ten fingertips with warmth that longed to break away.
"I don't know what to do," slipped in a whisper, as you kept your eyes on Satoru's face.
He didn't let his gaze fall. Not yet.
But when you moved your hips closer to the edge of the bed and leaned back on your elbows, dear heavens, he needed to pinch his own thigh just to not cum right there on the spot.
Your pussy glistened beneath a flame coming off the single candle. Drenched in sticky, fresh cum as you parted your thighs even wider. As if not understanding the deadly grip you held him in.
His big hands pressed beneath your thighs, pushing them against your chest. His eyes looked up, carefully tracing the shiver of your lower lip. Your eyes bulged with need, and you gave him a gentle nod, granting him full permission.
To do whatever he wanted, since it was the first time a man had touched you and needed you in such an intimate way.
And Satoru wished to show you exactly how much he loved you.
"You're so wet, darling," he muttered, drawing closer to your drenched pussy. "Do you have any idea what I'm about to do?"
Your head shook.
You truly had no idea. Because you didn't have many female friends and Maki rarely talked about her sex life. In fact, no one ever talked about it.
You knew there were books. Of all sorts, with graphics painted in thin lines, of men and women embracing something sweeter than a simple hug.
But such books were rarely available in villages as small as yours, and whatever was going on between husband and wife on the wedding night was whispered about in lowered, giggly voices and with flushed cheeks.
Thus, no. You didn't know what Satoru wanted to do.
That's why, when his wet tongue plastered to your pussy – muffled, almost gasping moan fell past your lips.
Your hands shot towards his head, trying to push him away. "Wait, that's–"
"You taste delicious, oh dearest," he mumbled, letting your fingers clench around his white locks. "Don't worry, darling. Just let yourself relax, you need to loosen up."
That being said, his mouth once again met with a smack from your folds. Tongue parting them gently, pressing wetly to the sensitive clit. He sucked on it with a mellow groan, letting his fingers squeeze your thighs a little harder. Not hard enough to leave purplish kisses, yet still wrapping them in a heated embrace.
Your head fell onto the bed, and your spine tried to arch off the mattress. Yet he held you folded, with your legs pressed against your chest and a strong grip keeping them in place.
The tip of his tongue swirled around the pulsing button. Before it slipped down, poking at the wetness dripping from your hole.
"S-Satoru," a soft, quiet moan slipped past your lips when he pushed the muscle inside.
Your walls, plush and warm, clutched around it immediately, as if trying to suck it in. His fingers kneaded the backs of your thighs, as if trying to reassure you that it's fine. That you only needed to relax and let his love spill into the most intimate, sweetest part of your body, as he kissed and licked and sucked on it tenderly, gently.
His tongue pulled out and again pressed fully to your slit. Before he gave your pussy a long, back-to-front lick. From the puckered hole up to the puffy clit. The hefty waves of juiced dripped right into his starving mouth, and he drank it with low whimpers.
His lips pulled away with a smack, a crystalline string of mixed saliva and cum connecting his mouth with your folds. "How do you feel, darling? Tell me, I want to hear you."
You nodded and clenched your fingers in his hair. Because that was the only thing you could do. Your mind was a mess, your back drenched in sweat, and your eyes fluttered whenever his tongue met the softness of your pussy.
There was as much as you could handle, and Satoru was already exceeding all your expectations for such intimacy.
"Say something," his voice turned almost pleading. Lips landed on your mound, kissing up to your inner thighs. "Please, say you're enjoying it."
Your breath hitched as he bit into your soft skin. "I d-do. Mhm, Satoru, it felt s-so good."
Looking down at his face, you bit your lower lip. Gluey cum was stuck to his face – nose, chin, and cheeks. He looked up, before his tongue slipped past his lips, giving your pussy a single, long lick. His gaze met yours.
Oh dearest, it was simply too much!
And when his finger slipped past your tight walls, you once again tried to push him away. Not because you didn't like it, but rather as something warm started coiling in your lower belly since his lips landed on your clit. And now, with his finger pushing and bending and massaging the tightening walls of your drenched cunt, the warmth turned into a feverish need for release.
"Satoru, s-something's going on," you moaned, trying not to break eye contact. "Wait, it's–"
"It's okay," he assured you. One hand kneading your thigh, the other pushing a second finger in. "It's okay, darling. Just trust me, yeah? You're doing well, baby. Keep it up. Don't tense your belly."
His lips went back to your clit, sucking wetly on the swollen button and flicking it with a tip of his tongue.
Your hips rolled against his lips. And when his two fingers pressed against something plush deep inside your pussy, your back peeled off the mattress.
"Oh, mhmm, S-Satoru!" you moaned as both fingers relentlessly bullied the spot. "That's to–nghh."
Too much. He worked you relentlessly, with the soft pads of his fingers pressing the sweet spot against the wall of your pussy and deep, ocean eyes observing the changing expressions on your lovely face.
Drinking it each furrow, each moan, the way your lips parted and closed, when he grazed your clit with his teeth, only to coo it with a soft lick.
Your thighs wanted to close around his head, but he pushed himself closer — until muscular arms shoved your legs, keeping them wide open.
"You're good," he whispered right against your pussy. "You're okay, baby. Just let it go. Don't hold back. Just let me have you all."
Hair stuck to your damp forehead, lips fell open as he sped up. Still gentle, yet devouring you with more hunger. Pads brushing the plump spot, his tongue flicking against the clit, till the warmth splashing in your pouch finally, suddenly, spilt.
Flaming pleasure washed over your spine, filling your body up to the toes, curling up in the air. Your body melted beneath his touch, until your thighs parted even wider, just to feel his muscular body pressing against yours.
His broad shoulders trembled between your legs, as you cummed and cummed, with soft moans spilling past your lips and pussy keeping around his fingers in a tight grip. His chin and cheeks and nose were drenched from gushing cum, which he tried to drink in fully. Slurping on the droplets with furrowed brows and slightly wet corners of his eyes till you needed to push him away with a foot.
It was too much, and your chest ached from the deep breaths you grasped for in the room's stuffy sweetness. Filled with the smell of your sweat, your breath, and your pussy, still fresh on Satoru's lips.
"Darling," he whispered, tracing wet kisses along your body. "My sweet, sweet darling. My beautiful, lovely wife."
Tongue lapped at the sweat beading on your belly. Lips pressed against your ribs until his nose brushed the swell of your breast, and mouth latched onto your nipple.
Hard and warm, as he sucked on it with eyes still glued to your face.
His robes were soaked through, so he began untying them at a slow, unhurried pace. The belt, the outer clothes, and then the inner, while his lips moved between your breasts.
"Satoru, oh," your fingers tugged on his hair to pull him closer.
The wetness started pooling between your thighs again.
"You looked so beautiful with a baby," he mumbled against your breasts, biting softly. "It made me think of how much I'd love to see you with ours."
A sudden gasp ripped from your throat as you felt something pressing against your pussy. Something hard and leaking, heavy in a way it pressed snug between your folds.
Satoru still kept your thighs apart, but now his lips found their way to yours. The kiss was the sweetest, gentlest, hungriest thing you've ever experienced.
The ends of his hair stuck to his wet forehead, and your arms wrapped around his neck, his to pull him even closer.
The heavy fatness between your legs began to move through your drenched folds. Wetting in the juices still gathering beneath your hips - in squelching, nasty sounds that made your breath tremble.
Satoru's lips pressed softly against yours, and he cherished each second of having you beneath him. Soft and warm, you wrapped yourself around him with a loving neediness.
"I want it," you whispered into a kiss. "I want your child. Please."
You weren't even married yet. But the fire that consumed you both left you utterly greedy. To have everything the future had prepared for you, right now, and so Satoru couldn't do anything but nod.
"You may feel a bit of pain," he warned you. "But I'll make you feel good, I promise."
One of his hands dropped down to his hot, leaking cock, nudging against your entrance. You looked down, just for a second, and a heat hit your mind, and the sight of his fatness.
Big and leaking, covered in the creaminess of your cum and with a ferociously red head that was pressed to your entrance.
"Oh," you could only say, looking at Satoru with bulging eyes. "It's not small."
"No, it's not," he chuckled, sensing your pleasure-drunk voice. "If you don't want to-"
"I do," your fingers tugged on his hair, gripping the neck tighter. "Please, make me feel good. I want it."
His ocean eyes stayed fixed on your face throughout. Following the expression curving your lips, eyes, and brows as he slowly pushed himself.
You were warm around his cock. Your pussy soaked it through, wrapping around the fat shaft and already sucking it in the same way it did with his fingers. You felt almost painfully tight, so he gripped your thighs more harshly so as not to sink himself in one push.
As for you… heavens.
Your back was already arching towards his chest, covered in slick sweat and pooled on the mattress. He filled you to the brim, and you could feel each vein, each pulsing of his cock against your tight walls, as he slowly thrusted in.
"You need to relax," he whispered, kissing both flushed cheeks. "My baby, take a deep breath." When you did, he smiled warmly. "Yeah, that's good. You're doing so well, darling. Just a bit more, yeah? Let me fill you."
A thought that you had already felt him filling your belly had crossed your mind. But then his curved tip brushed against the same sweet spot that made you see stars, and you cried out, clenching around his shaft.
"Satoru," fell quietly, as he was still pushing. "That's t-too much. Mhm, I fell so-"
"I know, baby, I know," he licked the single tear that threatened to roll down your cheek. "Just a bit more. I need to go deep to fill your belly. For a child, yeah? Take a deep breath, my sweet girl."
And then, without a warning, he thrusted his cock in a quick, one-move thrust. Till constricting balls slapped against your lifted ass and your thighs pressed closed to your chest. The leaking head hit something plush inside your pussy, and another moan crashed against Satoru's lips.
"Heavens," he groaned, trying to keep himself from coming on the spot. But it was much harder than he expected, considering he had just hit your cervix. "Baby, give me a minute. Fuck, wait-"
But you already started moaning. And wriggling, and pulsing around him, as a heavenly bliss was pinching your spine.
The heavy feeling of having him inside you was driving you mad, and your walls wrapped around his fat cock snugly.
"Satoru, move," you ordered sweetly, feeling the need to chase the pleasure that ripped through your body a few minutes ago. "You, mhm, please d-do something."
Your hand slipped down between your bodies to press softly against your belly. Soft as usual, but now stuffed with something warm and hard, so you squeezed it, rolling a low groan past Satoru's lips.
So he did - do something. His hips slowly pulled away before he pushed himself back into your pussy. Letting his shaft brush each spot, and the plushness of your drenched walls as he started fucking you a bit harsher than intended.
He wished to be soft, gentle, and kind, but you suddenly found yourself craving a bit of roughness and strength, and nothing gave you as much pleasure as his muscular body pressing against yours.
Your chests pressed against each other as he started pounding you with long, deep thrusts. Making sure to fill your weeping pussy all the way to the swelling cervix, as he drank all the moans falling sweetly past your lips.
"Tell me you feel good," his voice was gentle, demanding, as his hand also slipped down your body to settle between your puffy folds. Two fingers pressed to your clit, rolling it in slow circles. "Tell me, darling, that you love it."
"I-I," fell first, before a moan followed as his fingers pinched your clit. "I love you. Ahh, Satoru I love you I love you I love you."
He chuckled, yet a whimper followed when the sensitive head of his cock smooched your cervix.
"Fuck, darling," he took a deep breath as your walls wrapped around his shaft tightly. "You'll be the death of me."
His fingers rolled your clit, and fat cock filled you to the brim, till each thrust ended with your head falling to the sides and eyes rolling back. Your fingers pulled his milky hair, and lips were soon covered by his, when your moans became loud enough to wake up the whole village.
The fireworks still bloomed outside the window, muffling your puffs and moans, as if wishing to hide the intimate encounter between the two new lovers.
Satoru's pace quickened, and the familiar splashing in your lower belly once again tickled you with pleasure. Your fingers tugged at his hair, pulling him closer to your lips, body, the chest sticking wetly to his, as if you wanted to merge your bodies into one.
"I'm close," you breathed, nibbling on his lower lips. "Satoru, I'm–mhmm–g-give me a baby, p-please."
With one hand still between your folds, another lifted one of your legs and hooked it over his shoulder. He kept you folded almost painfully, yet the new position let his cock pound you deeper, sweeter, bruising meanly the swollen cervix that sucked him in.
Your walls clenched around his cock, trying to milk it dry.
"Cum for me, darling," he licked your lips before pressing a harsh kiss. "Come on, let me fill you up. I love you so fucking much. I'll give you everything, I promise." His thrusts grew messier as a tingling pinched his spine too. "Everything you ever wish for. The family, the house, the love. I'll fill you with it every single day if you'll ask me to."
Your single nod became a series of frantic, restless tilts as you drank in all his sweet words.
"My heart and my soul are all yours," he whispered, pressing his wet forehead to yours. "I'm yours till death tears us apart."
And then, with kisses peppered over your cheeks, you finally came.
Back arched off the mattress, thighs trembled in his embrace as the pleasure bubbling in your loins finally spilt. Satoru followed you soon after, filling your womb with waves of creamy cum. Pushing and pushing it deep into your belly as you writhed and moaned beneath him.
The dusk has wrapped around your slowly calming bodies, and Satoru carefully lay beside you. His fingers brushed away a few stray strands sticking to your cheeks, and your eyes drank in the blissful warmth creeping up your neck.
You lie in silence, thinking of the hunger and need you have given yourself, not patient enough to wait until the wedding.
You rolled yourself to the side, now also looking at his face. Wearing this lovely yet cheeky smile.
"Aren't you proud of yourself?" you asked, giggling as you let yourself be drawn closer by his strong arm.
He hummed, nuzzling into the softness of your breasts. "And what if I am? My ferocious wife couldn't even wait until the wedding night. What are we going to do when it comes?"
Your fingers threaded through the silkiness of his hair, his warm, naked body pressed close to yours. Muscles rippled beneath his skin, and arm felt almost heavy over your waist, but you liked this crushing, almost balmy feeling.
"You're going to build me a bathtub," he chuckled, hearing your cheeky tone. "And then we'll make love in it until we're sure our daughter is on her way."
He looked up. "Daughter?"
"Why? Would you prefer a son?"
Satoru didn't know. The only thing he was sure of was that he wished to give you the family you desperately wanted. It didn't matter whether it was a son or a daughter – as long as they had your smile.
His head shook and his eyes closed as he let himself drown in the soft caresses of your fingers.
Three days later, you were sitting in front of yourself, wearing crimson wedding robes.
With a long string tying your fingers in a promise of forever and a warm sensation weighing on your hearts.
The future was basking in the soft hues of the sun setting over the tall mountains circling the village, and in the brightness of your smile; Satoru exchanged all the pleasure of his past life for it.
He wasn't a Marquis any more. There was no army he needed to lead, and no riches he held in his grasp.
Now, he was your husband, and his only duty was to ensure you stayed happy till the end of your days.
Now, he wished for nothing but to spend the rest of his life basking in the warmth of your smile.
your older brother's best friend reiner braun teaches you self defense 18+ MDNI!!!
“Again.”
You gasped, oxygen knocked out of your lungs the moment your back hit the mat. You’d lost count of how many times that had happened already.
“You shouldn’t be this rough, you know?” You panted, using your forearm to prop yourself up. Sweaty strands of hair were sticking to the sides of your face, glued with exertion. You probably looked like hell, flushed and exhausted— he hadn’t broken a sweat yet. “Bertholdt didn’t ask you to train me for the goddamn army, Reiner.”
He rolled his shoulders, a loud ‘pop’ coming from the motion as he stretched. The motherfucker wasn’t even the tiniest bit tired. “I’m just doing what I was asked. You shouldn’t be taking this so lightly. What I’m teaching you really is useful, and could save your life. Of course, no one’s whishing it upon you, but you should never underestimate danger,” Reiner chastised, his voice firm, yet holding that hint of softness he always seemed to reserve for you.
“Doesn’t look much like teaching to me,” you quipped back with a snarky tone. “You’re just throwing me to the ground every fucking time, how am I supposed to learn like this?” You hadn’t moved from your half-sitting position yet, chest heaving under the tight sports bra you were wearing.
With how much you were sweating, not even doing this naked could’ve provided some kind of relief from the heat. Seriously, why had Bertholdt asked Reiner to give you self defense classes in the middle of summer? With his gym’s AC system broken, on top of that.
“You’re not even trying to put into practice the levers I showed you,” he countered, an irritated crease forming between his brows. His hazel eyes narrowed on you, trailing down your figure, still sprawled over the mat, making you gulp from the intensity of his gaze.
“And get up from there, you look pathetic,” he grumbled, extending a helping hand in your direction.
Your eyes widened, feeling a flush creep up your neck and face, different from the one caused by the recent extensive effort. His eyes had just been looking down your body, and even if you couldn’t quite read his true thoughts behind the taut, irritated expression, you could’ve sworn there had been something. But then he’d gone and called you pathetic.
Reiner had always been the tough love type, the one to keep his affect to a few— which didn’t include you, apparently. You’d grown up around him and your older brother, Bertholdt, and despite the age gap not being that big, you had always been just Reiner’s best friend’s kid sister, no matter if you were an adult now. But why did that get under your skin so much? You simply didn’t want to be seen as weak, or at least that’s the best answer you decided to give yourself.
“I can get up on my own perfectly fine, thank you,” you hissed, slapping his hand away. You started to walk towards where you had dropped your water bottle, but halfway there, you turned around, looking back at him over your shoulder. “Is this such a chore to you?” You asked.
Reiner, who had been looking out the small rectangular windows placed high up on the wall, whipped his head in your direction. “Pardon?” He asked. You bit your lip, pondering whether or not you should’ve repeated yourself. “Nothing,” you shook your head.
After drinking some water, you approached him again on the mat, where he’d been waiting with his arms folded over his chest. He was wearing a white compression shirt, so skin-tight that the fabric stuck to the indents of his defined abs, and his biceps bulged and strained against the fabric. A pair of sweats covered his thick legs, and you wondered how he hadn’t died from heat stroke yet. You wore a sports bra and gym shorts, opting for the outfit that could’ve ensured the most mobility, and enough exposed skin to not get overwhelmed by the heat.
“Are you ready to go again? You know we can stop whenever you want, I’m not holding you here by force.”
You scoffed, rolling your tongue over the inside of your cheek. Sure, he was telling you this because he was the one bored out of his mind, having to waste his friday night like this with you. “Well, if you don’t plan to send me back home with any broken bones, then I say I have some more in me.”
That seemed to amuse him, lips curling in the faintest of smirks. “Don’t worry, I’ll send you back home to Bertholdt dearest all in one piece.”
You couldn’t help but grind your teeth together at the condescension in his voice. As you fell into the defensive stance he’d taught you, he spoke up again. “Remember, we’re keeping this slow. I’ll reach over, and try to choke you, you have to grab my arm and drive me to the ground,” he explained, his shoulders relaxed, because he knew you couldn’t have ever consisted a threat to him. His bored expression pissed you off so much.
When his arm suddenly reached out to get to your neck, you grabbed his wrist, then placed your other hand right below his shoulder, moving to the side so you could maneuver his arm behind his back. However, you weren’t able to place your foot behind him to kick just above his heel, and Reiner’s free arm soon reached around your throat, twisting his body so your back would end up against his chest when he pulled you in. You gasped, nails clawing at his skin as panic rushed into your bloodstream.
“Relax,” his voice was a deep rumble against the shell of your ear, soothing yet firm, waking goosebumps that made the hairs on your arms stand straight. “I’m not even applying pressure, you can breathe.”
When he said that, you realized you had started to hyperventilate. You closed your eyes, focusing on regulating your breath. Reiner wasn’t keeping you in a faux chokehold anymore, but his hand was still on your shoulder. “You okay?” He asked after a short pause, giving you some time. “Yes,” you nodded. “Yes, I’m fine.”
Turning around, you raised your fists once again. “What?” His hazel eyes widened with genuine surprise. “I think that’s enough for tonight—” he took a step forward. “I’m not leaving until I’ve thrown your ass to the ground, Braun,” you cut him off harshly.
You saw his shoulders deflating with a long sigh, before he eventually resumed his stance. This time, you were going to make it. His hand reached out, and you went through the motions: grab the wrist, put a hand near the shoulder for leverage and twist the arm behind their back, kick right above the heel and—
Thud.
The impact was loud inside the empty gym, followed by the sound of your heavy breaths. Reiner was now lying flat against the mat, and you were straddling him, a forearm pressed to his throat. Your thighs bracketed his, though it was significantly harder to keep him pinned down because of his size. When he opened his eyes, he was met by the shit-eating grin plastered over your face.
“I did it! I fucking did it!” You laughed, throwing your hands in the air. Something underneath you started to rumble, and you realized it was Reiner’s deep, husky laugh reverberating withing his chest. “Well I’ll be damned, you really did, huh?”
You folded your arms over your chest, peering down at him as you kept your head high with pride. “I told you I was going to get it. Should’ve had more faith in me,” you quipped back. “Oh, I didn’t doubt you for a second,” he murmured, voice growing softer. His thumb began caressing up and down the side of your thigh, torturously slow and uncharacteristically gentle, making your breath catch in your throat. “Reiner, what are you—”
“But you know what’s the first rule in combat?” He cut you off. “Never let your guard down.”
You yelped, room spinning upside-down until your back was against the mat. Reiner loomed over you now, effectively holding you down. “That’s the issue with you,” Reiner whispered, his face so close his nose almost nudged yours. “You get too cocky for your own good. And that’s what’s going to come back to bite you in the ass, eventually.”
You glared up at him, lip curling in a pout. “Don’t talk to me like I’m some kid,” you protested, trying to free yourself from his grasp. It was all useless, you were immobile under him.
“That’s because you are.” he replied calmly, clearly trying to get a rise out of you. You grunted, thrashing around. He chuckled. ”Doing that won’t get you very far,” he taunted. “Just let me fucking go!” You barked back. “And what if I don’t want to?”
Your eyes widened, staring up at him. “Huh? Just let me go, Reiner. I want to go home now.”
Reiner’s expression changed, the smugness disappearing from his face in an instant when he realized this wasn’t just playing around anymore. “Hey…” he began. “What?” You snapped. “Don’t you want to go home too? Certainly you have much better stuff to do than being here with me.”
He studied your face, then suddenly, he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head. “What do you mean by that?” He asked, looking as serious as ever. You squirmed, a soft gasp leaving your lips. You wanted to tell him to stop, but were far too overwhelmed at the moment, and all you could do was whine.
“I asked you a question,” Reiner urged. “I expect you to use your words, since you’re always so quick to run your mouth.” When he saw that he wasn’t going to get an answer out of you, he sighed.
“You think I’m wasting my time giving you self-defense classes just because your brother asked, hm? You think I’m doing all of this for the power of friendship or something? Please,” he scoffed. “I agreed because I wanted to. You need to learn how to defend yourself from the filthy scum that roams the streets every fucking day, when they should be looking at a striped sun behind the bars of their cells while they rot.”
His grip on your wrists was looser now, but for some reason, you didn’t want to move. “Plus…” his free hand moved a stray strand of hair off your face. “You’re not always annoying. Saying you’re nice would be a bit of a stretch, though.”
It was your turn to scoff now. His words had lifted a weight off your shoulders you hadn’t even realized was there, or probably had never admitted to yourself. “Gosh, Braun, just say you want to fuck me already,” you joked, playfully rolling your eyes. He didn’t laugh. You blinked. “What? Do you have a girlfriend I don’t know—”
He kissed you faster than you could register. You were taken off-guard, but eventually, your eyes fluttered shut, and your lips began to move against his. You thought you had somehow offended him with your joke, or pissed him off, since it seemed like you were so good at it. But no, the hunger in his kiss went far beyond his apparent constant annoyance towards you.
A large hand still restraining your wrists, the other coming to rest against your waist. You eased into his touch, back arching slightly as his tongue pleaded entrance from your sealed lips. When you parted them, a sweet, soft sigh escaped, which made Reiner deepen the kiss with renewed fervor.
When he pulled back, you saw the thin string of saliva that was connecting your tongue to his snap. He moved his attention to your neck, uncaring for the glistening sheen of sweat that was covering the area. “You know,” he whispered against your skin. “We had a deal, your brother and I. I promised to never do this, but fuck, you’ve made it hard enough for me.”
He dragged his hips along your inner thigh, and you felt his erection press against you, making your breath hitch. If he was as big as you thought just based on him grinding against you, you were pretty sure he was going to split you open if you were gonna go all the way.
When his bulge rubbed up between your thighs, your eyes almost rolled into your skull. The cheap gym shorts and thin underwear were doing almost nothing to smother the friction, but Reiner’s sweats were too thick for your liking. “Reiner…” you called his name, quiet but needy. “Hm?” He lifted his head up, hazel eyes meeting yours, pupils so dilated they almost eclipsed the color.
“What? You want me to stop?” Despite the clear want, body almost thrumming with the urge to finally give in, there was a hint of genuine worry behind his words. If you wanted to stop, he would. However, you wanted anything but. “No,” you shook your head, “please, don’t.”
His lips went back to the side of your throat, then started to descend, a path of kisses trailing down your chest, between your breasts over the fabric of your sports bra, then across your abdomen, until his teeth caught onto the waistband of your shorts.
You were already feeling a quiet heat coiling in your stomach, and the wetness forming between your legs. Reiner looked up, thumbs hooking into the fabric, waiting for the green light. When you nodded, he quickly peeled the shorts off you, leaving you in your underwear. “Oh? What’s this?” He murmured huskily. “Someone’s wet already.”
He eyed the wet spot on your panties. You felt heat rushing to your cheeks. “Q-Quit that!” You protested. “Don’t stare like that!” He chuckled, amused by your flustered state. “Oh, don’t go shy on me now. This means you don’t hate me as much as you pretend to.”
His thumb pressed against your clit, then started to rub in slow circular motions, making your legs fall apart immediately, and a moan leave your lips. “Mhm,” a gravelly hum rumbled in his chest, “just like that, relax.”
Your eyes were closed now, focusing on the way his touch felt. A cool whiff hit your sensitive skin when Reiner moved your panties to the side, but it was immediately replaced by his hot breath, only inches away from where you were aching for him. He wished he could’ve made a comment right now, perhaps something teasing just to fluster you, but all words had failed him.
He couldn’t wait any longer, his tongue flat at he licked a stripe between your folds, lapping at the dampness that had collected there. Your hand flew to your mouth, stifling the obscene moan that had threatened to escape. A yip followed, Reiner’s teeth sinking into the delicate flesh of your inner thigh in warning. “We’re alone, let me hear you.”
An order. His tongue flicked your clit, and you didn’t cover your mouth this time. You felt him smile against your folds, and he began to devour you again. He wasn’t trying to be quiet, either, slurping noises and pleased grunts coming from his mouth, as if he was enjoying this more than you were. Two fingers were spreading your folds, leaving every part of you exposed to him, then you felt a digit starting to trail around your entrance, lubing it before sliding inside.
Your walls closed around it immediately, coaxing a whimper. Once you had adjusted, Reiner added another, lips withdrawing to hiss. “Fuck, can’t even take my fingers, can you?” You replied with an unintelligible mewl. “We’ll make it fit, don’t worry,” he kissed your thigh gently. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
His mouth and fingers worked in tandem, and you were getting so high on the feeling you almost didn’t feel when he added in a third, your orgasm inching closer and closer by the second. “R-Reiner…” you called out weakly, “I think I’m gonna—” your legs trembled, closing instinctively, but a firm hand kept them spread open. “Come, baby, let me feel you.”
That raspy tone, bordering between commanding and pleading, was what did it for you. Your back arched away from the mat, jaw hurting from being slack so long, a string of moans, curses, and the occasional call of his name filling the gym.
Your walls fluttered against his fingers as he kept pumping into you, letting you ride it out. His thumb had replaced his lips, which were now brushing against the shell of your ear, murmuring soft praises. When his fingers slipped out of you, you felt void, missing the feeling. However, the tip of his cock started to rim your sensitive hole short after.
Your eyes opened, finally looking at him. “Reiner, I didn’t—” you stuttered out. He shook his head. “No need,” he reassured you. “You’re plenty wet already. But if you’re really that eager, maybe we can arrange something for our next lesson, hm?”
Your lips twitched in a meek smile, and you met his smirk with a kiss. His tongue snaked in easily, cockhead collecting as much moisture as it could by sliding it between your folds. When he started to push in, you inhaled sharply through your nose, hands reaching for his shoulders. “Relax,” he murmured against your lips. “I’m going slowly, okay? Deep breaths.”
His thumb began to circle your clit again, easing you to the feel of him. Your fingers grabbed at the short strands of golden hair. He wasn’t kissing you anymore, breath mingling with yours as he tried his best not to snap and just go all the way in all at once.
Reiner was enjoying the way you were sucking him in inch by inch, and even if the stretch stung, the way he was filling you was like nothing you’d ever felt before. You were still wearing your sports bra, he was fully dressed, only dropping his sweats and boxer briefs down enough to free himself. When your fingers started to trail down his chest, he reached his back with one hand, taking his compression shirt off and tossing it out of the way.
His lightly tanned skin was covered in a thin veil of exertion, beads of sweat running along the deep lines of his muscles. You would’ve gladly taken a moment to admire him, but your mind was too busy registering his cock sliding in. Once he was fully sheathed, he pulled back slightly, looking down at where you were joint before meeting your eyes once more.
He cupped your face, and you nuzzled your cheek into his big, warm palm. It was clear that he was holding himself back, but her really didn’t want to hurt you. “Can I move now?” He asked. You nodded.
Both his hands grabbed your hips, and you thought he was going to be gentle, until his hips started to ram into yours at a not-so-gentle speed. You held onto his forearms, nails digging into his skin as you tried to brace yourself. The gym was now filled with a symphony of moans, grunts, and squelching noises coming from his cock slamming into your weeping hole repeatedly.
“F-Fuck, Reiner…too much…it-it’s too much…” you cried out. “You can take it,” he growled back. “You’re taking it so well baby, j-just let me…fuck.”
His lips crashed into yours again, kissing you with feverish need as he kept pounding. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, holding onto him for dear life, fingers tugging at his hair, coaxing loud grunts of pleasure. He attacked your neck next, leaving small, red bites over the sensitive skin, as well as marks that would’ve certainly turned darker in the morning.
You were getting close again, gummy walls starting to squeeze his throbbing cock tightly. “Shit, you’re so tight,” Reiner panted. “You’re going to kill me like that.”
But his words barely registered, his pelvis slapping against you hitting your clit rhythmically, pushing you right over the edge. His loud moan joined yours as you unraveled, and he managed to get a few more lazy thrusts in to work you through your orgasm before he had to pull out, thick ropes of cum coating your lower abdomen.
You felt hazy, drinking in big gulps of air as you relaxed back into the mat. Reiner laid down next to you, taking a moment to put himself together. Neither of you talked for a long minute, nor touched, even though his fingers brushed against yours ever so often.
“I’ll go grab something to clean you up,” he said eventually, pushing himself back on his feet. When his steps retreated, you couldn’t help but starting to worry if this had changed things, perhaps for the worst. It had been an impulsive, foolish heat of the moment, but what did it mean?
When he came back, he laughed softly. “You look like a lizard under the sun, sprawled down there like that,” he joked, making you forget about your paranoia for a moment, and smile. “Well, yeah, not much I could do in this state,” you drawled, rolling your eyes. Reiner kneeled between your thighs, then started to clean you up using a damp cloth.
“Such a gentleman,” it was your turn to tease him now. “You offer this training special to all your clients?” He smiled, taking the jab. “Just the incredibly annoying ones,” he said, kissing your knee. He helped you getting dressed, then gave you a spare shirt he kept in his office as he walked you to the door.
“Wear that. I wouldn’t want your brother to see your—” he pointed at his neck. You huffed. “Could’ve spared giving me those, Count Dracula,” you quipped.
“Well, yeah,” he drawled, his hand giving you a small pat on the ass. “Might give you even more next time, if you keep up with that attitude.” Next time. You smiled. “So you want to keep teaching me? That’s not very professional.”
”You want someone else to teach you? I doubt I’ll let you, though,” he teased. “Plus, now I know how to make your learning experience more fun.”
┊┊a/n. HAPPY KAMIVERSARY HOLY SHIT??? decided to edit some blemishes from this fic (MY FIRST EVER ANIME FIC ON HERE BTW!! i didn't remember if it was this or gojo but i fact checked and it's this one, lol) but it still has my overall old writing style, and i like to think i've grown a lot since then. i can't believe how much the little community i've built has grown too! i'm so grateful for all the friends i've made on here, and that i'll make in the future!! to many more kamiversaries with you lovelies <3
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synopsis: you've been a fan of the gamer duo chargeb0lt and n1ghth1de for months now, often tuning into their streams in between your own. you never thought they'd know about your existence, but after a chance encounter in an online game, you’re suddenly more involved in their lives—participating in collabs and even hanging out off stream. with your steadily growing audience, the internet starts to notice there's something more going on with your little trio
content: streamer!au, college!au, fluff, angst, eventual smut, crack, family drama, alcohol, reader goes by a nickname
I'm Scared I'll Never Sleep Again — ex!Hawks x gn!reader
MDNI/18+ only! smut, morning sex, hurt no comfort, implied use of sex toys (dildo)
Part of my 5sos collab!
It’s your favourite time of the day, just at dawn when the sun starts to breach the horizon and paint the entire sky various hues of yellow, orange and crimson, A colour pallette that sits close to your heart. The golden light filtering through the slight gap in your curtains as birdsong fills the otherwise still-quiet streets.
Still too early for you to be fully awake, eyes still a little bleary as they keep fluttering shut, wishing to rest for a little while longer as you just listen to the soothing sounds all around you—the birdsong outside, the occasional car passing by, the soft rustling of the sheets as your legs get tangled with his.
It’s not often that this happens, where Hawks is still in bed by the time you wake up. His patrol schedule is hell to deal with after all, most often already out and about before four a.m. Not today though. No, right now he’s still beside you, as his fingers trace shapes over your hip while the other hand on your lower back pulls you further into him.
Sleepy grunts and moans fill the room. Your leg hitched over his, being held open as he lazily rolls his hips into yours.
The sun is just starting to rise, morning dew still clinging to the windows as the first gentle ray slants through the window, catching the golden curls on his head.
This is exactly why you love this time of day. Whenever the Hero is home, the two of you wake up with gentle sex, getting the day started with sleepy murmurs and tangled legs.
A particular thrust has you keening out, chest pressing further against his as his golden eyes flutter shut when your walls clamp down on him.
The markings around his eyes look even darker now, shadows covering his face. A sleepy “Dove” slips past his lips as you readjust your leg, pulling him further into you. The sound has your heart stutter in its cage, beating so incredibly fast that you don’t doubt he can feel it.
Pressing your face into his chest, your own hips start to cascade down on his, rolling just in time to meet his thrusts. The gentle sound of his pelvis hitting yours fills your ears as you press a kiss on his scarred skin.
“Feels so good, Kei,” you murmur, slightly muffled against his skin, eyes fluttering shut. His cock twitches in response, jumping when he hears his name fall from your lips.
Your nails dig into the bed sheets, gripping on the blanket when he angles his hips just right. A small tingle going down your spine as you let yourself just feel it.
It doesn’t take long before you cum with a whimper, leg twitching as you ride out your high.
By the time you open your eyes again, the bed looks different. The sun still filtering through the gap of the curtains, you have to blink a few times when it shines directly into your eyes. By the time you move your head a bit, there’s no Hawks beside you. No soft smile on his face as he looks at you with those love-filled eyes.
And just like that the image shatters; silicone filling you instead of the human flesh of the man you once called your lover, your face buried in the pillow next to your own instead of a sturdy chest, your leg hitched over a part of the bunched sheets instead of his hip, the phantom touch no longer there.
You could just close your eyes again, try to stay in the fantasy a little longer. Let yourself belief that his warmth is still here. But it doesn’t stop the certainty that it will never be real again.
showing up to sukuna’s doorstep might’ve been the best and worst decision you’ve ever made, but would sukuna actually stick to his word this time and change? ⸝⸝ a pt.2 to this short fic <3.
art :: @/679sinner ⸝⸝ soft sex, fluff.
your eyes slowly found sleep, sukuna's weight on top of you, and his soft breathing slowly lulling you to sleep. his sheets smelled like him, your hands wrapping around him while his breathing slowly evened out, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead like you used to before sleep found you, soft snores filling a room that was once deathly silent.
and for the first time in months, sukuna found sleep that wasn't plagued with the same repetitive nightmares, because he was finally in your arms, you were real, you were in his room, he was in your arms after what felt like far too long.
he barely budged in his sleep, staying in place like your own personal heated blanket, close enough to make sure you couldn't leave without waking him in the morning.
restful sleep found the both of you at long last, and if all it took was to be tangled up in his arms again, you would've caved in sooner. but you couldn't. not until he made it upto you.
—
you woke up on your side, a pair of meaty biceps holding you down while you rubbed your eyes, your vision fuzzy before you fully registered where you were. right. sukuna's place.
"hey…" you whispered, trying to pry his arms off of you so you could finally wash your face and graner your thoughts together, only to be met with the most uncharacteristically soft whimper.
"don't go…"
"my breath stinks, sukuna, i need to wash up, c'mon now."
"can't be away from you any longer."
"i forgot how clingy you are in the mornings." you sighed, forcing his arm off of you before making a beeline to his bathroom.
you didn't have to look far to find a spare toothbrush, with the one you used to use while you were still together sat right next to his at the sink, everything almost exactly the same as you'd left it—with that stupid polaroid of the two of you still stuck to the mirror.
you tried to ignore the feeling in your gut, your heart trying to beat out your chest while you brushed your teeth, while sukuna followed, hugging you from the back, mumbling incoherent nonsense into your neck while you freshened up.
"i missed you."
"i missed you too, sukuna."
"not sukuna. ryo. you always used to call me ryo."
"that was months ago su—."
"ryo." he was practically pouting now, moving next to you to brush his own teeth, washing his face before looking at you again.
"this place hasn't changed much, huh?"
"it's the only thing that tied me to you."
you almost laughed at how sentimental he was being until you looked up at him, and the terrifying thing was that he looked like he meant it. like he meant every sappy thing that he was saying.
"don't do that."
"i'm not doing anything." he leaned over the sink, watching you step closer to him, looking up to meet his eyes—
"well, fuck it—."
your lips crashed onto his with sukuna's hands moving to grab your thighs and lift you up, your legs wrapping around his waist while he carried you back into his room, slowly laying you down on your back before his lips nipped every inch of your skin, cascading down your body until they met your thighs.
"fuck i missed everything about you—."
"the lesser you talk, the longer you'd get me to stay, ryo."
he was practically pawing your pyjamas off of you, kissing your stomach before his mouth latched onto your cunt, lapping at your folds as if he was starved, your slick pooling down his chin, his mouth not leaving your pussy until he was gasping for air.
his mouth was back on your cunt in moments again, lips sucking on your clit until the filthiest sounds echoed in his once silent room, with you tugging at his hair, not sure whether you wanted him closer or to move away from you.
"f—fuck, ryo slow down."
the nickname had blood rushing straight to his cock—all the recordings of you he replayed in the dead of night never did you justice, and now that you were lain on his bed, your legs spread right before him, he could barely contain himself.
your vision was starting to blur, tears welling in your eyes while you slowly moved your hips against his face the best you could, chasing your own high before you came on his face.
"dreamt of this for s—so long, it's almost unreal." he pulled away, spit and slick smeared around his lips, with sukuna licking it up until there was nothing left, he moved over you slowly, discarding his sweats and hovering over you, looking at you and your almost tear stained face before you gave him a soft nod as permission.
he almost came in his pants while eating you out like the pathetic mess that he was—almost bottoming out the second he was inside you, his lips meeting yours in a sloppy kiss, one that had saliva dripping down your chin while his lips moved languidly against yours while he slowly thrust into you.
his pace was excruciating, each thrust followed with the softest moans against your ears, your nails moving to scratch his back, slowly running down the expanse of muscle while he whimpered at the pain.
"stay with me, won't you, y/n?"
"i stayed one night, a—another wouldn't hurt.."
and that was all it took before he was spilling inside you, right before he collapsed on top of you, his weight nearly crushing you on his mattress. his breath fanning against your neck, the two of you covered with sweat and tangled together like the two of you always used to be.
"ugh—get off of me, you oaf!"
"gods, i missed you."
"i missed you too, you sap."
"m never letting you go again." he said, nuzzling his face into your neck while you tried to pry him off of you. again.
"that's lovely, ryo, but we both have to get to work now."
a/n :: tysm for 5.7k guys c: i’m finally in da flow of reading n writing again,,,ALSO IM PAINTING AGAIN CHEER but on a sadder note this guy from hs is hitting on me and i keep dodging his hints pray he gets the memo cuz ts pmo
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all works belong to @lilithkleia, do NOT copy, translate or feed to AI. lest you wish upon toji’s worm to crawl up your ass.
MDNI content warning:: pussy eatinggg, suguru is a munch, smut!!!
suguru loves to eat you out because you do ofcourse but that’s not the only reason, not really — the way you taste is something he could bury himself in forever. he could get lost in it, and he often did.
eyes closed while he hummed drawing slow circles over your clit. he knew exactly this wouldn't get you anywhere but you were still coming down from the last two orgasms he had given you.
hair tied back of out the way which had now slowly lost its neatness from your hand digging into it and your thighs closing around his head. his big hands were now on the inside of each thigh holding them flat onto the mattress while he enjoyed what he considered his favourite part of the day.
he looked forward to it all day so when you told him fine you'd just continue reading he took it as a personal mission to show you how much he enjoyed this and how much you would too.
he was proud that after less then a minute you threw the book to the other side of the bed. eyes closed while your head pressed back into the pillow. jaw wide open.
he was proud of how even after two orgasms your cunt was ready to take anything he gave you. especially because his tongue was so soft. wet. warm. gliding between your slick warm folds.
he couldn't overstimulate you friction wise. you were a sensitive little thing he knew that, knew it from the first time he laid you down and made love to you. his fingers were too big and after your second orgasm you'd get too sensitive, not enjoying the pleasure he gave you anymore because your sensitive little clit was raw from his big fingers pinching and twirling around it.
this way? he could suck on your clit all he wanted. pull it between his teeth slightly just so they could graze your clit and your folds.
it was all for him but proving a point to you made it better, in the end it he did this for you, in finding out how sensitive you were suguru offered to use his tongue instead to get you ready to take him ever since.. there were times he wasn't even actually prepping you.
you whined. "suguru, it's enough- nngh fuck, okay- fuck me-" you'd get so impatient. begging him to fuck you he only pushed his tongue inside of you. splaying it wide open so his tongue became even bigger inside of you. it barely stretched you out but fuck did it feel good to ride your sensitive clit against his nose.
to feel feel his moans vibrate the inside of your walls through his tongue that lapped at you. he knew exactly how to curl his tongue inside of you to reach that spot his usually fingers did — only for him to take his hand off your thigh and shove his fingers in beneath his tongue curling them inside of you aswell.
he could feel just how wet you were around his tongue and now his fingers. you cried out overstimulated from the way his fingers added extra pressing, pressing his tongue into your sensitive spot.
the spot that made you unfold so beautifully... you cried beautiful tears just like your pretty pussy did all around his tongue. his other hand that remained on your thigh dug his nails in nearly before he realised. he got carried away.
he first pulled out his fingers, tongue dragging out slightly just for him to hum and shove it into your hole again.
you looked down at his hungry half lidded eyes, high on you — your taste. the way you gripped tightened around his tongue and the way you smelled.
the way you smelled especially your cunt was just something that made him groan even now with his tongue deep inside of you he couldn't help but let out a guttural groan while you rode out your high on his tongue, your eyes too dazed from the orgasms he already gave you.
how could he resist, the way you looked perked up on your elbows watching him make you feel better then anyone ever could. then you ever could.
he loved the idea of you trying to fuck yourself and failing miserably. your cries when you stopped fucking yourself because it really didn't matter. your fingers weren't his. a vibrator didn't even live up to suguru because he softly hummed throughout your entire orgasm sending vibrations through your whole cunt.
it was ridiculous how good he could make you feel.. suguru always managed to get you needy for the next orgasm on his tongue before the last even ended.
or maybe that's what he convinced himself of so he could make you cum a dozen more times on his tongue.
when he parted from your heat you thought he would finally fuck you but no, all he did was press kisses onto your clit and down your slit. “such a pretty pussy,” he’d whisper. his breath fanning onto your cunt.
“how can i resist? when you taste like that baby..” he hums before again pressing kisses to the outside of your cunt. “please, touch me please-“
“ah, now you want me to touch you? thought you wanted me to fuck you…”
“i just.. need you- to touch me-“ you tried when his lips trailed further away to the inside of your thigh pressing kisses there while he hummed. “need me now do you?” a smirk settled at his lips. you felt it on your skin. “what about your book, huh? doesn’t seem so interesting now.”
“it isn’t- please suguru, stop teasing.”
he raised a brow lips parting from your leg, “such a greedy girl, as if you haven’t came three times on my tongue already.” he chuckled blowing onto your clit, “then again i could give you a million more and now that you’ve begged so sweetly.. i don’t think i can resist anymore..”
it was like you wanted him to lose it. he had tried so hard to hold back, to not dig his hands into your thighs and create beautiful marks of his nails in your skin that you’d carry for about a week before they faded again.
little did he know, you wanted just that. his tongue sloppily and hungrily lapping away at you while his hands dug into the inside of your thighs marking them with his nails, you could feel how intensely he needed this which only made you want to give it to him more.. whatever he wanted. and the more you did that the more he wanted.
the real fun began tomorrow, when you were overstimulated from what he did right now. when you’ll come so fast from already being sensitive it’ll even shock you.
mm yes, that shocked look in your eyes, jaw wide open while you gasped and told him to slow down just like you did now.
without doing anything you really were the fuel to his fire.. the cause to his addiction because if you weren’t so damn cute and didn’t taste so fucking good he may have not been so desperate to be between your legs everyday. maybe tomorrow you wouldn’t test his patience by reading your damn book.
౨ 私の 𝐒𝐄𝐗 𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 ৎ : : satosugu x reader weeks apart. one late-night call. they miss you too much to keep their hands to themselves.
content warning | video sex. polyamory. mutual masturbation. dirty talk. missing each other. sexual desperation
you gripped on your phone for what feels like forever of that insistent ringing, and you drag a hand over your face, blinking hard against the glow as the call connects.
satoru’s face fills the screen first, his eyes looking tired as hell locking onto yours like a hungry animal the second they find you.
suguru is right there beside him, leaning in close so their shoulders press together, both of them crowding the frame until there’s nowhere left for you to look but at them.
“finally,” satoru rasps, “been waiting to see that pretty face of yours, baby. fuck, look at you.”
suguru’s stare is heavier, dragging slow over every visible inch of you. “you look like sleep’s been avoiding you.”
“same as you,” you murmur back.
satoru huffs a quiet laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “cursed spirits don’t give a single shit that we miss our girl. we’ve been busy. but you…” he tilts his head, that familiar smirk tugging at his mouth. “you miss us?”
“yes.”
“how much?”
you hesitate. suguru catches it immediately.
“show us,” he says, “don’t just tell us. show us how much. spread those thighs. let us see that cunt.”
you shift the phone, propping it up against the pillows so the camera can take in more of you.
satoru’s eyes darken the second the angle changes and he sees the soft lines of your body.
“fuck,” he mutters, voice dropping. “there you are.”
“take your clothes off. all of them. we want to see everything we’ve been missing. every inch of that body.”
you obey, shirt first, peeling it up and over your head so your bare chest is suddenly on display, soft tits rising and falling with each breath, nipples already tightening under their stares. then the rest, pants shoved down your hips, underwear dragged off until you’re completely bare for them, legs slightly parted, the soft folds of your cunt already visible between your thighs.
their silence is loud as satoru exhales hard, eyes roaming at the sight of your body. “look at you. been thinking about that body for weeks. every time i closed my eyes i saw you spread out for us, that wet little cunt waiting.”
suguru leans closer to the camera, gaze locked between your legs. “touch yourself for us baby, we want to watch our pretty girl.”
your hand slowly moves between your legs, both of them tracking your movements, eyes fixed as your fingers slide down over the soft mound, then part the slick folds of your pussy. the camera catches the shine of how your cunt is already glistening.
satoru cooed, “that’s it. just like that. pretend it’s our fingers spreading you open. or suguru’s.”
then suguru leans closer to the camera, words dropping “i’ve been thinking about the noises you make when one of us is buried inside your pussy”
satoru groans, “fuck, don’t say it like that. my cock’s already hard just looking at them.”
you hear the rustle of fabric on their end. satoru doesn’t bother hiding a thing, his hand disappears down, wrapping around the heavy length of his cock, stroking from root to tip while his eyes stay fixed on you.
the soft, slick sound of skin on skin fills the wet drag of his fist over the swollen head.
“look,” he tells suguru, “look how needy they already are, bet that pretty cunt is soaked.”
suguru’s gaze never leaves yours, his own hand moves out of frame, and then comes the quiet, wet drag of him touching himself, slow strokes along the thick shaft of his cock, the soft sound of precum making every pull slicker.
your breath stutters, satoru laughs under his breath, “i hope you know we’ll be stretching your cunt open the time we get home.”
“faster,” suguru orders. “we can see how close you already are. don’t hold back those sounds .”
you speed up. satoru matches your pace, fist working over the full length of his cock in time with your hand, thumb dragging over the sensitive head.
your hips jerk hard. “don’t come yet,” suguru says firmly, making you flinch “not until we say.”
you slow down trembling, thighs already shaking, satoru groans at the sight, stroking faster, fist tight around the flushed length of his cock.
“look at you. being so fucking good for us.”
the wet, filthy sounds on their end grow louder, both of them stroking hard, satoru’s voice cracks. “fuckkkk, i’m close..”
you don’t last, the orgasm hits hard a broken, wrecked sound tearing out of your mouth as your cunt clenches and pulses around your fingers, cum dripping down your hand, clit throbbing under your touch.
satoru follows with a low, punched out curse, head tipping back, fist still moving as thick ropes of cum spill over his knuckles and down the shaft.
suguru comes last, eyes locked on yours the entire time like he refuses to look away even as his cock throbs and spills across his fist, breath catching as pleasure rips through him.
for a long moment there’s only heavy breathing and the soft aftershocks.
then satoru laughs weakly, still catching his breath. “damn, that was filthy.”
“three more days. we’re coming home.” satoru leans closer to the camera, grin lazy and satisfied. “and when we do, we’re not letting you leave the bed for at least twenty-four hours. maybe longer, got it?”
suguru’s gaze stays on yours. “we missed you. more than we said out loud.”
“i missed you both,” you answer, still breathless.
satoru yawns, already half asleep. “stay on the call?”
ˎˊ˗ gamer!gojo is too absorbed in his game to notice how desperate you are. :(
What on earth possessed you to date a fucking gamer?! I mean, far from the fact that he was an incredible boyfriend... but why was he always giving all of his attention to his games and spending every second inside that setup of his?
Everyone had different hobbies… right. But that was certainly not helping when you were needy—just like now.
You had spent the entire day soft-launching the fact that you really needed his attention, but he would just hum in response, his eyes still fixed on the glowing screen in front of him. And now, it was getting unbearable.
So you came up with a plan—one that would force him to change his focus directly onto you. A "surprise" seemed like the perfect solution, so you shed every single piece of clothing that was hiding your skin and strolled back into the room.
The second his gaze flicked over your bare skin, Gojo casually nudged his anti-blue-light glasses up his nose, a wicked little grin settling on his face.
“Mm, fucking gorgeous,” he hummed, his thumbs and fingers flying in a flawless blur over his setup. “Give me five minutes, babe. I’m literally one kill away from winning this match—”
“Fuck ’Toru, I can't wait anymore!” you pouted, prowling toward his setup. “I need you sooo bad…”
You started pacing slowly around his chair, hovering over him like a hunter sizing up her target. Yet, despite the total lack of clothes, nothing changed.
“I know, baby, just—”
You didn't waste any time. Stepping right into his personal space, you threw your leg cleanly over the armrest holding his mouse hand, effectively trapping his limb between your thighs.
You hovered right over his pale arm, your soaking, needy heat suspended just a fraction of an inch away from his skin.
He didn't give you much of a reaction either, assuming you were only doing it to rush him, hoping to speed up his match so he'd finish faster.
So, you sank down. Your needy, dripping cunt pressed flush against his skin, kissing the rough pale flesh of his forearm. His hand twitched on the mouse, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. “What are you doing?”
You didn't even bother to reply. A low hum left your throat as you began grinding your hips rhythmically against his flesh, delicate moans breaking past your lips as your desperate clit finally caught a taste of friction.
You just kept rocking, again and again, chasing a high that your own boyfriend was currently failing to provide.
The friction when he moved his hand to resume playing made your pussy clench at the sudden rush, your body clearly thriving on the sensation as one of your hands slid into his white hair.
“Seriously?” Gojo chuckled under his breath while you were actively trying to get off on his arm, trapping his limb firmly between your thighs.
He let go of the mouse for barely a second, just long enough to drag the flat pad of his thumb over your throbbing nub.
Your hips bucked instantly, a louder moan spilling from your lips, only for him to immediately go right back to his game, leaving you suspended in your desperate rhythm.
Did he honestly think a little tease was going to throw you off?
You only pressed harder, dragging your wet cunt up and down his forearm in a relentless rhythm. You painted his skin with a sticky mess while your knees trembled and your vision went blurry.
The release caught you fast and hard. Waves of intense pleasure tore through you, making your lower body shudder uncontrollably over his arm as a lingering heat bloomed deep in your core.
You slumped against his shoulder, panting heavily as the aftershocks slowly rippled through your thighs.
The"Victroy" screen finally flashed across his monitor, but Gojo didn't even care. Pushing his headset down around his neck, he looked at his soaked and glistening forearm, then up at your flushed face.
“Now that,” he purred, sliding his clean hand up your bare waist to pull you fully into his lap, “was fucking hot.”
i saw this on twt but no matter how long i search i can't find that fuckass link 💔
note: thank you guys so much for over 5k!! love you guys!! 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯
KINKTOBER 2026 MASTERLIST!
he's got you pinned, folded in half, your knees pushed up to your chest.
the weight of him presses down on you, crushing you into the mattress, and every thrust drives his cock so deep you swear you can feel it in your throat.
"look at you," he murmurs, his voice low and rough. "look at my sweet fucking princess."
your eyes are blurred with tears.
you can barely see him—just the dark outline of his shoulders, his sweat-slicked chest and the way his abs flex with every brutal snap of his hips.
your nails dig into his biceps, trying to hold on, trying to ground yourself as you sob.
"k-kuna mnghh—h-hurts—"
"i know," he says, and he sounds almost tender, like he isn't currently destroying your insides. "i know, baby. but you're taking it—fuuck—so good. such a good fuckin' girl."
you sob, whining as your cunt clenches around him, fluttering and sucking him deeper. he groans, a low rasp as his hips stutter for just a second.
he presses his palm against your lower belly. right where the bulge of him is pushing against your skin.
you can feel it—the thick ridge of his cock, outlined beneath your flesh, a visible proof of how fucking deep he is. he presses down, hard. ow!
you almost scream.
"there it is," he breathes, his eyes fixed on your stomach. "fucking look at that, sweets. i can see myself inside you."
you look down through your tears. you can see it too—the shape of him, pressing against your belly from the inside and moving with his thrusts.
the sight makes you clench even tighter around him. you cry harder, ugly sobs tearing out of you as he fucks into you wirh this relentless and unyielding pace.
"mmm, that's it." he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. "that's my good girl. crying so pretty for me."
you cling to him, your arms wrapped around his neck, your face buried in his shoulder. you're soaking his skin with your tears and snot, but he doesn't seem to care.
he just keeps fucking you, keeps pressing down on that bulge and keeps whispering into your ear.
"gonna fill you up," he says, his pace picking up. "gonna pump this pretty little cunt full of my cum. you want that, don't you baby?"
"y-yes—h-haahhh—yes, please—"
"please what?"
"please fill me up—please cum inside me—i need—hahhhhhh—"
he brokenly groans, and his hips lose their rhythm. he drives into you one last time, so deep that you feel it—the hot flood of his thick cum filling you up, spilling out around where he's buried inside you.
"fuck," he gasps. "fuck, princess. look at you. you love taking all of it, don't you?"
you're still crying, your body shaking with aftershocks, your cunt clenching around him, milking every last drop of his cum.
he stays inside you, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing hard. he grins against your nose.
"so pretty when you cry," he murmurs, and presses a kiss to your wet cheek.
at his words you let out a soft whine, pouting as you try to turn away from his huge body.
"tch, c'mon sweets..." he grunts, a huff escaping his lips. "i'll buy you strawberry milk, okay?"
you jerk up, suddenly suspiciously attentive.
he grumbles, rolling his eyes. "fucking hell. what is it with girls and strawberry milk..?"
IM BACKKKKK (maybe, lets see) idk this is the next best thing i wrote plz dont kill me☹️
modern au ৻ꪆ soft bf!sukuna 𝔁 anxious gf!reader ৻ꪆ sfw oneshot!
warnings. suggestive comfort fluff, mdni. heavy mental health dialogue. viewer discretion. reader has anxiety/adhd. it's a bad day. he makes it okay. mentions of blood. making out.
note: this was VERY self indulgent, i apologize :,) had a bad day and wrote about it. hope it's still enjoyable to read.
masterlist | wc: 4.6k
you knew the day was going to be hard the moment you had woken up multiple times in the night. it wasn't new to you that you had bouts of anxiety from time to time, but this was something you hadn't shared with your boyfriend yet. to be honest, it was a point of fear for you on how he would react, which is why you've been keeping it from him.
when you finally got out of bed, you were desperately not rested. the brain fog from the day prior still lingered, and your stomach felt a little twisted with the growing unease. ryomen laid deep in slumber as it was still early enough for there to be no sun rays peeking through your blinds, and you choose to not bother him. it was best to try and get your act together before he could notice.
your first instinct was to go straight for the bathroom, closing the door as quietly as you could manage and clicking the lock slowly. the tiny orange bottle was right where you left it, tucked away behind unused skincare bottles behind the sink where it was innocuous enough that ryomen wouldn't stumble upon it. he never gave you a reason to hide the fact you took medication for your mental health, but it scared you deeply anyhow. what would he think if he knew his usually confident and loud girlfriend had crippling anxiety? your thoughts began to spiral once more, and before you could allow it to worsen you take it with a dry swallow. not ideal, but today was one of those days.
you sat on the toilet, knees pulled to your chin waiting for the feelings to subside. it seems that your brain was a different demon right now, so the usual ten-minute kick-up was not there. your thoughts continued running in circles without ever landing on a concrete issue to fix. there wasn't a problem you could solve or a conversation you could prepare for, just a mass-less loud certainty that something was wrong and you were somehow behind on remedying it.
eventually, you forced yourself to get up and distract yourself. if the thoughts won't leave, the least you could do is replace them, right? routine usually helped you regulate, or so you believed it did. washing your face, brushing your teeth. you tied your hair out of your face and marched quietly into the kitchen. by the time you heard ryomen emerge from the bedroom, you had half of the refrigerator on the counter, mid-deep clean.
he stopped in the doorway wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants, hair still disheveled from sleep. it would've looked cute to you if you didn't already have a week's worth of thoughts occupying your brain at the same time. he stared at you standing in front of an open refrigerator with three leftover containers balanced against your chest.
"babe, why are you cleaning the fridge before sunrise?"
"oh y'know, i was looking at it yesterday and realized there's a lot of old stuff and weird stains inside. no biggie, i just thought i'd be productive." he raises an eyebrow at you. was this the same girl who had to run three loads of laundry because she ran out of clothes to wear?
"did it have to be the first thing you do today?"
you shut the refrigerator harder than necessary. "yes, ryomen. it's not like you were going to do it."
his eyebrows rose slightly again, and you instantly wished you could eat the words back. it was a blatant lie and unnecessary dig, your boyfriend wasn't really much of a slob. maybe not a neat freak, but he did his part when needed. you feel the dark goo of emotions rise as the guilt trails you, but you stay quiet and keep working around him.
ryomen watched you as you placed the chilled miscellaneous condiments on the counter with considerably more force than you usually would. "good morning to you too, then."
"yeah. morning."
you pulled open a cabinet and began rearranging mugs that did not need rearranging in the slightest, mostly because him studying you right now was raising your heart rate in a very non-romantic way. ryomen had always been annoyingly observant when he wanted to be, and today you couldn't tolerate it. "can you just make your coffee and go? you're loitering," you snap.
you yank another mug from the cabinet and immediately realize there is nowhere else for it to go. the shelf is already organized, and now you're standing there holding the stupid thing. "well? you're hovering. it's annoying."
the man wordlessly takes the mug out of your hand with a gentle motion, not irritated. that surprised you— you would rather he get annoyed by your dramatics, tell you that you're the one being weird and start an argument you could sink your teeth into. at least anger could give you an outlet for the boiling pressure in your mind. it was toxic, you knew this, and it hurt that that's where your heart went instead of just being normal.
why couldn't you just be normal?
he doesn't say anything at all as he starts the coffee machine.
it hums noisily between the two of you while you busy yourself with the rest of the fridge, fighting the urge to look over your shoulder. you can feel him moving around behind you, hear the quiet clink of his spoon against ceramic. every ordinary sound felt amplified enough to crawl beneath your skin. when you feel him reach around you to grab something from the fridge, you jerk away so abruptly that your hip bumps into the counter edge. okay, ow.
he looks a little concerned, but you play it off as if it didn't hurt like hell. "… jus' grabbing the milk."
you simply give him a short nod, unwilling to open your mouth. you couldn't trust yourself to not be more mean to him for no fault of his own. the minutes stretch painfully as he sips from his mug without a single remark to you or your behavior, which bothered you even more. shouldn't he reprimand you for being so horrible? at least then you could feel some relief from the voice yelling in your own head, and it instead be his.
you spent the first half of the day trying to outrun yourself.
you got laundry into the machine, as you were definitely many loads behind as usual. you couldn't muster the courage to answer the number of emails pending in your inbox so you resorted to vacuuming at seven in the morning, which you were sure your downstairs neighbors did not appreciate. you made breakfast and lost your appetite halfway through, abandoned it, then became upset with yourself because wasting food made you feel guilty. every task seemed like it should have provided some sense of accomplishment, but instead each one became another thing you could somehow do incorrectly.
ryomen mostly stayed out of your way the whole time. ideally, that should have made things easier for you to focus. but since your brain loves to be incompetent, you became painfully aware of his absence. you had snapped at him twice already, declined breakfast when he offered to finish your leftovers, and pulled away harshly when he placed his hand against your lower back while passing behind you. every action made you feel worse than the last.
by noon, the anxiety had somehow transformed into the overwhelming conviction that you were ruining everything. you stood in the laundry room once more, staring at the washing machine because you couldn't remember whether you had added detergent to the load that just finished.
"fuck…"
you opened the machine and stared inside as though the answer might suddenly appear among the wet clothes.
a voice comes close by your right ear. "what are you doing?"
you jumped so violently that your elbow struck the drying rack behind you on your funny bone. avoidable injury number two for the day. yay.
"cheese and fucking crackers, ryo!"
his face tightened, you couldn't tell whether he was mad at you or worried. "i called your name three times, i didn't mean to scare you."
"obviously i couldn't hear you!"
you stand up straight and pressed both hands against the edge of the washing machine, trying to slow your breath without making it dead obvious. despite your icky internal desire to ignore him, you ask.
"… did i put detergent in here?"
a pause.
"yeah, you did."
you looked at him, accusatory. "how do you know?"
" 'cause i watched you do it."
"when?"
"about forty minutes ago."
forty minutes? it felt like this load took two hours. your throat tightened. "oh, right."
ryomen leaned against the doorway, his brows knitted. "come sit down on the couch with me."
"i don't need to do that, i have to finish cleaning."
"you've been cleaning since five in the morning. you should sit."
"i said i'm fine, i got this."
his jaw shifted slightly. "i didn't ask if you weren't capable of doing it."
that irritated you because it frightened you. were you even capable of doing ordinary tasks if this was already too much to manage?
"stop acting like something is wrong with me!"
there it was. the second the sentence left your mouth, you knew you had given yourself away. ryomen's expression changed completely, soft and more caring. you immediately turned from him.
"forget what i said, just leave me alone."
"baby, stop. c'mere."
you stiffen as he gets closer to you. "no."
you pushed past him before he could stop you, walking quickly toward the kitchen because you needed something to keep your hands busy, anything that would keep you from having that conversation. you were on a thin line already, the rope of your restraint fraying with the tension. you grabbed the abandoned breakfast dishes from earlier and turned on the faucet.
behind you, ryomen sighed. "seriously, you don't have to keep doing this."
"i don't know what you're talking about."
"you pretend to get busy every time you start getting overwhelmed, babe."
your hand stopped scrubbing the glass cup beneath the running water. the feelings in your stomach start to sink disgustingly. you slowly turned your head. "what?" he looked like he regretted the phrasing, but there was no taking it back now.
"no, nothing. nevermind."
you walk away from the sink, the slippery soaped-up glass still in your mildly trembling hand. "no, what did you just say?"
"i said you don't have to—"
suddenly, the glass in your hand slipped. it falls on the wooden floor with a loud shatter, pieces scattering and a few small shards nick your feet. your chest seized so abruptly that you stumbled backward until your hip struck the counter. the room felt too bright even though you only had the windows with natural light open. your hands were shaking hard and balled into fists. your fingers refused to open and stop digging your nails into your palms. you could hear a dying animal somewhere, it was god awful really. until you realize that noise was coming from you.
"shit."
ryomen was beside you immediately, walking as carefully as he could to reach you without stepping on a piece himself.
"p-please don't..!" you tried to sob out, although you weren't entirely certain understandable words were coming out. tears were fully streaming down your face as your vision blurred and you were too weak to fight him when he lifts you up in a princess carry to your bedroom. you press your balled hands to your eyes until colors burst behind your eyelids. every muscle in your body felt painfully wound up, and the embarrassment of being carried through your own apartment while sobbing uncontrollably was somewhere in the back of your mind.
"ryo, put me down, please, i can't— i don't know what's happening, i can't—"
"i know, baby. i know." there wasn't an ounce of teasing in his voice, he was unjustly soft and soothing with you. ryomen nudged the bedroom door open with his foot and brought you toward the bed, but instead of immediately setting you beneath the covers and leaving like you expected, he lowered you carefully onto the edge of the mattress. he crouched in front of you afterward, putting himself below your eye level rather than towering over you. "you're right here with me. don't worry about nothin' else."
you couldn't even properly process what he was saying. your entire body felt foreign, like somebody had turned every organ in your body into a tightrope. your heart was pounding hard enough to make your chest ache, your face felt unbearably hot, and every breath you attempted became another loud gasp that convinced you there wasn't enough oxygen in the room.
"i-i can't breathe, it hurts—"
"you're taking shallow breaths, lovely." ryomen's response came steady and calm. "you're going to make yourself dizzy. just follow me." he exaggerated his breathing enough for you to see it, slow and deep with his hands motioning up and down. you tried to match him as best as you could, with a lot of shakiness. the first attempt failed, followed by the second.
"i can't do it!"
"then we'll do it badly."
that broke through the panic for split second, but ryomen continued. "there's no prize for doing this correctly. breathe wrong, shake, cry. i don't care. i'm staying right here with you until this passes." you take a couple more breaths and you finally begin to slow down.
your tear streaked face looks properly hurt by just how sweet your boyfriend was. i don't deserve such an accommodating partner, you thought.
"i'm sorry, i'm so sorry."
"you don't have anything to be sorry for right now."
"what?! i've been so horrible to you all morning!"
"you've been a bit of a priss-fest, but i signed up for that when i started dating you."
a strangled noise escaped you somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
his mouth twitched into a small smile. "there she is."
you covered your face again, unwilling to meet his eyes for what you wanted to say next. your shoulders shake as everything you had been holding back since sometime during the night finally spilled over.
"i know it's stupid," you began, voice wavering with the tears. "i know people have certain problems and it not be some enormous secret, but i didn't want you looking at me differently. i didn't want you thinking you were obligated to deal with this every time i got bad, or feeling like you have to babysit me, and i especially didn't want you see me when i get these episodes."
ryomen stared at you for several seconds. "you think i didn't know?"
your face grows warmer. "what?.."
"you chew the inside of your cheek until it's bitten raw, i can feel it when we make out. when you're really paranoid you have me check if the front door is locked. you reread texts out loud before you send them, then reread them in your head after you send them as if the words would've changed."
your lips slowly part. god, were you this easy to figure out?
"when we go somewhere new, you look up the parking situation before we leave because not knowing where we're supposed to park makes you nervous. when somebody's tone changes around you, you spend all night trying to figure out if they're mad at you." his thumb brushes absentmindedly against your knee.
"and when it gets bad, you stop eating. don't you think i'd guess something was up with my girl who loves to cook and eat good meals?"
"but that's just..." you struggle for something to say that could make his list of observations less mortifying. "people do those things."
"some people do, yeah. and you do them when you're anxious."
you scowl weakly at him, but there wasn't anger behind it to be real. "i hate you."
"you'll recover."
you sniff, dragging the sleeve of your shirt beneath your nose before another realization makes your entire body tense. "wait, i never said anything about having anxiety." for the first time since this conversation began, ryomen hesitates. it lasts maybe half a second but unfortunately, you know his face too well.
your eyes widen. "ryo."
"sweetheart, please don't work yourself up again."
"ryomen. you know about my meds?!"
".. you're already having a shitty day, don't make it worse—"
your humiliation reaches levels you genuinely hadn't known were achievable.
"oh my god. oh my god!"
you cover your face with both hands again, wishing with every part of yourself that the mattress would somehow open and consume you whole. "you've seen it? bu—how? when?!"
"it doesn't matter when." his voice turns slightly stiff. "you left the cabinet open one morning, and i went in there looking for toothpaste and saw an orange bottle shoved behind enough skincare products to supply a fucking sephora."
"hey—you buy those for me!" you retort. "freakin' enabler…" you mutter under your breath.
"what i spend my money on is not the topic at hand."
you drop your hands into your lap again. "i'm sure you read the label, then."
ryomen looks down at your hands, watching the way your fingers continue rapidly knotting themselves together before gently separating them.
"yes, by accident. but i figured you would tell me when you wanted me to know."
you stare at him. "that's it?"
"baby—what else was i supposed to do?"
"i dunno, ask me?"
"and put you on the spot about something you were clearly hiding because you were uncomfortable talking about it?" he scoffs quietly. "yeah, that would've gone fantastic."
your eyes fall to your joint hands. he was right. even now, after being forced into the conversation by circumstances entirely outside your control, you wanted to crawl into a hole. if he'd approached you months ago holding that bottle and asking for an explanation, you would've probably combusted on the spot.
"i thought i was hiding it well."
"i know that."
somehow that makes your eyes burn with tears again. ryomen notices, cooing at you. "heeeyy, hey, why're you cryin' again?"
"because that's embarrassing! i was just making a fool of myself sneaking around!"
"you can't even hide my birthday presents well, s'okay."
you gasp. "you already saw the ninja creami?!" you shove weakly at his shoulder, but he barely moves. you sniffle loudly before you speak again.
"i've been hiding my meds in my own bathroom and trying to act normal around you this entire time, and you've just been watching me do it like an idiot."
"i wasn't watchin' you hide pills, you psycho. you're not a drug addict."
"you know what i mean!"
the corner of his mouth twitches, but it fades when he sees another tear spill down your cheek. his hand reaches up, thumb catching it before it can trail farther.
"you're not gettin' what i'm tryin' to tell you. sweetheart, none of this is news to me." your expression falters.
"today was new," he clarifies. "i haven't seen it hit you this hard before, and i didn't know exactly what was going on in your head because you never mentioned it. but none of this suddenly turns you into some cursed version of my girlfriend."
you stare down at your lap. "but it feels different now that you've seen it."
"to you, sure it does."
you swallow and nod. "yeah."
"but not to me."
that pulls your eyes back toward him. ryomen shifts from his crouched position and sits beside you on the mattress instead, close enough that your knees brush. he pulls you onto his lap, noticing the cuts on your feet from the glass. the adrenaline from your anxiety attack is probably keeping you from feeling the pain, so he doesn't pipe up about it yet.
"i didn't want you to think i was..." you trail off.
"was what?"
you hesitate, ashamed of the word even before you say it. "difficult."
his face scrunches immediately. "you are difficult."
you gape at him. ryomen continues before you can summon the strength to strangle him. "you're stubborn, mouthy, and somehow lose every phone charger we own. you start arguments when you're hungry and make me guess what you want to eat as if i can read your damn mind. you're extremely fucking difficult."
"this is possibly the worst comfort speech i've ever heard, babe."
"can you be fuckin' patient? i'm getting there."
despite everything, a tiny smile pulls at your mouth. his expression relaxes when he sees.
"you're difficult sometimes because you're a human. so am i! if you wanted to break up every time i was difficult with you, we woulda been done for a long time ago. and if you honestly think i only want the parts of you that are convenient for me, then i've done a pretty shitty job being your boyfriend."
"that's not what i think."
"you just told me you've been hiding your anxiety because you thought i'd feel obligated to babysit you." you wince at him mention the word again. "you basically decided it for me that this would be too much."
"…i didn't mean it like thaaaat."
"but that's what you've been doing."
you don't have anything to say to that. ryomen leans forward slightly, trying to catch your eyes when you look away. "baby, i'm not saying you have to tell me everything. if there are things you want private, they're yours. i'm not entitled to every thought in your head just because we're together." his hand brushes a stray hair out of your face before cupping your cheek.
"but i want you to be able to tell me when you're having a bad day." you lean into his hand, brows upturned. "what would i even say?"
"you could always start with 'i'm having a bad day.'"
"but what are you supposed to do with that?"
"hmm, whatever you need."
"that's the problem, ryo. i don't know what i need when i get like this." you finally slip your hand into his, clasping it firmly. his fingers curl around yours immediately.
"you don't have to show up with fucking instructions. you can tell me, 'i feel awful and i don't know what i need,' and we'll figure it out."
your lips tremble again. "and what if nothing helps?"
"then nothing helps. you have a shitty day." he shrugs one shoulder, thumb moving slowly across your knuckles. "maybe i can't fix it. maybe you can't fix it. that doesn't mean you failed."
you blink. the elementary idea felt almost offensive after the entire morning you'd spent desperately trying to outrun the feeling. you'd cleaned, moved, organized, distracted, scolded yourself and practically begged your own brain to cooperate, because surely anxiety was something you were supposed to defeat before you were allowed to continue with your day.
"i don't like feeling like a chud."
"hah, i know."
"i want it to go away."
"i know that too."
"so how am i supposed to just accept that i might feel bad all day?"
"you don't have to like it." ryomen squeezes your hand. "just quit punishing yourself because you couldn't make it disappear on command." your eyes lower again, pouting.
"and quit punishing me while you're at it. god damn."
you wail. "i said i was sorry!"
"and i'm allowed to give you shit for telling me i was loitering in my own kitchen. you know i had to hold back my sassy comments all day? that's real hell if you ask me," he scoffs with an eyeroll.
a real belly laugh finally breaks through, and you drop your forehead against his. "i really am sorry, though."
"it's okay. i survived even though you were being a little shit."
"that extra comment wasn't needed."
"i don't lie to my baby."
you pinch his side without lifting your head. "ow! fuck, haven't i suffered enough for one day?"
"clearly not."
"violent little thing."
his arms finally pull you closer, loosely enough that you have freedom to pull away if you wanted to. ryomen tilts his head the smallest fraction, nose brushing yours as if to ask permission. you lean in without a doubt.
the kiss starts tender and loving, the way he does when you ask him for it slow. your lips part against his with a soft, wet sound, and the second his tongue slips past your teeth the resolve in both of you uncoils.
you make a needy noise into his mouth and fist your hands in the loose fabric of his sweatpants at his hips. ryomen answers with a low rumble that vibrates through your chest, one rough hand sliding up your back to cradle the nape of your neck while the other grips on your waist, thumb stroking the plushy skin just under the hem of your shirt.
the heat of your kisses builds up fast. his mouth turns more hungry as his tongue links yours deeper, tasting the salt still clinging to your lips. you shift in his lap without thinking, straddling one of his thick thighs so you can feel him more. the movement drags the tops of your feet across the mattress—and straight over one of the shallow cuts left by the broken glass.
a sharp sting flares white-hot and you break the kiss with a startled hiss, body jerking. he stops groping your body instantly. his eyes open, pupils blown and heavy-lidded, but the fog of lust clears the second he sees the wince on your face.
“fuck, i forgot.” his voice is raspy and still thick from the kiss, but his concern cuts through it.
he lifts you off his lap like a feather and sets you carefully on the edge of the bed again, already sliding to his knees in front of you. “don’t try to get the glass out with your hands, wait here.”
he disappears into the bathroom and you hear drawers opening. the rattle of the first-aid kit, water running. when he comes back he’s carrying the kit, a clean towel, and a shallow bowl of warm water.
he kneels again, settling your injured feet gently in his lap. tiny shards still glitter in a couple of the nicks. he curses under his breath and starts picking them out with tweezers, his movements precise as he could be. you flinch, but he steadies your ankles with a firm hand.
“easy, babe… just a couple little pieces. nothin' deep.” his tone is clinical, but the way his thumb keeps stroking the uninjured skin along your ankle is pure, raw affection. once the glass is gone he cleans the cuts with the damp cloth, then dabs on antiseptic that stings and makes you suck in a breath. band-aids follow with two on the right foot, one on the left and pressed carefully over the tops of your feet with surprising tenderness for such large hands.
when he’s finished he presses a soft kiss to the top of each foot, right above the bandages, then looks up at you with a sly little smirk that doesn’t hide the playfulness still lingering in his eyes at all. "there, you're all patched up.”
he rises from the floor, crowding back into your space until you’re forced to tip your head to meet his gaze. one hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip that's still kiss-swollen.
“we’re finishing what we started,” he murmurs, voice dropping into that tone that always makes your stomach flip, “but only after i'm sure you aren't gonna faint or hurt yourself. lemme get you some water and somethin' to eat, and then—” his mouth curves against your ear, “—i’m gonna pick up right where we left off. deal?”
finally a little hurt WITH comfort ehe
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all dividers + header by yours truly, art by @/innaillus on ig found on pinterest
summary: Instead of just stealing his wallet, you wanted to lead this handsome stranger on a chase across the city. And Jean, against every ounce of his better judgement, followed.
contents: heist romance, cat-and-mouse, banter, public teasing, thief x mark NSFW: mdni, fem reader, stranger to one-night, possessive male lead, teasing/edging, name-calling (darling/sweetheart), semi-public foreplay, explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), face riding, wrist/hand restraint, hair pulling, unprotected sex (pinv), aftercare, banter during sex, dirty talk, swearing
notes: this has been in the works for a long time, so it is kind of pretty long. i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless. i absolutely love this dynamic and enjoyed writing this.
wc: 10.8 k
The rooftop lounge was buzzing with noise and filled with lights reflecting off the glass walls. Yet, your eyes went straight to the man sitting at the end of the bar.
He was an absolute beacon for a high-end mark — tailored leather jacket, a heavy silver watch, and a wallet visibly bulging from his back pocket. But as you watched him adjust his cuffs, long fingers resting on the silver links, you took in the full picture: the impressive breadth of his shoulders, the clean cut of a stubble-dusted jawline, and sharp, hazel eyes that held a dangerously handsome edge.
Steal his watch and disappear into the crowd? No… a simple hit-and-run wouldn’t be half as much fun. A man with a presence like that deserved your full, undivided attention. You wanted the thrill of the chase. You wanted to get close enough to feel the heat off him, test that restraint, and watch his face when he finally realized he’d been lured right into a trap.
Closing the distance, you slid onto the adjacent stool, leaning your elbows onto the slick granite counter. Your off-the-shoulder top shifted with the movement, exposing the clean curve of your collarbones catching the bar’s gold light. You waited, letting the silence linger just long enough for his eyes to naturally track the movement before you met his gaze, slowly tracing the cut of his jaw.
"Is the seat taken, or am I just lucky?" you asked, tilting your head with a lazy and slow smile.
The man blinked, his eyes momentarily lingering on the bare curve of your shoulders before his posture shifted into an easy, practice-honed smirk. He sat up a little straighter, running a hand through his hair as he took the bait.
"Definitely lucky. I'm Jean."
"Nice to meet you, Jean," you purred, angling your hips toward his and effectively closing off the rest of the room. You leaned in close, pretending to struggle against the noise of the crowd, deliberately bringing him right into your space, and close enough to catch the subtle scent of your perfume. "I have to admit, I don't usually make the first move. But a man like you stands out in a room like this.”
A low laugh rumbled in his chest, his charm kicking effortlessly into overdrive. Flattered, Jean leaned down toward you, resting his heavy forearm on the bar dangerously close to your hand, completely unaware he was stepping straight into the snare.
"Do I now?" he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again. "I guess I just have that effect. Can I buy you a drink?"
"Only if you let me pick it," you replied, flashing a warm, lingering look that held him completely captive.
Jean’s grin widened as he signaled the bartender with a flick of his wrist. "Deal. Pick your poison."
"Two old fashioneds," you told the bartender, before turning back to Jean. You rested your chin in your hand, angling your body so your shoulder lightly brushed his chest. "So, Jean... what brings a guy with an iron-clad posture and a fitted leather jacket to a crowded rooftop on a Thursday? Looking for trouble, or did it just find you?"
Jean let out a low, rumbling chuckle, his eyes dropping to your mouth before snapping back to yours. "I usually try to avoid it. But tonight? I think trouble slid onto the stool right next to me."
"Is that what I am?" You laughed softly, leaning in just half an inch closer as if the bass was drowning out his voice.
While Jean was entirely captivated by the eye contact, and his own rapidly expanding ego, your fingers finally went to work. Under the cover of the dim lighting and your close proximity, your left hand drifted down beneath the edge of the bar. You slipped two fingers into his back pocket, hooked the heavy leather fold, and slid it free without a single hitch, tucking it seamlessly into your jacket lining.
You felt the weight of it settle against your ribs. A perfect, silent pull.
"Tell you what," you said, stepping back just enough to break the spell and giving his shoulder a soft pat. "Hold that thought. I'm going to hit the restroom, and when I get back, you can tell me all about how dangerous you are."
Jean chuckled, completely oblivious, resting his elbow on the bar. "Don't keep me waiting."
"Wouldn't dream of it," you cooed, turning on your heel and melting effortlessly into the crowd, leaving Jean at the bar and setting the trap.
Two minutes turned into five, and Jean was already practicing the smooth, offhand line he was going to drop the second you walked back over. He waved the bartender down, drumming his fingers against the counter
"Hey, bartender," Jean called out, flashing his best easygoing smile as he motioned toward the two crystal glasses sitting between your empty stools. "Throw those two Old Fashioneds on my tab, will you?"
The bartender tapped the screen. "That’ll be thirty-eight."
Jean reached back with confidence to slide his wallet out of his pocket, but his fingers brushed empty denim.
He froze. The casual smirk on his face faltered for a microsecond before he smoothed it back out, assuming he’d just missed the pocket. He patted his right side again. Nothing. He tried his left pocket. Empty. A subtle coil of cold panic tightened in his gut, but he forced a short, self-deprecating laugh.
"Hold on a second," he muttered, checking the front pockets of his jeans, then frantically digging through the inner pockets of his leather jacket. Keys. Phone. Breath mints.
No wallet.
The bartender crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow with zero patience. "Everything okay, man?"
Jean’s heart did a sudden, violent drop straight into his stomach. The realization hit him like a bucket of ice water: the prolonged eye contact, the way you’d leaned in just close enough to make his head spin, the gentle, distracting pat on his shoulder right before stepping away...
“Don’t keep me waiting.” “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
"She got me," Jean whispered under his breath, his eyes wide as he stared at the empty bar stool beside him. "She actually freaking played me."
His cheeks burned bright red — half out of sheer humiliation, half out of disbelief that his ego had blinded him so completely. He’d been so busy thinking he was the smooth one, so thoroughly convinced he had you hooked, that he hadn't felt a single thing when your fingers slid his wallet right out from under him.
"Look, man," Jean stammered to the bartender, pulling his phone out with trembling hands while glancing frantically toward the lounge exit. "I – my wallet was just stolen. I can Apple Pay you, just... give me a second."
He authorized the payment, grabbed his phone, and bolted toward the glass doors, scanning the dimly lit rooftop. But you were already long gone, faded into the city night with his cash, his cards, and every ounce of his pride.
Jean ran a hand through his hair, letting out a short, disbelieving laugh before a reluctant, bitter chuckle escaped his lips. "Damn it," he muttered, staring down at the street lights below. "She was good."
The humiliation stayed with Jean all the way back to his apartment, but by midnight, embarrassment had hardened into pure, stubborn determination.
He pulled out his phone and tapped into his contacts, scrolling straight to Sasha. Sasha ran in the kind of circles where everyone knew everyone's business — especially when it came to the local nightlife and the people who made a habit of picking pockets in high-end lounges.
"Sasha," Jean said the second she picked up. "I need a favor. A person at The Coordinate tonight. Fast, clever, pulled a light-fingered routine on me before I even knew what happened." He gave her a quick description of your face, your height, and the easy, disarming smile.
There was a short pause on the line, followed by the crunch of a chip.
"Oh, yeah," Sasha said casually. "Sounds like your usual crowd. If they're moving fast tonight, they probably dropped by Connie's place to offload."
Jean's eyes narrowed as he stepped out onto his balcony. "Connie's basement? At The Underground?"
"Yep. Down the alley off 4th," Sasha replied easily, sounding completely untroubled by his situation. "Connie mentioned someone matching that description swung by about twenty minutes ago. If you're heading down there, Jean, just keep an eye on your watch."
Twenty minutes later, Jean’s jaw was set tight enough to crack a tooth as he pushed through the back alley exit of The Underground. Sasha’s tip had been dead-on, and pure, white-hot humiliation was burning through him.
He found you standing right where you knew he’d look — leaning casually in the shadow of a brick doorway, idly counting a stack of twenties under the flickering glow of a streetlamp. The soft knit of your off-the-shoulder top hung low, exposing the smooth expanse of your neck and the fine, exposed line of your shoulders against the rough dark mortar behind you. You shifted your weight, heels echoing softly off the wet pavement as you sorted the cash into a neat stack.
Before you could bother to feign shock, Jean closed the distance in three long strides. He grabbed your shoulders, firmly, but careful not to hurt you, and shoved you back, pinning you flat against the cold brick wall. He slammed his right palm against the wall beside your ear with a dull thud, looming over you with his tall frame. His chest heaved against his leather jacket, and his hazel eyes burned with genuine anger, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack.
"Where is it?" Jean growled, his voice a low, dangerous husk. "Where's my wallet?"
Your gaze drifted lazily up the front of his shirt, taking a slow, shameless tour of his body — tracing the broad line of his chest, lingering on the tight column of his throat, and finally settling on his flushed, furious, and handsome face. A slow and wicked smirk stretched across your lips as your chest rose with a slow, deliberate breath.
With painful unhurriedness, you tilted your chin, your dark lashes half-lidded as you ran your eyes over the hard curve of his jaw, the stubble dusting across his chin, and the messy spill of his hair. You let your gaze drop pointedly to his mouth before dragging it back up to meet his wild eyes, letting him feel every second of how thoroughly you were enjoying the view — and how little his intimidation tactics were working.
"Well, hello to you too, Jean," you purred softly, tilting your head up fully. "You're a lot louder when you're not trying to buy me a drink."
"I am not in the mood for your games," Jean snapped, leaning in closer to intimidate you. But as he stared down at you, at the absolute lack of fear in your posture, the deliberate, mocking confidence radiating off you, an unwelcome jolt of admiration hit him right in the gut. You’d known he was coming. You’d practically left a breadcrumb trail. He hated how impressive it was.
"Hand it over," he demanded, forcing the anger back into his tone. "Now."
"Alright, alright, keep your jacket on," you sighed playfully. You reached into your pocket, pulled out his leather wallet, and pressed it flat against his chest.
As Jean snatched it from your grip, flipping it open to check the cash, you took your chance.
You leaned in, your mouth brushing just beneath his ear, sending a slow spike of heat down his neck. “Besides… you chased me all the way across town. I think I deserve a proper greeting before you go storming off.”
Jean froze, his thumb caught in his wallet, a ragged breath escaping his throat as your proximity completely shattered his focus.
Your palm pressed flat over the center of his chest before your fingertips trailed lazily down the front of his shirt before shifting outward to drag up the heavy, structured leather sleeve of his jacket. Your movement was smooth, completely natural, the soft graze of your thumbs tracing the sensitive skin of his inner wrist as you worked. You caught your painted lower lip between your teeth, holding his gaze with an intoxicating focus that left no doubt you were entirely in control.
"Unbelievable," Jean muttered under his breath, finding every single bill intact. He snapped the wallet shut and shoved it deep into his front jeans pocket. The hot flush of anger on his neck was slowly giving way to a grudging, highly reluctant respect, his tense shoulders finally dropping. “You really think you’re cute, don’t you?”
"I don't think," you cooed, tilting your head up to give him a slow, tantalizing wink. "I know. And by the looks of it, you agree."
Before walking away, Jean hesitated, his eyes dropping down to your throat and staying there a beat before dragging slowly back up to meet the challenge in your eyes. He let out a low, disbelieving breath, shaking his head with a crooked tilt of his jaw — half-captivated, half-infuriated by the sight of you standing so unfazed against the dark brick — before he finally turned on his heel, taking a long step toward the alley mouth to salvage whatever thread of his pride he had left intact.
"Going so soon, darling?" you called after him, your voice dripping with honey. "You didn't even say thank you."
Jean stopped, letting out an annoyed, disbelief-filled chuckle as he turned around. "Thank you? For giving me back the money you stole–"
He froze.
You were leaning casually back against the wall again, one shoulder exposed, biting your lip with a slow, deliberate drop of your eyes that mapped every inch of his reaction. Your right hand was raised casually to shoulder height, and dangling from your manicured fingers, glinting brightly under the streetlamp, was his heavy, silver chronograph watch.
Jean’s eyes snapped down to his bare left wrist, then darted right back to the watch hanging from your fingers. His mind scrambled to trace the last fifteen seconds — your palm on his chest, the slow drag of your fingernails up his leather sleeve, the warm drag of your thumbs against his inner wrist while your eyes held his. He hadn't felt a single click. Not a single pull.
A heavy silence stretched through the alley. Jean’s mouth opened, closed, and then a slow, incredulous smile broke through his frustration, completely shattering his angry facade.
"No way," Jean breathed, running a hand over his face as a sharp, genuine laugh escaped him. He stepped back toward you, his eyes burning into yours with a newfound, intense spark. "You did not just take my watch while giving me my wallet back."
"I told you," you murmured, curling your fingers around the silver band and stepping off the wall toward him, the light catching along your jaw. "I'm very good at what I do. Now... are you going to take me back inside and buy me that drink, or do I need to steal your belt next?"
Jean stared down at the watch in your grip, his jaw working as he tried, and utterly failed, to hold onto his anger. The sheer audacity of it, paired with the impossibly smooth execution, had his pulse racing in a way that had very little to do with adrenaline and everything to do with the way you were looking at him.
A slow, crooked grin pulled at his lips, completely replacing his frustrated scowl.
"My belt?" Jean repeated, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling chuckle as he closed the last inch between you. He didn't corner you against the brick this time. Instead, he reached out, his long fingers gently encircling your wrist, just tight enough to stop you from slipping away, but soft enough to send a warm flutter straight down your spine.
"Don't look so flustered, darling," you purred, tilting your chin up, your eyes glittering. Your free hand began to wander, fingers splaying flat over the center of his chest before sliding slowly up to rest over the tense line of his shoulder. "I promise I'll be gentle."
Jean huffed out a laugh at the nickname, his chest rising heavily beneath your palm as a faint, telltale flush crept up the back of his neck despite his best efforts. "Darling? Really? You rob me twice and now you're calling me darling?"
"It suits you," you murmured. Your palm glided down the front of his shirt, your manicured nails lightly catching on the leather edge of his jacket before dragging slowly over his hip, your index finger idly hooking around his belt loop. "Besides, you look a lot prettier when you're not scowling."
Jean’s breath hitched, his eyes snapping down to your hand, still hooked in his belt loop. Heat flared behind his eyes as he carefully unclasped the watch from your fingers.
"You're unbelievable," Jean muttered, sliding the watch deep into his inner jacket pocket. His gaze dragged back up to your face, caught on your mouth, then locked onto your eyes. "Genuinely unbelievable."
Instead of pulling away, he reached down with his free hand and caught your wrist, the one currently hooked around his belt loop, gently lifting your hand away from his waist and weaving his fingers tightly through yours.
"Consider yourself under active surveillance," Jean added, a low, teasing rumble in his chest as he pulled you an inch closer. "If I let you loose back out in this alley, I'll be walking home without my jacket by midnight. You're coming back inside— where I can keep a hand on you."
He turned, keeping a firm, unyielding hold on your hand as he led you back toward the heavy oak door of The Underground. Pushing it open, the dim lighting and thick bass of the speakeasy swallowed you both.
Jean navigated through the crowded room until he spotted a secluded, high-backed leather booth tucked in the rear corner.
He slid into the leather booth first, his hand still locked tightly around yours. Before you could even think about taking the seat across from him, Jean gave a sudden tug on your wrist, pulling you down right beside him. You dropped into the plush bench with a soft gasp, ending up so close you were practically in his lap — your thigh pressed flush and warm against his denim-clad leg from hip to knee.
Jean wrapped his arm along the back of the booth behind your shoulders, effectively trapping you in his space while keeping his other hand planted conspicuously over his inside jacket pocket.
"There," he murmured, a smug, satisfied smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he leaned in close enough for his stubble to brush your temple. "Now you're right where I can watch you."
"Two Old Fashioneds," Jean called out to a server passing by, his eyes never leaving your face. "And bring the check straight to me when we're done… assuming I still have a wallet by then."
You leaned your head back against the dark leather, a low, melodic laugh escaping your lips as the lighting caught the clean line of your jaw.
"Smart move, darling," you said, turning your head until your painted lips were just inches from his jaw. "Learning from your mistakes already."
"I'm quick like that," Jean said, his thumb casually brushing over the soft fabric of your off-the-shoulder top. His thigh stayed pinned against yours, the heat of him seeping straight through your clothes. "So, let me guess... calling me 'darling' is just another play to keep me off balance?"
"Maybe," you murmured, your gaze dropping shamelessly to his mouth before dragging back up through your dark, half-lidded lashes. You let your hand drift casually across the leather seat, your fingers trailing up his knee to rest over his thigh, right where your legs met. "Or maybe I just like how red your ears get when I say it."
Jean froze for a half-second, his breath catching in his throat as your fingers pressed into his leg. He swallowed hard, catching himself before a low, disarmed laugh tumbled out of him.
"Alright, that's it," Jean murmured, his voice dropping into a husky, dangerous register as he leaned in until his breath was hot against your ear. "You're playing a very dangerous game, sweetheart. Let's see if that charming little mouth of yours keeps running once you run out of distractions."
The server set down two heavy crystal glasses, the ice clinking loudly on the low wooden table, but Jean barely registered the drinks. He was far too preoccupied with the heat of your thigh pressed flush against his, and the way your eyes caught the ambient light as you looked up at him.
Your left hand reached across the table to trace the back of his knuckles, while your right hand rested comfortably on his upper thigh. Your fingers flexed slightly against the denim, feeling the tense muscle beneath as you slowly slid your hand an inch higher. Jean’s breath hitched, every muscle in his frame tensing up under your deliberate touch.
"Careful," you purred, leaning in. You held his gaze, catching your lower lip between your teeth before letting it go with a teasing smile. "You look so tense. I thought you said you were going to keep me under surveillance… not freeze up the second I touch you."
Jean’s gaze dropped straight to your mouth, tracing the subtle shine of your lip gloss before snapping back up to meet your eyes. He swallowed hard, forcing a dark, quiet chuckle as he slowly closed his fingers on the table over your left hand — holding it in place where he could keep an eye on it, even as your right hand stayed anchored to his thigh.
"I can't relax," Jean admitted, his voice dropping into a low, husky murmur. He leaned his head closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intense mix of sheer fascination and deep suspicion. "Every time you move a finger, my brain goes on high alert. You're entrancing, sure, but you're also a hazard to my personal belongings."
Your right hand on his thigh gave a slow, deliberate squeeze, your fingers digging in just enough to send a jolt of heat straight up his spine. You tilted your head, letting the dim light trace along your jaw as you pushed out a soft, fake little pout, your eyes wide with mock offense.
"You don't trust me, darling?" you asked softly, drawing his gaze helplessly right back down to your plush lips.
"Not for a single second, sweetheart," Jean said, though the flush creeping up the back of his neck and the rapid beat of his pulse betrayed just how thoroughly your closeness was wrecking his composure. He reached for his glass with his free hand, taking a slow sip without breaking eye contact. "In fact, when this night is over, I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to conduct a full body search before I let you walk out that door, just to make sure you didn't walk off with my jacket or my phone."
You let out a soft, melodic laugh, your fingers on his thigh smoothing over the denim as your thumb on the table lightly dragged across the back of his hand. "A full body search? Is that your idea of a second date?"
"It's practical safety," Jean countered, a crooked and disarmed grin breaking through his guarded exterior. "And considering you've already stolen my cash, my watch, and my pride in less than two hours, I'd say I'm completely justified."
He shifted in the booth, subtly pressing his leg more against yours while his thumb gently caressed the soft, bare skin of your exposed shoulder.
"So go ahead," Jean purred, leaning in until his lips brushed the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. "Keep looking at me like that, sweetheart. See what else you can steal before the night is out."
A low, knowing hum vibrated in your chest. You tilted your head back against his arm, your lips mere millimeters from his jaw as your fingers on his thigh slid another fraction of an inch higher, feeling the sudden, rigid hitch in his breathing.
"Careful what you offer, Jean," you whispered, your voice a silky, dangerous thread against his skin. "Give me enough time, and I won't just walk out with your watch. I'll have you offering me the keys to your apartment just to keep me around for round two."
Jean’s eyes darkened, his hand on your shoulder tightening just enough to anchor you flush against his chest. "Is that a promise, or another one of your diversions?"
Matching your rhythm, his hand slid slowly down the bare slope of your arm, his long fingers trailing over your elbow before settling on the outer curve of your thigh. He squeezed gently, a slow, deliberate grip that sent a spike of heat straight through your chest, and slid his hand inward until his palm rested flush against your lap, mirroring the exact position of your hand on his hip.
"You like playing with fire, don't you?" Jean whispered, his eyes dropping down to your lips as your breath went short. He dragged his thumb in a slow circle against your leg, his gaze heavy and intense. "You act like you're completely in control, but your heart is beating pretty fast for someone who isn't nervous."
"I'm not nervous," you responded, leaning into his touch, your nails lightly dragging through the denim at his hip until you caught the edge of his belt loop once more. You looked up at him, chin tucked, feigning innocence. "I'm just impatient."
Jean’s jaw clenched as he took in the sheer confidence radiating off you. He leaned in, his lips hovering barely a millimeter from yours, so close you could taste the faint trace of bourbon on his breath. For a long second, the entire noisy room vanished.
"Impatience I can handle," Jean murmured, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly husk.
As you leaned deeper into his space, your hand hooked snugly in his belt loop, your chest rising with every deliberate breath, and his eyes flicked downward. Pinned so close beside you in the booth, the off-the-shoulder top draped low against your skin. His gaze caught at your collarbone before sliding helplessly down to the soft, shadow-draped curve of your exposed chest.
Jean went still, his jaw tightening as he took a slow, heavy breath. He swallowed hard, forcing his eyes back up to meet your half-lidded gaze, but the color rising along his jaw proved he’d been completely caught off guard.
"You're doing that on purpose," Jean growled softly, his hand on your lap squeezing just enough to send another pulse of heat straight through you.
"Doing what?" you asked innocently, tilting your chin up and letting your eyes drop shamelessly to his mouth.
"Making it impossible for me to pay attention to anything else in this room," Jean admitted, his voice thick. He reached out with his free hand, grasping his heavy crystal glass and draining the last of his Old Fashioned in one smooth, decisive swallow. He set the glass down hard against the wood, his eyes darting back down to your chest before locking onto your eyes. "In fact, finish your drink. We're getting out of here."
You smiled against his jaw, your fingers giving his belt loop one last teasing tug before you reached across with your left hand. You picked up your own glass, taking a slow, deliberate sip while holding his intense, burning gaze right over the rim.
Jean watched every movement of your throat as you swallowed, his chest rising heavily as he waited for you to set the empty glass down. The second the crystal touched the table, his hand slid up from your lap to your waist, his grip firm and possessive.
"Alright, sweetheart," Jean growled softly against your ear, his thumb digging into your hip as he guided you out of the booth. "Let me get us out of here before you decide to take the rest of my clothes off right in front of the bartender."
Before you could step fully clear of the table, Jean reached into his pocket with his free hand, pulled out his wallet, and threw a fifty onto the dark wood. He didn't even bother waiting for the server, his eyes locked onto yours as he tossed the money down with a quick, decisive flick of his wrist.
"Keep the change," Jean muttered toward the bar, sliding the wallet safely back into his pocket before his grip tightened around your waist once more.
You let out a low, delighted laugh, sliding your hand up his back under the warm leather of his jacket as he guided you through the crowded room toward the rear exit, his tall frame cutting through the patrons with single-minded focus.
The cool night air hit your bare shoulders the second Jean pushed open the heavy exit door of The Underground.
The damp pavement glinted under the sparse streetlamps, reflecting the glow of the city lights behind you. Jean’s hand stayed firmly anchored at your waist as you stepped out into the night, his thumb tracing a slow, steady circle against your hip.
"Cold?" Jean asked, his voice low in the quiet alley. He didn't wait for your answer. With a soft sigh that was half-amused and half-resigned, he unzipped his heavy leather jacket, slid it off his shoulders, and draped it over your bare upper back, keeping one hand securely on your arm so you couldn't dart away. The inside lining was hot against your skin, smelling richly of cedar, leather, and the crisp bite of his cologne.
"Trying to keep me warm, or just making sure I don't slip away into the dark?" you purred, pulling the lapels tight around your chest as you looked up at him.
Jean let out a low, rough chuckle, his hand sliding right back around your waist to pull you against his side as you turned down a shadowed side street. "Both. Though mostly the second one. I’m not letting you out of arm's reach until we're behind a locked door."
Halfway down the quiet block, right beneath the deep shadow of an archway, you made your move.
Without warning, you hooked your fingers into the front of his shirt, using your leverage to yank him sideways and slam him back against the cold brick wall. Jean’s breath left him in a sharp, startled exhale, his eyes blowing wide with surprise, right before you stepped into his space, pressing your body flush against his.
Your hands slid up his chest, fingers digging hard into his shirt. You tilted your chin, catching his lower lip in a slow, intoxicating kiss that tasted of sweet bourbon and pure challenge.
A low, rough groan vibrated deep in Jean's chest as pure instinct took over. His right hand dropped from your waist, his large palm sliding low to grip the soft curve of your ass, hauling your hips flush against his. He held you right where he needed you, his knuckles tightening as every muscle in his frame coiled with heat, barely keeping a grip on his fraying control.
You didn't hide the sly grin against his mouth as you pulled back just a fraction of an inch, your thumb brushing the hollow of his cheek as you held his heated gaze.
"You talk too much, darling," you murmured, your thumb tracing the hard curve of his jaw while your grin widened against his skin.
His pulse thundered beneath your palms, his breath coming hot and uneven against your cheek. The sheer restraint radiating off him was palpable, his jaw locked as his fingers dug into you, fighting the sudden, intense urge to flip your positions right there against the brick.
He let out a low, gravelly groan, resting his forehead against yours for a beat as he forced himself to hold back.
"You're testing me," Jean growled softly, a dark, airy laugh breaking through his restraint.
His palm reluctantly released its tight grip on your ass, his fingers dragging slowly up the curve of your hip until his hand resettled firmly around your waist once more. He pushed off the wall, using his height to gently steer you back toward the sidewalk without breaking physical contact.
"You are severely testing me, sweetheart," he continued, his voice thick as his arm anchored around you. "And if we stay out here for another thirty seconds, I'm not going to be responsible for what happens next."
Keeping his arm tight around your waist, he picked up the pace, his grip firm and possessive as he guided you the remaining block down the quiet street.
You came to a halt in front of his building, its grand iron gates and heavy wooden doors leading into a high-ceilinged lobby. Jean stepped in close behind you, his chest pressing against your back as he reached past your shoulder to unlock the heavy entryway. His front was hot against your spine, his breath brushing the shell of your ear while the lock clicked open with a satisfying thud.
Jean’s eyes darkened, his grip on your hip tightening, pulling you somehow even closer, as he guided you through the threshold into the lobby, letting the heavy front door click shut behind you both. The sudden silence of the building wrapped around you, thick and expectant.
He didn't break the charged, heavy focus between you as he guided you across the lobby toward the vintage elevator. Pressing the call button without taking his eyes off you, Jean kept his arm securely around your waist. The heavy iron gate rattled open, swallowing you both into the dim, mirrored interior.
The moment the gate slid shut, you took control again. You spun into his space, driving your heels back until his spine hit the metal wall of the elevator. Your hands slid up the front of his shirt, your manicured nails lightly scratching over the taut muscle of his chest while you tilted your chin, your dark, half-lidded eyes holding his burning gaze as the elevator began its smooth, humming ascent.
"Still waiting for that full body search, darling," you purred softly, your fingertips trailing down to the waistband of his jeans, giving his belt loop a slow, deliberate tug that brought your hips flush against his.
Jean swallowed hard, a dark, ragged exhale escaping his throat as his breath hitched. He fought like hell to keep his composure, his hands clamping onto your waist with a steady, grounding pressure — holding you pinned to him while desperately trying not to let his palms wander any lower.
"You're going to be the death of me, sweetheart," Jean growled softly, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that buzzed against your skin as he tried to hold his ground against your relentless teasing.
"Only if you're lucky," you whispered against his jaw, your lips grazing his warm skin just as the elevator chimed to a halt at the top floor.
The iron gate rattled open. Jean let out a low, airy laugh, his long fingers weaving tightly through yours as he led you down the quiet, carpeted hall.
You came to a stop outside his door — a heavy, dark wood entry at the end of the corridor. Jean reached into his pocket for his keys, but as he stepped up to the lock, he hesitated. Before you could even register the pause, his free arm reached around your waist and tugged you backward with a sudden, deliberate pull, bringing your back flush against his chest.
His body radiated heat right through his thin shirt. He locked his arm over your lower belly, his hand pressing firm and possessive, pulling your hips tightly back into his so there was absolutely no mistaking the hard, demanding line of his frame or just how thoroughly you had wrecked his composure. His other hand reached up, his fingers gently cupping your jaw and tilting your chin back.
"Last chance to give back anything else you might have stolen," Jean whispered against your ear, his deep voice thick with restraint. Before you could answer, his teeth caught the soft shell of your earlobe in a sharp, teasing nip, sending a sudden flutter straight down your spine as his breath brushed hot against the sensitive skin of your neck.
You tilted your head back against his shoulder, letting your gaze drag lazily up to meet his as a slow, teasing smirk played on your lips. "I haven't stolen anything else... yet."
Jean let out a low, gravelly groan against your neck, his jaw clenching as he fought to keep a grip on his fraying control. He gave your jaw one last, lingering squeeze before finally releasing you, reaching past your shoulder to slip his key into the lock. The heavy deadbolt gave way with a final, heavy click.
Pushing the door open, Jean caught your hand once more, his grip tight as he pulled you across the threshold, leading you straight into the shadowed expanse of his loft.
The space was expansive and industrial, illuminated only by the soft glow of the city lights pouring through floor-to-ceiling iron-frame windows. Exposed brick walls stretched up toward timber-beamed ceilings, and the faint, rich scent of aged leather and sandalwood hung heavy in the air.
The moment the heavy front door swung shut, the automatic lock snapped into place with a loud, echoing thud, sealing out the rest of the world.
Spinning you around in the dim light, Jean caught you by the waist, his hands spanning your hips as he lifted you off your feet and set you down onto the edge of a heavy wooden entry table against the wall. You let out a soft gasp that was instantly swallowed as his mouth came down on yours.
Jean stepped directly between your knees, his thigh pressing hot against yours as his hands slid up from your waist to frame your face, his fingers tangling in your hair. The kiss was deep and dark, all the restraint he’d been desperately holding onto all night completely dissolving. His tongue glided against yours, tasting of sweet bourbon and a raw, demanding hunger, his thumb stroking your cheekbone as he drank you in.
Your arms wound tightly around his neck, your fingers knotting into the thick spill of his hair as you pulled him flush against you, kissing him back with a fierce, reckless desperation that matched his own. The slow-burning game of cat-and-mouse was gone, replaced by the sheer, electric heat of finally having him right where you wanted him.
When Jean finally pulled back a fraction of an inch, his forehead rested against yours, his chest heaving as he stared down at you with dark hazel eyes.
"Still think you're in complete control, sweetheart?" Jean murmured, his voice a low, husky rumble against your lips as his hand slid down your throat to rest over your rapidly beating pulse, feeling the frantic rhythm beneath your skin.
You let out a low laugh against his mouth, holding his gaze.
Before Jean could even register the smirk playing on your mouth, your hands slid down from his hair, gliding over his shoulders and smoothing down the front of his shirt. Your fingers dropped straight to his waistline, your manicured nails hooking decisively into the leather of his belt.
Jean’s breath hitched violently in his throat, his entire body going rigid. His hands tightened on your waist as he felt the distinct, deliberate pull at his buckle.
"You really don't know how to stop, do you?" Jean growled, his voice dropping into a thick, husky register.
He reached down to capture your wrists, but you met him halfway, leaning up to crash your mouth against his in a kiss so hard, sudden, and demanding that your teeth clashed together. A gasp broke between you, immediately swallowed as the kiss deepened, slick and desperate, completely stealing the air from his lungs.
Taking advantage of his shattered focus, you twisted your wrists in his grip and slipped your fingers free. With swift, practiced ease, you popped the notch loose, pulled the leather strap clear through the buckle, and whipped the belt entirely out of his loops in one fluid motion. The leather clattered loudly onto the hardwood floor.
Jean let out a dark, disarmed groan against your mouth. Before you could drop your hands any lower, his palms clamped around your thighs, digging greedily into your skin. With a sudden surge of strength, he hauled you right to the very edge of the heavy table, your legs wrapping instinctively around his hips.
"Alright, sweetheart," Jean murmured against your jaw, his teeth nipping sharply at the sensitive skin of your neck, making your breath catch in your throat. "You want to play for control? Let's see how long you can keep those hands steady."
He captured your lips again — hard, bruising, and demanding. Teeth scraped against teeth in the frantic rush; every drop of hesitation burned away as your tongues tangled together. His hands gripped your hips, hauling you flush against him until your head spun, your fingers digging wildly into his shoulders just to stay anchored.
A soft sound escaped your throat against his lips. Jean caught it, drinking the noise straight out of you with a low, victorious rumble in his chest.
His right hand slid up from your thigh, skimming over the curve of your hip and diving under the hem of your off-the-shoulder top. His palm was calloused and searingly hot against the bare skin of your waist, his thumb tracing a slow, burning line up your ribs. At the same time, his other hand threaded deep into the back of your hair, tilting your head back to expose the long, delicate column of your neck.
Jean broke the kiss, dragging his mouth down the line of your jaw to press his lips against the hot pulse point at your throat. He bit down — a sharp, bruising pressure that sent an intoxicating shiver straight down your spine — before soothing the mark with a slow, deliberate drag of his tongue.
"Still feeling clever, sweetheart?" Jean whispered against your skin, his hot breath fanning over your throat as his hand on your waist squeezed possessively, pinning your hips so tightly to his that you could feel every frantic beat of his heart against your chest.
His hands slid up from your waist, casually sweeping his heavy leather jacket off your shoulders so it pooled onto the table behind you. Without missing a beat, his palms braced under your thighs, supporting your weight as he lifted you effortlessly into his arms.
Your legs remained locked around his waist as he turned, carrying you across the dark expanse of the loft. Your fingers glided straight to the buttons of his shirt, manicured nails working in a fluid, practiced rhythm. You popped the top buttons open one by one in the dim light, exposing the warm, hard plane of his chest.
Jean’s breath hitched, a low, gravelly growl vibrating in his throat as your knuckles grazed his bare skin with every step.
"You really can't keep your hands to yourself, can you?" Jean murmured, his voice thick as he reached the edge of the bed.
"Not a chance, darling," you muttered against his jaw.
He leaned forward, letting you fall back onto the plush mattress with a thump, never breaking the lock of your legs around his waist as he followed you straight down.
He hovered over you between your thighs, bracing his weight on his forearms on either side of your head. His shirt hung loose where you'd unbuttoned the top, his heaving chest just inches from yours. He caught your hands, pinning your wrists to the mattress beside your head, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin of your inner wrist.
"Now," Jean growled softly, his eyes burning down into yours. "Let's see who runs out of patience first."
He leaned down, burying his face in the curve of your neck. His lips dragged along your collarbone, his teeth catching the soft skin just enough to send a bright, intoxicating heat straight through you, making your hips arch up against his. A dark rumble vibrated in his chest as he felt your reaction.
With your wrists pinned beside your head, you twisted your hands beneath his palms, lacing your fingers tightly through his. Using your grip to pull his forearms inward, you tugged his weight down until his chest pressed flush against yours, bringing his face back up mere millimeters from your lips. Your dark, half-lidded lashes fluttered as you held his burning gaze, a wicked smirk returning to your lips despite the frantic beat of your heart.
"Prove it, Jean," you whispered against his mouth.
Jean’s jaw tightened, a dark and dangerous spark igniting in his eyes at your challenge. He pushed up just enough to create space between your chests, unlacing his fingers from yours so he could reach down. His hands moved down the remaining buttons of his shirt with deliberate focus, sliding the cotton off his shoulders and tossing it aside to expose the cut planes of his chest and abdomen in the dim, golden city light.
The second he was free of it, you reached up, your manicured nails lightly dragging over the warm, defined ridge of his abs before spreading your palm flat against his chest. You bit your lower lip, your eyes trailing down his torso before rising back up to meet his intense gaze.
"Look at you," you cooed, a teasing smirk playing on your lips as your fingers traced the toned line of his abs. "All that talk about me stealing things, and you've been hiding this under your jacket all night?"
Jean’s breath hitched, his abdomen flexing tight under your touch as a low, disarmed chuckle vibrated in his chest. "You're unpredictable," he said, voice rough, his hands sliding possessively down your sides to hook under the hem of your top, gathering the fabric and pulling it over your head in one smooth motion.
His gaze darkened completely as it swept over the dark, lace strapless bra beneath, tracing the line of your collarbones down to the soft swell of your chest. His thumb dragged a slow, burning line across the exposed skin of your waist.
"Gorgeous," Jean murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against your ear as he leaned down, pressing a hot, lingering kiss to the curve of your shoulder.
His hands slid down to the top of your skirt, his fingers hooking into the waistband as he pressed his hips hard against yours, letting you feel every ounce of the restraint he was fighting to keep.
"Still think you're running the show?" Jean whispered against your throat, his teeth lightly catching your skin before his tongue soothed the mark.
You gasped softly, your fingers digging into his bare shoulders as you pulled his face back up to yours. "Keep going, Jean... and maybe I'll let you think you are."
His long fingers worked at the button of your skirt while your hands dropped to his waist, fumbling impatiently with the button of his jeans. With both of you bucking your hips together — his weight heavy and demanding, your body arching up to meet him — it became a frantic struggle against denim and friction.
"Hold still, sweetheart," Jean growled against your lips, his deep voice thick with frustration as he tried to manage your zipper while your hands persistently shoved his jeans down over his hips.
"You hold still," you countered, a laugh escaping your throat as you finally popped his top button loose.
In one urgent, coordinated motion, your skirt and panties were shoved down past your knees, leaving your skin completely exposed to the cool air of the room while his jeans were kicked down his thighs. The second the fabric cleared, Jean’s hands clamped onto the backs of your bare thighs. He parted your legs wider, his mouth sliding down the center of your stomach, past your belly button, and trailing hot, stinging bites along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.
You gasped, your fingers knotting into the sheets as his teeth grazed higher, his hot breath fanning against your core. He paused there for an agonizing second, letting the anticipation build until you were practically writhing beneath him.
But before he could lay a single kiss where you wanted it most, you used his momentum against him.
Bracing your hands against his broad shoulders, you leveraged a sudden, surprising burst of strength, twisting your hips and rolling him flat onto his back. He let out a sharp, startled grunt as he hit the mattress, his hazel eyes widening in sheer shock as you ended up straddling his waist face-to-face.
You didn't give him a second to recover. Holding his heated gaze through heavy, dark lashes, you braced your hands on the mattress on either side of his head and leaned down over his chest. You lowered your torso, pressing your bare core and hips flush against his, pinning him beneath your weight while remaining mere inches from his face.
Jean’s eyes blew wide, his breath catching violently as his hands instinctively flew up to clamp around the backs of your thighs to steady you and hold you tight against him.
You leaned down slightly further, a slow, triumphant smirk spreading across your lips as you held his gaze from inches away. "I told you," you said, your voice a low, wicked vibration against his skin. "Maybe I'll let you think you're running things."
Without waiting for his answer, you shifted your weight, reached upward, and locked your fingers firmly around the dark wooden headboard above his head. Dragging your body slowly up his torso, you pulled yourself higher until you were straddling his face, hovering your bare core just millimeters above his lips.
Jean’s breath hitched, hot and uneven against your sensitive skin as he stared up at you with dark, blown-out pupils. You held yourself right on the precipice, a teasing, intoxicating torture that left him completely breathless.
"You like to take your time, don't you, darling?" you whispered down at him, your hips swaying just out of reach.
A low, dark growl vibrated in Jean's chest. Abandoning any remaining shred of patience, his hands flew up to clamp tightly around your hips.
"Not anymore, sweetheart," Jean muttered against your skin.
With a firm, uncompromising pull, he forced you down flush against his mouth, his thumb digging into the curve of your hip to hold you pinned right where he wanted you. You gasped, breath catching and your knuckles turning white against the headboard as his tongue swiped up— hot, heavy, and deliberate, taking long, devastating strokes that completely wiped the smirk right off your face and had your knees trembling against the mattress.
He didn't rush. With a torturously slow, practiced rhythm, Jean used his lips and tongue to drive you completely out of your head, drawing low, helpless whimpers from your throat with every deep, swirling flick. The sheer heat of him beneath you, his chest heaving, his jaw working mercilessly against your sensitive skin, completely shattered whatever clever remarks you had left.
"Jean–" you gasped out, hips rolling helplessly into his mouth.
He didn't break his rhythm for a single second. Instead, a dark, victorious hum vibrated against your core, his hands squeezing your thighs tighter as he drank in your reaction, proving that even with you on top, he still knew exactly how to make you melt.
Just as the tension coiled tight enough to snap, Jean’s hands tightened on your thighs like iron bands.
Before you could reach the edge, he moved. In one explosive, sudden surge of strength, Jean braced his foot on the mattress, twisted his hips, and flipped you completely back onto your spine.
You let out a startled sound, half protest, your hands grasping blindly at his bare shoulders as the sudden loss of friction hit you like a wave of cold water. "Jean, wait–"
Jean drove his weight back down between your parted legs, using his hands to pin your wrists flush against the pillows on either side of your head. He hovered over you, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with a dark, triumphant fire that made your throat go completely dry. The sudden, agonizing denial had your body humming with frustration, leaving you a desperate mess beneath him, arching up into his space without an ounce of your previous pride left.
"My turn now, sweetheart," Jean growled low in his throat.
He slammed his mouth down onto yours, taking your lips in a kiss so deep and heavy it stole the air from your lungs. The intoxicating taste of your own slick heat coated his tongue, sliding hot against yours as he drank in every breathless, whimpering sound you made against his mouth.
While keeping you thoroughly pinned beneath the heavy heat of his torso, Jean released one of your wrists. His hand reached down to his waist, hooking his fingers into the waistband of his briefs and shoving them down his thighs in one rough, impatient motion, kicking them free.
The seared press of his bare skin against your inner thigh made your breath hitch violently. You twisted your fingers through his, completely surrendering your lead as Jean took absolute control of the bed.
His hand slid up from your waist, his fingers tangling tight into the hair at the back of your head to hold you right where he wanted you. The dark heat of his mouth stayed locked onto yours, his tongue sweeping deep, tasting yourself on him over and over while his hips began to drive forward, grinding the full, searing length of his shaft hard and heavy against your slick core.
You let out a sharp, helpless gasp right into his mouth, your resistance completely dissolving into shallow, desperate gasps as the rolling, friction-heavy pressure sent waves of intense heat straight through your lower belly.
His other hand moved down between your bodies, his palm hooking under the crook of your knee to pull your leg up and over his hip. The shift brought his bare, heavy weight flush against you, his shaft sliding thick and hot through your wetness with every dark, deliberate roll of his hips.
You whimper into the kiss, your hips arching up instinctively, begging to bridge the last fraction of an inch between you.
Jean caught your hips in a punishing grip, holding you still for one agonizing second as he pulled back just far enough to look down at you. His eyes burned in the dim light, dark and heavy with raw desire, his chest heaving against yours.
"Still trying to run the show, sweetheart?" Jean growled, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against your flushed skin.
"Jean, please," you gasped out, all your clever teasing entirely gone, your knuckles white as you gripped his broad shoulders.
A dark, satisfied smirk touched his lips right before he lined himself up and pushed slowly inside you.
Your head fell back into the pillows, a cry tearing from your throat as he filled you completely in one smooth, unrelenting stroke. Jean let out a low, ragged groan against your neck, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as his hands tightened on your hips, letting you adjust to the sheer size and heat of him before he began a slow and devastating rhythm that claimed every last bit of you.
Jean took his time to drive you completely out of your mind until you were nothing more than a trembling, pliable mess beneath him. Every deep, deliberate thrust shattered whatever remaining pride you had left, his chest heavy against yours, his breath hot and ragged as he claimed every inch of you.
Just as you caught the rhythm, Jean gripped your waist tightly and pulled himself back, slipping free of your heat for just a brief, agonizing second. He flipped you onto your stomach before you could even register the loss.
Before you could draw a full breath, he was back over you, sinking his weight back down between your parted legs. He hooked his hands firmly under your hips, lifting you up so your spine arched into the mattress, and guided himself straight back inside. The sudden depth of the angle tore a broken cry straight from your throat.
One of his arms wrapped securely across your waist, pinning your lower body flush against his heavy, searing heat as he drove deep into you from behind. His other hand reached forward, his long fingers cupping your jaw to tilt your head up and back, exposing the delicate column of your neck to his mouth.
Jean growled low in your ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin right beneath your earlobe as he set a hard, punishing pace. "Thought you were so slick tonight, didn't you?" he rasped, his voice a thick, dark rumble against your skin as his hips snapped forward into yours. "Teasing me in the alley, sliding your little fingers into my coat..."
He thrust into you again, deep and unrelenting, his grip on your waist tightening until you felt completely pinned to his frame.
"...taking my wallet," Jean muttered, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath scalding against your skin. "And then my watch right off my wrist while I had you pinned against the brick."
He pulled back just to drive home again, making the headboard rattle against the wall as a desperate whimper escaped your lips.
"So tell me, sweetheart," Jean whispered, his thumb pressing hard against your jawline as his rhythm picked up, hard and possessive. "What else are you planning on stealing from me tonight?"
You tried to summon whatever witty, sarcastic remark you had left, but the moment you opened your mouth, Jean's hand slid down from your waist, his long fingers finding your slick, swollen core and rubbing a firm, relentless circle over your clit.
Every clever comeback evaporated into a sharp, breathless gasp. The double sensation of his heavy thrusts from behind and the precision of his thumb shattered what little composure you had remaining. Your back arched violently, your thighs trembling as a sudden, overwhelming orgasm crashed through you, wringing a loud, undone cry from your throat.
He rode you straight through the peak of it, letting out a low, dark growl of satisfaction against your ear as he felt your body clamping tight around him.
While you were still shuddering and gasping for air, Jean pressed his palm flat between your shoulder blades, pushing your chest and face down into the soft depth of the mattress and pillows. Your hips remained high, pinned flush against him as he picked up the pace, pounding into you with hard, deep, relentless thrusts that made the headboard slam against the wall.
"That's it," Jean rasped, his voice thick and completely undone as his fingers dug into your hip, holding you steady for his brutal, punishing rhythm. "Take it."
The intense friction against your sensitive, post-orgasmic core had you whimpering into the sheets, completely at his mercy. With a final, deep, violent drive that buried him as far inside you as he could go, Jean let out a low, ragged groan. He pulled clear out of you at the absolute last second, his body rigid above yours as he released hot and heavy across the smooth curve of your lower back.
He collapsed forward over you, his heavy, muscular frame crushing you into the mattress as his chest heaved, his hot breath fanning across your neck in the quiet darkness of the loft.
For a few heavy, silent moments, the only sound in the dark loft was the ragged sound of Jean's breathing and the frantic beat of your own heart against the mattress. His heavy frame stayed collapsed over your back, his forehead buried in the crook of your neck, his weight warm and crushing against you.
You caught your breath, waiting just long enough for your voice to stop shaking before you turned your face sideways against the pillow.
"You know..." you rasped out, a sly grin tugging at the corner of your lips despite how completely wrecked you were. "For a guy who spent the whole night talking about his iron restraint..."
Jean let out a low, muffled rumble of a laugh against your skin, his shoulder shifting as he slowly lifted his head to look down at you in the dark.
"...you were embarrassingly easy," you purred, looking up at him through heavy eyes. "This was the plan the second I saw you."
Jean stared down at you, his eyes dark with amused disbelief before a slow, crooked grin spread across his face. He reached out, his fingers cupping your chin and giving your jaw a lazy squeeze.
"Is that right, sweetheart?" Jean said, his voice thick and deep with residual exhaustion. "You know, this exact same thing could have happened three hours ago if you'd just let me buy you a drink at the bar, instead of picking my pocket and leading me on a wild chase halfway across the city."
You tilted your chin, your grin widening as you looked him dead in the eye. "And where's the fun in that, darling?"
Jean let out a low laugh, shaking his head as he leaned down to press one last, slow kiss to the corner of your mouth. "You're trouble."
He pushed himself up with a heavy sigh, his bare torso gleaming in the dim loft light as he stood by the side of the bed. Without a word, he padded over to the adjoining bathroom and returned a moment later holding a warm, damp towel.
Sitting back down on the edge of the mattress, Jean gently gathered your hips, pulling you toward him. His calloused hands, the same ones that had been pinning you to the bed minutes ago, were surprisingly tender as he carefully cleaned the warm mess off your lower back and thighs.
You let out a quiet, contented hum, your head resting against your arms on the pillow as you watched him through half-lidded eyes.
"Look at this," Jean murmured, a faint, lopsided smirk tugging at his lips as his eyes flicked up to meet yours. "You steal my wallet, rob me of my watch, completely wreck my bedroom... and I'm the one giving you a spa treatment."
You let out a soft laugh against the pillow. "It's called customer service, Jean."
"You weren't a customer, you were a mugger," he chuckled darkly, tossing the towel toward a chair.
He slid back under the covers, gathering your warm, exhausted body flush against his chest and pulling the heavy duvet over both of you. You tucked your head right into the crook of his neck, your arm slinging over his ribs.
Jean’s chest rumbled against your cheek as he let out one last, low chuckle, his arm tightening around your waist to pull you impossibly closer into his heat.
He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm and heavy in the dark room.
"By the way, sweetheart..." Jean whispered, a wicked, amused rasp in his voice. "...don't get any bright ideas about sneaking out in the middle of the night or taking anything else from my pockets."
You shifted slightly against his chest, peering up at him through heavy, sleep-dusted lashes. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah," he murmured, his thumb rubbing a slow, lazy circle over your hip. "I hid your panties. So if you plan on robbing me again before sunrise, you're going to have to walk all the way back to your place in that short skirt with absolutely nothing underneath."
A soft laugh escaped your lips, your cheek pressing back down against the solid warm plane of his chest. "You're terrible, Jean."
"Go to sleep," he grunted softly, pressing a lingering, tender kiss into your hair as he finally let his eyes close, holding you fast against him until you both drifted off into the dark.
fem!kyojuro rengoku who's huge, but not intimidating at all. she's like a bun of soft bread, warm and fluffy, who can pick you up easily and enjoys showing you how strong she is and how can she manhandle you however she wants.
oh, she's definitely the type to pick you up unannounced when you get angry. she grabs you with one arm around the waist, pulling you in and throwing you over one shoulder, completely disorienting you from what you were going to say. she usually does this when you're getting frustrated about something that you can't fix at the moment and the best way to pull you out of the situation is physically separating from it.
if, somehow, you're angry at her, she picks you up under your armpits, putting you in a short air jail while you kick your legs and she apologizes to you, kissing the tip of your nose. but it's true that you rarely get angry at her.
she's the best wife ever, she cooks and cleans, she works out with only bands covering her chest in the backyard and loves when you sit down to watch her. she's sweaty and smells like ashes most of the times, so she insists on you washing her, hoping that some of your sweet scent will rub onto her.
and she knows how to please you. she's always known how. sometimes you would love for her to breed you and have at least four children walking around your estate, but while that's not possible, she has a good talent with her fingers and tongue.
her goal increases with each sexual encounter, after three years of marriage, she wants to make you cum five times and squirt two every time you and her are intimate. she barely lets you taste her now! although it's true that kyojuro has always been more on the giving side rather than giving. she loves too much your pretty face when you cum, or your embarrassment when you squirt all over her.
even when you're not having sex, she adores your natural scent, she likes to fall asleep with her head buried either in your pussy or armpit, leaving a trail of kisses to wake you up each time
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ：𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅 👀 i sure do love me some older men — 𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐬𝐚 𑣲
┆𝖯𝖱𝖮 𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖮 － 𝖤𝖱𝖠𝖲𝖴𝖱𝖤 𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖮：𝖤𝖱𝖠𝖲𝖤𝖱 𝖧𝖤𝖠𝖣
“a girlfriend who’s in her twenties and a boyfriend who’s in his late thirties.. a little scandalous wouldn’t you say, eraserhead?” oh you were done for.
"scandalous?" he repeated, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly whisper. he took two long strides toward you, closing the distance until his shadow completely enveloped your frame. he loomed over you, his height forcing you to tilt your head back just a bit to maintain eye contact. “you have no idea how scandalous this is, princess.” he played along, the pet name slipped out before he could stop it.. rough, crude, and dripping with intent. he reached out, his calloused hands framing your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones with surprising tenderness despite the intensity in his gaze.
“yeah, i know. and look at you, i feel like you get handsomer the older you get. it’s good that i like rough, mature older men.” you spoke, teasing him with that playful smile about your age gap with him, wrapping your arms around his neck. shouta felt a surge of something fluttering beneath his ribs. you were calling it out, acknowledging it with a grin that made him want to ruin that composure of yours.
shouta’s entire body stiffened when he felt you wrapping those arms around his neck. the contact was electric, he could feel the last thread of his self restraint faltering. the part of him that was the logical, disciplined and composed, simply disintegrated at that moment. a low him rumbled deep in his chest, "yeah? you really don't know when to quit, do you?" his hands slid down from your face, one gripping your waist with bruising force to pull you flush against him. “you want mature?" he rasped against your ear, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "you want rough?" without warning, he hooked his arm under your thighs and hoisted you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist to keep from falling. he backed you toward the bed, his movements urgent, the clumsiness of his own desire the way his heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped animal made him feel more alive than he had in years. “then i’ll give you what you want.” he leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple, then another to your cheek, avoiding your lips for a moment to give you and himself space to breathe. his thumb traced the line of your jaw with agonizing slowness.
shouta saw the way your lip caught between your teeth, the way your breath stuttered when his hands found your breasts. he wasn't gentle, but he wasn’t too harsh either. his palms were rough, the callouses scraping lightly against your skin as he kneaded your tits, thumbs rolling over your nipples until they peaked hard against his touch. “so responsive.” he rasped, his voice thick with arousal. shouta leaned down, his face inches from yours, watching the way your pupils dilated. “does it excite you?" shifting his weight, your boyfriend pressed the hardness of his cock through his trousers against the sensitive heat between your thighs. he could feel your dampness even through the fabric, a silent confirmation of how badly you wanted him. “knowing I've seen more of the world's ugliness than you ever will? knowing I could break you if I wasn't careful?" his hands slid down from your chest, tracing the lines of your body before his fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants. “does that really excite you, sweet girl?”
┆𝖫𝖤𝖠𝖦𝖴𝖤 𝖮𝖥 𝖵𝖨𝖫𝖫𝖠𝖨𝖭𝖲 － 𝖵𝖨𝖫𝖫𝖠𝖨𝖭 ：𝖣𝖠𝖡𝖨
the apartment had fallen into a comfortable, heavy silence, broken only by the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant murmur of the city outside. the earlier storm of your little tantrum against him had passed, leaving behind a fragile, exhausted peace. dabi sat against the cushions of the couch, his entire focus was anchored on the figure curled against him. he was relieved you were calmer now, less annoyed than he was earlier. dabi found it amusing whenever you had your moments, complaining to him about things that served no purpose.. it was funny, really. but y’know what would be more amusing? if he shut you up with his dick.
“hey. you wanna go on your knees on the floor and do this or are you fine.. on your knees like you are right now on the couch?” you shook your head as a means to say you were fine the way you were.. you really did still act all naive and childish. he looked down at you, feeling almost disoriented by the domesticity of it all. a week ago, he had been standing on a rusted fire escape, calculating how to keep you at arm's length and keep you well-behaved. let’s just say now, he finally knew how to shut you up whenever you got too mouthy with him. he was wrapped in fur blankets, with you sucking his cock dry beside him.
his right hand was partially buried beneath the pile of blankets holding your hand, he noted how perfectly intertwined his hand was against yours, your hands warm against his own scarred, rough skin. he squeezed your fingers gently, a silent reassurance that he wasn't going anywhere. but his left remained free, his fingers interlaced with your hair. “you’re like a needy doll when you get like this," he murmured, his voice low and devoid of its usual venom. "clinging to me like I'm some kind of heating pad.” despite the teasing lilt in his words, there was no mockery in his eyes. he reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. the blue light from the television cast shifting shadows across his patchwork skin, but his gaze remained fixed on you and how well you were sucking him off.
“you calm now, doll?” he asked quietly. "or am I still the biggest jerk in japan like you said i was earlier?"
you gazed up at him, your mouth wrapped around his cock as you mumble against him.. earning a soft grunt from him. you pull away for a split second, “i’ve been calm all this time.” your boyfriend let out a genuine chuckle, a rare sound that rumbled deep in his chest like distant thunder. "sure you were, princess. whatever you say. now c’mon, get to work. you need to be a big girl and learn how to take dick in your mouth, especially mine.” he paused, his lips curling into a smirk as he grabbed a handful of your hair. “and only mine, right pretty?” the way you nodded and immediately retreated back into his space, wrapping your mouth against his length as if seeking more made something in his stomach tighten. dabi settled back into the cushions, adjusting the blankets to make sure you were properly cocooned but also keeping eye on how good you were taking him in your mouth. his other hand that was holding yours let go, suddenly tracing idle, absentminded patterns across your lower back.
“good girl.” he murmured, his voice dropping to that gravelly, intimate register reserved only for you. "you better keep at it because I'm not in the mood to deal with any more of your dramatic tantrums tonight, you got that?”
┆𝖯𝖱𝖮 𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖮 － 𝖶𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖮 ：𝖧𝖠𝖶𝖪𝖲
keigo let out a sound that was half groan, half choke as you pressed yourself against him. his back hit the wall with a soft thud, but he barely registered it. all he could feel was the softness of your body crushing against his firm chest, the way your hands felt against his shirt, and the overwhelming heat of your mouth claiming his again. his hands flew to your waist, gripping your hips hard enough to leave faint marks through the fabric, anchoring you to him. he tilted his head to deepen the angle, his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that was clumsy but desperate. he tasted you, his breath coming in ragged gasps that stuttered against your lips. “in my office where anyone can walk in anytime is a little evil, birdie.” his cock was already straining painfully against the fabric of his trousers, throbbing with every kiss you pressed into him. he felt like he was losing control, his usual composure crumbling like ash. he wanted to push your dress up, to feel your bare skin against his palms, to lose himself in you completely.
“yeah.. but isn’t it exciting to be doing this with your girlfriend who’s a few years younger than you?”
your boyfriend let out a rough, breathless chuckle. the proximity was maddening, he could feel the soft swell of your breasts against his chest with every breath you took, and the way your fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck made his entire body shudder. the age gap didn't feel like a gap at all, to him it merely felt like a spark between two people who had been circling each other for far too long. “younger, huh?" he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky register. he leaned down, dragging his lips along the sensitive column of your throat, inhaling the scent of your skin. he nipped lightly at the junction where your neck met her shoulder, a habit he couldn't quite suppress. “is that what this is about? i don’t think that’s much of a problem.. at least to me, don’tcha think?” keigo’s teeth grazed your skin just enough to make you gasp before he soothed the spot with his tongue. his hands slid from your waist, wandering upward to trace the curve of your spine, he was trying so hard to be the smooth, experienced keigo you might expect from a former number two hero, but the way his hips involuntarily bucked against yours betrayed how badly he was struggling to keep it together.
“a few years means nothing when you're looking at me like that," he panted against your skin, his lips moving to find yours again. His touch became more insistent, his palms sliding down to the swell of your ass, gripping you firmly as he pulled your pelvis flush against his own hard cock. the friction made him whimper low in his throat, his control fraying at the edges. “besides," he whispered against your mouth, his golden eyes dark with a raw, desperate hunger, “i think I'm the one who's about to lose control here. so don’t stop, baby bird.” wink. keigo shifted his stance, pressing his thigh between your legs to emphasize the hard ridge straining against his zipper. his hands moved higher up your thighs, bunching the fabric of your dress upward. “since you're being so chatty... why don't we stop talking about numbers and start focusing on what we're actually here to do, little birdie?”
┆𝖯𝖱𝖮 𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖮 － 𝖡𝖬𝖨 𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖮 ：𝖥𝖠𝖳 𝖦𝖴𝖬
“babe can you start with something else? y’know.. so I can atleast prepare and get used to the feeling first?” you gazed up at him nervously, hoping he guessed your hint of wanting to try some sort of fingering or oral first before the major stuff.
taishiro let out a chuckle that seemed to soothe you, his yellow gaze softened with affection, but there was still that unmistakable hungry glint in them the kind that told you he wasn't going to be gentle for long. he loved seeing you like this.. flustered, vulnerable, and completely undone by him. “smart girl. always thinking ahead, huh?" he murmured, his voice dropping into a gravelly register that made your toes curl. he reached out, one massive hand cupping your cheek while the other slid down to rest on your inner thigh, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there. the heat from his palm was intense. “don’t you worry none, cupcake. i’m not gonna rush anything.” without breaking eye contact, he shifted his weight, crawling forward until he was hovering directly over you. his movements were deliberate and careful, mindful not to crush your frame. he moved down your body, his nose brushing against your stomach as he planted slow, wet kisses along your abdomen, savoring the way your muscles tensed beneath his touch.
it wasn’t long before he settled between your pressed thighs. the heat radiating from his body was overwhelming. he didn't go straight for the prize.. instead, he used his large hands to slowly pry your legs apart, creating space for himself. his tongue darted out to wet his lips before he lowered his head, his breath hot against your folds. “y—you seem to be enjoying this.. you still got it, it seems.” you tried to subconsciously tease him about his age, covering your mouth with your hand to stifle a moan when he pressed his tongue against you in one long, deliberate stroke.
taishiro didn't pull away when you spoke, picking up on your little tease against him. he let out a deep, vibrating sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan against your sensitive flesh. his tongue swiped upward again, more insistent this time, tasting you with shameless enthusiasm while his fingers began to explore the slick heat between your legs. “damn right I'm enjoyin' it sugar,” he rumbled, his voice muffled slightly by your thighs as he lifted his head just enough to flash you a cocky, lopsided grin. his eyes were blown wide with arousal, tracking the way your hips instinctively bucked toward him. “and you know damn well age don't mean shit when you taste this good.“ his fingers slid deeper into you, finding your entrance and testing how receptive you were, stretching you with careful but firm pressure.
“still.. you're the one who keeps beggin' for it anyway, ain't ya?” his crude honesty would have been mortifying if his actions weren't so intoxicating. reaching up, he grabbed both of your wrists, pinning them gently but securely beside your head. he wanted you still, wanting you to feel every single sensation without any way to escape the onslaught of his attention. his free hand slid down to cradle your ass, lifting your hips slightly to give him better access. “now hush with that smart mouth, sweet cheeks,” he teased, though his tone was thick with genuine emotion. “.. before I decide to fuck it senseless.” he leaned back down, his tongue finding your clit with devastating accuracy, lapping at you in rapid, swirling motions while two of his thick fingers began to work their way inside you, stretching you open to prepare for what was coming.
“Oh come on, don’t be a baby,” he taunts, subtly flexing his arms as if to remind you that you’re in strong hands. Huffing, you reply, “Toru, what if you drop me? To which he laughs, full on laughs at you. “You’re funny do y’know that? Now stop whining and come on,” he motions for you to follow him towards the bench.
Begrudgingly, you follow, but not without whining about how stupid the entire ordeal is.
Of course, Satoru would want to show off, what did you think he was? Humble?
He lies down on the bench, beckoning you closer with his fingers. “Come on,” he drawled, “Don’t be shy.” You make your way over to the top of the bench, suddenly feeling slightly self-conscious as he brushes his hand along your thigh. “Why do I have to do this?” You question with a roll of your eyes.
Satoru smirks lazily, “The answer is simple, sweets.” One hand wraps around your thigh, tugging you closer to his chest. “I just love —” you’re suddenly tilted forwards and hoisted up by your boyfriend’s strong hands, “— embarrassing you.”
A startled squeal leaves your mouth at the abrupt movement. Your hands wrap around his bicep, as if it were going to save you — which it technically was.
“Satoru!” You squeak, “Put me down!”
He laughs menacingly, lowering your body oh-so slowly down to his chest before pushing you back up again. “I don’t think so, babe,” he snickers, watching the way you tremble in his grasp. One hand is locked onto your thigh while the other is planted firmly below your collarbone.
Unsurprisingly, Satoru is phenomenal at this. His form remains strong while he bench presses your entire body without even breaking a sweat! He doesn’t even seem to have changed his breathing pattern while holding your body weight. Nonetheless, you continue to protest against his movements, digging your nails into the muscle of his bicep in a feeble attempt to escape his grasp.
“There’s no escape, you’ll have to endure the agony a little longer. Just a few more reps, babe,” he exclaims, far too happy with himself. You yelp when he playfully drops you down faster than previous reps, “Satoru, this isn’t funny!”
He croons as he flashes his signature grin, “Oh but it so is.”
During his last rep, he presses a chaste kiss to your stomach, smiling into your skin before setting you back down.
You glare at it while your heart continues to pound within your chest, “You’re horrible.” An unapologetic grin spread across his face.
He places a hand over his heart, feigning offence. “You wound me, really.” Your eyes narrow as he stands, towering over you. “You’re annoying.”
“And you love me for it!” He counters far too quickly.
“Unfortunately…”
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I wrote this in the middle of the night ok and thank you again for 3k lovelies
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