18+ slight angst. meet footballer!gojo & his cheerleader fwb !
1. CHEERLEADERS ARE FOR CHEERING—NOT FONDLING!
“girl… isn’t that your man?”
your first mistake is letting your eyes follow shoko’s gaze to the bleachers. your second mistake is making eye contact with golden boy gojo satoru, still in his jersey & ‘hiding’ behind a skinny pole with a very annoyed geto suguru by his side.
you don’t bother correcting shoko. instead you ignore the grin satoru flashes you, taking out the water bottle between your lips with a pop! “is he supposed to be hiding?”
shoko shrugs, turns on her heel. “dunno, ask him. he’s clearly waiting.”
you roll your eyes with a sigh, but you’re already moving.
shoes clicking against the wood gym floor, skirt swishing between your thighs. gojo satoru has long come out of his hiding spot. he’s slumped against the pole now; hands in his pockets, grin lazy, blue eyes glimmering in the orange sun. beside him geto suguru is there, jaw tight in an expression that says he’d rather be anywhere but here.
you still have your bottle in hand when gojo reaches for your hips. “hi, baby…”
you barely murmur back a hi before he’s tugging you in by your skirt. his head dips to kiss your neck, then your cheek, then somewhere else your brain doesn’t register because his hands glide up to squeeze your ass cheeks underneath your skirt. a soft noise slips past your lips as he sucks on your neck.
“mm,” he murmurs, “missed you.”
geto clears his throat.
you let satoru do as he pleases, threading your hands through his hair as his hand dips between your inner thighs. he hums into your neck when you scratch his scalp. “suguru,” you breathe, “how’d you two even get here? coach toji’s gonna kill you guys.”
“kiss,” satoru interrupts. you tilt your head towards him, eyes still on suguru as gojo presses his lips to yours.
suguru’s face twists in disgust, but he doesn’t comment. “satoru bribed him. paid him a couple hundreds to see you for five minutes.”
“right—” your voice strains when gojo gropes your ass once again. “and you followed him because?”
geto is already looking away. “he bribed me too.”
you snort, but it turns into a shiver as satoru sucks on your earlobe. he hums, pleased, when your fingers tighten in his hair.
“mmh… got an away match,” he kisses your jaw. “wanted to see my girl first.”
you’re not his girl, you know you’ll never be, but you still laugh when he squeezes your waist & presses hurried kisses to your cheek. you shove him away & his grin is cocky.
“gonna score for you,” he tugs you back, dipping his head to your ear. “and then you’ll treat me, yeah?”
you hum when his arms snake around your hips once again.
“only if you score the winning goal.”
2. POST MATCH SEXCAPADES !
satoru comes back too late.
you’re not sure exactly why—maybe overtime, maybe the team stopped somewhere to celebrate their win—but you don’t let the thought plague you. you’re more concerned about the fact that it’s nearly evening & you can hear a ball kicking against the gym walls. you’re still in your cheer uniform, tiny skirt & sheer top, standing at the metal doors as you watch gojo dribble on his own.
he stops dribbling to catch his breath, wiping sweat off his chin. and then he’s off to sit at the bleachers, letting water slide down his neck as he chugs from a bottle.
you take it as your cue.
you have your hands behind your back, padding all slow, steps soft as you make your way to him. gojo keeps his bottle pressed to his lips but he sees it. how your skirt clings to your thighs. how your breasts ripple under the thin material. he lets out a low hum as you sit yourself on his lap.
you loop your hands around his neck. “hi.”
his lip tugs. “hi,”
he squeezes your waist as you press yourself into him. your tits smush against his chest, nipples hardening, and his fingers are already tracing the hem of your skirt & gliding up your thigh.
“how was the match?” you mumble.
“was good,” he mutters, but his thumb has already found your panties underneath your skirt. he rubs a slow circle over the bud. “you miss me?”
“no,” you sass, but he presses his thumb into your clit & your hips stutter. satoru laughs.
“i know what you like now,” he hums, left hand gliding up your side as the other rubs slow circles over your panties. “know it only takes a little.”
his thumb finds your nipple through your thin shirt. he rubs a circle over the pebbled peak, slow, but then he raises a brow. “no bra?”
you can’t respond. your breath hitches as your head falls into his shoulder.
“so cute,” he murmurs softly. he lets you press against him, leaving your panties to grope your heavy tits in his palm. he squeezes and fondles, pressing light kisses to your cheek as you make pretty noises in his ear. your hips buck into him.
“needy,” he scoffs, but his hands come up to guide your hips as you rut against him. he’s already hard and your panties are soaked thin and you let the material cling between your folds as your clit rubs against him. he flips up your skirt to find you drenched & slobbering. he bites his cheek.
“fuck, baby,” he rasps, sliding your panties over your aching cunt. you’re still humping him. “why’s your pussy so fucking wet?”
you only whimper as he presses his thumb to your sticky clit, rubbing hard circles over the bud. his other hand gropes your hip, guiding you faster over him. your breathing shudders as his thumb circles your clit faster and harder, until your hips are stuttering & he’s cupping your pussy so you cum in his palm.
you whimper, tears pricking at your lashes as you come down from your high. satoru kisses your cheek slow. “mmh, good job, baby.”
he’s still rubbing his palm over your pussy, massaging your warmth all slow & lazy. your eyes drop to his bulge, his cock practically twitching in his shorts. you reach a hand to glide over it, palming him so his hips twitch. he inhales sharply, “fuck—”
“not in my uniform,” he steals your hand, kissing your jaw. “gonna be a nightmare to clean.”
you glare at him through your lashes. “it’s already dirty, idiot.”
he laughs at your pretty face glaring up at him. your cheeks are still flushed, lashes wet, and your lips are in a frown but satoru swears you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. he folds his hand over yours and dips his head to kiss you warm & slow. you gasp as his tongue pushes in, a soft moan leaving your lips as his tongue grazes yours.
“another time,” he murmurs against your lips. “no pouting, yeah?”
you pout anyways, and satoru kisses it off.
3. NOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND !
satoru is driving too fast.
his jaw is tight, knuckles white against the steering as you clutch your seatbelt beside him. your heart hammers against your ribs but the engine soon slows, his foot easing down on the breaks as the car comes to a stop at a traffic light.
today’s match went bad, really bad, so bad to the point that afterwards you’d tried to console him and he’d simply walked past. you try not to let it get to you. you know how men are when it comes to losing in sports.
but satoru’s breathing settles beside you, so you try once more.
“you played good today.”
silence.
"i know you're upset," you continue, voice soft. "but it's just one game, and you'll get them next time.”
silence again. his jaw only ticks, face illuminated by the traffic light’s red glow. the seconds seem to stretch into minutes, and you fumble with your skirt.
“you did your best,” you turn to him. “that’s all that matters—“
“can you stop?”
you freeze.
satoru doesn’t look at you. his fingers tap against the steering as he lowers his foot to the gas pedal. he’s not speeding anymore, but the silence stretches & you can feel a lump clawing at your throat.
you bite your lip. and satoru’s mad, yes, but he’s got no right to talk to you like that or take his anger out on you. so you suck in a breath, try to correct him. “i was only trying to help. you don’t have to take it out on me—“
“do you ever get tired of talking?”
“what?”
but satoru continues. “you always have something to say, don’t you? you’re not my fucking girlfriend. and i don’t need your fucking comfort.”
you blink. the words don’t register at first, but soon your throat is closing up, and you’re nodding obediently before you can think any better of it. your skirt bunches in your hands as you try to keep your breathing steady. god forbid you give him a reason to snap at you once again.
“you’re right,” you try for sass but it fails. “and i won’t act like it again.”
but satoru sees you through the rearview mirror. your eyes are on your lap, like you’re still trying to process what just happened, your thumbs fiddling with the hem of your skirt. satoru only swallows, glances away. if he ignores you long enough, you’ll be just fine, right?
your breath hitches beside him and he crumbles immediately.
he’s already pulling over, unbuckling his belt to reach over the console. “no baby, i’m sorry,” he pleads, and maybe he shouldn’t because it only makes tears fall from your eyes. “shh baby don’t cry, i’m sorry, i’m so fucking sorry.”
he smushes your face into his chest, carding his fingers through your hair. you try to push him away but he takes your hand and presses it to his chest.
“didn’t mean to snap at you,” his breathing is ragged as he cups your face. “don’t cry baby, you know i hate it when you cry.”
you sniffle as he swipes a thumb over your wet lashes. “then what are we?”
satoru doesn’t answer. instead he presses his lips to yours, slow and warm, head tilting to deepen the kiss. “you’re my girl,” kiss. “my baby,” kiss. “my everything,” kiss.
he doesn’t say my girlfriend. but he doesn’t need to, right?
footballer!gojo doesn’t do relationships. and cheerleaders like you don’t make good girlfriends anyway. so you swallow the lump growing in your throat & let him part open your thighs.
john price who is actually so whipped for his wife that she doesn’t need to ask twice for the same thing.
so when she stops by base to drop him off lunch, she’s immediately met with his backside, watching as husband barks orders at his soldiers running drills. she admires the stamina they all have on them, the endurance to push themselves beyond their limits for their captain.
“they listen so well.” she’d comment from beside him, lingering glances as some of them chirped their greetings to the captain’s missus. her eyes were just as unraveling as their lieutenant’s, so it was hard for her to miss the way some of them shrank when they were in her presence.
she would make it a point to come by once a week, for a lunch drop off. sometimes, she’d bring in a pan of banana bread or corn bread muffins — still steaming hot from the oven, for the 141 crew. “for my baby’s babies.” she’d say. leave it to a beautiful woman frolicking onto base (pastries on-hand) with the prettiest sundress to have a group of stone cold killers blushing.
“i want one of your sergeants.” has him choking on his spit, a red-tinged blush spreading across his face like wildfire. he’s not sure what he expects to hear, maybe for her to favor his pretty boy gaz or stocky boy soap — nothing prepares him for when she utters your name.
nervous, jumpy thing that was transferred from another unit; you might have shared the same rank as some of them and worked hard for your place, but you were still their ‘rookie’. she pointed out how you’d have this glint in your eye when you’d show off to the missus, yearning and craving for the praise that would follow from your captain. god, did she love seeing your face brighten up when she’d pat your sweaty head, telling you what good of a job you did.
want was such a vague word, especially when mrs. price was seemingly playing with her food in front of him. and it wasn’t long before john shared the same affections as his wife; he was the husband that didn’t originally want the cat, but grew more and more attached to taking care of it. you.
she calls you bunny when you’re not around. asking price how her bunny’s doing. after some time, the ‘her’ seemed to drop off and john started calling you bunny to her as well.
on heli rides home, he’d welcome you to lean on his shoulder for naps, mumbling something about, “the missus will ‘ave my head if m’not takin care of her pet.” while running his fingers through your hair, practically purring as the deep rumble of his voice coaxed you into a slumber. — soap would make comments about how he never receives that sort of treatment and gaz would kick his boot for him to shut up.
members outside of the 141 either hated you or wanted to be you. you weren’t even from here, yet you’d taken a spot in the prestigious taskforce, a spot that some thought had belonged to them. sometimes rumors would make their way back to you. most times it was easy for you to ignore but on days you couldn’t, you found yourself in price’s office. his hand would cup your cheek, wiping a stray tear that had fallen and he’d hug you so tight, reminding you that you worked your ass off to get here and that if you had any doubts in his decision to recruit you into the 141, you were more than welcome to file a formal complaint.
mrs. price had brought in iced lemon cake. she remembered it was your favorite, only she’d brought in an extra loaf, just for you — maybe price wasn’t allowed to play favorites, but she could — while ghost, soap, and gaz were still on their way to price’s office from the mess hall, she shoved a fork into your hand, beckoning for you to take a bite. she threaded her fingers through your hair as you ate, noticing how her eyes twinkle with adoration. you couldn’t help but preen into her touch and she coo’d at how adorable you were.
a small bit of icing was left at the corner of your lip and she took it upon herself to lean down to lick it off your face. the feeling has the air in your lungs hitch and you freeze, eyes wide as you stare at your captain who’s unfazed and watching with darkened eyes.
“mmm, i reckon maybe the icing’s much too sweet? what do you think honey? come, have a taste.” mrs. price hums at her husband as she smacks her lips. and john doesn’t waste any time making his way towards his wife, who’s just put her lips and tongue on you. there’s even a lipgloss stain where her lips met your skin! what was going on?
john cups the side of your neck, reeling you for a kiss. mrs. price lets out of a hum of delight as her fingers cup the other side of your neck, her fingertips only reaching john’s with her full set of acrylics; her thumb brushes across your jaw as if she’s petting you. you can smell his body wash and her floral perfume invading your senses. john’s tongue push past the barrier of your lips and into your mouth and you can feel mrs. price wipe away the drool (and lipgloss stain) that spill from the side of your mouth. the groan that leaves your captain’s chest has you whimpering and mrs. price purses her lips tuts, almost in a humiliating way.
when john pulls away, you lean forward, chasing his mouth but mrs. price’s thumb drags across your swollen lips to stop you.
“yeah, too sweet lovie.”
and you don’t know if they’re talking about the lemon loaf anymore.
(nsfw)......Being roommates with Clark and Lois, not thinking much of being roomies with a couple — that is, until they both start fucking you behind each other's backs.
You never thought much of crashing in the spare room of Clark and Lois’s apartment. They were the perfect couple—him with his shy smile and glasses perpetually askew, her with that razor-sharp wit. Just cheap rent in Metropolis, and you figured the walls were thick enough. Until they weren’t.
It started with Clark. One night, the power went out during a storm. Lois was chasing a lead downtown. You found him in the kitchen, shirt unbuttoned, muscles shifting under moonlight. “Can’t sleep?” he murmured, voice low. Next thing you knew, he had you bent over the counter, hands pinning your wrists, dick stretching you open in deep, relentless strokes while he whispered apologies that sounded more like prayers. “Just needed you… fuck, you feel so good.” You came so hard you saw stars.
Three nights later, Lois cornered you in the laundry room. She tasted like coffee and sin, fingers sliding under your waistband while she smirked against your mouth. “Clark’s an idiot if he thinks I don’t notice how you walk after he’s had you.” Then she dropped to her knees, tongue working you until your legs shook, two fingers curling just right while she looked up with those knowing eyes.
Now it’s a delicious, filthy secret. Clark fucks you slow and devastating in the mornings when Lois is in the shower, hand over your mouth so you don’t moan his name too loud. Lois fucks you on the couch some afternoons, nails raking down your chest, whispering how much tighter you get when you’re trying not to get caught.
They still kiss each other goodnight like nothing’s changed. But every shared glance across the dinner table now holds heat—two predators circling the same prey, unaware they’re both already feasting. And you? You’re just trying not to smile too wide when they ask how your day was.
♯ can’t stop thinking about bestfriend!megumi recording you riding a dildo because the two of you want to earn some extra cash, and he insisted this would be the quickest way to save up for that brand new pc you'd both been eyeing. you trust him, and besides, who are you to refuse your horny best friend? (twt link at the end!)
the lighting in megumi’s bedroom was dim, save for the harsh glow of his phone screen and a couple of desk lamps that cast long, flickering shadows across the floor. you were stripped bare, save for a pair of black nylon thigh highs that hugged your legs, digging slightly into your skin. you felt exposed, the cool air of the room hitting your damp skin as you straddled the thick, silicone dildo propped up on the carpet.
you were on your knees, leaning forward with your palms pressed flat against the floor for support. your back arched, creating a tempting curve that highlighted the contrast of the thigh highs against your skin and your cunt began to stretch wide as you slowly lowered your weight onto it.
megumi, on the other hand, sat just a few feet away, leaning back on his elbows, holding his phone steady to capture every angle of your vulnerability. he looked completely unfazed, though his dark eyes were tracking every twitch of your muscles. his dark, spikey hair fell over his eyes, partially obscuring his gaze and leaving half of his face veiled in shadow. it gave him an air of detached mystery, though the way he held his phone, steady and focused, showed he was paying very close attention to every detail.
"you’re hesitating," megumi remarked, his voice cool and flat. he shifted his position, the phone camera zooming in on the point where the dildo disappeared into your soaking wet folds. "you know, if we're doing this for the money, you can't look like you're scared of it. you have to look like you’re enjoying it.”
"i’m not— i'm just.." you whimpered, your voice trailing off as you began to lift and drop your hips. the friction was intense, the girth of the toy hitting that soft spot with every downward thrust.
"just what? flustered?" he let out a small, petty huff of a laugh. "it’s just a piece of plastic, but you're reacting like it's the real thing. if you can't even handle this, how the fuck are you going to take my dick?"
your face flushed a deep crimson, the heat radiating from your cheeks down to your chest. you let out a flustered whine, shifting your hips to settle deeper onto the toy. "shut up, gumi! don't say stuff like that," you whimpered, though you didn't stop moving.
"why not? it's just a question," he muttered, adjusting the camera to get a closer shot of where the dildo disappeared into your soaking wet folds. "put some effort into it. move your hips more."
"besides, im tryna give you motivation. now, lean forward more. arch your back. i wanna to see more of your ass while you ride it."
you groaned, feeling a mix of embarrassment and arousal. you began to bounce, the rhythmic slapslapslap of your thighs hitting the base of the toy filling the quiet room. you focused on the sensation, the way the dildo filled you completely, stretching you wide.
suddenly, you felt a large, warm hand wrap around your hip, pulling you firmly against him. you jumped, a small shriek escaping your lips as megumi reached out. he didn't stop recording with one hand, but with the other, he began to grope your ass, his fingers kneading your soft cheeks with a possessive grip.
"megumi!" you gasped, your rhythm faltering.
"stay focused," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. smack! he delivered a sharp, stinging slap to your right ass cheek, the sound echoing in the room.
the sting sent a jolt of electricity straight to your clit. you let out a loud, uncontrolled moan, your hips picking up speed. you started riding the dildo frantically, your tits bouncing with every downward thrust.
"thaaat’s it," megumi whispered, his eyes narrowing a little as he watched your pussy grip the toy. he slapped your other cheek, harder this time, leaving a faint red mark. "look at you. so desperate for a little bit of attention. you look like a total slut for the camera."
"i— i'm not— mmmh! shit!" you were losing it, the combination of the stretching fullness and megumi’s touch pushing you over the edge.
as the orgasm hit, your internal muscles clamped down hard on the silicone. your body shuddered violently, and you let out a loud, broken cry, your voice echoing through the room.
"megumi— oh god, megumi!"
you collapsed onto your elbows, panting heavily, your pussy glistening and open, leaking clear fluids onto the floor. you stayed there for a moment, panting, your chest heaving as the aftershocks of the climax rolled through you. slowly, with a wet, suctioning sound, you slid off the dildo, your pussy glistening and open.
megumi didn't put the phone away, though. instead, he crawled forward, bringing the camera inches away from your dripping cunt, capturing the way your folds twitched and leaked.
"fuuuuck.. that's so hot," he breathed, his voice raspy. he looked up from the screen, the shadows of his hair still dancing across his eyes, but the intensity of his gaze was unmistakable. he didn't move to help you up, instead, he shifted his weight, the heavy bulge in his sweatpants brushing against your hip, reminding you exactly how hard he was.
"you look like a complete mess," he murmured, though his voice lacked any real judgment. it sounded more like a compliment. "absolutely drenched."
“yeah, well, i wonder why.. this better earn us quite the money, fushiguro.”
megumi let out a low, humming sound in his throat. "well, i don't think i can just sell this video. i might have to keep a copy for myself. now.. i think it's time i get what i want."
“you’re so greedy,” you giggled.
how he had you later that night.
i need a bf that cosplays so bad. ANYWAYS!! more bestfriend!megumi because WE #wantdat
your cunt gushes obscenely with every deep thrust of simon's hips, both of your arms behind your back with a single large hand of his.
his cock, heavy and pulsing inside of you, thumps against your cervix each time he humps your ass, sloshing around the old loads of his cum that he already dispensed within your pussy.
he has you on your knees, chest against the bed, your nipples stiff and dry from the constant stimulation. its painful, he's had you come several times around him, finding enterainment in the way you so easily can gush around him with a flick of his fingers on your clit.
"shiimon," you slur out, muffled in the sheets damp with your slick and tears and other fluids. simon stops his ruthless pounding on your cunt, opting for a harsh grind balls deep against your cervix, teasing the already battered and bruised tissue.
"tha's tha shit huh, baby?" he says lowly, almost out of breath. "enjoyin' yourself?"
you whine at his teasing, attempting to hide yourself into the ruined pillows before simon is slapping a heavy hand onto the sensitive flesh of your asscheek, already red with his hand print. he can be so mean sometimes.
you're not given a warning before simons laying his entire 250 pound pure hardened muscle of a body onto your much more sensitive and fragile one, screaming helplessly as the last inch of his cock that you always struggle to take slides in forcefully, pressing painfully against your cervix as if he was on a mission to break it and pass through into your womb.
if only.
with his body weight fully on top of you, youre given no choice but to go limp and flat against the mattress, your tummy and breasts digging into the material. simon lets out a throaty moan when your cunt squeezes around him, cock twitching upwards into what feels like must be your guts as you messily cum on his cock, your juices leaking out around him and creating an even bigger mess on his and your thighs.
"thats it girl, good girl," he praises, his hips tight against your ass. he leans down, his chest against your back so he can lay open-mouthed kisses against your earlobe, relishing in the way you shiver and attempt to squirm away from the overwhelming stimulation.
simon begins rocking his hips once more, slowly. feeling your walls open and close with every in and out of his movement. the peace is there for a moment, you're quiet and almost comatose from how good he's fucking you until simon becomes discontempt with your silence and hes angling his hips and pulling out until his tip is hardly inside of you and slamming back inside to the hilt.
its with the new angle that your back is forced to arch, pressure elevated to your lower tummy and as result your bladder.
its then that you begin to really panic. thrashing wildly and sobbing for simon to stop, clawing at his hand that is holding yours.
"s-simon! 'm gunna pee!" you cry, face hot as summer sun from pure embarrassment.
simon only scoffs, smiling lightly at your panicking. but he doesnt move. he instead uses his forearms to hold himself up, using his weight and slamming his hips against your ass with a lewd "plap plap plap".
youre wailing at this point. his ruthless thrusts force your tummy against the mattress, the immense pressure of his tip plunging against your cervix, proves to be too much for you. youve taken everything he's given you, letting him wear you like a fleshlight until youre nearly bursting at the seams, but this is too much.
"simon!" you warn one last time, sobbing and trying to push yourself upwards and away from him. with one final aimed thrust to your cervix, the dam breaks loose, your eyes rolling to the back to your head as you tremble and your muscle contract painfully as you cum once more, except instead the water isnt a small trickle and instead its a long stream of your piss.
simon just moans, long and loud, tipping his head back, continuing his thrusts. he flushes at the lewd sight of you twitching so cutely, pissing yourself from cumming too hard from his efforts.
he bites at his lips, humping weakly against you some more before hes pulling out, wet squelches audible as he pulls his engorged cock from the tight confines of your pussy. if you werent fucked nearly to the last inch of your life, you would feel the mattress dip underneath simons heavy weight as he shuffed towards your face, jerking his cock noisily over your face, his eyes glued to the puffiness of your eyes and cheeks, the wetness from your tears and the clear defeat in your bones, tipping him over the edge and at long last cursing your name as his cock spurts several hot ropes of his potent cum over your adorable face.
simon has an ex wife, he doesn’t talk about her at all, the only one who knows about her is price. the rest of the team don’t even know he has one. it was something, something that left him only with a scratched pair of rings that he wears around his neck, and a photo of a sweet young woman holding a small baby between his books. not that he lets anyone see. not even price.
the new translator who comes to base cam’s head office, with her bright eyes and easy smile, and puts her child in the kindergarten. johnny loves her, when she makes his blue eyes crinkle in laughter. gaz has taken a liking to her and her toddler, since his room is next to hers, always bringing the two of them little treats from the mess. price who puts a large arm around her, always helping her out with being new. his office is right next to hers, and if she wants anything she just “ask.” he’s also giving her daughter, violet, piggyback rides.
ghost comes back from a mission, the past two months in deep cover. and price thumps his shoulder, “c’mon lad, there’s this lovely lass on base i’d like you to meet.”
and when he sees you, his heart crumbles into a thousand tiny shards.
three years ago you’d called it quits with your secondary school sweetheart for his emotional absence.
ghost looks at you, and then at the startling yet familiar brown of his daughter’s eyes.
5 times sukuna was heavily yearning + 1 time you finally noticed.
oblivious, lonely reader who’s used to doing things alone x downbad!sukuna. jealous!sukuna. gn!reader. reader wears glasses. sukuna calls reader angel. he’s so down bad bro. ooc sukuna as usual. mentions of nsfw contents.
— ☆ —
1. movie nights.
you had a specific, detailed, high maintenance routine for watching movies. you had slowly perfected the process— a mental to do list popping up every time a new movie dropped that you needed to watch.
first, you needed to be in your designated ‘movie night pajamas’, the most comfortable you owned. your favorite blanket had to be there, along with your favorite pillow for support. you liked watching in your home more than cinemas, because you disliked the idea of not being able to pause the movie for whatever reason. who decided to make bathroom breaks that short, anyways?
for snacks, chips poured into your favorite bowl, your favorite niche flavor. a chocolate bar sat beside it just incase the movie got intense enough for you to crave it. your favorite drink was set beside them in a thermal cup, allowing you to drink it as slow as possible without it melting too quickly.
your phone had to be on dnd, blocking out every notification. the room had to be cold, and you avoided any distractions because pausing the movie on piracy websites meant three minutes of closing ads to turn it back on.
tonight, everything was perfect.
you were perfectly wrapped in your blanket, eyes wide as it watched the screen perfectly, chips tasting perfect, drink perfected, everything absolutely perfect—
bzzz.
you immediately groaned. who could possibly be showing up? you hadn’t ordered food. no one was invited over. it was late. what could possibly be urgent enough to prompt someone to ruin your little routine?
you paused the movie (which took three minutes of pressing ‘x’ on ads urging you to ‘text hot, single ladies in your area’, and ‘ai bots who can make you cum in three minutes!’), pushed the blanket off, and pulled the door open with a soft pout you didn’t even register, just to pause when you saw sukuna standing there, eyebrows furrowed, frowning.
you and sukuna weren’t that close, really. you were in the same friend group, but you always felt nervous around him. he was intimidating, scary, too cool for you. he always stared at you blankly, and you decided he was judging you for… everything. you were awkward, nervous, a little odd.
so, him showing up to your home at midnight was a little… nerve-wracking. his red eyes slowly scanned your comfortable, worn out pajamas, messy hair, tiny pout that faded as your eyes widened, before he blinked blankly. “sorry for showing up unannounced.”
he didn’t sound apologetic. at all. his tone was monotonous, almost unamused.
“can i come in?”
you slowly blinked, before realizing how dumb you must look. you grimaced internally, stepping aside, letting him in. immediately, his eyes landed on your little set up, and he arched an eyebrow. “movie night, huh? watching part two of your little movie series?”
“how did you know?” you mumbled, genuinely confused. much to your surprise, his lips twitched up in something that looked like admiration, amused, and it was the closest you ever got to see him smile.
holy fuck, he was so gorgeous it felt unfair. now that you were actually focusing on the man towering over you, dressed in a black shirt and gray sweatpants, tanned skin peaking from under his clothes, muscles on view—
“it’s your favorite series, and it just dropped. i can recognize the sketchy ass website because you hate netflix. you have your little movie night routine, pajamas, chips, and drink.” he murmured casually, nonchalantly, as if it was normal that the guy you thought disliked you knew this much about you. “i listen, you know.”
your jaw was slack, eyes wide. he only snorted, arching an eyebrow. “don’t tell me fucking gojo was right and you really think i hate you.”
you paused. “well…”
“are you serious?” sukuna scoffed. “you’re my fucking favorite in the group, dumbass.”
“what?” you mumbled back, more confused. “you always glare at me. you never talk to me. i was starting to think you didn’t even know my last name.”
he stared at you, almost as if you were insane, then sighed. “you really are oblivious, huh?”
“hey—“
he shook his head, still looking mildly amused. “here’s the notes suguru said he would drop by to give you and forgot. i know you like studying early.”
“oh. you didn’t have to—“
“i wanted to.” he immediately stated, face serious. “‘ll leave you to it, can’t have someone ruining your perfect night. goodnight.”
with that, he was out, leaving you even more flabbergasted.
what. the. fuck.
2. hangouts.
you were still getting used to the idea that sukuna told you that not only did he not hate you, but that you were his favorite in the group. to you, the idea was unbelievable. flabbergasting. maybe even a little more scarier than being hated by him for some reason, but you managed pretty well.
at least you were more comfortable hanging out with your group now.
however, you had a tiny little habit. you hated the coffee at the place your friends loved, so often, you just walked away to the place next to it to buy your own coffee. it provided you a break, making the little pit of your stomach that grows when having to be around people, even your best friends, for too long reset, and you just get a chance to catch your breath.
today wasn’t different. in the middle of the hangout, you grabbed your wallet and slipped out, enjoying the tiny walk in fresh air before you stepped into your favorite cafe.
the familiar barista immediately lit up at the sight of you, boredom fading from his face. he was your age, friendly with a cute grin that grew whenever you two chatted— something that made you feel at ease when ordering.
“my favorite customer,” he immediately greeted, grinning. the bell at the door chimed, and you both didn’t pay any mind to it. “i wonder what you will order this time.”
you snorted. you both knew you ordered the exact same thing every single time. “yeah, i wonder too.”
he chuckled, eyes flickering to the screen. you could feel a figure stopping behind you. “well, you know your total.”
you hummed, about to pay, when the familiar scent of sukuna’s signature perfume finally registered in your mind as he moved to step beside you, eyes narrowed, jaw slowly twitching. “make it two.”
you slowly glanced up. the barista looked up in surprise, before he nodded calmly. “of course.”
before you could register it, sukuna’s card was pressing against the machine, paying for you both. your jaw went slack for the second time this week, flabbergasted once more, but sukuna was already pulling you out of line so that the people behind you could pay.
and, more unfazed that he should be by his own actions, he casually held out the receipt. “here. you take the code and collect points on their app, right?”
“…how the fuck do you even know that?” you mumbled, utterly confused. “why are you here? how did you find me— did you even know what you ordered—“
“easy there, angel.” he murmured, calm. “you always carry the receipt and i see you type something from it on your phone often. ‘m here because the coffee in the other shop is ass. you always come here, so i figured i would try my coffee with you. i know what i ordered because i know your order.”
you openly gaped at him. he only reached over, grabbing both drinks, arching an eyebrow. “are you gonna gape at me forever or drink this sweet shit?”
“…did you just call me angel?”
his amusement immediately faded, ears turning red as he shoved your drink your way, looking away. “absolutely not. hallucinations. let’s go.”
that was what he chooses to deny? not that he knew your movie night in details? that he knew your exact drink? that he knew you secretly collected points from your favorite coffee shop?
you let out a tiny chuckle, amused, following behind him. that somehow managed to make his ears even more red, a scowl pulling on his pretty lips.
fuck. he was gorgeous, and adorable.
how horrible for you.
3. aquarium.
you laid face-down on shoko’s bed, face showed between the pillows, eyes shut in pure horror. “‘m so screwed.”
she sighed for the nth time from where she sat on the ground, studying. “you quite literally could not be more not screwed.”
“i have a crush on him, shoko. i never have crushes. and now i have one, on fucking sukuna. the guy once punched a guy for breathing ‘his’ air. he fucking hates people. i am so utterly fucked. he will kill me.”
she glanced up, as if she knew something you didn’t. “he won’t kill you. kiss you? maybe.”
“stop being delusional.” you mumbled, voice muffled as you buried your face into the sand further. “‘m so fucked.”
she sighed. “you’re delusional too if you don’t realize what’s happening. anyways, isn’t it the twenty seventh? your monthly aquarium night?”
you jumped up, gasping. “it is! fuck!” you quickly grabbed your phone to check the time, before opening the aquarium’s instagram page just in case there were any updates.
and, unfortunately, right there on their instagram story, posted twelve hours ago, was a simple statement.
‘couples only day!’
“oh, fuck my fucking life.” you mumbled, eyes on the story, shoulders drooping. “shoko, be my aquarium date.”
“couples only, huh? if only these weren’t the conditions,” she mused, almost flirty, before tilting her head.
“yes.”
“ask sukuna to go with you.”
you blinked once, twice, before pulling up your phone, nodding, serious. “good idea. ‘m asking gojo or geto.”
“that is quite literally not what i said.”
“you’re a genius.”
you sent off a quick text to geto and gojo, jumping off her bed to head to your own apartment to get ready. after dressing up all cute for the sake of your loved marine animals, you glanced down at your phone, where a vague text from gojo said he couldn’t, followed by maybe three million crying emojis (which was maybe because he had begged before to accompany you said no. aquariums were a single, you-only trip), and geto sent back a simple ‘he’s almost there’, and a thumbs up.
what kind of reply was that? you frowned, sending five questions marks, about to ask who the fuck ‘he’ was, when your doorbell rings.
you pulled the door open, and freeze when your eyes landed on the one and only sukuna. he glanced at you, eyes blank, and nodded once. “let’s go.”
“…where?”
he raised an eyebrow. “the aquarium. date night. let’s go.”
“…are you sure?” you immediately mumbled, voice uncharacteristically low. “‘m, uh, kind of enthusiastic about this. nerdy. geeky. um, annoying.”
his lips twitched up into an endeared smile that he immediately pushed back. “i know what ‘m getting into. let’s go.”
you grabbed your jacket, eyebrows furrowing. “suguru could have just said he couldn’t come. i’m sorry he sent you instead.”
“oh, he could come.” sukuna stated blankly, stepping into the elevator behind you. you glanced up at him, confused, and he stared back blankly, as if waiting for you to collect dots you didn’t even see. he only sighed after a few minutes, shaking his head. “this is both cute and infuriating. so, which stupid creature is your favorite?”
you expected a night with sukuna to be awkward. tense. uncomfortable. a night where you had to hold back so you don’t become labeled as talkative, or annoying, or too much.
you didn’t expect for him to be a good listener. nodding at whatever you said, asking questions at first to keep you talking until you were comfortable rambling. you didn’t expect him to hold your things so you could comfortably get closer to the glass, or stay longer at your favorite animals, or ask you about ones that seemed interesting, his eyes soft and lips twitching upwards just the slightest. you didn’t expect him to disappear at one point and come back with a few limited-edition items from the small gift shop either, dumping them in your arms wordlessly as you two were walking out.
“thank you for being my fake date for the night, kuna.” you mumbled as he was dropping you off, sleepy, eyes soft and voice slurred. he paused at your words, lips twitching into a frown before he eyed how sleepy you were and only sighed.
“of course, angel.” he muttered, reaching over and nonchalantly pressing a kiss to your forehead before he turned around, walking away. “…sleep well, goodnight.”
gaping at him seeming like a new routine, except this time, your sleepy eyes were set on his back as he left, almost getting distracted by his muscles showing through the fabric. oh, you were so, utterly fucked.
4. the beach.
you sat quietly on the sand, wrapped tightly in a towel, eyes ahead as you watched gojo, geto and shoko shoving each other in the water. choso was on a towel beside you, deeply asleep and snoring. toji was playing around with megumi and nobara and yuji, who was yapping about how his uncle dropped him off and disappeared. everyone was enjoying themselves.
you were freezing.
you had gotten there earlier, having known they would all show up too late. you liked swimming alone with no eyes on you, so with too much sunscreen, you stayed in the water under the sun in what you knew was the perfect time for you. by the time everyone else arrived, you were already drying in the shade.
oh, how you wished you had a dry towel—
a dry towel dropped into your lap before the thought even finished. you froze, glancing up at the sky, before immediately closing your eyes again and wishing for a million dollars just in case.
“don’t stare at the fucking sun.”
ah. your genie.
you peaked through your lashes at sukuna, who glared at you, a hand going to shade your eyes from the sun. he was dry, holding a small bag which you assumed was for his wallet and phone and car keys and towel, the sun kissing every spot on his perfect body, as if purposely teasing you.
fuck. how could someone be so pretty?
he sighed, pulling a cap out of the bag. he pushed it on top of your damp hair, shading your face, and slumped beside you. “switch towels. mine is dry.”
“hi.” you mumbled dumbly, blinking a few times to snap yourself from the daze seeing his beautiful red eyes in the sun put you through. his lips twitched, face softening, and he only pulled the cap down further. you finally remembered how to think. “don’t you need your towel dry?”
“‘m not going into the water this late.” he stated. his eyes flickered to choso asleep, and he rolled his eyes, standing back up. you watched shamelessly as he effortlessly pulled the heavy umbrella so it was covering the sun kissed stoner, sighing, voice lower. “that dumbass.”
“i spray him with sunscreen every two hours. flipped him once.” you mused, taking the chance of sukuna being distracted to switch towels, sighing in relief once the warm, dry, soft towel wrapped around you. “thank you, kuna.”
“don’t mention it.” he grunted, then frowned once he registered your words, “you rub sunscreen on him?”
“oh, no, it’s a spray.” you hummed, pulling it out. “isn’t it cool?”
he glanced at the spray bottle, shoulders slowly relaxing. “mhm. it is. can you spray me?”
you nodded, moving to stand up, immediately stumbling in the towel. firm fingers immediately steadied you, and you deeply hoped he couldn’t feel the warmth radiating off you from being flustered as he slowly let go.
you slowly sprayed him, the sunscreen leaving a shiny coat that made him look even more beautiful. after making sure every part of him was covered, you slowly sat back down. “try to rub it to make sure it’s even.”
he hummed, eyes shut, slowly spreading it out, spreading it out on his tan skin.
what a fucking sight, really. he was so, unbelievably gorgeous. you were so fucked.
“…you went early, huh?”
“…yeah.” you mumbled, eyes still on him, hoping he keeps his eyes closed.
“tell me next time. ‘ll go with you.” he sighed. “these idiots always come when it’s already too cold.”
you nodded slowly as he finally finished, slumping next to you on the little beach mat gojo had gotten, so close that his thigh was pretty to your covered figure. he frowned. “your lips are pale. still cold?”
you grimaced. “‘ll be okay. thank you for the towel—“
he sighed, an arm wrapping around your shoulder before he was pulling you towards him. you missed the way his body relaxed, lips twitching into a repressed grin, the face of a man finally achieving one of his long lost goals.
holy fuck. you were pressed to his side, his body oozing warmth. he smelled great, and you could feel his muscles every time he shifted. as you stared ahead, trying to pretend like you weren’t malfunctioning, your eyes landed on shoko, gojo and geto staring back at you guys from the water, jaws slack.
well. at least it wasn’t you this time.
5. studying.
as much as it seemed otherwise, studying with gojo actually helped you. you both kept each other in check— you stopped him whenever he started yapping, and he distracted you whenever you were spiraling. you both were a team when studying— having been one since the first semester, when you both met.
during breaks, however, was when you really liked studying with gojo. you both sat with thirteen expensive pastries in front of you, gojo’s treat, and he grinned excitedly. “oh, this will be so good. you go first.”
“you don’t have to tell me twice.” you mumbled, picking one up. you immediately moaned in delight, holding the rest to gojo, who reached over and took the rest from between your fingers. “fuck. this is so good.”
gojo let out an even louder moan. you both ignored the disgusted glares from the people around you, happily chewing. “oh, these are fucking godsent. thank you for being my taste buddy.”
“thank you,” you mumbled, grabbing another one. “you’re the one spoiling me with these. you’re, like, my dream man right now.”
gojo let out a loud laugh, before pausing, shivering in horror at whatever he imagined. “do not let sukuna hear you saying that. he’ll have my head.”
“why would he have your head for that?” you mumbled, mouthful, and distracted by the heavenly taste of these. you weren’t even a fan of pasteries, but these were on another level. you tried another, and immediately groaned. “fuck. try this one.”
you immediately extended your hand out to gojo. he, as usual, ate half of it off your fingers instead, and dramatically melted in his seat. “ten out of ten. perfect. stunning. i will marry whoever made these.” he swallowed, and quickly ate the rest off your fingers to. “and he will because he’s, like, in love with you.”
“you flipping liar.” you mumbled, unamused with the obvious fake news. “he doesn’t. he’s just a good friend.”
“he’s not a good friend,” gojo snorted. “he almost shoved my head into the toilet bowl yesterday because he was bored. he likes you.”
you did not believe him the slightest. “uh-huh. wanna try the red one?”
“yes, please.”
later that night, you were curled up in bed— going over everything you had studied earlier to lock the information into your mind. the groupchat was blowing up after choso was caught kissing someone (you already knew the news. choso blurted about his ‘secret’ crush to you before when he was high, and forgot.) and you just shot back a sticker laughing, said you were studying and you needed more caffeine to deal with this, and shut your phone off completely.
you really needed caffeine.
everytime you shut your eyes, all you can see is a cold, cup of your favorite coffee from your favorite shop. the condensation running down, the inviting taste, everything—
fuck. you needed one so bad. you frowned, turning your phone on to glance at the time, and paused when a notification stood out from between the ones on the groupchat.
sukuna: pick u up for coffee in five?
you stared at the message, then slowly glanced down at the sweatpants and oversized hoodie you were in, your hair messy, broken glasses on because you were too lazy to get these specific ones fixed and you lost the other, before sighing. you needed caffeine too bad to worry about how you looked in front of him right now.
you: please :c
a car honked downstairs a few minutes. you quickly grabbed your wallet and your half-dead phone, rushing downstairs, grabbing an oversized jacket on the way so you could tug it on top of your thick hoodie, grimacing at how much of a mess you looked. you slid into the passenger seat, and sukuna only stared at you, eyes slowly taking in your appearance, lips softly pulling up.
“don’t say anything.” you immediately mumbled. his smirk widened, but he didn’t speak, immediately resuming to drive, eyes ahead. “‘m so sleepy.”
“uh-huh. let’s get some caffeine in you.” he murmured, turning more serious. “don’t overwork yourself tonight. did you have dinner?”
you nodded, ignoring how your heart felt like it was twirling in your chest. “i did. ate and drank and slept well.”
he hummed. “good.”
in the coffee shop, he got the same as you, paying despite your complaints. once the drinks were out, he grabbed both, wrapping yours in tissues to keep your fingers from being cold before handing it over, humming.
you were looking over notes in your phone, too tired to register his actions. you only quietly took the cup, immediately sipping, shoulders slowly rolling down, tense muscles relaxing. “thank you, kuna.”
he clicked his tongue. “don’t mention it.”
in the car, you focused on sipping the coffee, and he cleared his throat. “gojo said you two were on a study date this morning. pastries and shit. said you called him your dream man.”
you snorted. sukuna glanced over, utterly unamused, almost pouting. “i love gojo.”
his lips immediately formed a scowl. “you love him?”
“not like that,” you snorted. “he’s just… he was the first person who was nice to me in university, you know. the first person who made sure i never felt like a burden. he means a lot to me, platonically.”
he was silent for a while, then nodded, pulling up in front of your building. “good. you deserve to never feel like a burden. you… mean a lot to me.”
was he trying to kill you? you immediately shuffled out, heart beating like it was trying to escape your chest, cheeks burning. “you mean a lot to me too, kuna. um, goodnight. thank you for picking me up.”
“don’t mention it, angel.”
+1.
against your will, you were dragged to a party.
you would have been enthusiastic, really, if finals hadn’t just ended— leaving you too sleep deprived that you couldn’t even walk straight. gojo had came over to force you out and picked your outfit out for you, keeping in mind your pleads for it to be something warm, and you ended up in the passenger seat of his car, asleep soundly, vaguely aware of his whining about you needing to be awake as he drove you there.
you could only remember little snippets between your tiny naps, really.
gojo having his arm around you as he dragged you in.
you slumping down beside choso, immediately falling asleep on his shoulder.
sukuna crouching down in front of you, concerned, eyes worried.
sukuna covering you with a blanket.
sukuna sitting beside you, pulling your head into his shoulder instead.
geto replacing choso. you shifting, head falling into his shoulder because he was warmer.
sukuna immediately pulling you back towards him, an arm falling around your waist to keep you close, bickering with geto.
after that, you drifted into deep sleep— the kind that only came after a week straight of pulling all nighters. and, when you woke up again, you were wrapped in a blanket, on the roof, on a tiny couch with your head on sukuna’s lap and a cigarette between his lips.
the second he registered you awake, he pushed the cigarette into the ashtray, eyes soft, fingers on your shoulders to help you sit up. “you okay, angel?”
“mhm. sleepy.” you mumbled, blinking slowly, still half asleep. you yawned, rubbing your eyes. “thank you for watching over me, kuna. you’re, like, my angel.”
“…don’t mention it.” he whispered— although, it sounded more like a pained whimper. “i… yeah. don’t mention it.”
it was silent for a few minutes. you both stared up at the sky, lost in thought, before sukuna cleared his throat.
“…the stars are pretty.”
“mhm.”
he paused, before speaking again. his voice was low, soft, but it was laced with quiet frustration that you could tell wasn’t pointed at you. “we’re, uh, done with the semester.”
“…mhm.”
he clicked his tongue, and sat up, like he’s restarting. “…we’re good friends.”
“we are.” you mumbled, still dazed from your delicious, needed nap. he let out a small groan, face buried into his palm.
“fuck.”
“…kuna?” you murmured, voice soft, sleepy. his eyes finally flickered up, frustrated and almost disappointed in himself, and you only gave him a small, sleepy smile. “i like you too.”
and finally, it was his turn for his jaw to go slack, eyes widening, before he turned to you quickly. “you’re not fucking with me, right? you like me?”
you nodded, sleepy, but focused. “i like you.”
he didn’t hesitate before dropping to his knees in front of you, eyes soft and almost pathetic. “say that again. please.”
“i like you, kuna.” you repeated, quieter, softer, more serious.
he let his head drop, face pressed against the blanket covering your thighs briefly, voice muffled when he spoke. “…you have no idea how many years i have been dying to hear this, angel. fuck.” when he lifted his head back up, his red eyes were almost glossy. “‘m marrying the fuck out of you one day.”
that managed a sleepy laugh out of you. “take me on a date first, at least. we haven’t even kissed yet.”
his eyes lit up at the mere thought— before you watched him visibly holding himself back, trying to appear more relaxed, probably to not scare you off, despite his reddening ears at the idea. “right. dates. i will date you so fucking good, i promise, you will never think of anyone but me again. not even that stupid barista who clearly wants you so bad. only me.” he nodded, serious, scowling, before his eyes softened again. “best dates of your life. where do you want to go? dinner? coffee? aquarium? your little movie night routine at my place? do you want me to make it a surprise? i will be the best boyfriend— wait, fuck, not that yet—“
you reached over, softly pressing your lips to his,
he froze, eyes probably wide, then immediately melted the second your fingers gently cupped his face to pull him closer, letting out a soft, little sound into the kiss that had his face flushing further.
once you pulled away, your eyes met his dazed ones, and he slowly sucked in a deep breath. “….fuck.”
“dinner sounds good.” you whispered back, thumb brushing over his bottom lip, and he shut his eyes, as if it took visible effort not to groan. “next week?”
“you think ‘ll make it to next week?” he let out a sharp laugh. “you have me fucking kneeling for you, angel. tomorrow. 8. please.”
“okay.” you murmured, voice soft. “now, come back up, i will want to continue napping on you.”
Thinking about Nikolai and being between those thick thighs, lost in it, suckling at the flushed, heavy head of his cock, tongue lapping slow and worshipful, then nuzzling down the thick shaft, cheek rubbing against the hot, velvety skin, breathing in the musk of his balls. Licking long, reverent stripes from base to tip, tasting salt.
Your hands brace on his thighs, fingers digging in when he twitches against you tongue, and every soft, wet sound you make earns you a low rumble from his chest and the heavy weight of his palm resting on the back of your head.
You used to scratch and cry and fight him so hard after he plucked you off the streets, nails dragging bloody lines down his arms, voice hoarse from begging to go home, body twisting and kicking every time he came near.
It took months of patient correction, of that same heavy hand holding you still night after night while he wore down every last spark of resistance. And now look at you. Kneeling right between his thick thighs with your cheek pressed soft against the hot, velvety skin of his cock.
No more scratching. No more begging. Just this quiet, docile little thing he’s shaped you into, tamed with nothing but time and steady hands, exactly where you were always going to end up.
synopsis . Your boyfriend reaching the avatar state when he’s close. content . afab!reader, improper use of air bending, established relationship, dirty talk, missionary, pet names, he (nervously) talks you through it, praise, implied/slight breeding kink, etc.
author's note: i’d lick the sweat off his bald head if he let me.
You should’ve known something was up when the bedroom’s lanterns began to flicker.
But with the way Aang's hips snapped down against yours in such a relentlessly missionary rhythm—plump cock smothered deep within the juicily squelching walls of your pussy—it was hard to focus on anything else outside of the way he stretched you open.
HIs breaths came in searing pants against your neck, one gripping hand braced beside your head whilst his free one occupied itself with one of your thighs, tugging your leg impossibly higher around his waist just so that he could fuck you at that pinpointingly perfect angle.
"Ohhh, that's ittt, sweet girl. T-Taking me so well," Aang murmured as his eyes locked onto yours with shimmers of honest adoration visible all over them. "Keep squeezing me like that, mmgh. F-Feels good. So good." He thrusted even harder then, his breath flying out of him along with it as the wet slap of skin on skin emulated throughout the room.
His muscles tensed and his balls felt sorely heavy with each time they came plapping down against your sweat-slicked skin. The lanterns began to flicker again, brighter this time around as they cast shadows around the bedroom.
Then he leaned all the way down to smush his soft lips into yours, capturing your breath with in a messy kiss. His tongue came out to slide against yours as his firm body rocked into yours, the bed struggling to remain in place with his every move.
When his mouth left yours, he was dazed. This should've been the second signal for you. Especially as he let out a loud groan and went whispering, "Gonna breed this pretty cunt-," Instantly catching himself after and letting those soft grey eyes of his go all the more doe-like on you, "Shit... can I say that? I-Is that okay? Do you like it when I talk to you like tht?"
His hips picked up in pace, jaw going stiff as the balmy head of his cock smudged all sloppily against your cervix. Aang glanced down to see how he was disappearing into you, gasping at the obscene sight below him and then returning his eyes to yours.
"Tell me, baby. Please, talk to me. Tell me how you want me-, how you need me. I just wanna-, ohfuck—" Mid-sentence, his steady thrusts seem to derail and your cunt soaks around him to leave a sheeny layer of aroused slick all over his dick.
You're sucking him in deeper than he expected you to, and it catches him absolutely off guard. Which you notice rather quickly, batting your fucked-out eyes up at him, "Aang? Are you okay?"
"Yeah-, yes.. You just keep—" He hunches over against you—body going taut and lean muscles constricting against one another. "You keep squeezing me like that."
Begining to like seeing him struggle, "Squeezing like what?" you asked in sync with your walls clenching around the deft base of his cock.
Air puffs right out of him as if he'd been choked and his body shudders with something powerful coursing through him. You only catch it for a split second the first time it happens—a brief flash over both his markings and his eyes as his next array of groaning stammers out of him.
Following this is the flash of something wild in his eyes as they broaden, pupils dialating a fraction. Aang's head tips to the side and the plump crown of his cock slavers itself alllll around your insides, the puffy lips of your cunt left to quiver around him.
"You're so pretty-," Your loving boyfriend chuffs out, unknowingly thrusting into you harder via a burst of controlled air slapping against his backside. "H-Have I told you that? Hm?" He's asking as if he wasn't literally air bending himself into fucking you harder.
Your head just barely manages a nod, tears coating your lash line, "Nngh-, yes, Aang."
"Say it back to me then," Aang encourages. In between his breathy words, a brush of air is felt slithering against your cunt. It was almost as if his ability to seamlessly multitask was showcasing the best of his abilities via stimulating you everywhere. "Tell me how pretty my girl is, yeah?"
The sensation brings a stutter to your speech, "A-Aang, I can’t," you cry out, nails lightly scraping at his back.
He smiles halfway before his thrusting grows erratic and his jaw slacks some, "Oh. You're gushing-, shit."
You feel the way his tip pulsates inside you, his hips struggling to pull himself back for a moment long enough to give his cock a second to breathe—not that he much cared to do so anyway.
"So wet. Wanna see you cum-, wanna feel it." Aang husks, "Can you do that? Cum for me?"
"Mhmm," You nod weakly at first but within the next few seconds, as something begins to rumble distantly, you start to second guess your agreement. Mouth falling agape, “Wait, s’too much-,” you try to warn him.
He’s lost though—lost in the feel of your greedy insides begging his dick to spill enough seed into you to repopulate a nation or two at least. Aang’s unconscious manipulation of air only gets worse too, he goes from using his bending to fuck himself deeper to using it to sprawl your puffy pussy lips ‘n legs apart even wider.
You’re a stretched out mess in mere seconds, gasping his name and crying out in pleasure as your back begins arch. Then he’s chuckling all of a sudden and you swear for a moment he’s not even the same man you knew him to be.
Aang’s head cocks back some and his eyes roll back, “You can take it,” he grunts like he knows his words to be true and no argument could convince him otherwise. “You always do. Mmgh-,” He bites his lip for a second before looking down at you once more. “Can’t you feel that? The air helpin’ me fill you up? It’s-, hah.. It’s a little something I’ve been practicing.”
You pout at first, “Aang, I don’t know if-, mmgnh! Y-Your markings!”
The room illuminates with colors of spiritual blue before he notices what you’re talking about.
“What about them?” Aang asks cluelessly, his voice having changed due to the height of pleasure and energy surging through him.
Sweat drips down his body but it doesn’t even manage to touch you or the bed because he’s bending those droplets just as he was the air—completely losing himself in the feel of you and bending all sorts of shit because of it.
“They’re glowing,” You gasp.
Then his cock buries itself all the way in, every stiff inch clamped by your sappy insides, and his body comes to a sharp stop.
You knew there were… concerns when it came to having sex with your boyfriend who just so happens to be the avatar. But, no one told you he’d enter the avatar state just from cumming too hard!!
It’s while creamy gushes of cum are flooding into your poor cunt that his body is shuddering and he’s literally entering a new state of pleasure. He could hardly manage a word out or even move, the state had taken him over entirely.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little worried for him because of it, but honestly you were a tad bit distracted by how fucking hot it was.
You shouldn’t let this go to your head, really.
But who else can say their pussy sent their boyfriend into the avatar state?
That’s something to brag about!
(not proofread) banner from “Welcome to The Muscle Salon!” || tags:
Pairing: incubus!Gojo x pro hero!Hawks x succubus!reader
They always said not to play with your food. Too bad the food is so easily played.
Content Warnings: smut, MDNI/18+ only, fem!reader, porn with little plot, threesome, mind tricks, cowgirl, slight dacryphilia, whiny Gojo and Keigo, cervix fucking, creampie(s), mentions of past breeding/breed kink, so much oral (m! & f! receiving), bukkake, cum eating/swapping, making out, marking, anal fingering, alternating POV's, mostly Keigo's POV WC: 11.9k
My entry for @madamechrissy's JJK Crossover Event. Happy 2 years on Tumblr! 🤍 (Let's pretend like I'm not late) Gojo art by formerly @/sheng5381 on X (if you know the artist's current account pls lmk) & Hawks fanart by @/kanton811 on X. Banner by @cafekitsune
“You’re so sensitive today, Satoru,” you purr out at the man under you. Rolling your hips again, he bucks up into you once more. A little whine forces itself from the back of his throat as his hands dig deeper into your skin, dimpling it under the pressure.
“‘M not,” he mewls, blue eyes finding yours as he tries—and ultimately fails—to compose himself. There are tears in his eyes as his hips twitch underneath you as you lift yourself up once again, only to drop down, his tip smooching your cervix.
“Sure you’re not,” you coo. Your tail swishes behind you before the pointed end gently trails over his flushed skin—trailing up from his abs that tense up at the touch, all the way up to his nipples, circling them slightly.
Throwing his head back, a tear finally slips down the apple of his cheek. It glints in the light spilling into the bedroom, enunciating the pretty sight. “Stop teasing.”
“But you look soooo pretty like this.” You wipe the tear away with your thumb before sucking on the pad of your finger, forked tongue swirling around it—a sight he definitely doesn’t miss by the way his cock twitches inside of you, more pre spilling from his slit, clinging to your walls. “Imagine what the others would think, seeing you like this.”
Shaking his head, little strands of hair clinging to his forehead, Gojo just whines once more. Of course he wouldn’t want others to see, and you’re not going to show anyone else what’s yours anyway, but you can’t help but tease the man a little.
Ever since the two of you had gotten into a relationship, others of your kind shot the both of you looks—some dirty, other envious. Because who wouldn’t want to be with your boyfriend? Both men and women line up for him, offering their bodies up even though it doesn’t feed him.
It almost makes you laugh, thinking about how desperate others could get, saying they would be a better fit for him, telling him they would let him pursue anyone he wanted, as long as he came back to them at the end of the day.
Not that Satoru ever took the bait, though. No, he just stayed by your side, rejecting everyone left and right. Telling them he had already found his mate for life—a thing you normally wouldn’t hear out of an incubus’ mouth. But fuck, if it wasn’t the hottest thing you’ve heard in all of your living years.
You’d given him head until his balls were empty that night, swallowing every drop he gave you with a small thank you falling from your lips every time he came.
And that sight—the one of him cumming, groaning your name, blue eyes hazed over—was for you alone to enjoy. And the humans the two of you went after, but that’s a whole different thing.
This sight, the one of him tearing up—crying, even—and pre dribbling out of him like a broken faucet, however, is yours alone.
It’s not something that happens often. Hell, in your time together it has only happened twice. The first time more than a millennia ago, when the two of you were freshly dating and couldn’t keep your hands off each other. He was constantly over you, putting you in every position imaginable, pounding your poor cunt until the both of you were exhausted—and that was a feat in itself.
The second time was a few years ago, after he had somehow gotten baby fever—a demon, getting baby fever! Truly something unimaginable—proceeding to keep you locked in your room until you were filled to the brim, his cum spilling out of you even days later.
That was truly the first time you also got that sensitive. The both of you not having fed in weeks—yes, that little psycho kept you locked (and filled) in your shared bedroom for weeks on end—resulting in getting more sensitive.
And now here you two are again today, Satoru not having fed enough the last time. It’s not like you can blame him, you did have most of the fun with the human he had chosen for the two of you, while he was stuck fucking you for majority of the time.
While it was fun, these were the consequences of those actions—having him writhe beneath you as his poor overstimulated cock gets milked by your snug walls once again.
Warmth floods your cunt for the nth time that night, Gojo’s abs and balls contracting as he cums once more. His back arches from the bed, lifting you from the bed—along with his own hips—slightly.
That was another thing that was different between the two of you right now. Normally Gojo could easily overpower you, throwing you around like you were merely a rag-doll he was playing with (and you absolutely loved it when he did). But right now his energy was depleted enough that he had difficulty doing what he normally does.
“Love you, love you, love you,” he babbles. His blue eyes shining a little brighter when he looks at you with that half-lidded gaze of his. If he could, he would have hearts in his eyes right now.
Leaning forward, you press your lips to his, nipping at his bottom lip slightly, before snaking your tongue into his mouth. The kiss is more teeth and tongue than anything else.
When he finally comes down from his high, you lean back slightly. “Ready for one more?” you whisper, nail grazing his jaw slightly as you look down at your boyfriend. Nodding his head, you smile slightly before giving him a quick peck.
Planting your feet, you finally begin chasing your own high, hips lifting before dropping them down onto him again and again, tip hitting your cervix every time. A small ring of white begins to froth at the base of his length, visible every time you lift your hips.
Sweat is finally starting to bead down your own forehead, trailing down until it drips down your chin. It mixes with Gojo’s own sweat, his entire body glinting in the low light of the room, making him seem even prettier.
His white hair sticks up at odd angles where you ran your hands through earlier, and it makes him look all the more adorable.
“Found someone we can feed on,” you begin, hips never once stopping their motion. It takes a while before Satoru focuses on you again, blinking away the haze he was just in. “Yeah? She pretty?”
“He is very pretty. I think you’ll like him. And from what I could gather, I think he would also like you.” Another roll of your hips has his eyes roll to the back of his skull, a small moan falling from his lips as he starts fucking up into you, the blue end of his tail pressing down onto your clit, having you keen out.
“G-give me the details later, first gotta get you to cum again,” he grunts. His balls slap against your ass as you lean forward with a slight squeal, hands planted on his chest.
He applies more pressure to your clit. At the same time he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, sucking and twirling his tongue around the sensitive peak. “Cum with me, my love. Please. Please?”
“Yes, yes, I will, baby.”
And you do, coming undone at the same time as him. His warm seed fills you to the womb, the feeling never failing to make you feel good. Your snug walls contract around him, milking him for everything he’s worth as you shudder on top of him, tail moving wildly behind you.
As the two of you come down from your high, you finally lift yourself off him. His cum bubbles out of you, dripping onto his abs as you maneuver yourself off him.
“So… what was this about that ‘pretty’ human of yours?”
If he gets called out of bed one more time, he swears he’s going to snap. His wing joints ache, back muscles burning from all the flying he’s been doing, and the eyebags are getting harder and harder to hide by the day.
The HPSC has been calling him non-stop since the last mission. All the calls are for minor inconveniences, but considering there has been an uprise of criminal activity lately, they can’t be too careful.
It’s not like he doesn’t get it, trust me, he does. But it still annoys him to no end that it’s just him, and not anyone else that’s getting called out of bed only forty minutes after laying down for some rest—he can’t even call it sleep with the hours he’s getting.
And fuck, if it isn’t starting to take a toll on him—both physically as emotionally.
His feathers are all crooked and bent, stress keeping him from quickly regrow his feathers. Hell, he hasn’t even gotten the time to properly preen them lately. And that certainly didn’t go unnoticed by the public.
If he has to believe the headlines, people are starting to wonder if he can even keep up the hero life he has chosen for himself. Only, he didn’t choose it for himself, the Hero Commission did. Picking him from the literal streets at six years old, promising his mother that he would be in good hands in exchange for some money and a roof above her head.
Well, he can’t really blame her for accepting the deal. She was trying to survive after all. But some part, deep down in his heart, he sometimes wonders if she couldn’t have tried a little harder.
Still, he can’t blame her. Not for selling him off, not for not protecting him from his father—hell, not even for staying with him for as long as she did. She covered for his crime, after all. The two of them were felons.
And to make matters worse, he has lost the last thing he had of her; the Endeavor plushy she bought him when he was younger.
It was a small thing, something he could clutch to his chest at night as his father would drunkenly yell and smash things downstairs. But it was at least something he had, a small beacon of hope, of proof that his mother, despite not outwardly showing it much, did love him.
Of course the little plush also held symbolic power to it. Endeavor was the one who arrested his father, got him out of the hell-hole that was home. Or well… it was supposed to be called home, but he never felt like it was one.
The feathers on his back twitch yet again. They’re all irritating the wing bone, heavy on his back as he drags himself to bed once more. Hopefully this time he could get at least three hours of sleep in before he had to start patrol again.
Wishful thinking.
Dropping his visor on his nightstand, he toes off his uniform boots before face planting onto bed, not bothering to even get under the duvet.
He’ll take a quick shower in the morning—or the dead of night, considering how you look at it. That’s the last thing he thinks about before sleep takes him under. Blond eyelashes fluttering shut as he fully relaxes the crimson feathers along his back.
“You look tired, pretty bird.” a soft voice from behind him speaks out, catching his attention. Turning around, he looks at the girl that’s standing in his living room. It’s not someone he’s familiar with—fortunately, or unfortunately for him, he remembers most if not every criminal face.
Letting his shoulders sag, he drops down onto the couch. The cushion sags a bit beneath his weight, and it almost feels unreal.
He looks at the girl once more. She takes a few tentative steps toward him, before stopping just shy of the edge of the couch. She’s… pretty, he supposes. A certain allure you don’t just find in anyone else. He thinks Uwabami would be very happy to model a few shoots with her. Or maybe Mt. Lady would be jealous if she were a hero.
That thought almost makes him chuckle. The rookie hero, recently debuted, immediately caught the attention of the cameras. Some say her heroic actions made her debut so attention-worthy (of which Hawks is pretty sure was actually Kamui Wood’s arrest), while others say it’s because she’s pretty,
Just like the girl that’s standing in front of him. She tilts her head to the side, hair swaying with the motion, as she fiddles with her thumbs a little. “Have you eaten today?”
Her voice is sweet, drifting through the air like the smell of chicken—something that catches his attention completely.
Hawks hums a little, letting his head fall back onto the couch. A golden curl bounces off his forehead, nearly poking him in the eye. He should probably get a haircut soon— not that he has the time for any of that, though.
“I’ve had a chicken sandwich,” he replies. Voice a little lower than normal, a small rumble from the back of his throat that he would never let the public hear. Tired. Even from his words he sounds tired. But he can’t keep pretending like everything is fine.
There’s a vague recognition in the back of his mind where he realises he’s asleep. One of those dreams that feel like he isn’t really dreaming, aware of everything that’s going on around him. He can even move his own arms, look around the room, as if he were awake.
Letting his head loll to the side, he eyes the girl. She’s frowning now, a small pout forming as she slowly sits down on the couch beside him—too close for his liking, but not close enough for him to actually voice it.
If he were awake, he would retract his wings, make sure no one would be able to touch his oh-so sensitive feathers. The red little plumes look sad, even from his own view. Dull where they once were glossy. Brittle and dirty. Yeah, he really should take a shower to scrub his feathers clean.
“You can’t keep going like this.” That makes him snap his attention back to her, eyes finding her form immediately. And it’s not like she’s lying, he can’t keep going like this. The amount of caffeine he consumes just to stay awake has been through the roof lately—which says a lot considering he normally already chugs coffees back like they’re energy drinks.
It’s almost like his subconscious has made a human just to tell him he’s slowly starting to kill himself with his sleep and work-schedule.
“I made a promise to keep people safe,” he says, not fully knowing if he’s trying to convince himself or her. But from the way her eyes soften, it is working, even if slightly. “But you also need to keep yourself safe. You almost flew into a building today,” she whispers back.
He almost cringes at the thought. Because, yeah, he did almost do that. His eyes having fluttered shut for just a second—a second too long, because by the time he opened the again, his nose nearly kissed the glass of one of the high-rises.
It’s not like he’s never flown into a building before. He has, just not in his adult years. Back when he was a little kid and was still learning how to fly under the watchful gaze of his handler, he had flown into many obstacles.
They weren’t all too happy to see the little control he had whilst flying. But over time it luckily had gotten better, veering right before banking straight down. His control nowadays was immaculate, being able to dodge buildings at speeds of hundreds of kilometers an hour.
Which is why it made it all the more embarrassing to almost fly head-first into a building. A building where people resided no less.
Would you imagine that. The number Two hero flying straight through your window and crashing into your living room, just because he’s so tired. Fuck, the headlines would have a field day if that ever were to happen to him.
“Temporary lapse of judgment,” he mumbles, too tired to clearly form a counter argument against the girl. Or rather his subconscious mind? Whatever, he doesn’t want to think about that for too long, he’s supposed to be asleep, and by the way this dream is going, he doubts he’ll feel rested when he has to wake up again. “Won’t happen again.”
“It better not, birdie. I need you alive and well,” she whispers back, letting herself relax a little more into the couch. From the corner of his eye, he can see the way she is careful not to brush against any of his wings, staying clear of the odd feathers that are sticking out.
Alive and well. The first one he can do, though not guarantee with his job. The second one, however, is much harder. He hasn’t been well in a long time if he were to be honest. Not that he would ever voice that out loud, though. He’s a hero, the Number Two Hero, the HPSC’s perfect weapon. No one is supposed to know that he isn’t doing well.
Before he can think further about it, movement from the corner of his eye catches his attention. The girl has leaned forward, more into his space now. She’s still careful not to sit on any feathers, or even brush against them with her leg. But her hand is hovering in front of his face now.
The crimson plumes along his back sharpen the moment he sees how close she is to touching him. Her hand immediately stops, eyes tracking the way the once-soft feathers are now as sharp as knives.
“You- I-” her fingers twitch where they’re in front of his face. Swallowing, she finally moves her arm again in a slow, careful movement. Her thumb brushes his forehead slightly, before it presses down between his eyebrows. “Just relax a little,” she murmurs, smoothing over the pinch between his brows he didn’t even know was there.
Once Hawks realises there is no threat, he forces his feathers to go back into their resting state. From sharp to soft, brushing against the couch.
He does as she says—letting himself fully relax. Something he hasn’t done in ages, evident by the frown lines between his brows and the strain in his muscles.
The touch is soft, soothing. There are no words spoken anymore, just a thumb that rubs relaxing circles into his skin. It makes him close his eyes, letting himself get lost in the soft touch he hasn’t felt in… maybe ever.
That isn’t something he wishes to think about, though. Right now he just wants to let himself feel this, not think about anything—the HPSC, villains, civilians, weird billboard rankings, the way he must look to her.
“Go to sleep, birdbrain. We’ll meet again soon,” she whispers into his ear, just before a feather-soft kiss is placed upon his forehead.
This time, when he opens his eyes again, he’s met with his ceiling. No longer sitting on the couch, but rather laying on the bed—where he fell asleep. Because it was a dream. Just a dream, nothing more, nothing less.
Looking over at his bedside table, he sees the glaring red numbers of his alarm clock blink back at him. 3:57 AM. An hour before he was supposed to wake up for patrol. Which also means he still has an hour of sleep left.
But his brain is running hundreds of miles an hour, thinking about the pretty girl of his dreams. It was… unusual. Normally he doesn’t even dream about things at all; going to sleep and waking up straight away, or well… what feels like straight away anyway.
Running a hand through his wind-tousled locks, he groans. He knows he should get some more sleep, but he also knows that he can’t go out looking like this. So with much reluctance, he pushes himself from the bed and goes to his bathroom to finally scrub himself clean.
If he can’t sleep, the least he can do is make himself look like the presentable hero he has to be.
Not that it matters much, grime and blood cover him at the end of the day once again. It had been a long day, fighting crime and keeping civilians safe.
The HPSC is right to send him out all the time. Crime rates haven’t been this high in forever, but he can’t help but wonder if there’s anything more to it. Not that he has time to wonder. Taking a quick shower, he almost falls asleep under the spray of warm water, relaxing his over-used muscles just slightly.
When was the last time he was this tired?
Gosh, it must’ve been ages ago, when he was just a little boy. The HPSC has trained him for as long as he can remember, but never once did he feel like this—like he would keen over if someone so much as blew on him. Like a little feather in the wind.
Collapsing onto the bed, he lets himself stare up at the ceiling for a little while. The day was long, having saved loads of people, using a lot of his feathers in the process. His wings are starting to look a little bare, some gaps visible.
But fuck, if it doesn’t make him feel good. He signed up for this. Signed up to be the protector of those who can’t protect themselves—whether legally or just because they can’t in general, just like he couldn’t all those years ago.
Closing his eyes, he lets himself relax, body moulding to the bed. Wings finally relaxing a little, their weight no longer dragging on his back as he’s laid down.
It’s only when he tries to empty his mind that he gets reminded of last night. Or well, of his dream. The one where that pretty lady visited him. That is if she’s real, and not something his mind completely made up to warn him that he’s slowly killing himself with the way he’s going right now.
He’s seen it before, of course. Hero’s who burn out, both rookie as veteran heroes who try to take on too much work. Destroying their minds and body at the same time, not taking enough breaks.
Fuck, when’s the last time he’s had a break? Two, three months ago?
That seems about right.
Food is another thing. With the constant quirk usage, he should be eating more—way more. The constant use of his wings and feathers means he burns a lot of calories. The intake, however, isn’t something he’s proud of.
Earlier in the shower he noticed how lean he’s starting to look. Sure, he’s always been on the leaner side compared to some of the other heroes—he needs to be, otherwise he can’t comfortably fly anymore—but he was never this lean.
It’s also noticeable that he can’t comfortably get to the speeds he once could. Flying at three hundred kilometers an hour should be easily doable for him—hell, he’s hit eight-hundred before, though that wasn’t in a city, but rather when flying to the other side of the country. But he just… has to exert more energy to hit his normal speed.
For a moment he wonders how long it’s going to take the HPSC to notice it. Notice the fact that their perfect weapon is slowly starting to fall apart right in front of their noses. Notice that their constant demands are starting to eat away at him.
Then again, they would do anything to use him. And he gets it. He’s been trained for this after all, but that doesn’t make it any easier.
Yes, he wants to help people. Yes, he would do anything to protect them. But then he thinks back on last night, on how that girl was telling him he should take better care of himself. At least eat a little more.
Will she be there again tonight? Stand in the same room as him, looking him over, assessing his state. Would she notice that he looks cleaner now, more presentable—more hero-like. Or would he not dream of her again.
The only way to find out is fall asleep. And even though he would love to, he just can’t shut his mind off. It’s racing at a hundred miles an hour, thinking back on villains and the information they all accidentally dropped without even realising.
Is there a connection between them? A small group of villains acting, or is it just individual people who think they can get away with it—as if they can outrun him, the fastest hero in all of Japan.
Stupid, honestly.
By the time he finally falls asleep, it’s almost a whole hour later. His eyes slipping shut as he was still thinking about everything that has happened over the past few weeks.
“I thought you were gonna skip out on me.” Is the first thing he’s greeted with when he opens his eyes again, this time still in his bed. It makes him freak out a little, because is she really in his bedroom, or is this a dream again?
Turning his head, he can see her sit on the floor at the end of the bed, head propped up on her fist as she cocks her head to the side. Hair cascading down her face, making a makeshift curtain. The moonlight from outside slipping in, illuminating her figure.
For a second, just one, he swears there’s something waving behind her—almost tail-like. Thin and black. But it’s gone as soon as he saw it.
She grins when his eyes find hers again. Blinking a few times, he sits upright. “You were waiting for me?”
“Of course I was. I told you I would, didn’t I?” She easily replies, a little teasing lilt to her voice. Her eyes crinkle as she grins a little wider, almost as if he said something funny.
And it’s true, she did say that she would meet him again soon, but he didn’t realise soon meant the literal next day. “Soon isn’t the same as ‘tomorrow’”
There’s a glint of amusement in her eyes now. Something so different from yesterday, he has to blink a few times to really see if this is the same person.
Her eyes rake down his body, stopping slightly at his bare waist. Her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip, before she looks back up at him again. “Did’ya eat today?”
Ah, there it is again. That concern she had for him yesterday. The grin gone, replaced with a slight frown as she sits upright—still at the end of the bed. Not sitting next to him this time.
“Had a few chicken skewers from a little vendor down,” he admits, rubbing his nape as he looks away. There’s something about her gaze that makes him a little nervous. Him, Hawks, the one who eyes people like they’re mere prey, feeling nervous from a pretty girl just looking at him as if he doesn’t have a whole fan base that thirsts after him.
Her eyebrows twitch a little at the confession, not a full scowl, but clearly not fully happy, either. “That’s the only thing you ate the entire day?”
Hawks has to look away for a second, suddenly feeling much more conscience about the fact that he hasn’t been eating much, especially lately. Yes, his days are hectic, but some proper nutritions should be the least he gets in a day. “Mhmm.”
“I thought I told you to eat more. Need you alive and well and all that.” She pouts, lower lip pushing out as she finally goes to sit on the bed, still not next to him, but at least a little closer than she was before. “At least you cleaned up a little.”
She’s referring to his wings, no longer dirty but rather a pretty, shiny red. Sure, they’re a bit dirty from the fact that he’s been flying around all day, fighting crime and all that, but it isn’t nearly as bad as it was yesterday.
“Mhmm, found some time before patrol to clean them,” he mumbles back, watching the way her fingers are twitching beside her, almost as if she wants to reach out to touch one. Still, she doesn’t. Fingers staying clear of the red plumes, just like yesterday.
“Good, that’s good. Mean you’re at least taking a bit more care of yourself.” She nods to herself, hair swaying with the motion as she finally looks up at him with a small smile. “Now you just have to get more sleep and eat more.”
It’s not so much a statement as it is a request. Almost like she’s trying to force him to eat and sleep more. Well, she did tell him that he couldn’t continue living like this, and that part is true.
The fact that the HPSC doesn’t even see it is quite alarming to be completely honest. But he’d rather be the one they call on—despite the fact that he wants to snap whenever they do call him out of bed—than that they try to raise some just like him.
He knows what it’s like to be raised between those walls, and he wouldn’t want to wish that upon anyone. So he has to endure this.
But maybe, just maybe, there is a solution to his problems. He isn’t sure what, but he’s going to figure it out. And he voices as much out loud. “I’ll figure something out.”
He isn’t sure if it’s to assure the girl that’s sitting on the bed with him, or himself. Not that it matters much, he knows she’s right. He should eat more. His back absolutely burning from all the flying he’s been doing lately.
“Good, because you’re way too young to burn out like this. Now go to sleep, you clearly need it.”
And he does, closing his eyes again, this time no pretty girl sitting next to him on the bed, but just a static black feed behind his eyes all the way until he wakes up.
The next few weeks continue like that—falling asleep and finding her sitting next to him. And each and every time she comes a little closer to him, getting out of her shell a little bit. Telling him about herself, sitting closer to him.
Of course he can’t forget the most important thing of all—she told him her name. A name he wasn’t familiar with, but sounded so pretty when she said it.
She still asks him if he’s eaten, and much to his credit, he has been eating more again lately. Something that’s definitely noticeable by the way he’s bulking up a little—not getting fat, but actually gaining back some of his muscles that he lost over the past few months.
She’d smiled when she saw the difference, though it was still a work in progress, it was at least something.
The eyebags under his eyes also definitely lessened. Getting more rest—not more hours of sleep, but just rest in general—than he ever has. No longer having to use a tube of concealer a week just to keep the bags away from the people.
They would probably be so worried when they saw the state he was in when he left the house. But with the constant reminder from the pretty lady in his dreams, he ate and slept more. Getting healthier by the day, even if the HPSC was still on his ass.
It’s not like crime had stopped in the meantime, petty criminals and actual drug rings popping up left and right. But with some of his strength being restored, those also got handled much quicker than before—something that definitely showed in his rating.
Not that he looks much at those ratings, knowing that the HPSC is skewing the percentages behind the scenes a lot. He’s good, he knows he’s good, but he isn’t number two good if he would look at the actual numbers.
Oh well, not something he really minds.
All he really cares about is you—the pretty lady in his dreams that tells him he’s doing so good lately. Telling him that he looks good, and not just in the way that his fans tell him he looks good; no, she means that he looks healthy again.
Fuck, the way you were running your hands through his shorter hair—because yes, he finally got that haircut as well—telling him you were so proud of him for doing good, almost has his feathers fucking tremble.
Without realising it, he has started to look forward to get into bed—to see you. Wishing the day would fly by faster so he could just close his eyes and see your beautiful figure standing in the same room as him.
The problem is that others have started to notice as well. Not his fans or the press necessarily, but rather his handler from the HPSC. They came up to him earlier today, asking him if he had someone waiting for him at home.
Technically he doesn’t, but the fact that they could even notice that he was more eager to return home after a long day of work is a problem. (How they can see that, but not see that they’re working him to the point of almost falling asleep whilst still flying astounds him.)
Getting cornered like that really didn’t sit right with him. His wings almost puffing up in defense, before he controlled them enough to not be noticeable.
Those same feathers your fingers ran through just last night, his brain working overtime as you oh-so gently ran your fingers along his wing bone, down his big, soft primaries. It almost makes him hard yet again.
But how would he tell his handlers that he technically doesn’t have someone waiting at home for him, but rather in his dreams.
Fuck, they would call him delusional, run scans on him to see if it’s someone’s quirk affecting him—as if he hasn’t tried to research that himself. Spending nights to see if there was any entry of your name in the system with a matching description, only to come up empty.
His not-so-real girlfriend turned real inside of his dreams.
Maybe they would give him some days off, saying he’s hallucinating or something like that. But he knows somewhere deep inside his brain that you are real, just not in the world where he’s awake.
Quite frankly, he doesn’t really care about the logistics anymore. Not after that one night where you ran him a bath and carefully preened his crooked feathers, massaging the knots out of his back from the long hours of flight he has been doing.
To trust someone like that—the President would have his head if she ever found out he’s been getting ‘lax’, even in his dreams.
For just once in his life, he wants to have something of his own, even if there is a possibility that all of this is fake—his mind making up things as he’s asleep; something he wants but can’t have in the real world.
Still, he knows that he’s fucked. …Just not fucked enough to not almost pounce onto the bed, pulling his blanket over him and fall asleep almost immediately.
He’s expecting to hear your voice, that pretty lilt in your voice as you tell him he did good today—having eaten much more than the first time the two of you met a few weeks ago, keeping himself clean, and actually getting a nap in during his supposed patrol (don’t tell the President that, though).
Instead, he’s greeted by a mop of white hair. A mop of white hair that belongs to a guy—not you—with the prettiest blue eyes he’s ever seen. If he had to even try to compare them, he thinks Endeavor’s eye colour would come closest to it—and even then, it’s not even close.
Still, he wasn’t expecting this. The fact that there’s a man in the living room with him, instead of his the pretty girlfriend.
Looks like the stranger notices, tilting his head to the side, bangs brushing his forehead with the motion. “Expecting someone else?”
That… is not what Hawks thought would come out of the guy’s mouth. Is this his subconscious trying to fuck with him once again? Could you not make it, and did his brain know, trying to make up for the fact that you’re not here.
Without even realising it, a small pout forms on his face. Thinking about how, after a long day of work, all he could think about was to pull your body against his, hold you close as you ramble about your day instead.
Now he can’t even do that, considering you’re not even here.
“Don’t look so sad. You have me here now,” the white-haired guy speaks up once again, trying to gain Keigo’s attention.
The hero looks over to where the guy is perched on the couch—much too close for his liking, but juuust far away enough that he doesn’t have to calm his feathers down. “You’re not her.”
That makes the guy smile, a certain glint of amusement passing through his eyes as he looks over the crimson-winged hero. “Astute observation. Though, I can take care of you, too, y’know.” There’s a slight pause before the white-haired guy adds: “In whatever way you want.”
The smug cadence in the guy’s voice makes Hawks stop for a second. Sure, he’s thought about wanting to kiss you and definitely more than just kiss you, but never did he think about actually doing those things. When he still doesn’t answer, the white-haired guy tries again.
“Look, if you wanted her here so bad, then why am I the one that’s here instead? This is your dream, so clearly you wanted me to be here.”
Right, because whatever way he looks at it, Keigo is still asleep. Not actually meeting up with a girl he likes. It’s just him, lucid dreaming about a girl his mind made up and do stuff with. And now apparently there is a guy in his dreams. A very handsome guy.
It’s not that Keigo doesn’t have eyes! The guy in front of him is objectively fucking attractive, but he still can’t help but feel disappointed that you’re not here with him.
“Just let me rest for the night,” he manages to mumble out, golden eyes slipping close already as he relaxes himself on the couch, wings actually tucked in for the first time in forever when he’s asleep.
Much to his surprise, the white-haired guy doesn’t actually say anything further, just lets out a little hum, but actually does let him sleep. Not disturbing him—though very clearly eyeing him with those pretty blue eyes of his, considering Keigo can almost feel them on his skin—until his alarm goes off.
The rest of the day has him feeling rather odd. His mind not completely in the game when he has to catch more villains—of course he still gets his job done, he is Hawks, the Number Two hero after all. But it isn’t quite as smooth as normal.
His mind still back at the pretty guy who showed up in his dreams instead of you. But then again, the guy did have a point about it being his dream, so somewhere in the back of that stupid brain of his, he conjured up that tall, handsome man.
Would you be there tonight, or is it the same guy again?
Well, he doesn’t have to wait long for that answer; going to sleep and opening his eyes to see bright blue eyes staring back at him, a small smirk tugging on the guy’s face. It has Keigo groan out, having hoped to spend some time with you again.
“Oh come onnn,” the guy whines, moving closer to where the hero is sat. “What’s so bad about me, hmmm? Is it because I’m a guy?”
“I just wanna see my girlfriend,” the words slip out before he even realises it. It’s not like you’re his girlfriend, but this guy doesn’t have to know that. Plus, this is inside of his damn mind! He can say whatever he wants to.
Seems like that was the wrong thing to say, though. The white-haired guy tilts his head, blue eyes blinking down at him as he grins. “I can be your boyfriend in the meanwhile.”
That’s how this weird dynamic begins. Keigo doesn’t really trust Gojo—as he said his name was—the same way he trusts you, but much to the guy’s credit, he does actually do a decent job at filling the gaps where you normally were.
Gojo asks him about his days, if he’d eaten today, all while playing with Keigo’s hair or sometimes massaging his shoulders—all things you also do.
So when days blur into weeks, and the blond hasn’t seen you ever since Gojo showed up, he doesn’t think much of it. Feeling more and more relaxed with the tall man around. But then there you are again, sitting on the couch with a pretty smile on your face like you haven’t been gone for weeks.
It makes his mind buffer for a little while, this time having expected Gojo here instead of you. Which is quite ironic when you think about it, considering he didn’t want anything to do with the white-haired guy before, and now he’s almost expecting him to be here.
But it doesn’t matter much, not when you coo at how pretty he looks added with a small kiss on his cheek.. Ushering him to the couch to ask him about his day.
So sometimes you’re there in his dreams, and other times it’s Gojo. He never knows when his mind decides to set him up with you or Gojo, but it doesn’t matter all that much to him anymore. All he knows is that he can feel comfortable around the two of you, no matter which one it is.
“Poor thing, losing most of your feathers in battle like that,” he hears you purr from behind him. Delicate fingers tracing over his lower back as you walk in front of him, staring at his face. Cupping his cheek, he lets himself bask in the warmth for a little, not sure when the next time ’s gonna be he sees you again.
But it isn’t until he feels another hand—bigger, a bit more rough—splayed along his back that he realises it isn’t just you in the room with him. He distantly recognizes the fact that you’re letting go of his face, but all he can think about is how a white mop of hair and blue eyes are looking at him.
It makes his mind buffer a little, having both his boy- and girlfriend in the room (he has long since disregarded anything that makes sense, in his mind the two of you are? Were? The same entity, something his mind conjured up because he’s so fucking lonely. But there was also something real about it.)
Not that it matters much when Gojo pushes out that plump bottom-lip of his, already glinting with some saliva. The thing looking almost kiss-bitten already, red where they’re normally a lighter shade of pink. “What happened to your wings, pretty boy?”
Hawks opens his mouth a few times, wanting to tell the two of you what exactly happened, but his mind is still buffering from the fact that you’re both here—at the same time.
“I just- battle gone wrong. What… what’s happening?” He breathes out, confused. Golden eyes tracking the way Gojo now is also standing in front of him. But instead of those pretty blue eyes looking at his own golden ones, they’re completely focused on you.
You, who smile up at the white-haired man. A smile so devious, Keigo isn’t sure he’s ever seen it before—it was much more in character for Gojo to smile at him like that, not you. Especially when you’re looking at someone who’s supposed to be a stranger, or that’s what Keigo thought anyway. But from the way you two are looking at each other, it certainly does look like you two have known each other for a while.
And as if he wasn’t confused enough already, Gojo surges forward, crashing his lips upon yours. There is no sweetness in it, not the way he has kissed him before, with those tender kisses being placed upon Keigo’s scarred, suntanned skin. No, this is all heat and passion—teeth and tongue.
Your hands move to Gojo’s hair, tugging on it so harshly, it gains a groan from the white-haired man. That same groan that does something to Keigo he isn’t sure how to admit.
Gojo pulls your body further against his, chest to chest, him having to bend down a bit to fully reach you as your tongues clash. And all Keigo can do is watch the two of you just blatantly make out in front of him.
That should be him …right? So why does he feel so turned on when watching his whatever-the-fuck the two of you were of his, make out with each other?
A low, needy noise escapes his lips without even realising it. But it seems like, despite being so preoccupied, both you and Gojo could hear it loud and clear. Disconnecting your lips from one another, a thin string of saliva connects the two of you. It glistens in the low bedroom light, gaining Keigo’s full attention before it snaps.
Your eyes are half-lidded as you look at the hero, chest heaving up and down with each ragged breath you take. Your hands slooowly sliding from Gojo’s hair to his chest. “I think someone wants in on the kiss,” you comment to Gojo before cocking your head to the side. “Don’t you, baby?”
Keigo can only stand there, hands clenching and unclenching as his heart beats against his chest. A small nod is all it takes for the two of you to move.
Gojo moves to his back, one big hand gripping his waist as the other perches on his hip. They move up and down slightly as you position yourself in front of the blond. One hand trails from his chest all the way up to his jaw. Your fingers leaving behind a trail of goosebumps on his scarred skin. “Need you to use your words for me.”
“Yes please, wanna kiss you.” Keigo swallows, blown-out pupils looking you over as you smile up at him. “Attaboy,” you whisper, before your lips meet to move his.
It isn’t as rough as the kiss between you and Gojo, not with the way you’re trying to coax his lips open with your tongue. Nor with the way you keep the speed down a little, letting it drag out a little.
Keigo’s hands find your hips, pulling you further into him. Feeling the way your breasts are squished against the hard planes of his body. At the same time, he can feel Gojo’s hand squeeze his own hip. Lips ghosting Keigo’s ear. “Doing so good for us.”
That makes the blond moan out into your mouth, the praise traveling directly south—something you can definitely feel. Especially when you disconnect your lips from his, lips swollen from the kisses as you look at Gojo. “Seems like he’s enjoying this, a lot.”
The white-haired man raises a brow before he looks over the shorter man’s shoulder, looking at the obvious tent in Keigo’s trousers. “How cute, getting that hard over a couple of kisses. And you haven’t even kissed me yet,” Gojo grabs the blond’s chin, turning his head to face him. “Don’t worry, I also get hard embarrassingly fast when she kisses me.”
Before he can even ask what Gojo means, said man already crashes his lips upon his own, muffling the sound. Keigo has to stand on his tippy toes a little to kiss the taller man back, twisting his torso around awkwardly—not wanting to have his sensitive wings squished to his body.
Your sweet giggles fill his ears. “So eager. Knew you’d be perfect for us,” you purr out, one hand cupping the bulge as you pepper open-mouthed kisses along his exposed neck, suckling on the skin.
Keigo groans out into Gojo’s mouth, the feeling of your fingers tracing his hard-on through his pants has him bucking up into your hand, hips moving on its own as he’s completely lost in the way the white-haired man is kissing him. It’s so different from the way you kissed him—sweet whereas the other man is a bit more mean, saliva getting swapped in a filthy exchange.
Fuck, he’s not sure he can keep up with the both of you touching him like this.
There’s a gasp of air when Gojo finally pulls back, blue eyes almost completely disappearing to the black of his irises, only a thin ring of blue remaining. The two of them breathing heavy as they just look at each other for a couple of seconds, before a small thud! finally grabs both their attention.
Snapping his gaze to the sound, he sees the way you’ve dropped to your knees now—not even realising that you stopped touching him—an innocent smile on your face as you look up at the two men in front of you.
Gojo just chuckles, moving to stand beside the shorter man now. Running a hand through your hair, you lean into his hand, eyes flicking between the two of them. Your hands find themselves on Keigo’s thighs that flex under the touch. Your head moving to lay itself on there too, nose brushing against his bulge as you look up at the blond.
“Wanna suck you off,” you place a few teasing kisses on his covered cock. “Please?”
“Y-yeah. Fuck yeah, of course you can, dove,” he stammers out, completely entranced by the way your eyes are so doe-like right now. A complete opposite to how they looked just a few second ago.
A smile stretches across your lips as you unbuckle his belt, trying to get the useless fabric out of the way as fast as possible. And who is Keigo to deny such a pretty girl his cock? Moving his own hands to help you get rid of the garments quicker, his cock springs up the moment the clothes pool around his ankles.
There’s pre beading down his slit, shaft already glistening with it. A prominent vein pulsing on the left side of his cock as the hairs at the base are trimmed at best. It twitches a few times under your gaze, before you spit into your hand and finally wrap it around his girth.
A groan immediately punches from the back of his throat when he feels your delicate fingers tug on him. The little stubs on his back twitch with the touch, a small tingle going down his spine at the feeling. He has to hold himself back from cumming right then and there—already embarrassingly close from just a few kisses and touches.
Placing a few kisses to the underside of his shaft, you let your tongue loll out of your mouth, giving it a teasing lick before wrapping your lips around the swollen head. Your hand still moving uuup and down his shaft, pulling moans and groans from the blond like they’re free candies.
“Look so pretty for us like this,” Gojo murmurs, not sure if he’s talking to you or Keigo. Not that it matters much to the shorter man, words only fueling him more. Eyes fluttering shut as you suuckk on his tip, tongue swirling around as you start bobbing your head up and down his shaft.
“O-oh shit,” Keigo moans when your nose meets his pelvis. His hand shoots down to your head, fingers hovering just over your hair as they flex, not sure if he’s allowed to grab your head like that.
Seems like you notice, though. Pulling yourself off him, lips shiny with saliva and pre, hand still jerking him off as you smile up at him—all innocent, like you didn’t just have him down your slutty throat. “Go on, you can do whatever you want.”
With that, you take him in your mouth again, throat bulging slightly as you deep throat him once more.
This time Keigo’s hand threads through your hair, fingers digging into the back of your skull as his own eyes roll back, only the whites visible. Abs flexing as he oh so desperately tries not to buck his hips forward, burying his cock down your throat like he wants.
“Taking me so good,” he whimpers—fucking whimpers out. Completely lost in you that he’s forgotten that there’s another presence in the room.
“You can be rougher than that, she takes cock like a champ. Don’t you, babe?” Keigo startles, eyes opening to see the other man completely bare. When did he even take his clothes off? Cock standing proud, tip a pretty blush colour as pre gathers along his slit. The sight makes the hero absolutely salivate.
The words don’t even process in his mind until you pull yourself off Keigo’s cock with a wet little pop! some saliva dripping down the corner of your mouth, despite the blond not being as big as your boyfriend. A whine escapes him as your warm, wet throat leaves him. The cool, chilly air of his bedroom making his ever-sensitive dick twitch a few times.
Luckily for him, your hand wraps itself around the blond’s cock, keeping him stimulated as you give teasing kitten licks to the neglected cockhead of your boyfriend’s cock.
Groaning, Gojo puts his hand on the back of your head, guiding your mouth until it’s wrapped around him. The tip grazing the roof of your mouth as you steady yourself with one hand on his big thigh.
Gojo starts fucking into your mouth with deep, harsh trusts. And fuck, the sight has Keigo buck his hips into your hand. It was clear that you could take a lot, especially with the way you were sloppily making out with his tip before sinking down to the base, his tip reaching the back of your throat. But seeing you swallow Gojo’s dick that is at least an inch and a half bigger than his own, yeah, taking cock like a champ is exactly right.
The room fills with the wet sounds of your gurgles, Gojo’s balls hitting your chin over and over again, and the sound of the white-haired man whining out your name between praises.
Gojo doesn’t let you come up for air even once. Not that you want it, from your expression. Literal hearts in your eyes as you look up at the man who’s currently rutting into your mouth like there’s no tomorrow, head thrown back, eyes closed.
You haven’t forgotten about the blond, though. Hand still moving up and down his shaft as you get absolutely used by the other man, your fingers digging into his thigh.
Keigo can feel himself get closer by the second, already having trouble not cumming right now—watching the way you’re taking all of Gojo like it’s your job. Even when the white-haired man’s hips buck uncontrollably, little whines leaving his lips as you keep sucking him off.
Pulling you off his girth, Gojo groans. “F-fuck sweetheart, let us cum on your face, hmm? You’re close too, right, handsome?” Keigo just nods his head, golden curls bouncing with the motion. “Of course you are, such a good boy.”
That does it, sending Keigo right over the edge. Hot white spurts landing on your face as you close your eyes and open your mouth.
Gojo is not far behind, cumming with a groan. Their release mixing on your face, painting you in white.
You scoop some of the cum from your cheeks, lips closing around your fingers as you lick it all up. A moan ripping itself from the back of your throat when the mixed cum hits your taste buds.
Keigo can’t even properly come down from his high—dick still twitching a few times, wing stubs moving on his back—before Gojo helps you stand, and licks some of the release from your face. His tongue lapping over your cheek, before sharing a filthy kiss with you, swapping the cum around in your mouths.
If Keigo’s dick wasn’t twitching before, it certainly is now. Getting half-hard again already, watching the way you two are just drinking each other up—and the cum, of course.
It’s only when Gojo scoops some of it from your cheek onto his fingers, that the blond comes to his senses a bit more. “C’mon pretty boy, you don’t wanna know how sweet we taste together?”
Gojo taps his cum-covered fingers on Keigo’s bottom lip, smearing some of it on there. For one second, just one, those golden eyes find yours—seeing the way you’re biting your lip, rubbing your thighs together where you’re still sat on your knees, eyes half-lidded—and he’s done for.
Opening his mouth, he sucks on Gojo’s fingers. The taste of both him and the other man filling his taste buds, and he can’t help but let his eyes flutter shut.
“Fuck, he looks so pretty like that. Almost makes me regret not asking him to suck me off with you,” Gojo whispers, blue eyes looking down at the other guy that’s currently sucking on his fingers like it’s his dick.
“We can always do that another time,” you reply. Having stood up from the ground, only to discard your own clothes. Not that Keigo notices that detail, eyes opening to directly stare up into those pretty blue orbs, tongue still swirling around those thick digits.
It’s only when you move to stand behind him, breath ghosting the shell of his ear as you lean forward, one finger tracing his spine, going especially slow when you’re close to his wings, that he snaps out of whatever trance he was in.
His wing stubs move erratically on his back, the sensitive skin your finger is currently grazing making him so fucking sensitive. A small whine leaving his throat when your finger comes down on what’s left of his wing bone.
“Maybe we can also play with those feathers of his next time.” The thought makes a shiver go down his spine, already thinking about how the two of you would use his feathers.
Fuck, would Gojo put him on his lap, back against his chest, those red feathers getting squished between bodies as he cards his fingers through the crimson feathers? All while you jerk him off, that devious throat of yours taking all of him in when he’s already sensitive.
Multiple scenarios flash through his head at once. You, on your back, fingers clinging to his biceps and shoulders, leaving behind angry marks he can admire for the rest of the day when he wakes up again.
Him, sinking down on Gojo’s ridiculously large cock, wings twitching as he tries to fit all of him in. All while Gojo whispers condescendingly praise into his ears, telling him how pretty he is when he’s struggling to take some cock.
Fuck, now is not the time to think about it, but rather to act it all out. And it seems like the two of you agree with that sentiment, especially when you try to take his shirt off, leaving him just as bare as you and Gojo already were.
“Think you can take me?” Gojo asks the blond, giving his own cock a few tugs.
Can he? He honestly has never even tried something this large before, only having a handful of experiences with other guys, where he topped most of the time. The few times he bottomed wasn’t with guys who were this big.
Keigo looks down once again, and he can swear Gojo has gotten even bigger somehow between fucking your throat and now. Surely a trick of his mind, getting a bit overwhelmed at the thought of all of that trying to fit inside of him.
“‘S okay if you can’t, baby,” you, still stood behind him, rubbing his shoulders a bit, say. “You two can fuck me instead if you don‘t think you can take it.”
Gulping, he looks at you for a few seconds, golden eyes completely blown out when he feels the way you’re pressing against him. Then looks back at where the taller man is standing, cock hanging from how heavy it is, glistening in the low bedroom lighting, making it all the more inviting.
“I can take it,” he responds, even though the thought of fucking you also weighs heavy on his mind. Thinking about how your walls would be clamping around him as he fucks into you the same time Gojo does.
But he can’t deny that he also wants Gojo, having daydreamed about what the tall man would do to him if he ever let it.
“Attaboy. We’ll take such good care of you,” Gojo whispers, sealing his promise with a filthy kiss. “Go on, lay down for me.”
He does as told, leaning back on the bed, propping himself up with his elbows so his wings don’t touch the bed.
At the same time you go to lay down beside him, legs spread. There’s slick along your inner thighs, glistening in the light. Of course Keigo can’t help but look at it, eyes immediately snapping towards your puffy folds.
Not that he has a view of it for long, because there’s a groan from the other man before he’s on you—eating you out like a man starved. There’s sweet moans falling from your lips as you fist some of the white hair, bringing Gojo closer toward you.
Speaking of, it’s not like they completely forget about him. One of your hands creeps over to where Keigo lay, wrapping around his base and giving him a few pumps, thumbing the slit with each pass of your hand.
Leaning over, he captures your mouth. Kissing you like there’s no tomorrow. The sound of the wet shlick shlick shlick along with the wet squelch of Gojo’s fingers moving in and out of you fills the room.
Before he knows it, you cum with a cry. Back arching as you moan out into Keigo’s mouth. “That’s it, sweetheart. Cum all over my tongue,” the white-haired man mumbles from between your legs. Before he finally lets up, removing his fingers from your dripping core, only to lap them clean. Shufflinf over to seat himself between Keigo’s legs now.
For a second, looking down at the man that’s currently looking at him like he wants to absolutely devour him, Keigo swears he sees something on his chest. A small marking that wasn’t there before. Tilting his chin further down, he can see it more clearly now, and it has his heart and mind absolutely racing.
It almost looks like a tattoo, in the most beautiful shade of blue he can even think of—almost the same shade as the man’s eyes who is currently between his legs, sucking hickeys into his skin he definitely has to cover up when he’s cleared to go on patrol again. (God forbid someone somehow saw one of the markings, he doesn’t have the time to explain to everyone that he’s a human being with needs.)
But the tattoo holds his attention, a small little heart with swirls all around them. It almost looks like it’s glowing, and his fingers can’t help but creep towards the mark.
“Isn’t it pretty?” Keigo startles when he hears your voice, much closer than he had anticipated it to be. Turning his head to the side, he’s met with you. Perched on your knees as you sit right beside him now, no longer laying on your back. Eyes wide, he can’t help but look you over for a few seconds.
His eyes go to the swell of your breasts, looking at the way they look so inviting to suck. Then travel down, all the way until he sees a similar mark on your own lower stomach—the same pretty shade of blue, a little heart with markings all around. A fucking womb tattoo.
How didn’t he notice it when Gojo was absolutely lapping you up? When your back was arched so pretty, eyes fluttering close.
“Since when…?” He can’t really find the words he’s looking for, golden eyes still trained on your womb while Gojo has finally stopped his ministrations, instead laying his head on Keigo’s thigh.
“Back when I made her my girlfriend—made her mine,” the taller man replies, blue eyes flitting between the two marks; eyes lingering on your tattoo a bit longer than on Keigo’s one. “As for yours… the first time we met.”
Keigo furrows his brows. The day they met? Surely he would’ve known if someone gave him a tattoo, especially on his chest. Plus, he’s never seen it before in his life. Sure, he was tired all the time, but not tired enough to miss a whole ass tattoo on his chest.
When the blond stays silent for longer than expected, Gojo pouts a little, glossy lip pushed out as he playfully bites the blond’s thigh. “Do you not like it?”
“I do! I do! It’s just… How did I miss this before?” He mutters more to himself than to either of you, but you perk up a bit. “Because we’re only showing it to you now, pretty boy.”
“What does that even mean— O-oh fuck!” He gets cut off when a warm mouth wraps around the tip of his blushing cock, tongue lapping up all the pre that was dripping already. One of his scarred hands flies down to tangle into the short, white locks of Gojo’s hair. Who is currently looking up with an amused glint in those pretty blue eyes.
Pulling himself off, a small pop! echoing through the room. “Sorry, did you want to ask something?”
“N-not really,” Keigo rasps, his hand trying to guide Gojo back to his swollen cock head. Gojo just chuckles, giving the blond a small wink, before he places small kisses all over the shaft—from his glossy tip to his frenulum, a small moan escaping the hero’s lips when he feels the teasing kitten lick over the thing, all the way down until his lips find the delicate skin of Keigo’s balls.
Wrapping his lips around them, Keigo has to focus on not bucking into the lager man’s hands. Small moans escaping his lips as Gojo plays with his balls, all whilst still jerking him off. The sight of such a pretty guy sucking on his balls while his hand is pumping him, has him positively twitching in the white-haired man’s hands.
“Didn’t forget about me, did you?” you purr at the blonde, one finger trailing from his throat down to his chest, where you circle one of his nipples. Shaking his head, curls bouncing with the motion, he cups your jaw to bring you in for a kiss.
At the exact same time, Gojo pulls away from his balls, only for two wet, cold fingers to circle his entrance. Pulling back from the kiss, he looks down to where Gojo is smearing the substance—of what he guesses is lube—in a messy circle around his hole, blue eyes staring up at him. “This okay?”
“Mhmm, yeah.” Keigo nods back, giving the okay for Satoru to sink one of his fingers inside of him. The foreign feeling has him hissing out, the slight stretch almost completely unfamiliar to the blond. You brush his fringe out of his face, a few golden curls stubbornly springing back into place. “Relax for him, pretty bird.”
He tries to do as much, just letting himself feel how Gojo is slowly moving his finger in and out of him. Finger sometimes crooking up, trying to find that spot inside of him. The white-haired man places a kiss on Keigo’s hipbone.
All while you lean over the blond, placing small kisses all on his shoulders and collarbones, sucking small marks into his skin.
The feeling of two sets of soft lips upon his skin makes him relax a bit more, enough that Gojo can sink his entire finger in. Trying to get him used to the stretch to get a second finger in. “Doing so good for me.”
Keigo’s cock twitches where it’s laying on his stomach, the soft amber lighting in the room annunciating the way his entire cock is glossy from pre and saliva. Throwing his head back, he doesn’t see the way the white-haired guy now leans up.
Grabbing the hero’s cock, Gojo wraps his lips around his shaft once more, trying to distract the smaller guy from the fact that he’s adding another finger in, slowly stretching him out more.
Keigo clenches around both digits, a small moan escaping him as he feels all too much—Gojo’s digits slowly scissoring him open while the white-haired male also lets his tongue lave over Keigo’s slit, and then there’s you.
Soft lips placing open-mouthed kisses over his skin, sometimes stopping to let your teeth sink in or suck a mark into the suntanned skin, until you stray a bit further down, your lips find the mark on his chest.
Hawks’ back arches from the bed, and Gojo has to wrap his free arm over the man’s waist, pinning him down so he doesn’t accidentally hurt the smaller guy; fingers still slowly moving inside of him, cock now buried in Satoru’s throat. Not that you’d know from the way the guy doesn’t even blink at the sudden movement, only sinks his head down further until his lips reach the base.
“Shit- fuck, what the fuck?” He groans, one hand finding the back of your head—where you’re still licking and sucking on the tattoo, and it’s almost like there are thousands of little nerve endings on the thing, making his dick twitch and pulse inside Gojo’s mouth.
Placing a small kiss on it, you look back up at Keigo, a smirk tugging on your lips. “Pretty nice, huh?”
He can’t find the words, especially not when you lick a broad stripe over the mark. His back arches, the stimulation of the mark plus the way his cock feels in Gojo’s tight throat and the three fingers currently moving inside of him, hurtles him over the edge.
It isn’t long before Gojo is pulling off and out of him, licking his lips like he was just served a meal. Throwing an arm over his eyes, he let’s himself breathe, chest heaving up and down.
“You ready for another?” The arm slides off his face to look at Gojo, who’s standing at the side of the bed, hand wrapped around his cock as he gives it a few lazy strokes. The confusion must show on his face, because both you and Gojo chuckle in unison. “I hope you ate enough to get plenty of energy, because we’re far from done with you yet.”
Ghost who starts dating you and almost immediately stops showing up to pub nights- a sacred ritual for the 141, and causes raised eyebrows by the third time he grunts “can’t” over the phone.
Soap corners him after the fifth time he cancelled, all crooked grin and too bright eyes, leaning into Ghost’s space. “Ye’re skippin’ again, LT. What’s the matter? Bird got ye on a curfew?”
Ghost doesn’t answer at first. Just shoulders his bag higher and keeps walking. But Soap follows, wheedling in that relentless way of his. “C’mon, Simon. Ye’ve not bought a round in weeks. Ye skint? Need a loan? Or is it her? Ye spendin’ all yer money on that pretty thing ye’ve been seein’?”
Ghost stops, turns just enough for Soap to see the flat line of his mouth beneath the mask. “Money’s tight.”
“Tight?” Soap barks a laugh, but it dies quick when he clocks the look in Ghost’s eyes. “You? The fuck’re ye spendin’ it on, then?”
Ghost doesn’t elaborate, just walks away. Soap watches him go, brow furrowed, and later- when it’s just the three of them and a half empty bottle- he tells the others what little he got.
“She’s drainin’ him,” Soap says. “He’s cuttin’ back on everythin’ else. Won’t even split a pizza. Says he’s savin’.”
Price swirls what’s left in his glass. “Seen it before. Good men go soft for the right pair of legs and a sweet smile. Ghost’s got discipline, aye, but he’s still a man. And men like that… they’ve got bank. No one to spend it on before. Makes ‘em easy marks.”
“Gold digger,” Gaz mutters, not quite under his breath, shaking his head at another brother lost. “Better men’ve fallen for less.”
They keep this to themselves, where Ghost can’t hear them. Wouldn’t matter if they did. He’s already gone- head, heart, and wallet- in a way none of them have ever seen. They think he’s blind to it. That he’s being played.
What they don’t see is the way Ghost’s cock twitches, thickening in the grey confines of his pants, every time he pushes his tongue past the sticky-sweet barrier of your sixty dollar lipstick until it smears, thumb dragging across your lower lip, deliberate, spreading the color onto your chin.
Doesn’t see how hard he gets until he’s dizzy with it, one fist buried tight in your blown out hair, gripping at the roots and ruining the careful- expensive- work the stylist did until damp strands stick to your skin.
Blunt head already drooling a thick pool of pre, balls aching as he watches the mascara run down your flushed cheeks, lashes clumping, while he feeds his cock into your perfect warm mouth until the flared head gags the back of your throat.
And maybe he is just a man- a weak, greedy, obsessed man- as he swipes his card on yet another several-hundred-dollar clothing purchase despite your soft protests, already half hard at the thought of how he’s going to rip those pretty new things off your body the second the door closes behind you both, bullying his cock into your cunt around the remains of yet another tattered pair of fifty dollar lacy panties.
You always say something about the cost, about how he can’t keep doing this, but Ghost just shakes his head once, sharp and final. “Can. Will. Shut up an’ let me see what I bought.”
The lads can think what they want. Let them whisper about gold diggers and better men falling. They don’t see how turned on Ghost gets spoiling you rotten, just so he can see you all soft and wrecked, expensive clothes twisted and stained, hair a mess, face streaked with him after he fucks you stupid.
22!Soap x 09!Soap (so confusing, so Johnny and John respectively)
Meeting your doppelganger from another reality was a mind fuck. Being bent over and pounded stupid by said doppelganger was insane in just about every reality.
"Captain..." Johnny whined. Panting against the older mans lips. Breath hitching with every powerful thrust.
Despite this man also supposedly also being 'John MacTavish', he was very different. A grizzled older soldier. Scarred and rough and so much larger than Johnny himself. He reminded Johnny strangely of his own father. He would have to unpack that later.
Seeing his own face, older and heavier, covered in hair, twisted in pleasure, was incredibly strange. This clone's brows pinched in exactly the same way Johnny's did when he was close. But his groans came out much lower. Gruff from years of smoking and yelling over gunfire.
"Ye like that, lad?"
Johnny nodded, eyes rolling back in his head as John's much thicker cock stretched him open. Hitting his prostate hard with every thrust. Sending pleasure shooting up Johnny's spine until he could barely think, let alone answer.
"Pathetic... ye ken?"
Johnny let out a confused whine. His legs starting to ache as they were pushed further back. Pinned down by the full weight of his doppelganger.
"Ah never once took cock this willingly... and ye fuckin' love it. How do ye think ye'll ever be captain when yer this much of a cock whore..."
John laughed loud at the pathetic sob he got in response. Slowing to grind his cock deep. Flicking the younger mans cock until the sob pitched up into a cry. Johnny's dick twitching as he came over his stomach between them.
Request/sort of: You know there's nothing going on between Clark and Lois, not anymore. You know he loves you. That doesn't mean it doesn't sting.
A continuation for different - may need to read it first for some context.
Clark Kent x Reader
Word Count: 4.7K
Content: MDNI. Slightly suggestive but no smut. Angsty and fluffy. Talks of insecurity, jealousy, comparing Clark to an ex. I insinuate reader isn't white/blue eyed. Mentions of a parent hitting reader, could be triggering but I didn't mean it like that. Just sort of explaining reader's mouth vomit.
A/N: Hello dearest tumblr. This was supposed to be a short lil blurb but it got out of hand as per usual. I hope I do the idea justice! Thank you for taking the time to read my work, I really appreciate it. Love always, mani.
I'd suggest to get a better dive into Lois jealousy: This piece by Kyrptidfiles and this one by satellite-evans
divider creds!
It wasn’t eating you up. It wasn’t the reason you had ruined your fresh manicure by biting on your nails and ended up spitting pieces of nail polish into a napkin. It wasn’t the reason you’d spent every night this week in your friend’s apartment like you were hiding from something or worse, scared to be alone with your thoughts. It had nothing to do with the fact that you had been spending the afternoon working in the archival desk with said friend and not in your desk. You said you were working with many archives, and it made sense. It didn’t have anything to do with the fact that for the life of you, you could not handle the Clark & Lois show. Not this week. This week when Perry had said he was disappointed with your last issue because it lacked ‘emotion’. The week when your favourite bra didn’t fit the way it used to and made you feel like you didn’t belong in it. Not the week when you had fought with your sister over something so trivial and dumb; why her wedding would be in a serious ballroom downtown when she’d always dreamed of a Forrest-y one. When you saw Bella and Edward’s wedding, everything about it made you swoon at ten years old. You didn’t want her to compromise the things she wanted, and she was pretending it didn’t bother her giving her husband this one.
This week you needed shelter; you need love and affection and maybe a good fuck to get your mind lighter and clear. But no, of course not. God didn’t play it like that with you. Clark was working on a big, important piece with Lois and not only where they eating, breathing and moving together, they did it with such finesse and the flow of two people who knew each other deeply. And they did. Lois knew Clark’s secret; Clark knew about Lois’ daddy issues. They had fucked, for God’s sake. They had a year to get to know each other before you even appeared in their lives.
And it’s not like you thought they were cheating. You really didn’t. But that they didn’t mean they didn’t want to. That there weren’t linger stares, touches of excitement or moments of connection where they thought ‘we shouldn’t’. That they were a much better fit, they made much more sense, and it was something you knew everyone knew. Like it was an open secret, and they were just waiting for the ball to drop.
“Sugar, you wanna go with me to buy a purse tomorrow? I bought new crimson heels, and they need a matching purse. I’ll even throw in one of the really expensive matcha you like.” Cat asked as she sat on your desk and poked at your cheek to get you attention from where you seemed like the computer was threatening to bite you.
“Sure, just us?”
“Yeah, Lois seems pretty busy, but I guess-“
“No, just us is perfect. And the matcha of the month at Matchacha has an Amarena cold foam.” You smiled up at her, Cat smiling and nodding.
“Great! It’s a date. I’ll leave you to it.” She squeezed your shoulder before standing up and walking back to her desk, just as Clark was arriving back to his from Perry’s office. You shrunk back into your computer fast, not leaving a second wasted on your historical dive into US-Venezuela relations when Clark stopped at your desk.
“You’re dating Cat now?” He teased, smirking down at you. You looked up and smiled back because you weren’t mad, not really. You were just… scared. Envious. Undermined and cynical.
“Yeah, we’re going shopping and going to get the matcha of the month.” You responded and looked back down, fingers now hovering nervously over the keyboard.
“Oh, right. I said I’d take you last week for that- I’m sorry, sweetheart.” His face dropped a little when he realized it might as well be a date because Cat was taking you to do what Clark had failed to.
“It’s fine, you’ve been busy. You don’t even like matcha.”
“Yeah, but I shouldn’t be too busy for you.”
“But you are, and it’s fine.” You mumbled, not even realizing what you said sounded like it wasn’t actually fine.
“Baby, I’m sorry. How about I come over tonight? It’ll be a little late since Lois and I have a meeting, but I can still make it worth your while.” The last part was a promise of indecency. You knew that Clark never asked you for sex or affection straight up. He said it between jokes and hooded eyes, he’d tell you he was hungry while moving his hand up your thigh or ask you to go home while kissing your neck. But what, he’d get himself riled up with Lois and since he couldn’t have her, you’d be the next best thing? Oh, shit. You were consumed by it now. You were being irrational and catty.
“No- uhm, we have craft club tonight and I’m staying the night at Joan’s. Her husband’s away and she feels lonely. Scared. Needs a big, strong men to protect her. Couldn’t find one but I know my way around a zurriaga – a stick with a piece of leather. My dad used to smack me with it. Soft, though! I have one in my closet. Anyways, can’t tonight.” Stop fucking talking. Jesus. Every time you lied, you’d have to add an ultra-personal and graphic story to make up for it. So, the thing about Joan was mostly a lie. But the zurriaga story was true, your dad did smack you with it and then gifted it to you when you moved. Sometimes hard. But you didn’t want to freak out Clark. He was good and pure and had been nothing but kind to you the past nine months you’d been together. Clark nodded with his lips pursed and a confusion that said he didn’t know if to ask further questions.
“Right, I’m going to the Metropolis University library to speak to a Latin American history professor. Wish me luck.” You said, standing up so fast you’d think you would be the one with superpowers and shoved your laptop into your bag, stumbling on your moccasins slightly. He immediately grabbed your waist to help your balance.
“Good luck, baby. I love you, okay?” Clark said firm and honest and you believed him. You did, which is why the feeling overwhelming your body was guilt about feeling like this. Because you shouldn’t and you swore you wouldn’t. You swore if you were ever in a relationship again you wouldn’t worry all the time. You wouldn’t believe every insecurity racking up your brain. That was before this situation had started though, before Clark knocked you off your feet and Lois became one of your closest friends. You nodded and squeezed his hand twice, walking away from him.
You heard it before you saw it. Clark was early, a really rare occurrence and there was Lois ranting about something sitting on his desk next to him. She was wearing a skirt and had her legs crossed, her bare knee so close to Clark’s hands it made you dizzy. She was airy and bubbly and Jimmy stood in front of her laughing along too. She was a beacon of beauty, light, intelligence. The darling of the daily planet.
You gulped and tried to keep a straight face as you stepped into the threshold of the office. You were quiet, having thrown over a sweater Joan lent you this morning, grey and lumpy and just like your taste. Clark would usually look up when you entered a room, he swore he could smell you and hear your heartbeat faster than anything else. But this time, he had his nose in his coffee cup and his ears pressed on Lois’s loud voice. You faded into the background against her. Great. You hung around the reception a minute longer, listening to Kate tell you about a paper delivery problem when Perry stepped out of his office with someone else, probably around his age.
“And these two are my best reporters. Kent and Lane.” He pointed to them, the other man nodding and looking at them.
“And they’re like a power couple?” The man rose his hand and motioned at the two. Your breath hitched as you watched.
“I don’t reckon. Probably should, though.” Coffin, nailed. Your boss, who had just this Monday ripped you a new one because of your lacklustre article, had just said he thought Clark and Lois should be together.
“They’d look good together.” Oh. That hit harder than it needed to. You were different. Very different from Lois and Clark, blue eyes and white skin. And that was a new insecurity you hadn’t dared to explore this week. You said bye to Kate and finally walked towards your desk, stupidly in front of Clark’s and you wondered if he’d notice if you switched it, change with Ron and get some distance between them. Clark finally looked up, a warm smile taking over his face when he spotted you.
“Hey, you are late, miss.” Lois teased as she noticed you too, smiling at you with the warmness of a friend.
“Right, sorry.” You couldn’t say you were right on time but had been standing at the entrance for what felt like ages. Lois gave you a confused look when you didn’t tease back, watching you move into your routine. You placed your water bottle on the desk, let your hair free from the claw clip and located your notebook.
“Honey, hi. I texted you last night.” Clark stood up and walked around towards you, he knew you weren’t a fan of PDA so he just took your hand into his, wrapping his hand around your pinky when you threatened to move it. You felt guilty to let him touch you when you’d spent the whole week doubting his goodness and his love.
“Oh, sorry. We had some tequila and tapped out early.” This one was true.
“You were doing crafts drunk?” He asked with a small laugh, imagining your clumsy hands trying to mold some air-drying clay and whining about it getting under your nails. You became whiny and filter less when tipsy. He wished he was there to see it.
“The drinks were after.” You watched as he placed one hand on your arm and felt the soft fabric of your sweater.
“Hm, right. Did you talk to your sister?”
“No, not yet. It’ll be fine by Saturday.” You shrugged, because you were siblings and that was just what you did- fight and then pretend nothing happened, laugh over breakfast and then repeat the cycle.
“Ah, okay. Is this sweater new?” What was he? The FBI? What’s with the questioning?
“No. Okay, I’m heading down. Have a good day.” Clak frowned impossibly sweet, like it upset him that you didn’t have anything else to say. Nothing sweet to mention, no compliment about his hair he had styled the way you liked this morning, no knowing smile about his twisted tie. You were acting weird the whole week, shrugging him off but he thought maybe you needed space and were on your period or something (you weren’t, he could very creepily smell your cycle). You wore pants and sweaters the whole week, even though you usually liked adding a dress or a skirt. He held onto you when you tried to walk away.
“Hey, slow down. Stay with me for a minute. Talk to me.” He pleaded, urging to shake you or kiss you to see if you’d snap out of whatever it was that was making you like this.
“Don’t wanna keep you, you and Lois need to work. Wonder team and all.”
“Oh, please, he’s all yours, he’s insufferable.” Lois added, you tried to smile at her, but she noticed it didn’t reach you eyes, not even your cheeks. You felt like she was giving you her permission to be with your man and it made you feel so small. But you knew, you knew it was all inside your head and no harm was done and you knew, but knowing didn’t make you feel better.
“We’re almost done, either way. C’mon, let’s go for a coffee and tell me about your week. I miss you, baby. You seem off.” Clark asked and tried to pull you closer to him, nose nuzzling into your hair and a smile inevitably appeared just feeling you close, having you to breathe in made him feel lighter.
“I’m- I do have a deadline. I’m fine, just on my period.” You weren’t, he knew you weren’t. As he tried to think of what to say, you left his grip and turned on your feet fast and away from him.
“I’m- I’ll be downstairs.” You yelled and didn’t look back. His touch felt like pity, his words felt like obligation, his eyes looked like he was picturing someone else. And he wasn’t- he really wasn’t, you tried to know that. You tried to push it deep into your brain. But the comment had settled it, what you knew everyone thought and what you suspected Clark could be trying to ignore because he wanted to do right by you. But it felt heavy in your chest, you saw Dean in some of his words, how he talked to you so carefully like you were a grenade and how he looked at you with confusion and disappointment when you acted this way. It gave you acid reflux and made you feel too hot under your skin.
“Do you think I’d look good with some highlights?”
“Yeah, you would. Wanna try something new?” Cat responded as she stirred the fabric in the shelf, trying to look for her size.
“Maybe, I don’t know. Just-“
“Feeling antsy? You look antsy.”
“Yeah, just… weird in my own body. Like I’ve lost control.” You said and sipped on your drink, still watching Cat sort through the underwear to find the last piece for her 5 for 60 deal.
“Maybe buy something that makes you feel good? You’d rock that bra.”
“How could you possibly know that?” You shrunk your eyes and suspected this was just a way to get you to buy something and make her feel less guilty of all that she shopped. You glanced at what she was pointing at, and it was admittedly beautiful, pink with flowers and lace.
“Okay, miss sassy pants. That’s a good shade of pink for your skin tone, you love embroidery and you hate wiring. If you like it, you’ll rock it.”
“Oh, you really know me.” You just responded, Cat giving you a firm smile and rolling her eyes. You walked up to the bra and looked at it closer, running your fingers over the embroidery.
“I do, honey. What’s up with you? Is it about Perry?” You debated on asking, wondered how royally you would fuck up everything if you admitted it bothered you- if you told her about what Perry and his colleague said, about how you had lied to Clark to avoid him because you were upset about him and Lois being so glued at the hip.
“Yeah.”
“Hey, Joan.” Clark said as he walked into the archive room, looking at the woman with cherry red hair and a seemingly glued on frown that only changed for you. You seemed to be able to do that to people. Clark was enamoured with the fact that you had made the whole building love you so fast. He got the security guard to learn his name after the third gifted snickers bar and six months. He learned yours a week in. He knew why, you had the grace of Lady Di, the humour people would pay for and when you weren’t carrying baked goods, you still smelled like sweetness. How could anyone not love you? How had he even gotten so lucky to be the one that got to love you the most?
“Do you need anything? I need to go pick up my husband from the airport.” She glanced as she was putting her things away, seemingly getting ready to leave.
“No- no, I can look for it myself. How were crafts last night?”
“What crafts? It’s every other week.” Joan looked at him like he was being weird and Clark’s face dropped.
“You- you weren’t with-“
“I was. But she invited herself over, we drank while watching Love Actually and fell asleep. She’s the only person I’d let interrupt my precious nights alone.” Clark gulped, nodding to Joan. So, you lied about your period, lied about crafts and about Joan needing you. You were definitely avoiding him and hiding the reason why.
“Bye then.” Joan announced, done with the conversation and stepped out of the archive, leaving Clark alone. He hadn’t actually come down for a document; he wanted to pry if you had said anything today about why you were acting strange. But he got an answer either way. His heart started beating faster and a weird tension took over his neck and shoulders like he had been clenching his jaw the whole day. He quickly went back to the newsroom, coming up to Lois and Jimmy who were also getting ready to leave.
“I- I think my girlfriend’s mad at me.” Clark announced, making both persons turn to him in an amused grin.
“You think? You’d know if she was, she almost beat me up for saying her lunch smelled weird.”
“Well, that was really mean, but I- she lied about her plans last night and has been working downstairs the whole week.” Clark was confused as to how he hadn’t noticed before, he had actually been busy this week, but he’d never seen you mad or really upset. You hadn’t had a fight yet- just small spats that ended in both of you laughing.
“Now that you mention it, I invited her for lunch today and she said she had plans already, then I saw her eating a sandwich on the staircase. She’s been weird to me too.” Lois said, eyebrows raising as she connected the dots.
“Well, those could have been her plans.” Jimmy joked, not getting the seriousness because you were always such a chill person. But he frowned when he remembered you biting your lips trying not to cry when you left Perry’s office on Monday. It was the same expression you had when you went to watch the sheep movie last month, whimpering into your sweater. And the same one you had when Clark and Lois were high fiving every two seconds on Tuesday.
“You don’t think it’s about… you two?” All three of them looked confused as Jimmy was the one to connect the dots before them. Shit, should he have gone into reporting?
“Of course it is, idiots.” Steve said, standing next to them and laughing like they were morons for not noticing it. Clark’s mouth went dry, a twitching taking over his right eye. He looked flushed, this reaction compared to slight Kryptonite poisoning, like his body was rejecting everything going on right now and how he didn’t fucking realize.
“What-“
“On Monday, Perry laid onto her about her article – she told me, because you two weren’t here. When you came back, you immediately sat together and started sharing coffee. She left then. It’s been the same all week, as soon as she sees you two being buddy-buddy, she leaves.” Is Steve a better person than them?
“Oh god- fuck.” Lois shut her eyes, feeling nauseous. You were so nice, such a good friend, such a good girl and she had a hand in making you feel bad when she knew. She knew about your ex, about your fiddling hands when you told them how sometimes it still affected you and how Cat hugged you. She was a dick. A horrid friend, an evil woman. If Lois was freaking out, Clark was so out beyond that. The man of steel was shivering and twitching. Jimmy was cringing at them, seeing both people with genuinely good intentions and who both adored you look sickened at the way they had acted.
“You know, you really should pay more attention to your girl. I can take her off your hands, if you can’t be bothered-“
“Steve.” Jimmy warned, but Clark couldn’t defend himself because Steve was right. He needed to handle it, fast before you got in your head further and he couldn’t do much to pull you out.
It was fine, it was on sale. It was cute. It did look good on your skin tone. You look at your reflection on the mirror behind your bedroom door and tried to like it, Hole playing loudly on your speakers to try and drown out your thoughts. You sighed finally, looking for your shirt and dropping it with a yelp when you saw what was neither a bird or a plane hovering outside your window, it was an image of red and blue and a face filled with such sorrow it was clear through the glass. You held your hand to your heart that was threatening to jump out of your chest, rolling your eyes at the fact that Clark couldn’t just fucking knock on a door. You walked out of your room and opened the balcony, motioning him in while you went back for your shirt.
“Baby, I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am. I feel absolutely horrible.” He said as soon as he stepped in and followed you into your room. You shrunk your eyes at him, frowning.
“What did you do?” You asked carefully, hands defensively up like you were ready to burst into tears and punch in embarrassment. It couldn’t be happening to you again; this time it was worse because it was your friend-
“For being such an ass this week. I’ve been neglecting you and been working with Lois and I know how that would feel. How it looks.” Ah, he realized.
“Oh, you don’t have to be sorry for that. It’s your job and your priority. I’m not mad.”
“I know you’re not mad because you’re wonderful but you’re my priority too. I’ve been a horrible boyfriend if it isn’t clear.”
“It’s fine, Clark. Really. I’m not going to break up with you or anything.” You were confused as to why he was so regretful and he was confused as to how you didn’t get why he was apologizing
“It’s not about that, honey. I want you to be happy and secure- not run and hide in the archive because you feel bad. I should never make you want to be far from me. I should make you feel loved and safe.” You sat down on your bed, sighing. You didn’t want this to turn into that. That’s why you didn’t say anything.
“Clark, it’s nothing-“
“No, don’t say that. Don’t undersell what you feel, I don’t think you’re crazy. I should’ve noticed you had been off and done something. Pressed harder. Been better.”
“I could have said something, too. It’s just not fair to be upset when you’ve been together since before I even got here. You guys are partners. Everyone thinks you two should be together. Even Perry.” You shrugged, like you accepted defeat in a competition no one else was participating in. She wins, they win. Clark knelt down in front of you, shaking his head.
“What- why would Perry-“
“This morning. He told his colleague he thought you two should be together. They said you looked like an all American couple.” Clark groaned, eyes closed as he imagined how that would feel to listen. If he heard he would have said something, done something.
“No- no, me and Lois don’t-“
“Well, you did before. You’ve been inside her. Came inside her, she knows what you look like when you-“ His hands found your face, holding you to look at him before you kept spiralling.
“Hey, no, don’t do that. Yes, it happened. We were together, but it was awkward and it was mistake. We both knew it from the get-go; heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t even finish inside her, I wore a condom and pulled out and I think the second time didn’t even count I got a phone call and we stopped.” You laughed sadly, making him smile at his overt attempt to make you feel like you were way more special and better. Clark immediately softened when he saw you smile, feeling like he had won slightly.
“It’s nothing, barely remember and you’ve clouded my mind ever since I met you. You and your beautiful eyes, I don’t think about anything else. That’s why I was putting everything into this piece; I’ve sort of been lagging because you’re really distracting.”
“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, pouting like you actually felt bad. He laughed slightly, sporting those award-winning dimples as he squeezed your cheeks and placing your forehead against his, staring into your eyes and honestly, can he buy contacts? It makes you shake and wither.
“Never be sorry about that, honeybee. You can’t help it. Not your fault I’m in love with you.” You huffed, rolling your eyes and looking away. The music in your bedroom was still loud and angry.
“I’m not saying I’m not gonna work with Lois or anything because it’s dumb and I know you don’t want that, but I’ll always be there for you first, okay? And Lois is just a background character, you’re the protagonist. You’re all I see. All I need. Tell me you get that.” You would try, really try not to let fears and irrationalities cloud your brain whenever something slightly off putting or reminded you of the things that had happened before. Because Clark never lied, never undermined you or mislead you. He never hid you or dismissed you. He wasn’t Dean. He was the man that flew the skies, protected the earth and came back down to pull you into his arms ask you about what you wanted for Christmas. You knew what you had was solid, it was real and it was all Clark had ever known. It was all you ever wanted to know.
“Alright, yeah.”
“Yeah? Okay. Good. Great. Don’t lie to me though, Joan told me.” He mentioned and you cringed, nodding.
“Sorry. Just didn’t want to admit it.”
“I know, baby. Still, you don’t wanna know how it felt to hear you lie to me. Thought you were actually dating Cat.” Clark teased.
“As if. Should’ve seen her today, we went into Victoria’s Secret and they knew her by name.” You did feel a little bit like an ogre next to her.
“That’s where you got that little number you had on?” Clark whispered, hands dropping your face to rub up your thighs. Your eyes went wide open, not realizing that while waiting for you to see him outside he had definitely seen the try on.
“You saw it?”
“Maybe. Show me, just to be sure.” You agreed, standing up and taking off the oversized shirt you had put on. Clark hissed immediately, hands on your hips to pull you back down and closer to him. His breath was hot on your skin as he looked at your chest unashamedly, how the lace pressed softly onto your skin and the embroidery drew on the sides of your breasts, all contrasting with your skin tone into a beautiful, blinding, irresistible view. The suit was suddenly too tight, too smothering just like it felt when he put it on and flew to you, so deadly afraid of what could be going on in your mind.
“I’m- uh, don’t even know what to say.” He was blushing, swallowing the saliva that was pooling up in his mouth.
“Can you try?”
“It’s uhm- it should be illegal. I think I’m going to have to quit my job. Or at least write a new segment: just an ode to you and your excellent lingerie choices.” You laughed, pushing him away slightly.
“Cat chose it.”
“I- I think I need to get on venmo and tip her.” Clark smiled as you giggled, shaking your head at his ridiculous complements. Everything was worth it if it made you smile like that. You licked your lips, placing a hand at his cheek and he immediately kissed your wrist, a reflex.
“Just gonna talk it up then?”
“No, I’m gonna put my mouth to very, very good use.”
˖ ࣪૮₍ 𝓙.𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𓂃 ⭒ gets a pretty nerd to ride him :: college au :: size difference :: cervix stuff :: f. nerd reader
“so the pretty nerd can ride dick, huh?”
smugness dripped from sukuna like his cologne. like that effortless, calloused charm that both infuriated and enraptured you.
the dorm's a mess. a haphazard tangle of his jacket, your shoes, his belt, your panties. the couch springs bounce with your hips. swivelling, spurring. clapping down against his balls in a lewdly wet rhythm. a plaplaplap to accentuate your whorish moans.
“sh-shut— shut up—” you drooled, nails clawing at his broad shoulders as you scrambled on his lap. his thick cock snuggled oh so suffocatingly within your hugging walls. pulsing heavy into your nerves. throbbing just right on a sweetspot. “just shut up 'nd— hah - feel my pussy.”
oh he was feeling it. every sob. every quiver. every pitiful little shimmer of your tears at the corners of your eyes as you dragged your soaking walls all the way to his hot tip— then sunk back down. wedging him so deep. so tight within your clenching gumminess that you're fluttering around him on every bounce.
cute, really. that the nerd's perfect pussy was both so insatiable and oh so pathetic.
“oh I'm feeling her.” clap! he leaned back after his palm thwacked a sting on your ass. a deep groan rumbled as you clenched. already staining him in a creamy ring huh?
“feeling her try to ride a cock too fuckin' big for her.”
he grinned. rough like his hands that roved over your legs, up your thighs and engulfed your waist. he bucked once. twice. rolled his hips in a sinful grind that rutted his pubic bone on your puffy clit. you crumbled into a sob. "there you go, dollface. that's how you take me.”
his sharp tongue licked his lips as he drank in your quivering slit suffocating round his girth. her creamy pearls slicked him messy. he returned the favour by smearing his dripping precum all over your cervix.
one hump. two. until you're struggling to bounce in time with his ramming thrusts. pulling out halfway then stuffing you full until the sting feels warm.
“k-kuna—” you hiccuped, hands clawing at his shoulders as his grip on your waist effortlessly compensated for your messy bounces.
“c'mon doll. where's that smart lil' brain of yours? all mush? dripping out here now?” your slit's tapped with a chuckle. “don't you wanna— ngh, gimme a quick lesson?”
he withdrew. stringy slick strung all over. webbing between your flushed flesh. an open-mouthed kiss harassed you below your jaw. right on your bobbing throat. “tell me. where am I right now?”
you're stuttering. struggling. mouth dropping to answer— before you're broken into a cry and your spine's thrown into an arch as he plunged back in. spraying stickiness all over. your cervix was fucked into quivers and squirms.
“m-my— my— ah!”
“answers, brat.”
sukuna flicked your clit. pinched and pulled as he fucked into that tight ring until your eyes burst into hearts. every grind demanded an answer. "where. am. I?"
“cervix— my cervix!”
you squeaked. then sobbed. his thrusts erupted into a frantic frenzy. squirts spraying. pussy pulsing. squeezing. as he fisted the fat of your ass and shoved you down to the hilt. reminding you just how inexperienced your nerdy self was. too busy stuffing your nose in textbooks than actually being stuffed full of cock.
"atta girl.” another spank to your ass. you're jerked closer. flushed into his smoked scent as he accentuates his cruelty with louder slapping balls on your plush flesh. “and what's this pretty, nerdy pussy gonna do for me? huh?”
with his thumb swirled on your clit. his cock surging up. his lips sucking hickies all over your throat— you shattered. a clenching, creaming mess that floods him messy and bucks so desperately into a cock already stretching you full.
your release spurred a dizzying heat onto him. hot, and heavy, and wet as he snatched your waist and ground you into a filthy hump on every throbbing, thick vein. a large hand squished your face and jerked you in. lips brushing his as he ragged a grunt.
“mm, fuck yeah baby, and what am I gonna do to this pretty pussy?”
The gym was quiet this late..Soap, Gaz, and Price had already cleared out after the brutal PT session. You were still there stripped down to your standard-issue sports bra and compression shorts, finishing up stretches. The fabric clung to your skin, thin from wear and sweat. Your nipple piercings pressed faintly against the stretchy material—two small silver bars that the bra wasn’t quite thick enough to hide completely under the gym lighting.
Ghost had lingered behind too, supposedly to “spot” you on the weights——In reality he’s been half-focused on the punching bag in the corner, his gaze constantly drifting to you.
You bent forward to grab your water bottle and the hem of your shorts dipped low. That’s when it started.
The tramp stamp came into view first.
A delicate design winding and curving across the small of your back—bold lines and gorgeous ink that the military regs would lose their collective minds over. The waistband of your shorts had slipped just enough to frame it.
Ghost’s gloved hand froze mid-wrap.
Then you straightened, turned toward him with that easy, clueless smile—the one that pulled your upper lip up just a little. The smiley piercing flashed inside your mouth, a tiny shiny horseshoe behind your teeth. You took a swig of water and your tongue piercing clicked against the bottle cap for half a second—another glint of metal.
He didn’t speak—couldn’t really.
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, still smiling, completely unaware of the way his stare had gone dark behind the mask. His gaze flicked down again—because your bra had shifted. Both barbells were now visibly outlined, the little ends pressing against the damp fabric like they were deliberately trying to get his attention.
Your navel piercing caught the overhead light when you reached up to adjust your hair.. a small, jeweled bar sitting pretty in your stomach, right above the waistband of your shorts.
Simon’s brain short-circuited.
He could see the scenario in high definition without even trying: that tramp stamp under his hands while he bent you over the weight bench. The way the nipple bars would feel under his tongue if he got that bra off. How the tongue piercing would feel running up the bottom of his cock. How the smiley would flash every time you moaned. How that little navel jewel would jump when he was fully inside you...
His cock twitched hard behind his cargos. He had to shift his stance, suddenly grateful for the mask because the look on his face was anything but professional.
You straightened fully, still oblivious, and tilted your head. “You good, Lieutenant? You’re awfully quiet.”
Ghost swallowed. His voice came out lower, rougher than usual.
“…Yeah.” A beat. “Just… waiting on you to get started’.”
You grinned again—smiley piercing flashing—and turned back to your bag. The motion made the sports bra pull tight once more.
Ghost stared at the outline of those nipple bars like they’d personally insulted his self-control.
summary: clark cancels on you again for ‘work’ but it was a lie..
warnings: angst, emotional distress
notes: i have so many drafts to post!!
wc: 750
the rain went from a drizzle to a downpour, matching the sinking feeling in your chest. for the third time this month, your phone had buzzed with a rushed, apologetic text from clark.
“something came up at the planet, sweetie. a breaking story. i'm so, so sorry. i’ll make it up to you, i promise.”
you didn't reply. you just stared at the two plates of dinner cooling on the counter, the candles you’d lit mocking you in the dim light of your apartment
you couldn't stay in your apartment, you were going to lose your mind if you did.
you needed to talk to the one person who truly understood. someone who understood him.
you grabbed your coat, slipped out into the wet metropolis streets, and hailed a cab and gave the driver lois lane’s address.
you and lois had become incredibly close over the past year. you had joined the planet as a features writer a couple of years after clark and lois had officially ended their relationship.
because they were long broken up, there was no awkwardness... lois had taken you under her wing, becoming your mentor, your loudest cheerleader in the bullpen, and your closest friend.
by the time the cab pulled up to lois’s apartment building, you were blinking back furious, hurt tears. you took the elevator up, practically throwing yourself at her front door and knocking aggressively.
you heard footsteps inside, the lock clicked, and the door swung open.
lois stood there, dressed in a comfortable oversized sweater, a half empty glass of red wine in her hand. "y/n? what are you doing here? it's pouring-"
"i can't do it anymore, lois," you burst out, the words tumbling out of you in a sobbing rush before she could even invite you inside. you stepped past her into the entryway, too consumed by your own heartbreak to notice her sudden, tense posture.
"he canceled again," you cried, hugging your wet jacket tighter on you, shivering. "it’s always the same excuse. 'something came up at the office,' 'a late breaking lead.' i know he cares about his work, but i feel like a ghost in my own relationship! i'm sick of being the one who always gets left behind. i'm sick of competing with a job, and honestly... sometimes i feel like i'm competing with you."
you finally paused to catch your breath, wiping a tear from your cheek. "i just really needed a friend tonight. can i please just crash on your couch?"
usually by now lois would've said something, she would've made a joke or immediately handed you tissues or started calling clark an idiot, but there was nothing... no response.
"lois..?" your eyebrows pulled in.
"what?" she asked, her voice a little too high.
"why are you looking at me like that?"
"...like what?" lois muttered, she gripped the stem of her wine glass so tightly you thought the glass might shatter right in her hand.
"like..." you frowned harder. "like something's wrong."
"no, nothing's wrong."
but her eyes weren't on you, they were staring straight past your shoulder at the hall behind you.
"lois?" you whispered, stepping further into the hall. "is someone here? did i interrupt a date? i'm so sorry, i should have called-"
"no! no, wait.. " Lois reached out, her hand catching your wet sleeve, but she was a second too late.
you walked through the short hall and into the living room, the words of apology dying on your tongue.
a figure stepped into the dim light of the living room, drying his hair with a towel. he was wearing a gray t-shirt and sweatpants.. home clothes. comfort clothes.
he didn't have his glasses on. and as he looked up, his bright blue eyes met yours, freezing him entirely in his tracks.
it was Clark.
the towel slipped from his hand, hitting the hardwood floor with a dull thud.
“something came up at the planet, sweetie. a breaking story. i'm so, so sorry.”
the words of his text message flashed in your mind, your eyes darted from clark’s damp hair, to his relaxed clothes, to the second glass of wine sitting on lois's coffee table, and finally back to lois, who was now looking down at the floor, unable to meet your gaze.
"baby," clark breathed, his voice entirely stripped of its usual warmth. he took a panicked step forward, his hands reaching out instinctively. "baby, wait. It’s... it’s not what you think."
the sheer cliché of the phrase made a hysterical, breathless laugh bubble up in your throat. "not what i think? clark, you texted me an hour ago saying you were stuck at your desk. you’ve canceled our last three dates because of 'deadlines.' and you’re here? in your sweats?"
"you canceled on me," you said, your voice barely a whisper, "for three weeks, you’ve been too busy. you were too busy tonight. to have dinner with me. in our apartment."
"we were talking," lois interjected quickly, her voice trembling. she stepped between you and clark, trying desperately to play defense, to be the fixer. "just talking. he was stressed, he came over to vent about a case, and he got caught in the storm. i told him to dry off. that's it. I swear to you, that's all this is."
"and you couldn't tell me that?" you looked at lois, the tears you had been fighting finally falling. " i came here crying because i felt invisible in my own relationship, and you let me walk through that door knowing he was in your bedroom?"
"sweetheart, no," Clark choked out, stepping closer. "please. i love you. i would never- "
"don't call me that," you snapped, anger finally bursting through the sadness. a single, hot tear spilled over your cheek. you looked at lois, the woman you had trusted with your insecurities, the mentor you practically worshiped.
"i thought you were my friend. i thought you were the one person who understood how hard it was to love him."
a terrible, suffocating realization washed over you. lois did understand. she understood perfectly. because she hadn't actually let him go. and he hadn't let go of her. you were just a temporary detour in their romance.
"please, let me explain," clark pleaded, taking another step forward, his hands raised in defense. "lois is right. it’s not a date. i didn't plan this. it’s just… things have been so heavy lately, and i didn't want to bring that stress home to you."
the words left his mouth, and a suffocating silence fell over the room.
you stared at him, your breath hitching as you inhaled. "you didn't want to bring it home to me?" you muttered. "so you brought it to your ex girlfriend instead?"
"no, that's not what I meant...."
"you lied to me," you said. "you told me you were working. you told there was a breaking story, but the truth is you just didn't want to be around me. you left me sitting alone at a table with dinner i spent hours cooking, because you'd rather vent to lois?"
"listen to me," clark rushed out, his voice cracking as he scrambled to fix the damage, only to dig the hole deeper. "you don't understand the pressure I'm under. lois just... she already knows everything about my life.... she knows how i think. with her, i don't have to explain myself or ease into things. it’s just easier."
it’s just easier.
you let out a laugh. "easier," you repeated, backing away from him until your spine hit the wall of the hallway. "right. because i'm work. i'm the person you have to try for, and she's the one you actually want to unwind with."
"no! sweetie, please, no," clark choked out, looking completely undone. he reached for your arm, his touch gentle, but you yanked yourself away.
"don't touch me," you snapped again.
you gripped the fabric of your wet coat, looking at clark one last time. "have a nice night at the office, clark." you scoffed, turning around.
"sweetheart, please," clark begged, his voice breaking, "let's go home. let's just go back to the apartment and talk about this. please." he said as he made a move to follow you.
"if you come near me, clark, i swear to god i will never speak to you again," you spat, your voice harsh, that actually made him freeze in his tracks.
you didn't wait to see if he listened. you lunged out the front door, and practically sprinted down the hallway toward the elevator, the sound of your own ragged sobbing drowning out the faint, desperate echoes of your name being called from the apartment behind you.
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