JASI ❀ nineteen ❀ she/her ❀ cancer ❀ intj ❀ middle eastern ❀ slut for tsukishima
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🜼 ⋆ satoru fucks you numb with his hand over your mouth.
it’s brutal the way he’s fucking you.
hips snapping hard, sharp, like he’s got something to prove. your knees are shoved up to your chest, his long body folded over yours, the whole weight of him pressing you into the mattress. every thrust has you gasping, and the sound alone must be driving him insane, because his hand comes up, wide palm clamping over your mouth.
“shhh, baby,” satoru breathes against your ear, voice a low, ragged rasp. “don’t wanna hear how loud you are? then i’ll just—” satoru does not want to finish before you so he pushes in harder, deeper, until your eyes roll back, “—keep you nice and quiet.”
you’re muffled under his hand, nails clawing at his shoulders, but it only makes him rut into you harder. you can feel him inside you, thick and unrelenting, hitting that spot over and over until your whole body is trembling. the slick, heavy drag of him has your head spinning, and the muffled whimpers spilling past his fingers are only making him meaner.
his thumb presses against your cheek, forcing your jaw shut even tighter, and he’s watching you—smirking like the devil, eyes dark and hungry. “look at you. can’t even beg, can you? can’t do anything but take it.” his other hand is braced next to your head, keeping you caged while he drives into you, deep enough that your stomach aches in the best way.
you try to shake your head, to say more or please or stop, you don’t even know which. but all that comes out is a muffled, desperate cry against his palm. he groans like it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth without moving his hand.
and then he slows. not gentler, not softer—just slower, grinding in until you’re choking on the sound that wants to tear out of your throat. he holds you there, buried to the hilt, and you can feel his pulse through every thick inch inside you.
“good girl,” he murmurs, dragging back out and slamming forward again, “make all those pretty noises for me—just for me.” his fingers flex over your mouth, sealing every sound away like he wants to keep it. “no one else gets to hear you like this.”
by the time he finally lets go, your lips are spit-wet, your voice hoarse, and your body is limp beneath him. just a perfect, ruined mess for him to fuck as slow or as hard as he wants. and satoru? he’s nowhere near done.
that’s always been your rule. doesn’t matter how stressful the day is, how rude a client gets, how backhanded your coworker’s comment is — you keep your head down, keep your smile up, and save the tears for the drive home. but today breaks you.
you didn’t mean to cry. it just… happened. like a crack in a dam, too much pressure and not enough holding you together. like your throat locked up so tight you couldn’t even finish your sentence, and next thing you knew, you were running out of the conference room with your vision swimming and your heart somewhere between your ribs and your stomach.
you don’t even make it to the bathroom. just duck into the stairwell, slump down on the steps, and press the heels of your palms into your eyes. quietly. shamefully.
what made it worse — what really drove the knife in — was that no one followed you. not one person from that room.
not even your manager, who watched it happen. who sat there while your coworker snapped, voice raised and tone cruel, spitting out things about your work ethic, your “tone,” your “attitude” — and then rolled his eyes when your lip trembled.
“too sensitive,” he said, when you tried to defend yourself. “you always make everything personal.”
like you were the problem and you deserved to cry.
and now, sitting on cold concrete steps in the back stairwell, trying to hold your chest together while your eyes sting and your fingers shake, you feel like an idiot.
you hate crying.
you hate that no one cared enough to check on you.
you hate—
your phone buzzes in your pocket. and buzzes again. and again.
you wipe your face hastily, sniff, and look at the screen.
sukuna (🩸):
where the fuck are you.
then:
sukuna (🩸):
answer your goddamn phone.
then:
sukuna (🩸):
did something happen. you’re not answering. i’ll come down there. i swear to god.
you stare at the messages.
he must’ve called — probably more than once — but you hadn’t noticed. you’d been too busy trying to breathe without falling apart.
another message comes through:
sukuna (🩸):
five minutes. then i’m walking into that office and making a scene. pick.
you sniff, heart twisting, and text him back with clumsy fingers:
you:
stairwell near the back entrance. please don’t yell.
you don’t even have time to regret it.
two minutes later, the door slams open above you. heavy bootsteps thud down the stairs, and then he’s there.
sukuna.
six-foot-something of muscle and murder and scowling, storming down the steps like he’s been summoned by your misery. which, knowing him, he has.
his eyes land on you, red-ringed and crumpled and small on the stairwell, and something in his jaw snaps.
“what the fuck,” he says under his breath. not to you. not at you. just… in general. like the sight of you like this is too much and it physically hurts to see.
“hey,” you try to say, but it comes out croaky.
he crouches in front of you immediately. big hands on your knees. eyes scanning your face, your puffy cheeks, the faint mascara smudge under your eye.
“you were crying.”
you nod. he breathes hard through his nose.
“who,” he says, voice low. dangerous.
you swallow. “baby—”
“who.”
you look away.
he grabs your chin, not roughly, but firm enough to make you meet his eyes. “i swear to god, woman, if you don’t tell me right now—”
“it was nothing,” you lie. “just—bad day. someone said something, it got to me. i’m fine now.”
he stares at you for a long moment, contemplating whether to bring down the whole building or not. he lets go of your chin, stands, and mutters, “wait here.”
your eyes widen. “wait, sukuna—”
“i’m not gonna kill anyone,” he says, already moving toward the door, “unless they open their mouth when i find them.”
“you can’t go in there!”
he whirls around, eyes blazing. “why not? you think i give a fuck what they think of me? you think i’m gonna let someone make you cry and walk away like a fucking coward?”
“sukuna—”
“you come home bruised, i fix it. someone says something that cuts you up inside? i fix that, too.”
you’re frozen on the stairs. his voice echoes in the narrow space, furious and raw and scared, underneath all that rage. scared that someone hurt you and he wasn’t there to stop it. and scared that you didn’t tell him right away.
scared that maybe you’re starting to believe what they said.
he breathes hard, fists clenched. then he softens. only a little. enough to come back down the stairs and kneel in front of you again.
“look at me.”
you do, albeit a little slowly. his hand cups your cheek.
“you let someone get in your head,” he says quietly, “but they’re not staying there. got it?”
you nod.
he tilts your chin up. “say it.”
“got it,” you whisper.
“say you don’t believe them.”
“i don’t.”
“louder.”
“i don’t believe them.”
he kisses you, hard. like he’s trying to shove the pieces of you back together with his mouth. his mouth is hot against yours but the moment is anything but arousing, not when his worry seeps through it.
you grab fistfuls of his shirt and hold on like you’ll fall apart again if you don’t.
“you tell me who it was,” he says into your skin, “and i’ll make sure they never speak to you again.”
“you’ll scare them.”
“good.”
“i don’t want to get fired.”
“you won’t.”
“you don’t know that.”
“i know you don’t deserve to be treated like shit by someone who’s beneath you.”
you blink.
“they are,” he says. “whoever they are, whatever they said. they don’t touch you. not your work. not your pride. not your heart. that belongs to me.”
you let out a broken sound, and he holds you tighter. his eyes roam aimlessly around your face, stopping only at your glistening eyes as he leans in to kiss your cheek and then your nose.
“i’m gonna take you home,” he murmurs. “you’re gonna lay down, and i’m gonna cook you something, and you’re not gonna think about this place until you’re ready.”
you nod, eyes wet again. he kisses your temple. and, before standing, he mutters,
Synopsis. Gojo Satoru - campus boyfriend, MVP of the basketball team - can score a slam dunk but he can’t score you?! So what could go wrong when he asks you for pointers…in the bedroom?
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, D1 basketball player!Gojo, college AU, friends-to-Iovers, PINING Gojo, kinda romcom, popular!Gojo, spin the bottIe, kíssing for “practice”, first times (Gojo’s), handj’s, semi-pubIic (locker room), fíngering, he comes back for more, oraI (fem rec.), PÚSSYDRÚNK Gojo, running from it, spítting, p talking, chokíng, matíng presses, manhandIing, he’s tall, Gojo with a big D, making it fit, talking you through it, tummy buIges, p sIapping, rough s, breaking the bed, creampíes, slight cúmplay, confessions, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 13.3k
A/N. *throws loverboy Gojo at you and runs*
“Let’s play spin the bottle!”
There wasn’t much room for rational say. Not when Shoko was already pushing an empty beer bottle into your hands, Haibara practically vibrating with excitement as he shuts the door to the raging party outside.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t the most sophisticated of games - but what else could you expect from one of Geto and Gojo’s infamous house parties?
“Fine—” You’re smiling, to the slurred cheers of your messy lil’ circle of friends. “But if I get you, Sho, you better watch out.”
She puckers up dramatically, “I’m looking forward to it- that is, if someone doesn’t kiIl me fir-”
“Shut up, bob cut.” Ah, the star of the show cuts her off hastily, a drunken flush creeping down his neck. You’re raising a brow at the impatience - but when Gojo Satoru speaks, everyone listens. Everyone waits as the bottle in the middle spins.
And spins.
And spins.
And stops-
Geto is the first to crack a grin, “Oh, Satoru~”
“Oh.”
Notorious chatterbox, mean loudmouth, and the student that had oh-so-famously gotten detention for probing into Professor Gakuganji’s sex life - but that was all Gojo had to say right now?
With a slight huff of laughter, you’re staring down the amber bottleneck- aimed directly opposite you, towards where your friend was sprawled across the carpet like he owned it.
Which was, honestly, how you’d always known Gojo.
Whether it was on the basketball court or accosting you on the very first day of orientation, there was a reason every student on campus knew his name. Knew his number. Knew the nights of his parties.
But didn’t know whether they wanted to be him or be with him.
Which was why it made your heart thud in a singular beat of surprise to glance upwards and find Gojo looking so…lost. Rosy lips parted, chest unmoving like he’d forgotten to breathe.
And somewhere down the line, you swear you notice him gulp. Biceps straining against his flowery button-up as he pushes back those angelic white bangs of his, Gojo’s azure eyes flit furiously between the bottle, and you, the bottle, and you, the bottle-
“Ehem.” Shoko coughs into her fist, with the pointed subtlety of a sledgehammer.
You see her flick a finger towards the wide wooden closet that loomed ominously by the far wall. “If you’re going to eye-fuck, I suggest you do it in- hck! there like the game says. Uta’s about to throw up already.”
Said Utahime dry heaves, “I’m not.”
“And who suggested this game?” But you’re standing up to a few jeers anyway- what’s one silly kiss between friends, after all? It was a small group of your friends, and a few stragglers starstruck by their proximity to Gojo.
Though, turning around, you’re realizing that Gojo was, too.
Narrowing your eyes in confusion, “Satoru?”
Gojo’s tongue darts out to nervously wet his lips, “Yeah? I- oh.” Geto reaches over to thump his best friend on the back, making the other man startle into a stand.
Stumbling up on agile feet for a few steps, before he’s crossing the circle to grasp your hand in his large ones-
And that just makes the room erupt.
“That’s my boy–!”
“Don’t get pregnant– I can’t be an uncle yet.”
“Yuck.”
Cackles, cat calls, and a few obnoxious moans that ring out even louder than the thumping bass from the party downstairs. You’re crinkling your nose in amusement once Gojo flips them off and speedwalks towards the closet with crimson ears, dragging you straight in tow.
“Sa-Satoru.” You’re giggling, stepping inside the stuffy space.
The smell of prized vodka and mothballs cling to every surface of the closet like an outdated perfume. And from where you’re pressing yourself up against one mahogany wall, you can feel the soft press of clothes tickle your body.
It was dark inside - darker than dark, in fact. Your only merciful source of light coming from the dim yellow glow of Haibara’s room from underneath the cracks in the door.
But even with the cloak of obscurity, you can already make out how snug of a fit it was inside.
Because Gojo was towering - what else could you have expected from the ace of your university’s basketball team?
Unruly strands of ivory brushing against the closet ceiling, broad shoulders cushioned by either wall. He has to press two palms upon either side of your body and lean down just to hear you speak, “Do you want to do this? Y’know we don’t have to-”
“Yes.” He’s breathing, labored. Uneven. Before catching the glint in your eyes and sputtering- “I mean- ah, I mean, why not.” Wincing, “…Do you?”
You hum, taking in the heady scent of his cologne. Cherries. “I mean— we should be good sports about the game.”
“The game- the game, yes.” Gojo nods, a thin line of sweat starting to bead from his temple. And maybe it was the punch, maybe it was the dizziness of being so close- but did Gojo Satoru just stutter? “So you…want to kiss me?”
Your head tilts in question, and he flinches at the teasing look in your eyes.
Fuck, was he ever-so-glad it was too dark in here for you to see the way his ears burn.
“I-I mean, of course you want to kiss me.” With a slight puff of his sculptured chest, Gojo fluffs up his hair. Nose turning up in that haughty way it often did whenever someone asked for his number. “Who wouldn’t? I’m Gojo Satoru, after all. So, of course, I should kiss you, too- and I should s-stop talking and do that right now and- wow, is it just me or is it really hot in here-”
Then you’re shutting him up - with your mouth on his.
Murmuring into his parted maw, “Shut the fuck up.” And the only thing sweeter than the taste of his soft, candied lips was the way that Gojo presses his ripped body further against yours and moans.
Low, primal. Like it was something being wrenched from the deepest depths of his throat and he couldn’t possibly control it even if he wanted to.
So the only thing his poor, muddled body can think to do is lap at the glossy crevice of your own lips. Wobbly mouth tuggin’ on your greedily, it was almost cute the way that Gojo’s grunting just as soon as you pull away with a lewd wet noise-
Staring at him in awe, even in the darkness you could make out the ruddied shade of his blush.
“Uh…” You pipe up, after a few seconds of silence, your friend’s gaze still locked on your lips. The skin of his cheeks flare red-hot underneath where you’d grabbed him with your hands. “Hello? Don’t tell me I broke y-”
He’s attacking your mouth once more.
Ravenous, Gojo’s sultry lips drag allll across yours. Washboard abs pinning you to the wall of the closet, the pointed tip of his nose bumping messily into yours. He lets off a throaty keen as you’re parting your mouth with a gasp, “M’sorry.”
“H-hngh, Satoru-” The temperature inside this lil’ space heightens enough to make your goosebumps sizzle.
“M’sorry.” He’s drunkenly whispering, one of his meaty knees saddling right between your thighs. You’re whimpering at the feeling of his flexed muscles, “M’sorry m’sorry I-”
One of his trembling hands slides up n’ down your back, as if Gojo didn’t trust himself to hold too still. And his touch was seeping warmth through your thin dress, lungs screaming for air-
“I’m sorry, it’s just- you. I don’t think I can control-” He’s interrupting himself with another chase of your mouth, sloppily sucking on the tip of your tongue. Gojo lets a slick puddle of drool formulate on the corner of his swollen lips, eyes glassy when he’s kneading his hips forwards to rut- “D-did you know that this is my first-”
“Time’s up lovebirds—! Oh.”
The sudden explosion of light strikes you like whiplash, and both of you snap your heads towards the entrance to the closet.
Geto stands frozen, slightly silhouetted by the bedroom glow. But nothing - absolutely nothing - can hide the way his sly eyes widen ever-so-slightly, caught off-guard by the vision before him.
He darts his peripherals to Gojo’s hands dipping dangerously low on your hips, to the manner you’re pinned against one wall, to the way your lips are swollen.
And Gojo’s were worse.
It’s only then that your head’s clearing up enough for you to try and half-heartedly push at your friend’s heaving chest- to no avail, of course. Because Gojo doesn’t move a single inch, in fact, he’s only tugging you closer to him with a slight growl.
Looking over his shoulder at the intruder, his eyes narrow—“Fuck off.”
“This- we-” You’re starting, unsure why you were so heated when this was the entire point of the game.
But Geto beats you to it- “Well, this is certainly better than I thought. I expected our dear Satoru here to piss his pants and faint. Congratulations.” He points at something near Gojo’s khaki shorts, “Fix that.”
Fix…? In unison, you slowly swivel your heads down and find your mouth drop-
“Fuck! Suguru-” It’s only then that Gojo lets go of you like the mere feeling of your body scalded his own.
Back shoving against the other end of the closet, both hands flailing downwards to hide the massive outlined bulge you’d caught just a glimpse of. And yet, even that wasn’t enough for him to hide the utter raw tightness in his pants.
Your mind sparks once you register that he was rock-fucking-hard.
Handsome cheekbones all stained with rouge, you catch the smear of your lipgloss glitter all across Gojo’s lips when he hisses at the other man. “It went down just looking at you.”
“Liar.”
“Asshole.”
“Vir-”
“Shut up.” Slightly slurred by your moments prior, there’s a slight daze within Gojo’s stare as he turns to you - still covering his erection. “I-I can explain, I actually-”
Whatever half-baked excuse it was, you don’t have the privilege of hearing it.
Because just then, rings out a call of your name—Shoko. And you could recognize her rarely-serious tone anywhere, making you hastily step out of the closet. Leaving behind a sputtering Gojo Satoru and a snickering Geto Suguru to instead head back to your circle. “Everything alright?”
A few cackles escape your friends at the sight of you - all dishevelled and kissed stupid.
Hell, even Shoko manages to break through the worried furrow in her brow to let off a slight giggle. “Mhm, my greatest apologies for interrupting Satoru’s little wet dream-” Ignoring the aforementioned man’s cranky ‘hey!’ as he closely follows you. “-but Uta isn’t feeling well, so we might just head back.”
You nod, “I’ll come-”
“No no, stay with-”
“We should get her to bed.” You’re waving off her protests, a no-brainer to go with the friend who was visiting all the way from Kyoto. Picking up Utahime’s bag as she starts to fight back her gags once more. “It was probably that cheap beer, I told her not to trust anything Usami bought.”
It’s with a few rapid goodbyes and promises to send photographs that your little trio staggers out of Haibara’s room, Utahime clinging onto both of you. Babbling weakly, “M’sorry for ruining your love story.”
The pit of your stomach twists with something you don’t know how to name, “You didn’t ruin anything.” Brows furrowing, “And what love story?”
“B-but-” She wails, making a few heads turn. “-but it’s been years- mmpf!”
Shoko sighs, one hand firmly slapped on Utahime’s mouth now. She throws a meaningful glance at her friend, “We’re never drinking again.”
Meandering through the throngs of people and alcohol, at an equal ratio - you’ve just got a foot out of the penthouse doorway; the one that Gojo rents for him and his friends, the hotspot for your university’s student body to be on a weekend night-
-when Gojo himself breaks through the overstuffed crowd.
“W-wait–!”
“Satoru?” You’re swerving back in confusion, eyelids squinted at the flashing strobe lights.
The party atmosphere paints his pale hair in red n’ pink, bringing out the prettiest specks of grey in his blue irises.
And Gojo gasps, he heaves - seemingly more at the sight of you than the entire trek it had been to weave through a party that yearned for but a simple glimpse of him. Even now, he was deaf to the calls of his name from all sides, the hands patting him on the back- only letting out—“Do you…want to do something?”
You almost have half the mind to look behind you, “Do something?”
“An outing.”
“An outing?”
“A science experiment.”
“A science experiment?” You gawk, slightly appalled at the fact that Gojo Satoru of all people wanted to take up extra credit on a weekend. “Did you drink that bad beer too? Because-”
“Dammit-” Without warning, he’s smacking his forehead. “Just- just meet me, to talk about something. I’ll text you.”
You have to fight to keep your voice even- from amusement if not for genuine concern. “And you couldn’t text me that? You had to run all this way.”
He almost pouts with a huff, “Had to say it before I lost my nerve.”
“But-”
“She’ll be there.” Shoko’s vocalizing from your right, still holding up a dangling Utahime. And there’s something knowing - something meaningful - in her smirk, “I’ll make sure of it. If you beg on your knees, that is.”
Gojo flips her off in two seconds.
Then he’s on his knees in one.
“G-get up–!” You damn-near shriek, feeling the party buzz and gape at the encounter - you think you even see one attendant pull out her phone and start recording, sure to make a splash in the campus bulletin by tomorrow. “I’ll be there- just- go-”
Still unsteady from whatever the fuck that was, you’re shuffling into the elevator for Shoko’s Uber. still feeling Gojo’s stare burning into you afterwards.
Blissfully dazed as the doors close behind his slight, anxious wave, Utahime cups your cheek and slurs. “You’re going to make such beautiful hck! babies. All from you, of course.”
.
.
.
“So…what did you need to talk to me about?”
“T-talking? Did I say talking? Well, I was really gone that night, y’know that-”
“Satoru.”
“-and we’re talking right now, aren’t we-”
“Satoru.”
If it was physically possible for a basketball player - numerous inches over six feet, unfairly chiselled, with a shock of white hair above all - to hide behind a humble convenience store shelf then Gojo certainly didn’t know how.
But that didn’t stop him from trying.
And his tufts of pale bangs flinch at the stern tone of your voice, despite being separated by an entire aisle.
Blatantly avoiding being in your proximity, Gojo’s simply pushin’ aside a few bags of chips to peek at you from the other side of the shelf. Shoulders hunched, eyes crinkling once he’s noticing your no-nonsense stance. “You see…remember how, last night, had that little erm- problem-”
“Your erection?” You’re questioning, purposefully not lowering your voice to make him squirm.
And he shushes you frantically, looking around the store - there was only a sweet elderly lady a few shelves down, and he was hoping to the heavens above that her hearing aid was turned down. “Yes- yes, that. And I said I could explain…well…”
“Well?”
Inhaling a deep, deep breath, “I’mactuallykindofatotalvirginandIwantedyoutohelpmewithsomepointersmaybe.” He’s forced to inhale an even deeper breath after that.
“Y-you’re a…” It felt like you’d just short-circuited. Only one word from that entire jumbled mess standing out to you - virgin.
Not that there was a problem with that. It’s just- there was no way that Gojo was a virgin - not after all the stories that girls and guys alike would whisper about him in bed. Not after the harem of fans that would follow him ‘round each party like a second skin unless your friends dragged him away. Not after the way he had a new number being begged to be put into his phone every day.
And yet, Gojo’s nodding at your unspoken question.
Somehow, it suddenly made sense that in all the years you’d known him, you’d never seen him go on a single date. But no one had to actually date to hook up. Sputtering, “And was that your-”
“First…kiss…” He grimaces, fingers twitching like they were about to topple the entire aisle of chips just to escape this conversation. Before smoothing his features back with a gasp- “B-but that was the best first kiss I could’ve ever dreamed of- I kinda did dream about it later but…”
As you start to slowly back away, he waves his hands fervently. Panic seeping into his voice, “Don’t run!” Withering at the way the old lady nearby turns, “I-I mean, that’s exactly why I need you. I need you to teach me–!”
You feel your heart race, voice lilting high. “Teach you?”
“Teach me how to—” Your friend waves his hands wildly, and you’ve never seen him so stressed - not even before his biggest games. “-not embarrass myself if I do something like that.”
Crossing your arms, the thought churns over and over in your brain. He wants to…kiss you again? “So…let me get this straight- you want me to give you lessons on how to kiss someone?”
“And maybe…other…stuff.”
“Satoru, you us want to hook up-”
“Teach me.” He pleads, baritone crackling just a bit. A sharp smack resounds as he clasps his hands together in prayer position, “I just need you to give me a few tips- a few pointers, I swear. Just a few lessons so I won’t embarrass myself like that ever again. I could get on my knees again if you want-”
“No! Shut the fuck up.” You bark out, hands coming up to massage your temples. “I need to…think.”
And all it takes is one look at the other lady beside you two, discreetly turning her hearing aids up, for you to stride your way to Gojo’s side of the aisle. Right where he was holding up a packet of chips like a shield, waiting for you to burst.
He wants to be intimate with you.
He wants a repeat of the party.
He liked it?
Something about that, you liked.
You sigh, a sound that felt years older than you were. “Fine.”
“Yes-”
“But we’re doing this platonically. And I’m only doing this because I don’t wanna hear you begging. Or hear any girls laughing at you, because that’s embarrassing for me.”
Your head swivels behind you - ah, perfect. The two of you were loitering right between the chips and contraception shelves. “Lesson number one, wrap it before you tap it.”
Gojo starts into motion, eager to please. Though, it wasn’t very pleasant for you once his hand shoots out immediately to pluck at the gold n’ black box of Trojan Magnum…XL.
“Hah! That’s funny.” Your grin twitches at his blank expression, “That’s a joke, right?” Then completely dissolving at his silence. “…Right?”
You’re still ogling in utter disbelief even as you walk to the weary young cashier, in line behind that old lady. “Satoru- are you sure you need that one? Lesson number two is you don’t have to compensate.”
“I’m actually worried it won’t fit.” He frowns, closely reading the measurements in the back. And from the corner of your eye, your imposing fellow customer gawks, discreetly hurrying up the payment. “Maybe lesson number three could be the pull out game.”
And right before you can answer - maybe make fun of his confidence, maybe even call off the entire deal altogether - the grim elderly lady taps your arm before leaving. “Good luck, dearie.”
.
.
.
“Sh-shit.” Gojo’s mouth closes and gapes stupidly, and no matter how much his firm chest heaves, he can’t steady his pitch. He can’t catch his breath.
He can’t even think about anything other than the feeling of your soft, pretty hands wrapped ‘round his rock-hard dick.
A quick trip to your apartment later, with him backed into the corner of your couch, and you’re not making fun of him anymore.
You knew what they say about men with big feet - but Gojo’s throbbing erection was even bigger than you could’ve imagined.
Just about nine- maybe even ten hot, pinkish inches that glistened with a steady stream of precum. So hard that it looked painful, so thick that you’re having trouble closing your wrist over his circumference.
Gojo’s slender hands grabbing onto each side of the couch to push n’ push his restless body upwards. “Shit shit shit- what the fuck-”
Grappling, fighting, in a split-second he feels the crown edge of your thumb graze his slit and damn near loses his mind.
“Shiiiiit—” Almost whiny, if this was any other time then he’d be fucking embarrassed about the way his bass cracks at the very end of his sentence.
“Shush, Satoru.” Your voice purrs, and just the sultry sound of it is enough to make his swollen cock twitch. Glistening out a treacly line of pre from the strawberry-pink orifice at the top of his shaft, “Lesson number three is to learn to be quiet. My landlord’s gonna complain.”
“Well, lil’ landlord Higuruma doesn’t have your cute hands on his cock, does he, beautiful?”
“Well you’re failing the lesson then.”
“Fine.”
In retaliation, you’re giving him a looong, languid stroke along his vein-covered length. Mouth watering at the delicious way it makes him throw a hand up to cover his flushed face, other hand resting on your wrist.
Gojo’s hands were big- bigger than yours, and much more suited to help pump his prolonged cock with ease.
Possessively, he’s curling your pretty fingers tighter ‘round his girth and bounces up n’ down, up n’ down, up n’ down. Whispering, “Faster- faster now, my girl- I mean- beautiful.”
“It’s just-” You’re nearly biting down on your own tongue, reluctant to state anything that would feed your popular friend’s ego.
But you just couldn’t help it when he looked so pretty - eyes glazed with unshed tears and need, high cheekbones permanently pink, his fat cock pulsing between your fingertips with each passing second. And you swear the blushin’, bulged tip of his shaft swells even bigger with your intense stare, “Lesson number four is that you’re big. It makes it almost…difficult.”
“O-oh.”
Without a second of warning, Gojo’s slouching his muscular body over. Rosy lips pursed to depart with a glob of spit— straight down to the tip-top of his erection.
Letting the sticky mess trickle down the side of his shaft, he’s moving your hands to glue over his tender underside. Fap-fap-fapping rapidly, the sides of your pinkies spank against his bulky base and make him keen.
“Difficult? Difficult?” Tonality just seeping with grunts, your touch smears the glossy webs of saliva down each vein. “M’passin’ this lesson with flying colors- oh, you’re gonna take it. How could anyone even- ngh- compete?”
“And here I thought y-you were the competitive one.” You’re garbling out your words, feeling your palms massage with the zig-zagged ridges of his length.
“H-heh- hell yeah, I am.” With a pant, Gojo’s twisting his hand - one of his encapsulating both of yours, and something primal in you twitches at the stark size difference - to jerk down his slicked cock. “Faster.” Voice ruined. “Faster.” Breathy. “Fast- ngh-”
He can’t even think to finish his sentence before his body ruts- ethereal head thrown back, lips gnawed raw like bubblegum. “Oh, ohhhh, never felt like this.”
And Gojo Satoru - famed for his steadiness, his agility - had never sounded so uneven. With his sweaty scalp lolling back and forth like he didn’t know whether to push backwards or keep looking down at your work.
Drag after lewd drag.
He was so lengthy n’ big that your arms were almost aching at this point, repeatedly pumping from the ruby-red globe of his cockhead, and down, down, down.
“Pretty hands hck! tired, huh?” But Gojo’s only maneuvering faster- capped knees spreading on the cushions of your couch to buck into you faster. “Come on- come on come on- don’t stop.”
“S’this any different from your- hah- usual routine, Satoru?” Even you were out of breath at this point.
You’re flicking your doughy fingerpad in a lazy line underneath the flared line of his slit and watch as Gojo only babbles. “Yeah- never felt something so…f-fuck, why are you so soft.” Large palms pressing down on yours, exactly where you could feel the outline of his shaft pulsing the most. His shoulders shake with each singular thwack! of your hand hitting his hilt, white curls bouncing. “So tight-”
Your friend’s fingers were dexterous, curling inwards so that your manicured nails would graze his swollen balls.
They were slightly tanner than the rest of him, glittered with speckles of buttery precum that you take it upon yourself to gyrate your palm against. Purposefully pressing down lecherously–
And when Gojo looks up with a slight, dopey grin you knew that whatever fell next from that devastating mouth would not bode well for you. “Wonder if your pretty pussy would be just as ngh- tight.”
You feel your poor heart stutter—“Sh-shut the fuck up.”
“Ohhh- that almost made me cum.” He’s admitting through a raspy gasp, cadence giving way to something needier. Something harder. Something that was nearly scraping the flesh of your hands raw with his white happy trail. “S-say it again-”
“Shut up-”
Sapphire eyes squeeze shut, and the front of your poor skirt starts dripping with a few creamy wads of his pre. He was close. “Ngh-”
Thighs pressing together, suddenly you’re realizing just how drenched your panties were. “Aren’t you supposed to be- fuck, learning a lesson?” And oh, were you shocked you managed to keep your voice even.
“Mmm, I’m learning alrigh’---” Gojo drawls, looking at you with such heated half-closed eyes that you can only more thoroughly drag your thumb down the line of his sensitive slit. “Shit- stop that- wait, don’t stop-”
Brain sparking, he’s singing out in protesting groans at the same time as your furniture. The cushions dipping as Gojo’s lurching his lanky body off of the couch, like he didn’t know whether he wanted to fuck your first for more, more, more or run away–
“Learning, huh?” You’re cracking a grin in amusement, hands letting off the sappiest squelches as you decide to slow down for his own sake. “Lesson number five…”
“No!” He’s pulling you back, he’s wrestling your hands to jerk faster, he’s grabbing you by the throat- left hand clinging onto the sides of your neck and squeezing.
Scorching hot breath wafts your face as Gojo’s staring dead-on into your own pupils, “Stay. K-keep going. Keep going.” Something at the back of his throat makes him choke. “M’so close- don’t you fucking stop.”
“Fuck, Toru-”
“So fucking—” Your skin heats up with clammy warmth following the feeling of his sleazy eyes sweeping all down your body. Your hands working over time. Your hips slightly bucking back. Your tits-
Which he’s tugging down to see with an index hooked to the front of your top.
And you catch the exact moment that he does - the exact moment that his long, ivory lashes flutter further open, mouth parting with slick drool, face flushing.
Because that very day, you’d just-so-happened to have worn a special set of blue underwear. The exact same color as his eyes.
And it’s enough to make Gojo cum. Instantly.
He couldn’t even have the rationality to be mortified at the pathetic suddenness of it, because all he could do was lock his heady gaze onto your bra-clad tits n’ cream all down your wrist.
Hot and aching.
Throbbing.
“Mmm, Satoru.” Splurging out from the swollen end of his shaft - the same shade as a strawberry, and twice as plump. Now with buttery sap to match. Something about that makes your mouth water. “Cum f’me- cum more.”
He was fucking up through each peak of his high like he was dying to pump each n’ every drop into your pussy.
“Fuh-fuck.” And it’s hot, almost like he was melting out into you. A slow line of sweat dripping down his temple at the utter bursts of pleasure behind his hazy peripherals. “Cumming—m’cumming so much for you, beautiful.” Hauling your body closer to his, he’s spraying such thick, ribbony volumes of cum that you almost couldn’t believe it.
Jaw unfastened at the rapidly-growing puddle of ivory sap on your skirt. He’s so sensitive that he’s flinching just from the sound of your voice, like his favorite song. “Do you always cum so much, Satoru?”
“N-no—” Gojo huffs, slightly squeaky with his unstable pitch. “Only for you. When it’s you, I…”
Trailing off, both of you look down in synchronization at the glaze of white cum that’d started to trail down your forearm. And before you can let out a single word, he has one hand tuggin’ on your wrist.
Guiding your trembling fingers to unglue from Gojo’s pulsing, reddened cock with a sluuurp! He’s promptly sucking on your glossy fingertips with a moan.
“Mm, so good.” Heavy erection still bobbing with the zaps of his euphoria, he looks up at you through long lashes - in a way that makes you gulp. Something he’s surely feeling, if the way that those fingers tighten on your neck says anything. “S’sweeter when it’s by you.”
Oh.
You’re fucked.
.
.
.
“Oiiiii—Satoru—!” Whenever Geto spoke in that tone, it couldn’t mean anything but trouble. He looks past the (multiple) groups of the usual onlookers, “Your cute lil’ girlfriend’s here~”
“Geto Suguru, you know my name.” You’re snarling from your close seat on the first row of court bleachers, realizing only too-late that you made a fatal mistake. “A-and I’d never be this one’s girlfri-”
“Ohhh, did you hear that?” Of course, the inky-haired man is ignoring every word that falls from your traitorous mouth. Nudging a disinterested Nanami, who pretends to read something on the ball. “Didn’t deny the girlfriend part. I think you owe me ten yen.”
You squawk, “You bet on us?”
“You bet only ten yen?” Gojo Satoru, equally as indignant, but for a completely different reason, waltzes off of the court as Coach Yaga approves his dribbling check and calls for the next. “Way to show your faith in me, bro.”
Geto grins, walking onto court, “Can you blame me?”
And you didn’t know what made you sigh more - the furious cheers and cat calls emanating from Gojo’s fans, who never failed to show up to a single practice, or the way he saunters right up to you.
Expensive sneakers squeaking on wood, carrying with him the scent of adrenaline and cherry bodywash. With such a devastating grin, he winks towards the audience - and you swear you see at least one in a replica of Gojo’s 06 jersey faint.
“Y’know, I think our lessons are working, beautiful.” Snickering at your surprised gasp, “The aura of…experience, it’s working. Yaga told me I was on fire today, Sugu said I was glowing and asked me for my skincare routine. Hell, even Nanamin - Nanamin - didn’t recoil in disgust when he first saw me today, which, considering Nanamin, is the equivalent of getting a big kiss on the lips as hello.”
“I thought these were lessons just for your future reference?” You raise a brow in suspicion, one that makes him sweat.
“S-semantics. Hey, something’s working, isn’t it?” He waves a lengthy hand - and you can’t help but get struck by flashbacks to just a few days ago.
It’d only been about two weeks since your little deal - and you’d been taking it slow. Well, as slow as you could get when your first day was spent fisting his furiously needy cock.
A few kissing lessons here, maybe another handjob there. And Gojo was lapping it all up the exact same way he would when he was in the middle of a game, focus laser-sharp - and constantly locked on you. Only you.
“…Right.”
Your partner-in-stupidity opens his mouth- but just then Yaga barks—“Gojo Satoru. If you have enough time to flirt, throw some hoops before the Kyoto match.”
“Ay ay, captain.” With a slight roll of his eyes, he’s giving you one last glance over his shoulder. Mouthing—‘After. Practice.’ And your heart races as you manage to make out, ‘Locker.’
Throwing a wink just for you - and the basketball in his hands, right along with it. That dimple at the edge of his grin was dazzling, “This one’s for you, beautiful—!”
He shoots.
And he misses.
Geto misses too, too busy rolling on the floor cackling.
.
.
.
“M-mmm.” Gojo’s hiccuping, tone coming out ragged. And then he’s gasping- like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or sob at the tight feeling of your mouth. “Take it-”
You whimper, strugglin’ with the thick, reddened end of his cock bulging all the way near the back of your throat. Oh-so-swollen that it was swabbing into every nook and cranny inside of your maw without even trying.
Gojo was ruthless - he was mean.
Fucking into your mouth like this was the first taste of the pearly gates he’d ever gotten, and he’s writhing with each of your hollowed-out sucks.
Acting like he wasn’t damn-near spearing your mouth permanently open into a cute ‘oh!’ with his size. One hand clawing onto the crown of your sweaty scalp, the other letting go of his useless wet towel now.
You’d just barely seen all the members of your university’s basketball team filter out, before Gojo - freshly showered, already half-hard - had dragged you into their spacious locker room.
And it almost reminded him of that first night in the closet, back scraping against the metal of the locker. Pushing you in so close that he can almost feel the way your tastebuds flood with saliva, “Take it take it- t-take it-”
Rutting. Grinding.
Your nails claw red, red lines down the pale expanse of his thighs, each muscle getting newly-decorated by you. “M-mmpf, Satoru.” Nostrils flaring, you feel his plump mushroom tip slip deeper past your throat the moment you relax.
“Fuck- fuck yeah, say my name.” He’s spitting through grit canines, “Say my name like that- s’better than any fanchant I’ve heard.”
Gojo always became so honest any time he was bending to your every whim like this.
And right now he couldn’t stop prattling away between each heavy groan, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the feeling of his weighty girth sagging on your tongue. “Bet they didn’t know you’d be on your knees like- ngh, this f’me, huh, beautiful?” He titters, giving you a thorough rut of his inches until you feel the globe of your friend’s tip scrape down your throat. “Fuh-fuuuuck.”
It was almost too much.
The scratch of your ridged taste buds, salivating down every sensitive ridge on his erection. The prettiness of your teary eyes peering up at him.
“Bet they didn’t know that- ngh, that sharp mouth would be shut up like this, huh?” Bucking. Thrusting- the heat of your mouth was just so heavenly that he can’t stop chasing it.
Not stopping for a single second to let the clingy back end of your throat part from his cock. He sticks his pelvis up and probes deeply into a sinful lil’ spot at the back of your maw that you didn’t even think was possible.
Something hitches in his breath, snowy brows furrowing once he feels the dripping slope of your pussy gyrate up his calf. “That you’d like it so much.”
Again and again. Gojo’s repeatedly pushin’ in until he could feel the soft back of your mouth form a bruise in the exact circumference of his girthy tip. “Think ya like it even more than me, beautiful.”
“E-easy there, tiger. Lesson number number five is to pace yourself.” You’re trying to smoothen your tone - unsuccessful, of course, when he’d just been hitting your voicebox hoarse.
Sensually - slowly - he’s managing to regain a mere ounce of control in that sloppy cadence of his. Loooong, massaging drags that plunge the ruby-red crown of his girth, Gojo’s still making sure that your velvety tongue licks up every solid inch of him.
You plop your swollen lips specifically down on the flared line of his slit and suck. “And lesson number six is to just- hah- shut up and take it.”
“N-ngh, love when you’re mean to me.” He’s grinning, one hand snaking down to his meaty base. Soon enough, your pursed maw is being positively showered with a spray of his dewy precum.
A glittery gloss gluing all down your chin, you make sure to stick your lips along the prominent lines of his veins and smear-smear-smeeeear. All down the extra-tender spots of his shaft that makes Gojo shoot his free hand out to grab your throat with a labored whine.
“R-real fucking dangerous.” He’s spitting - literally, a wad of spit that aims straight onto your sizzling tongue and makes an even bigger mess.
Squeezing your neck, feeling the large cylindrical bulge that was reaching for your lungs.
He could feel himself move with each back n’ forth of his toned hips, tightening until that particularly bumpy outline was making him lose his mind. “You’re real fucking dangerous with this pretty throat n’ these- hngh- preeeetty lips.”
You’re mewling, tears welling up behind your eyes when Gojo’s using the restraint on your throat to pull you off of his cock ever-so-slightly. For a few sultry seconds, just to spew out a translucent polish of precum. “And this pretty- pretty gloss.” Milky beads decorate your lips, they’re dripping down the front of your chin and makes him flinch carnally. “H-heh, say it again, beautiful. Say it when you’re hck! like this?”
“Shut the fuck up, Satoru.” Muffled, through the press of his painfully hard cockhead sliding between your lips. Once. twice.
Thrice. “Nghhh- just like that.” The star player’s head falls back against the lockers with an echoing thud! when you start bobbing your head even faster. Syrupy precum welling up inside your mouth as if someone had just opened up a fountain. “Makes me s-so fucking hard.”
“Tight-” You manage out, gasping for air. Past all the animalistic ruts, past the squeeze of his lengthy fingers on your throat. And you can’t help but motion your pussy down and up the muscles of his leg, leaving a glittering trail of slick everywhere you go. “So- ngh-”
“So- so fucking—” Shit, Gojo cracks open one of his dazed blue eyes and can’t even finish his sentence at the pure sight of you.
Your eyes dazed, jaw stupidly unhinged. the entire lower half of your face glistening with all his bittersweet sap. Taking and taking each of his visceral ruts - you were absolutely ruined.
And he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful.
So much so that Gojo’s body moves before his mind, barely even stopping to think before unplugging his cock from the back of your throat with a filthy squelch–! Manhandling you into a standing position with only one arm, he has your back shoved against the lockers with the other.
“S-Satoru, what are you-”
Flipping up your skirt- plump, pinkish cocktip kissin’ the wet slope of your pussy. It’s the only thing Gojo needs to be creaming himself near-dry.
To plaster your jittery thighs together with the silky, white syrup of his cum, soaking your flimsy panties. Gojo’s sweaty bangs tickle the inside of your throat when he plops his face down on your shoulder and groans, “Fuck. F-fuck fuck fuck-”
And he isn’t just reaching his high- he’s trying to fuck you through it.
Trying to drill his aching hot cock between your legs, the fatness of his length keeps on pushing against your clothed cunt needily. “Y-y’know, I’m reeeally good with my hands, beautiful?”
“Y-you are–?” Your breath hitches, limbs starting to quiver weakly. Your entire spine zaps with eager pleasure as he’s lazily sliiiding aside your panties. “S’that lesson number seven?”
“Seven- eight- sixty-nine, heh, whatever.” Chuckling into your skin, you swear he’s tugging astray your panties and cumming once more just at the sight of your pretty, sopping panties.
Hips surgin’ forwards automatically to smear a line of seed between your plump folds, Gojo’s mouth drops. “Oh.” His forearm comes banging down on the locker beside your head to cage you in, “My first time c-cummin’ on a girl.”
His entire body’s wracking with shivers once he’s guiding up stripes of his meaty mushroom tip along your pussy. Uuuuup and down, stray hand pryin’ your sloppy folds apart to paint your cunt a syrupy white from the inside itself-
Slimy fingerpads pushing you all open to dollop out generous helpings of his cum - fuck, honestly he doesn’t know what feels better. Those electric bursts of his orgasm, or the feeling of your fluttering wet cunt as you take it. “And she’s so preeeetty.”
“Pretty–?”
It’s a fucking battle for Gojo to rip his half-lidded eyes away from your naked pussy, but when he does it’s to kiss your temple sweetly. “You’re pretty too, my girl- beautiful.”
Something in that gentle tremble of his voice makes your hands grip for purchase on the holed surface of the locker.
And you can only whisper, “Sh-shut up, Satoru.”
“Shit-” Nearly forgetting that the rotund, throbbing end of his shaft was still aligned with your cunt. Just one move and he’d be throwing away just about all his first times. You’d be all out of lessons.
Somewhere along the slight pang of disappointment at the thought, you feel his overstimulated length twitch—
Catching Gojo staring wildly at that one particular hand of his - the one that was stuffed between your messy legs and spreading your pussy so that he could splurge out his splotchy cum to the maximum.
“Oh.” Realization hits you like a truck. “N-no, Satoru, don’t-”
Before he sucks on his stained, white-topped fingertips like candy— moaning, the blur of his irises roll all the way back to the depths of his skull. “Yeah–” He’s noisily lapping up each ounce of your slick n’ his cum, like the utmost delicacy. “Yeah, m’learning a loooot from these lessons of yours, beautiful.”
“You’re filthy.” You sputter.
“You made me this way~” He leans in close for a kiss, and you can’t admit to yourself that you’d gotten slightly addicted to the taste of his mouth. The plush, cherry-tinged flavor of his lips, glossed with your filthy concoction from before. “Ya like the taste?”
You scoff instead of an answer, “Go shower.”
Pulling back with a mwah–! of lips-on-lips, he reaches for the puddle of his towel on the floor. “Wanna join?”
“In your dreams.”
“You have noooo idea.”
“Shush- before I end your lessons.”
Gojo laughs, loud and beaming. And you can’t help but smile to yourself, something bittersweet, making a hasty escape from the locker room before you stretched your luck too far.
If only you’d taken your time.
Because then you might have seen a lone, towering figure standing by the wall leading to the doorway. Hidden by the sharp corner, and his lengthy raven hair.
He watches as you waddle guilty away - as if leaving a crime scene - and Geto Suguru frowns.
.
.
.
“Alright- it’s time to lock it in.” Yaga’s gruff voice bellows through every corner of the locker room, “Play your game, play fair, prove you belong. This is D1 basketball and I expect each one of you to play like it. Show those Kyoto fuckers who we really are.”
As deep cheers rattle the atmosphere, Gojo finds his hands almost too shaky to knot his laces - too full of adrenaline, full of pride.
Full of the thought that maybe you might be here in the stands, watching. Maybe.
Beside him on the bench, Geto silently tightens his own sneakers. And Gojo can’t help but crack a smirk, “Why so quiet today, Suguru? Don’t tell me you’re nervous about fucking Kyoto.”
“No, not at all.” He responds simply.
And ‘simply’ would never be quite good enough for Gojo Satoru. Which is why he’s furrowing his twinkling eyes at the other man, “‘Nooo, not at all?’ Appropriate spaces for commas and all? Who are you- Nanamin?”
“Right.”
Gojo frowns, “You’re off today.”
“Are you sure that you’re not the one off?” Geto states, tense. Until he was registering what’d just slipped out of his mouth, immediately shooting into an upright stand.
“What do you-”
“Forget about it-”
“No.” But he can barely take a single step before the taller man’s honed reflexes make a swipe at Geto’s elbow. Stopping his teammate in his tracks, Gojo’s voice dips low in that serious, tight way it usually never did. “What do you mean.”
A statement, not a question.
And his best friend can barely stand to look at him, head tilted slightly to the side, as if giving into the concerned looks thrown their way. “I told you not to play with her heart.”
Seething, “What?”
“Satoru, when I said I’d support your feelings for her, it wasn’t to make a fucking fool out of yourself.” Shrugging off the hand, which gives way easily. “So many years, and this is how you make a move? She’s my friend first- and you’re treating her like some fucking game.”
“She-” He gasps, face burning. “She’s just teaching me lessons in-”
But Geto always was the quicker of the two - and the more stern. “How long did you expect this to go on, huh? When you’re all done with your ‘lessons’, then what?”
“I…I didn’t think-”
“Didn’t think that she might actually enjoy that nice restaurant downtown you’ve kept the pamphlet to since meeting her? Didn’t think that she might want to know that you’ve always kept extras of your jersey for her, her favorite flowers, her favorite movie, just in case?” Geto’s fists clench, “Didn’t think that it’s fucking stupid that you two aren’t together, yet? You deserve to be happy- but she does, too.”
Silence. Deafening, deafening silence.
“What are you doing, man?”
“It’s sex-”
“Stop fooling yourself.”
As he watches Geto’s disappearing back, Gojo wasn’t sure whether he wanted you watching him anymore.
But it still stung, just a little, when you weren’t.
Kyoto won that day. And Gojo Satoru has never faced a more devastating loss.
.
.
.
“-my hometown friend, don’t you dare flirt with her, Satoru–”
What was Geto saying again?
Ah, does it even matter? Gojo Satoru, freshly-titled ‘campus boyfriend’ after only a few hours on said campus, hadn’t heard a single word out of his high school best friend’s mouth after your name.
After you’d batted your lashes cutely and smiled his way–
Oh– blah, blah blah— He’s letting out an audible sigh as you begin speaking something or the other about your major, the usual for orientation day. Proper name, proper place, backstory stuff-
“-toru- Satoru–!” It’s only with a hearty smack on his shoulder that Geto manages to snap Gojo out of his daze, still staring at you from afar where you’d decided to talk to Shoko. And the black-haired man shifts his weary eyes between you n’ his other friend. “Oh no-”
“Suguru, I think I just found my wife-”
“Hell no.” Dramatically, he shakes the other’s shoulders as if desperately trying to jolt some sense into that basketball-addled mind of his. “Satoru, you’ve gotten about fifteen different phone numbers-”
Geto pauses as another fresh-faced student flounces up to the duo and gives them both two slips of paper with a number scrawled on, one that Geto’s immediately tearing up.
“-sixteen just today itself.” His dark brows furrow, as much as he loved his best friend, he knew the mind-numbing popularity that came with him, too. The reputation. “I don’t care if you’re a virgin who’s never held hands-” Ignoring Gojo’s protesting ‘hey!’ “-if you think I’m about to let you play any games with her heart then-”
“I wouldn’t even imagine it, Suguru. Really.” Leaning back in his chair, Gojo’s azure eyes stray to you - as they’ve always seemed to do since then. Second nature. And only a second before tearing them away, undeserving to have you notice. “There’s just…something.”
There’s a tone there that Geto couldn’t place.
Something tender. Something that makes his eyes light up like they did when he was about to nail a slam dunk.
“Something about her that makes me feel like I can win all the championships in the world.”
.
.
.
“O-oh my god, mm—” Your mouth hangs lewdly open, thighs trembling where they were thrown over the far end of your bed.
Gojo had himself nose-deep in your syrupy wet pussy and it still wasn’t enough for him- he was still clawing both hands onto your thighs and forcefully dragging you halfway down the silken sheets. “What has- hah! what has gotten into you, Satoru-”
For perhaps the first time in his life, he doesn’t have an answer.
Can’t even think of one.
Not when the long, slimy edge of Gojo’s tongue was dipping past your drenched panties and pushing them juuuust barely to the side. Darkening that pale blue shade with the wetness of his maw, he’s plastering his taste buds to the slope of your pussy and watching you squirm.
And it’d started right after you’d arrived home, wondering whether it was too late to text him about the match - only to find the man of your thoughts himself sat outside your front door.
Waiting for you.
Towering, he’d thumped his head down on your shoulder in silence.
That is, until you two had made your way inside-
“I-is this about not coming to your- ngh! game?” You’re wailing out a broken whimper, twitchy hands weaving between his ivory locks to try and steal a glimpse of his face. “Because Gakuganji held me back for a club thing and I’m sorry- fuck!”
Without a single warning, without even a speck of hesitation, your friend’s shovelling the inches of his tongue past your elastic entrance until that tight rim resists.
Until he’s keening into your puffy core at the tightness, until he’s usin’ a thumb to spread-spread-spreeeead your glittery pussylips apart even further. “Taught me- taught me lessons, didn’tcha, beautiful?”
Murmuring into your cunt, each syllable is ended off with a heavy lashing of his silver tongue.
Spat straight into your quivering hole, Gojo’s licking away primally. Each raw scratch of his wet muscle trying to push past your hole, trying to fuck you the way he’s been aching to for years. “Taught me ta kiss those pretty lips- now you’re teaching me a whole hah- other type of kissing.”
“N-ngh, oh my god- Satoru.” He was just filthy. Both his babbling, pussydrunk words and his motions.
It’s like he didn’t know where to stick his tongue to like adhesive - wanting anything and everything, all at once.
From the throbbing nub of your clit, to the weepy orifice of your cunt. Though, he was making sure to lap up every ounce of slick glistening out of you, like the sweetest honey.
You’re whimpering, begging for fucking mercy from the wide, glissading edge of his tongue. You grip the soft tufts of his hair and try to lift him slightly off for dear life. “Fuck- Lesson number eight is to s-slow down–!”
“Then m’gonna hafta fail.” He’s rasping out, starved.
Barely even breathing, whatever words escaping Gojo depart only reluctantly. Between each pant he’s forced to take by his screaming lungs, he’s unfastening his slobbery maw even wider to suck on your clit.
Thighs closing sensitively ‘round his clammy head- “You’re being sooo—” You think that might just deter him, but he’s only climbing further up from his position at the foot of the bed, on the ground.
Chasing your pussy no matter how much you were bucking. Feral.
“Mmm, think I like it better when you hngh- shut me up like this.” He’s blubbering through a greedy mouthful of your cunt, slick-glossed mouth pinching your clit.
You’re damn-near yelping as his plush, puckered lips start rollin’ side to side just to tease that nub like bubblegum. Your own thighs ache with the flesh-ridden press of his big, beefy biceps curling ‘round your thighs to push them even closer. “Can you even ngh- breathe?”
“Suffocate me.”
And he sounded dead-serious.
Throwing your trembling legs over two muscular shoulders, Gojo’s leering his handsome face impossibly closer.
Right up until the straight button of his nose bridge presses against your clit, and the front of his face smeeeears with a pathway of your pussy’s sweet, sweet juices.
“Don’t care.” Spitting, a great glittery glob that sticks just to the side of your outer pussy and makes it so much wetter for him to start dipping his wide tongue inside. “Don’t care don’t care don’t care- I don’t need air, I just need- hah! You.”
Lavishing your snug hole with so much attention, you can’t help but clench ‘round his grazing taste buds. Letting your entrance be tugged n’ snagged according to Gojo’s every whim.
Back and forth, back and forth.
Letting him spit on your pussy once more-
“And her.” Slimy, wet muscle flopped right now, he was running through each line he’d read online about this like a gameplay. Zig-zagging from your clit n’ back to jackhammer into your hole, “We’d made such a loooovely couple, wouldn’t we, beautiful?”
And you don’t even know who he’s talking to you - you or your poor, battered pussy.
But before you can ask, Gojo’s patience snaps with a rut-
“Fuck, your walls-” Just as soon as you’re clamping your thighs surrounding his head. He’s whining, he’s shoving his face in deeper like the prolonged length of his tongue could scour your channel even more.
Like that particular muscle could maze in a slithering up n’ down- Gojo’s sharp jawline strikes the base of your cunt and he groans in disappointment. Unable to dive in even deeper.
Feral. Thirsting, He’s nose-deep and still filling up your every orifice with his textured tongue for more, letting each ravenous taste bud stir about your sweet innards. “Your walls want me so ngh- badly. Wants ta suck me up so badly- look.”
“What do you- oh!” You flinch at the sudden warmth of another puddle of saliva striking your pussy dead-on, smearing about.
Gojo’s eyes were widened, mouth unfastened as far as it would go. “How the fuck doesn’t anyone get addicted?” Genuinely serious. Genuinely asking.
“Y-you’re too much-”
“Oh, you want more?” Wait…what? You’re momentarily speechless at how his melty mind had just understood your sentence. Mouth thrashing about on overdrive, grin sleazy. “Heh, I’ve always wanted to do this.”
And then you’re snapping your head down in a split-second, just in time to see two of Gojo’s lengthy, roughened fingers tease the crevice of your slit.
All lightly calloused by basketball, he’s sloooowly circling your puckered hole. “Cute, s’like she wants ta- ngh- kiss me.” He’s giggling, prying apart your folds to ease his way in with a raw, noisy sluuuurp–! “Hope she doesn’t mind how looong they are- or do. My lesson number one is that you’re going to take it all.”
Bucking into his touch, and that makes him copy you - crushing the thick, bulging outline of his erection against the bottom of your bedframe.
So hard that the mahogany panels creak– jostling you, right alongside the bed. “Fuck-” He hisses, looking down. “Look how you’ve got me - like a fucking animal.”
“You’re so filthy…”
“S’all your fault.”
You’re sobbing now, legs twitching cutely on top of Gojo’s deltoid after every time his knobbled fingerpads scraped a spot that was particularly sensitive.
His size- oh, you should’ve expected a size to match a basketballer’s hands - because they’re plugging every nook n’ cranny without even trying. Scissoring your gooey walls far apart to claim each hidden area of yours, “All- all your fault.”
Almost whimpering because it’s just that tight. He’s swervin’ rapidly and surely. “You made me like this-” But he wasn’t done- he was leaning over to spit a web of spit once more, dampening your soft cunt just enough to bully in a third finger. “Made me so stupid.”
Barreling straight into your g-spot.
“Foooound it…”
“Oh- oh my god–” You’re losing your mind at this point, hips thrashing about. The blankets stick to you like they’re made of adhesive as you’re arching into the perfect curvature-
“Stay down.” Gojo barks - a stern edge to his voice. And before you can make a single move, he has one bicep pinning down your hips, maw opened to suck on your clit so you stay down.
Left too weak to do anything but cry out at the feeling of his tastebuds rolling over n’ over on your nub. Sensitive. Overstimulated.
You’re gasping at the heated sparks of white that burst behind your lids, “Toru- I th-think m’close- don’t think m’gonna last- hck!”
“Told you I was good with my hands—” He slurs out, ruined on your pussy. "That's lesson number hck! three- maybe two? Ah, I dunno…”
Pump after pump, Gojo curls his digits so they bruise right into the spot locating your bundle of nerves. Feelin’ your soft walls clamp down sappily, “Only thing I do know is that I want you- hah-” Pulling back, he teeths your clit with a sinful squelch. “-oh, I wan’ you cumming on my mouth.” Fingering you so hard that the mountains of his knuckles were reddening with impact. “And I want you screamin’ my name every second of it.”
“Oh please-” The roughness of his fingertips are starting to plunge even deeper, as if Gojo was ready to probe into your womb right then and there. “Satoru-”
“Call me ‘Toru’, beautiful-”
“Toru-”
“Louder.”
Harder.
It was so hard to speak with tiny sobs catching in your throat, with your body being run ragged by him. Lips wobbling with each long push of his digits- “Toru.”
“How about- ‘my Toru’?”
“My- my Toru—!” You’re squealing; the exact same moment that your pitched voice cracks, your sanity does, too.
And in mere sultry nanoseconds, you’re shattering into white-hot explosions of bliss. Your orgasm sweeping your entire body with goosebumps, you can only scratch carnally at Gojo’s crowned scalp.
Your fingers maneuvering his head up and down in sloppy gyrations, it’s as if you were riding his pretty features through each peak of euphoria. “M’cumming- oh-” Your high hitting you so hard that tears pinprick at your pupils, and Gojo was only happy to make them overspill. To dangle his hefty tongue out so that he can lap up your cunt with every drag. “Can’t believe you- oh. Are you sure this is your first time, Toru?”
He finches at the nickname, “Fuck yeah, sweet thing.”
Brushing his tastebuds up and down- probing against your clit.
He was still ravenous.
Even when you’re blinking back your vision, though, you still couldn’t see with the way that Gojo’s velvety mouth made your pupils criss-cross constantly.
Toes curling, limbs shaking with sensitivity.
It was getting to the point that your mind was slowly going blank, spittle falling from your mouth. “I-I’m hngh- m’high’s over-” Still sparking somewhere at the back of your throat, even though you push and push at Gojo’s forehead, he’s only digging deeper. “Oh my god, Satoru-”
He blubbers, “M’fucking starved, beautiful. Been wanting this for sooo long.”
“Then shut up and fuck me.”
Oh.
Oh, that did it.
Because Gojo lurches his head up as if he’d just been zapped with electricity; eyes snapped open, strings of slick still connecting his lips to your swollen ones.
“F-fuck you…?” He grunts- buying more time, those buried fingers of his pull out from your walls with a slurp. Finding their usual pathway between his greedy lips, he catches your look. “What? Haven’t I ever told you that you make me so–”
Thoroughly cleansed by now, Gojo smacks his lips with satisfaction.
“-greedy?”
The dark glint in Gojo’s eyes makes you squirm your body slightly backwards- all the way up until you hit the headboard with a gasp. And he only looms closer. Only prowls up to you like he was closing in on the most appetizing prey.
And now that he’d gotten one taste of you, of course he’d be craving more.
Like you were the sweetest of desserts, he’s gliding his tongue allll down those slick-glossed lips of his. Your juices worn halfway down his face - smearing up to his cheekbones - with utter pride. “And I think m’ready for another lesson now.”
You take one look at him - pupils glassy, face glistening, ears flushed - and immediately dart your hands down to Gojo’s belt buckle.
Meanwhile he’s shedding himself free of his t-shirt, whatever’s left of your bra, hooking over your panties—
RIIIIIP—!
“Th-those were expensive.”
“I’ll buy you fucking ten more.” Pointedly, Gojo stuffs the ruined fabric into the back pocket of his trousers before disposing of them somewhere by the side of your bed. “Then tear those off, too, next time.”
Next time.
“Excited ‘bout a ‘next time’?” Oh- fuck, you’d just babbled that out loud.
He couldn’t have looked more smug if he tried, pointed canines flashing in a smirk. His thick thumb dips into the hemline of his boxers, pulling them down in a flash.
And Gojo was hard - so fucking rock-hard that his upright erection smacks the front of his abs with a thwack!
Long. Perfectly thick. Always just so pretty. Bedazzled by a few veins down his pinkish shaft, Gojo’s sensitive cock twitches as he’s panting. Ruby-red tip painting a horizontal line of precum, you’re mentally calculating the measurement and wondering just how deep he’d be inside of you.
Swatting away your sheeny thighs, that’d just started to close. “Ah ah- where’d you think you’re taking her?” Before his glossy, sleek jaw unhinges ever-so-slightly in wait.
“You want me to-”
“I’ve spit on her so many times.” Gojo muses, quirking one snowy brow. Holding you by the throat, he pushes his face into your personal proximity, “Think s’time for you to return the favor.”
Whimpering, restless, it was just so cute to him how you’re pressing your lips together shyly.
Whacking a bead of slobber precisely onto the target of his tongue- and Gojo barely even gives you the time to register your little ministration before surging his entire body and kissing you. Open-mouthed, heated.
At the exact same time that his globed, weeping cock pushes straight past your swollen folds.
But it wasn’t so easy- “F-fuck.” Gojo shutters his eyes, expression looking like he was just in prayer. Hiccuping, rutting- back and forth in rapid half-thrusts as if he couldn’t bring himself to pull out of your pussy any further. “What the fuck…what-”
“S-Satoru, are you okay?”
“No.” SMACK! He’s trying to strike his pelvis against your own so hard that your thighs are jostled. Fat cock stuck by the resistance of your cute, cute cunt. “No no no- s’just…I lost my virginity to you.”
You’re speechless as he looks up at you with a giggle.
Repeating, “I just lost my virginity to you and it’s too- good.”
“And you’re t-too big—” You claw all down his pale back, feeling every muscle flex underneath your touch.
“Remember my first lesson?” Head tilted, the smile on Gojo’s face was oh-so-tender - even though his mushroom tip was furiously pumping in and out of you like anything but. “You’re going to- take it- all.”
Fuck, but he didn’t know who he was torturing more.
Because your cunt gives way to swallow up one more of his solid, rovering inches - just past the slick line of his slit - and Gojo hunches over. He heaves. His vision blurs with tears- “Ohhh my god, I c-can’t.” Voice octaves higher, breaking. He’d just started to put it in and he was crying.
Shit, he’d learned nothing.
With a hand pushing your left thigh open, Gojo’s trying to pull his ravaged cock out. Just too good for him to handle. Maybe he’ll keep some part of his sanity intact if he fucks you with just the tip-
But in that instant, your clingy insides are squeezing around him so tight and he’s thrusting.
Out-of-control.
Fighting against the stretch, you’re clawing for the headboard above your scalp- “Oh my god- I don’t know if I can- fuck! It’s just so big.” Nine - nearly ten - inches throbbing at the mere sound of your voice.
“Lesson number one lesson number one- oh, lesson number one-” Echoing like a broken record-player, he’s ruthlessly haaaauling you back with a hand latched onto your hip.
Soft grunts wafting your features like a furnace, “Breathe” Gojo begs into your ajar mouth, pinning you with the prominent muscles of his v-line. “Breathe- one- two-” With each stroke. “Breathe with me-”
Those exact same exercises that he’s taught himself over and over again during the toughest of training regiments. “Feel it in your s-stomach.” You’re nearly screaming as one of his over-large palms come pressing down on your stomach, making you feel like he’s spearing his plump tip all the way into your lungs. “Then let it allll out through your lungs- breathe w’me, one, two.”
One-two. In and out. One-two. In and out.
Mewling, “One- t-two.” Mindless hips swervin’ back and forth to meet his desperate drilling and it makes him gasp.
“Breathe- breathe. Lesson one, you hafta take this-” Scrambling for your hips, for your throat. “Even just the tip. Just an inch.” Using the leverage to pull you down, “I’m begging here.”
“T-Toruuu–”
And it’s with a final, resounding spank of skin-on-skin that he’s managing to bottom out.
The hot, pulsating feeling of his sheathed cunt barely even registering in your mind before Gojo’s letting off a wet sob. It just felt too good. “You passed with f-flying colors, my beautiful.”
And now that he’d gotten started, he couldn’t stop.
Gojo was pounding you into your cheap bedsprings like a madman, like it was painful for his swollen, vein-covered cock to go even a second without dragging down your walls. Designing your slick insides with the patterns of his veins, “How are you reachin’ a-alll those spots, Toru?”
“Alllll those spots, huh?” Mockingly, he ends up pushing down on your tummy just like before.
Except this time, Gojo takes the lecherous time to feel the dull thud! of his split-ended tip poking into your cervix. This time, he can follow each single inch you’re clenching ‘round—“Wh-what is…”
Pushing down harder. “Is that my-” Thrusting even harder.
Gojo’s size is just so staggering that he’s feeling the exact bumpy outline of his mazing shaft. The way he was spreadin’ apart your walls with his circumference - it just renders his mouth watering.
Gracing you with a dopey grin, one that had drool spilling from one side of his rosy lips. Moaning, “Oh, just when I thought you couldn’t be more perfect.”
Sweet-talker. You whine, just so you won’t pay too much attention to the way your heart races, “Shut up, Toru.”
“Yeahhh- say that again.” Bulky base just drenching with your sweet slick the harder he’s thrusting in, you can feel his rock-hard tip twitch after your words. “S’like you’re made f’me.”
“Shut up, Toru-”
Palm massaging down on the tummy bulge he was fucking into you, he could feel each flinch of his oversensitive cock. “See? See? The way this pretty pussy takes ngh- all of me. The way you make me react-” Pumpin’ a thorough push against your slick-filled sweet spots. “The way you make me s-sooo fucking hard. Ohhh, we fucking fit like a- a…”
Poor chatterbox Gojo Satoru is just so pussydrunk by now that he can’t even go on.
He can’t even speak. Can’t even breathe— entire fuzzy brain honed in on spearheading your walls with his flared cockhead like a flashlight.
Hips gyrating into the exact angle that it takes for him to strike your needy, waiting g-spot. Hard.
“There-” Your heart-shaped peripherals sprint to the back of your head, back jerking off of the mattress. “Right- ngh- there–!”
And, usually, Gojo would’ve taken this as the perfect opportunity to brag about how it was ‘so easy’ for him to find the almost-mythical g-spot. Usually, he’d have been snickering outright at the cutely awed expression on your face.
Usually.
But the only thing he was fucking capable of doing right now was marvel at both you and your pussy. Gaze darting up and down so fast it was almost like a blur.
“Cat- hah, pussy got your tongue, Toru?”
“Sh-shut up…”
“You shut up.”
Shit, that makes him nearly cum. Right then and there.
And to cover up this little weakness, Gojo spanks your overstuffed pussy instead. Open-palmed, with the doughy tips of his digits striking accurately on your clit.
“Y-you little- ngh.”
“What was that–?” Oh, it was like he’d just stumbled across an epiphany. And before you know it, he plants down three more rude smacks on the slope of your cunt; exactly in sensual unison with the thrashes of his cock. “Why don’tcha write my name on your clit, beautiful? Unless…”
SMACK–!
You get the message fast enough, even despite your thoughtless mind.
Your twitchy dominant hand slithers between your thighs, thumbing down your perky clit just in that way you liked. “T-Toru–” Trying for all your might to spell a ‘T’, “Oh- wait, Satoru.”
Then an ‘S.’
But you couldn’t do it just how his big fingers had managed to do, and the only thing you’re getting out is a sultry figure-eight. One that renders your throat dry, “Satoru- oh.” An ‘A’ that looks more like a silly lil’ ‘V’, “I can’t ngh- don’t think I can- fuck.”
And Gojo notices your little struggle - of course, he’s noticing.
It’s the sweetest little entertainment for him, of course, watchin’ you get fucked too dumb to spell out his own name on your clit. Your lips wobbling when he finally smacks your hands away-
“Honestly- aren’t you supposed to t-teach me?” Groaning at the squelching noise of your growing even more aroused. “Watch and learn, my girl- fuck. My beautiful.”
But it’s not like he was any better, thank fuck you were too gone at this point to realize. Just as much as he was.
It takes Gojo a few slips n’ slides to latch his plush thumb down on the nub of your clit, “F-first there’s a ‘T’- I mean, an ‘S.’” The dual stimulation of his shaft stretchin’ out your tiniest ridges inside, of his fingerpads writing on your clit, was simply incredible. “Then an ‘A’...‘T’...”
Even through the lust-fogged haze in your mind, you could distinctly make out the messy scribbles of Gojo’s fingerpads.
S-A-T-O-R-U
Repeated. Over and over until it was like that pattern was burned onto your clit, joints working manually faster. Faster.
S-A-T-O-R-U
S-A-T-O-R-U
S-A-T-O-R-U
And it’s so much that you don’t even realize you’re shrilling out his name with each movement- “Satoru-” Thighs kicking in pleasure, he’s quickly throwing them over his shoulder and folding you in half. Bending you into a mating press. “Satoru- Satoru Satoru—”
You feel a slimy, wet tendril gleam down your cheek, “Why’re you crying?” Gojo’s licking up salty tears you didn’t even realize you were setting free. “S’not because of my hck! biiiig fuckin’ cock, is it?”
In this mating press, your friend(?) had the freedom to plaster his washboard abs down your front. To scratch your pelvis with his pale white happy trail.
“S’not because I’ve wanted to do this for- for aaages, is it?” Nuzzling the crook of your neck, Gojo gives you a slam so hard that you’re being driven further up the bed.
Only for him to pull you back down. To do it over again.
And over and over and over again until the spongy layer of your cervix had memorized the size of his cervix. Stretching open your cozy lil’ walls, he pricks his strawberry divot firmly against the base of your womb like he was meant to be there. “Not because I’ve always wanted to- to break myself on this pretty pussy-”
Roughly, the wooden frame of your headboard rattles-
“O-oh-” Gojo slams his hand down on the banging headboard, remembering something from the earlier lessons about a landlord.
Only for the mahogany panel to shatter, for your creaky bed to sag on one side– your eyes widen. Gojo Satoru had just broken the bed but he was still going.
He was still claiming your cunt with each sultry jackhammer, still babbling pussydrunkenly. “S’not because you’re haaaah- close, is it?”
“I am–” You don’t have half the mind to be shocked that he could feel your oncoming high before you. Walls clamping down with each vibration of electric euphoria, “M’gonna cum, Satoru. Lesson number nine is to make- me- cum-”
“You’re gonna cum.” More statement than question. “Really, really gonna cum? Because of ngh- me?”
You can only nod.
And Gojo’s voice is small, cracking. “She’s gonna- fuck! gonna on my cock?” Furiously nodding, “My cock? Because of- oh- me? Fuck–!”
You’re barely even getting out an affirmation for those last few rapidfire questions of this before Gojo’s tense, driving cock explodes. All into thick, gushing ropes of cum that slather your walls.
And if you thought he’d cum in massive volumes before, then you weren’t ready to be faced with how eager he was to fill up your pussy.
Your geysering slick was nothing in comparison to the way Gojo was buttering up your slitted entrance, cobwebbing your tight hole shut with his sticky cum. Again. And again and again he was pumping each drop into you.
“L-lesson number two-” But it was not like he would let you get off the hook that easy. And the flesh of your inner thighs sting when Gojo only speeds up, accelerating his shaft to target your g-spot in a way that makes you keen. “-n-never cum after me. Only before-”
Two roughened crowns of his fingers tweak your clit– a final, ‘Y’ And you’re wondering what the hell that stands for.
Y-O-U-R-S
Gojo flushes as he finishes off the singular word, like he almost couldn’t believe it himself. Before pinching on your clit—“Sh-shit- shit shit shit, m’cumming, Toru.”
Right now, watching your cunt quiver n’ cum around his cock was better than anything he could’ve ever dreamed of.
Because your mouth was possessive, crashing into his and whining his name with each twinge of your high. Your pretty eyes were practically mosaics of tears at this point, ones he could stare into for eons.
And he does - straight into your irises when Gojo’s filling you up from the inside out. “I know-” Feeling his own seed slosh out of him and drip straight down to your womb. “Take it- take it, all inside like it- hah- should be. Like it was always meant to be.”
“Inside-” Gasping at the press of his tensed core, pushing down on your stomach. Right where he was spearing straight through you, “A-all inside, Toru.”
It was one of the best orgasms of your life, and, strangely enough, all of them seemed to have been pulled out by Gojo.
Who was filling you up until you were overspilling, like some fountain.
Now purposefully slapping the veiny length of his shaft against the roof of your cunt, pounding you through each volt of pleasure until you’re seeing stars.
Until your thighs are left shaking stupidly, your mouth gaped, brain so filled with the static of your stomach being in knots that you don’t even register the damp splat-splat-spat–! splashing onto your shoulder.
Something…wet.
At least, not for a few seconds until your eyesight can adjust. You’re blinking back your vision to look up and see that Gojo Satoru was crying.
Pretty cheeks ruddied, eyes glistening with even more unshed tears. And you wonder just how long he’d been holding them back.
His perspired head drops down to your shoulder like it had hours prior in front of your door, and you can make out the unsteady gasps of his words. “You- you took my virginity but…” Something raw. Something honest. “I-I just…”
He bites back his words until you’re forced to pull him away from the crook of your neck. Pushing back sweaty, ivory bangs until Gojo can look at you properly.
Look you right in the eye when he utters—“I’ve always wanted to be yours, too.”
Your heart leaps to your throat, and so do those words that have always, always been on the tip of your tongue. “You already are, Toru.”
Something escapes from his lips - maybe a sob, maybe a laugh. But it’s a sound that makes you beam back, though, you think you’d never be able to match the sunlight in Gojo’s smile. Instead, you take the time to memorize the crinkle of his eyes, the wink of that lil’ dimple of his.
“My lesson number three is I love you, my girl.” ‘My girl’, he can finally say it now.
He can finally watch your slightly surprised reaction as you hear it, kiss-bitten lips twitching upwards into a grin. “My lesson number ten is I love you, too.”
Heart shaking, body fully shivering at the music of those words dropping from your lips. “You- you don’t know how fucking long I’ve waited to hear those words.” He nuzzles his nose against yours, still smelling of that same cherry bodywash and utter fuckin’ love. “How fucking long I’d wait just to hear it again.”
“I have a feeling you won’t have to wait long at all, Toru.” You’re combing your fingers through his angelic hair, head turning to the side with a giggle once he starts pecking your face. Your jaw. Your neck. Over and over and over–
Only for the moment to be broken when you gasp, “Satoru.” Gojo follows your beeline of sight, straight to the top of your bedside dresser. Right where it was proudly displaying a familiar black and gold box, one with a glaring ‘XL’. “We forgot about lesson number one.”
.
.
.
You think you’d never get used to wearing Gojo’s famous 06 jersey.
An original, of course - one that’d been safely tucked away in the back of his closet, that he absolutely refused to tell you how long he’d kept ‘just in case’ for you.
It drew stares, though, you think part of that came from being at the very front row to the final NCAA championship game. Your eyes follow each slide of pristine sneakers, each cut-throat pass, each swat of the basketball hitting the polished court.
Tokyo vs. Curses; it was a tie.
And right now, you didn’t care about the gaggles of numerous fans gossiping behind your back, or the way Coach Yaga kept yelling at Gojo about showing off for you - and the fact that he was telling your boyfriend to do more of it.
To leave no mercy once Geto’s passing to him, to sprint faster with only two seconds left on the clock, to slam dunk the basketball straight through the hoop—
And that’s exactly what he does.
A buzzer rings, and suddenly you can’t even see Gojo’s figure through the heaps of confetti bursting from the arena. In blue and white for Tokyo Jujutsu University.
Tentatively, as you’re spotting family and coaches rush onto the court, you’re taking a step. Just a single one - but Gojo always did say he could find you amongst a thousand crowds.
Heart leading him to you.
As the confetti and streamers phase just a little, you spot him rip out of his team hug with a call of your name. Being dragged back as MVP, Geto pauses to dap his best friend up - before thumping him on the back and letting him tear through the throng of people to get to you.
“Excuse me- excuse-” Maneuvering nimbly with his towering figure, “Beautiful–!” He’s calling out, loud enough to turn heads. But Gojo doesn’t care, he doesn’t give a fuck. Not when he’s crashing into your arms, and murmuring into your lips. Such a loving kiss. “Beautiful.”
His grin was contagious, and somewhere in the distance you can hear his team jeer. Hell, even Yaga seems to chuckle from somewhere. “Congratulations on the slam dunk, Toru.”
“It was always for you, my girl.”
A/N. FAWK- the things I would do to have him. Can you tell I’m ovulating because I made him whimper?
I would like to request a teasing Suna who, despite wanting to fuck his partner into the mattress, takes his time practically making her beg for him to do it. Also I love your work your write so beautifully 😫😫
earn it
teasing suna was your favorite game—until it always backfired, leaving you breathless and on the edge as he made sure you earned your release.
haikyuu masterlist.
leave a little stardust on my ko-fi
author's note: this is not proofread yet but i was too excited to post it!!
the gala was buzzing.
the hotel ballroom venue glittered with soft fairy lights, the air filled with polite laughter, clinking glassware, and classical strings humming faintly over speakers. everyone looked immaculate—the team captains, jva board members, a sprawl of sponsors and national-level athletes dressed in tailored suits and gleaming formal wear. the scent of cologne and high-end perfume lingered like static.
you were tucked beside your boyfriend, suna rintarou, middle blocker of japan’s national team, your fingers idly playing with the stem of your champagne flute as you listened to conversations you couldn’t care less about.
you were here with him. but your real attention was on the hand resting casually on your thigh beneath the table.
because while suna looked every bit composed and disinterested—legs spread in his seat, jacket draped over the back of his chair, sleeves rolled up to his forearms like he hadn’t just come from a red-carpet-worthy photo op—you were up to no good.
and he knew it.
especially when your heel slid along his shin, inching higher with every pass.
suna's grip on your thigh tightened at your actions. he turned his head slightly, eyes still sharp and unreadable, and leaned in close—his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered,
"you really want to start something here, kitten?"
his voice was low. smooth. dangerous in that lazy way of his—the kind that made your thighs press together without thinking. but with his hand already there, he felt it. he always felt it.
you smiled, barely turning your head as you murmured back,
"i already did."
suna gave you a confused look, a quick flicker of furrowed brows and a glance laced with suspicion, like he wasn’t sure he heard you right.
you didn’t explain.
instead, you smiled—slow and sweet—and lifted your champagne flute to your lips. took a slow sip, tilted your head just slightly, and winked at him over the rim of the glass before settling back in your seat like you weren’t being a complete menace in the middle of a formal event.
you didn’t even break eye contact.
your foot continued its slow path up his leg, the toe of your heel brushing the sharp line of his calf, then gliding up toward his thigh with practiced ease. your movements were graceful, controlled. to anyone else, you were just the doting girlfriend enjoying a classy evening next to your national team boyfriend. nothing more.
but suna knew better.
he looked at you again—longer this time—and shifted in his seat just slightly, the muscle in his jaw tightening as your foot crept higher. his fingers were still resting on your thigh, warm through the fabric of your dress. and now, slowly, they inched up.
"what did you just say?" he muttered under his breath, low enough that no one else at the table would catch it.
you leaned in, pretending to look interested in the centerpiece, and whispered close to his ear.
"i said… i’m not wearing any panties."
you heard the breath he didn’t take.
his fingers on your thigh stopped. went still.
then you felt them slide higher, slipping under the slit of your gown like they belonged there. like he didn’t care who was around. when his knuckles brushed bare skin, you felt his entire body shift next to you, just the subtlest movement—but to you, it was thunderous.
"no fucking way," he muttered, turning slightly to glance at your face, scanning it for a lie.
you smiled again, smug and patient, the way you always were when you wanted to push him just far enough.
"mmhm. just for you."
you felt his fingers curl lightly against your inner thigh.
"jesus," he breathed out, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. only heat. only tension strung too tight across his spine.
you picked up your wine glass again, fingers delicate on the stem, and added quietly, "figured you deserved a little something after this long season. thought you’d enjoy the view."
suna turned fully toward you now, his body angled just enough to shield what his hand was doing beneath the table. his expression was unreadable—flat and sharp and simmering.
"you think you’re clever, huh?"
you shrugged. "i think i’m wet."
his nostrils flared. his gaze dipped.
and then he slid his fingers between your thighs—parting them just enough—and found out for himself. two slow passes through your folds, and you were already so slick, he barely needed to try.
you sucked in a soft breath and tried not to flinch. not here. not in front of the team, the sponsors, the federation members.
but he felt the way your thighs trembled.
"fuck," he whispered, voice caught somewhere between warning and arousal. "you’re dripping."
"you’re the one touching me under the table," you mumbled, eyes fluttering slightly as your lashes dipped. "don’t act surprised."
his fingers found your clit and circled it once—firm, direct, and devastatingly slow.
you jolted.
then he dipped one finger inside you, knuckle-deep.
your hand clenched around your napkin on your lap. you looked up at the table, pretending to listen to hinata talk about a training match—eyes wide, lips parted—but your entire body was focused on the way suna was curling his finger inside you, the pad brushing just right against that spot that made your stomach flutter.
"you better stay quiet," he warned. "make a sound, and i’ll stop. and you won’t get a fucking thing from me when we get upstairs."
you swallowed hard. nodded quickly.
he continued. another curl, another slow pull out, before pressing in again—this time with his thumb stroking lightly over your clit, subtle enough not to be seen, intense enough to make your whole body ache for more.
you bit your lip. hard.
his eyes flicked down to watch your thighs twitch, then back up to your face.
"look at you," he whispered. "trying so hard to behave. not so smug now, huh?"
you couldn’t answer. your body was on fire. heat pulsed through you with every slow pump of his finger, every pass over your clit, every whisper that made you feel small and exposed and completely undone—right here, in a room full of people.
“you wanna come?” he asked quietly, like he was offering you more wine.
“yes,” you breathed, not even pretending to hide how wrecked you already were. your voice was thin, barely there, your thighs shaking under the long white tablecloth.
you were soaked. clenching around nothing. dizzy from restraint.
you didn’t know what you looked like right now, but you knew it wasn’t composed. not fully. not with your flushed cheeks and parted lips and the edge of desperation in your eyes.
suna leaned back slightly in his seat.
"but i don’t think you deserve it though."
your breath caught.
"what—"
and just like that, he pulled his hand away.
completely.
no more slow pumps of his finger. no more gentle circles on your clit. no more reward for being silent, obedient, needy.
you were left empty. aching.
your cunt clenched around nothing, a sharp throb rolling up your spine, and you bit down on the inside of your cheek hard enough to sting.
you turned to him, confused, frustrated, a quiet protest dying in your throat, but he didn’t even look at you.
instead, he brought his hand to his mouth—the hand that had been inside you—and without even blinking, he slipped two fingers past his lips.
he licked them clean.
his tongue dragged over each one like it was instinct. familiar. practiced.
not rushed. not messy. just deliberate.
smooth.
lazy.
you watched, stunned, as his lips wrapped around the tips of his fingers, licking off your slick like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just been playing with your body under a table in front of national team members and jva executives.
“fuck,” he muttered under his breath, quiet, almost like he was talking to himself. “you taste so good when you’re this worked up.”
you inhaled sharply, trying not to shake. your pussy fluttered around the loss of him, around the emptiness that made everything worse, sharper.
you turned to him, whispered, “you said if i behaved—”
he finally looked at you again.
and he smiled.
"yeah, but you didn’t behave,” he said, voice smooth, almost amused. “you came to a formal gala with no panties, kept rubbing your foot all over my leg like a needy little slut, and then had the nerve to beg me in public like you didn’t know what game you were playing."
you clenched your fists in your lap, biting back the low whimper caught in your throat.
“i stayed quiet,” you hissed.
“not well enough,” he said, leaning closer, his voice so soft it made your skin prickle. “you were shaking. you were panting. think no one noticed that?”
you didn’t answer.
you couldn’t.
because the idea that someone might’ve noticed made your thighs press together even tighter, and your cheeks burn hotter. not in shame.
but in arousal.
he smirked when he saw it.
"god, you like this," he muttered. "being denied. being teased. sitting next to me while you’re dripping down your thighs and everyone’s too polite to look under the table."
your breath hitched.
“if you really want to come tonight,” he whispered, “you’re gonna have to work for it.”
then he turned back toward the table, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and casually joined in on the conversation across from him. something about league changes. training schedules. a few light jokes passed between the players.
you just sat there.
wet. shaking. unsatisfied.
every nerve in your body alive, overstimulated and under-touched.
your heart was hammering in your chest, and all you could do was press your thighs together, breathe through your nose, and act like you weren’t on the verge of tears from being edged in public with nothing to show for it but a smirk on suna rintarou’s mouth and your arousal on his tongue.
you shifted in your seat. he noticed.
his hand slid back to your thigh, resting there again like before.
but he didn’t move this time.
just pressed his fingers down softly—reassuring. grounding. like a warning.
like a promise.
he didn’t look at you again.
but under his breath, so faint you barely heard it, you caught one last sentence.
"keep that up, kitten, and i won’t just make you beg upstairs. i’ll make you cry for it."
you told yourself to behave.
really, you did.
you told yourself to sit there, legs crossed, hands folded, smile pretty, and wait until this damn gala ended so suna could drag you upstairs and fuck you like he promised.
but then you saw that smug look on his face.
the one he wore when he knew he’d won. when he could sit there, sipping his wine with your arousal still drying on his fingers, knowing you were wet and throbbing next to him—denied, ruined, and obedient.
and something in you snapped.
fine. if he wanted to play, you could play too.
you leaned toward him again, that same sweet little smile painted on your lips, and pretended to be adjusting your clutch on the floor.
your arm brushed against his thigh.
your fingers—just barely—drifted toward his lap under the table.
his breath hitched, almost imperceptibly. but you felt it. and you smirked.
"be careful," he muttered without turning to look at you.
"just getting comfortable," you whispered back.
your hand slid up higher, brushing the front of his slacks. he was already hard—very hard—and you felt the twitch beneath your touch. you didn’t grip him. didn’t stroke. you just… rested there. barely touching.
then you crossed your legs and smiled across the table like you hadn’t just put your palm over your boyfriend’s cock under a linen tablecloth in front of twenty very important people.
"stop," he warned lowly, teeth clenched, voice sharp. "don’t you fucking start."
"what’s wrong?" you asked, feigning innocence. "i’m just touching my boyfriend."
"not here," he hissed.
but you didn’t move your hand.
you pressed down slightly—just enough for him to feel the pressure, but not enough to give him anything. you watched the muscle twitch in his jaw, the way his fingers gripped the armrest, the way his breath came out slower through his nose.
"you know," you whispered, “you made me sit here dripping and aching, and now you expect me to behave?”
you rubbed your palm over him, slowly, lazily, circling once.
"consider this revenge."
"you’re playing a dangerous game," he muttered, eyes forward, refusing to look at you now.
"so are you," you said sweetly.
your hand trailed back down, slow and light, brushing over his thigh again as you sat back like nothing happened. like you hadn’t just touched him hard enough to feel him pulse in your palm, but soft enough to make it agony.
you watched him now.
watched the tightness in his shoulders, the way he shifted in his seat, the slight crease between his brows he always got when he was trying not to snap.
he was pissed.
and hard.
and trying not to show either.
good.
he deserved to squirm too.
he turned to you once more, slow and low and dangerous.
"you really think i won’t fuck the attitude out of you the second we’re alone?"
you blinked up at him with wide eyes. "i’m counting on it."
his hand returned to your thigh again, this time gripping tighter. his thumb brushed up—once—barely grazing your still-sensitive clit, making your breath stutter.
"no mercy tonight," he whispered.
"wasn’t asking for any."
he pulled his hand away.
checked his watch.
and stood up from the table with a casual stretch.
"we’re leaving," he said under his breath. "now."
"mm, so soon?" you teased as you rose with him, grabbing your purse.
"keep talking," he muttered as he placed a hand on the small of your back, guiding you toward the elevator with a calmness that didn’t match the look in his eyes. "you’ll be crying in ten minutes."
you barely made it to the elevator.
suna's hand never left your lower back, his grip firm but not rough—just controlling enough to remind you who was in charge now. he didn’t speak as he guided you through the carpeted halls of the hotel. didn’t acknowledge the staff nodding politely or the players waving their goodbyes from across the ballroom. his jaw was tight. his expression unreadable. but his pace? sharp. decisive.
you’d pushed him too far.
and you could feel it.
the elevator doors opened with a soft ding and slid closed behind you both. the second they did, something shifted.
his stillness cracked.
he moved fast.
“hands on the wall.”
his voice was quiet—low and sharp enough to cut through you. you blinked, heart racing, but obeyed, your palms pressing flat to the mirrored wall, your chest rising and falling with anticipation.
“rin—”
“quiet.”
he stepped behind you, the heat of his body coiling around you like smoke. his fingers gathered your dress slowly, deliberately, until your ass was exposed, and his eyes locked on the mirror—watching you squirm under your own reflection.
“look at yourself,” he murmured, voice like gravel. “so fucking needy.”
his hand slid between your thighs, two fingers slipping through your folds like it was nothing. he didn’t even need to try—you were soaked for him. still pulsing. still aching from earlier.
“god, you're dripping,” he whispered, his breath ghosting against your ear. “and i barely touched you.”
you whined softly, pressing your thighs together, but he caught that movement too quickly and stepped closer, using one hand to guide your hips back where he wanted them.
“you think you’re in control?” he muttered, pressing two fingers inside you in one slow, delicious stretch. “think touching me back was a smart idea?”
you whimpered, forehead leaning against the mirror.
“so cocky at the table,” he went on, thrusting his fingers just enough to make you gasp. “so fucking smug.”
his thumb brushed your clit, barely there.
just enough to tease.
just enough to make your body jerk.
“you wanna come?” he asked, keeping that same maddening rhythm.
“yes,” you breathed, voice trembling.
“mm.” he hummed, amused. “but i don’t think you deserve it though.”
and just like that, he pulled his fingers out again—leaving you empty, aching.
you made a small sound, something pitiful and involuntary, but he only sucked your slick off his fingers again—slow and unhurried—like he was tasting dessert.
“what the fuck, rintarou!” you hissed, too loud, too whiny, with your whole body shaking.
he glanced at you. calm. smug.
“watch your tone,” he said. “unless you want to come in this elevator with an audience.”
you glared. he didn’t flinch.
you pressed your thighs together again, trying to find some friction. he noticed immediately.
“don’t,” he said sharply. “you’re not allowed to come.”
you were about to retort—something smart and bratty and half a whimper—when the elevator dinged.
floor twenty-three.
the doors opened.
he took your wrist and walked you through the hall without a word, like he didn’t just make you soak through your thighs in public. your heart was hammering in your chest, lips still parted from how ruined he left you.
and then—right as he unlocked the door with the keycard—he grabbed you.
his hand pulled you back by the waist and pinned you to the hotel wall just inside the door, mouth slamming into yours like he was starving. his lips devoured yours, hot and unrelenting, tongue slipping between your teeth as you gasped.
his other hand held your jaw still as he kissed you harder, messier, breathless.
“so fucking mouthy tonight,” he muttered into your lips.
you clawed at his shirt, grinding up into him, needy and pulsing and soaked. he groaned against your mouth, but didn’t give you what you wanted.
you tugged at his belt. he slapped your hand away.
“no,” he said. “you don’t get to want things tonight.”
“but—”
“no.”
you whimpered, but he was already walking you backward toward the bed, eyes dark with restraint. he pushed you down onto the mattress, flat on your back, legs spread, and stood over you with slow movements—undressing only his blazer and sleeves, keeping everything else on like he wasn’t here to please you.
“what are you doing?” you asked, voice a little breathy, a little sharp.
he raised a brow. “putting you in your place.”
then he sank to his knees.
his hands pushed your thighs apart, spreading you open wide. you flushed under his gaze. there was nothing gentle about it—just a slow, steady look that ate you alive.
“you know what you’ve been like all night?”
he kissed your inner thigh. then the other.
“a brat.”
another kiss. higher.
“a tease.”
his fingers grazed your folds, just once.
“a needy, spoiled little thing who thinks she can act out and still get what she wants.”
“i apologized,” you muttered. “kind of.”
he gave a low laugh, one that didn’t reach his eyes.
“that wasn’t even close to begging.”
you were about to answer when his tongue suddenly flicked over your clit.
you cried out—loud, shocked—and he grabbed your thighs to hold you still as he flattened his tongue and licked you again. slow. wet. deliberate.
you moaned, hands flying to his hair.
but right when the pressure built—when your body clenched and the first wave hit—
he stopped.
pulled back.
you almost screamed.
“rin—what the fuck—”
“you’re not coming,” he said simply, licking his lips like he wasn’t finished. “i told you. you haven’t earned it.”
then his fingers pushed into you.
two this time.
deep. precise.
he curled them just right and watched as your body arched off the mattress, as your legs trembled, as you tried so hard not to fall apart again.
“please,” you gasped.
he sped up just enough to bring you right there—just at the edge, just before it snapped.
you moaned his name, louder this time. “rintarou—please, i’ll be good—i’ll—i’ll listen—”
he stopped again.
your orgasm died in your throat.
you blinked through the tears stinging your lashes, wrecked and twitching under him.
“you don’t even know how to beg properly,” he said, voice calm. steady. completely unaffected by your trembling body and soaked thighs. “if you’re going to act like a brat, i’m going to treat you like one.”
then he kissed your clit.
soft.
sweet.
and stopped again.
you tried to roll your hips, desperate for more, but he held your hips down with both hands and blew a breath over your soaked folds, watching your body twitch at just the ghost of sensation.
“you’re going to take it,” he whispered. “every lick. every thrust of my fingers. and you’re not going to come until i say. no matter how many times you cry. no matter how many times i stop.”
your lip trembled. your hands fisted the sheets.
“do you understand me?”
you nodded, frantic, lips trembling. “yes—yes, rin, please—i’ll be good, i promise, i’ll do anything—”
his smile was slow, wicked.
then his mouth was on you again.
licking. sucking. teasing.
and once more—just before you came—
he pulled away.
again.
and again.
and again.
until you were crying, writhing, begging him with slurred words and broken sounds, and still—he wouldn’t let you come.
you didn’t know how long it had been anymore.
you’d stopped counting the number of times he brought you to the edge, only to pull away right before your body could tip over. your voice was hoarse, your thighs shaking uncontrollably, slick dripping down to the sheets in a messy, ruined pool of need.
you were soaked. overstimulated. swollen. aching.
you were going insane.
your hands trembled as you tried to reach for him again, to clutch his hair or his shoulders or anything that might ground you, but he caught both of your wrists and pinned them down above your head, his grip firm but not unkind.
“uh-uh,” he said softly, his lips slick from your arousal. “no touching.”
“please,” you croaked out, your voice cracking. “rintarou—please—i’m losing it—i can’t—i can’t take it anymore—”
you didn’t even sound like yourself. everything you said came out slurred and broken, as if your mind had gone soft from being denied over and over again.
and still—
he just smiled.
he hovered over you now, kneeling between your legs, and leaned in to press a kiss to your jaw. gentle. out of place. cruel.
“you look so pretty like this,” he murmured. “all messy. all ruined. begging for something i haven’t even decided to give you yet.”
his fingers dipped back between your folds again—slow, deliberate—and just that slight contact made you flinch like you’d been electrocuted.
your body was too raw.
too ready.
and he knew it.
his finger brushed your clit, featherlight.
you sobbed.
“r-rin, please—i need to come, please, just let me—”
he tilted his head, eyes watching you carefully. your red cheeks. your glassy eyes. the way your chest rose and fell in panicked little gasps.
he looked… pleased.
no—worse. satisfied.
because this?
this was exactly where he wanted you.
"you're so fucking close again," he whispered, dragging his fingers through your folds, slow and lazy. "i can feel it. your cunt’s begging just as much as your mouth is."
he slid a finger in again—then another. curling perfectly. angling just right. and your walls clenched around him so tightly that your hips lifted off the bed.
“oh my god—oh fuck, please—please—”
his mouth was back on your tits, kissing the soft skin there, sucking a nipple between his lips just to make your back arch.
“you don’t even know what you’re saying anymore, kitten.”
you shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks, body thrumming with so much pent-up tension you thought your soul might crack open.
he slowed down again.
again.
you let out a wail.
“no—don’t—don’t stop—i’ll be good, i swear, i’ll do anything, just please, let me—”
his lips ghosted over yours.
“you said that last time.”
“but i mean it now—please—rin—i’m gonna go insane—”
he kissed you, and it should have been sweet, should have been mercy, but it wasn’t—it was the kiss of a man who knew exactly what he was doing to you and was going to enjoy every second of breaking you down.
“you’re already halfway there,” he whispered. “look at you. crying and begging and still so wet for me.”
you could barely think. barely breathe.
you didn’t know how long he’d been teasing you—fifteen minutes? an hour? it felt like forever.
you throbbed with need. your clit was so sensitive, you swore the next pass of his tongue would make you break.
“please,” you whispered again, almost unintelligible. “please—let me—let me come—i’m gonna lose my mind—”
he leaned in, kissing your tears this time.
“good,” he whispered against your cheek. “i want you fucking wrecked.”
as if to prove it—as if you weren’t already trembling, dripping, sobbing for him—he dipped his head again and latched his mouth onto your breast.
you gasped—sharp, high, choked.
his tongue flicked over your nipple first, warm and wet, before his lips closed around it completely and sucked. hard.
your entire body jerked.
your back arched off the mattress as another shock of pleasure tore through you, raw and electric, sliding down your spine like lightning. and the worst part? the best part? he knew what he was doing. he didn’t move his fingers. didn’t speed up. didn’t even give you more—he just added one new sensation to the chaos already bubbling beneath your skin.
“rin—fuck—i can’t—i can’t—”
he switched to the other breast, licking slow, wet circles over your nipple before sucking again, lips hot and possessive, one hand still keeping your thighs open and your wrists pinned above your head.
his tongue traced a line down your sternum, messy and sweet and unbearable.
“you said you could take it,” he murmured, breath fanning over your spit-slick skin. “you said you’d be good.”
“i am being good,” you sobbed, helpless, arching into his mouth again as he licked back up to your chest, trailing kisses along every sensitive inch. “please, i need it, i’m gonna—i’m gonna lose it—”
he pulled back to look at you, chest heaving, pupils blown, lips swollen from everything he’d done to you.
“you already have,” he said, dragging two fingers slowly back through your folds, just enough pressure to make you twitch again. “you’re crying, baby. look at you.”
you were. tears had stained the corners of your lashes. not sad tears. frustrated, desperate tears.
“i c-can’t take any more,” you whispered, voice breaking apart.
“yes you can,” he replied, pressing a soft kiss to your nipple again, completely at odds with the way his fingers were teasing your entrance, so slow it made your body pulse.
“you’re gonna fall apart when i say,” he whispered, kissing up to your jaw. “not a second before.”
you whimpered, wrists flexing in his grip.
he licked down your chest again, flicked his tongue lazily over your overstimulated nipple, sucking light and slow, until you were grinding up into nothing.
you were a mess beneath him.
writhing.
panting.
begging.
and he was still holding back.
because watching you break apart under his mouth, little by little, while still not giving you what you wanted—
that was his fucking reward.
you were close again.
dangerously close.
his fingers were gliding in and out with just enough rhythm now—just enough pressure, just enough of that sweet, slow drag along your walls to make your body seize and clench and burn. his tongue was back on your nipple, sucking in time with the rhythm of his fingers, and you could feel it—your release curling tight in your belly, rising hard and fast like a wave ready to crash.
your thighs shook. your mouth dropped open. your breath caught—
“rin—rin, i’m gonna—please—please—”
and he stopped.
again.
you screamed—a broken sound, strangled and wrecked—head tossing back onto the pillows, fists twisting into the sheets above your head as your body tried to chase after the orgasm he ripped from you.
“you’re fucking evil,” you sobbed.
he just chuckled, sitting back between your thighs, his hand dragging along your inner thigh. “i know.”
you were shaking now, tears streaking your cheeks, chest rising and falling with each gasping breath.
“rintarou,” you hissed, half broken, half furious.
“you only call me that when you’re really losing it,” he mused.
“you made me lose it three orgasms ago,” you snapped.
he leaned forward again, his lips brushing your temple, then your cheek.
“and now i’m gonna give it back to you,” he whispered, the hand that was once fucking you now replaced by the warm, heavy press of his cock against your entrance.
your eyes widened.
he was hard. painfully hard. and it felt too good—the promise of it, the weight of it finally resting against where you needed it most. your hips lifted instinctively, greedy and eager, but he held them down with one strong hand.
“not so fast,” he said softly. “you don’t get all of me yet.”
he slid the head of his cock through your soaked folds, dragging up through your slick with slow, maddening strokes. your body shuddered beneath him, clenching uselessly around nothing.
he rubbed it along your clit once.
twice.
your back arched, your mouth fell open again.
“you like that?” he murmured. “so sensitive now. every little thing makes you twitch.”
“just—please—put it in, i can’t—i can’t take it—”
he exhaled slowly, like he was enjoying himself far too much.
and then—
he pressed the tip in.
only the tip.
your mouth dropped open in a silent gasp as your walls clenched around just that much—just barely enough to feel him stretch you, fill you, light your nerves on fire.
but then he stopped.
he didn’t move.
you blinked up at him, chest heaving, every inch of your skin burning.
“why are you—”
“shh,” he whispered, brushing a kiss to your jaw. “feel that. just that.”
you sobbed.
“you’re so fucking mean,” you gasped.
he smiled, brushing his thumb along your cheek. “i know.”
his hips rocked forward—just an inch deeper—and your breath hitched.
he pulled back again, letting the head drag along your entrance, rubbing it up and down again like he wasn’t already inside your head and under your skin and deep inside your soul.
“this is what happens when you tease me,” he murmured, kissing your chin. “when you show up to a formal event without any panties, rub your foot along my leg, and then act surprised when i ruin you for hours.”
“you’re ruining me now,” you cried, trembling.
“you deserve it.”
he pushed in again—this time just a little deeper—and your eyes rolled back.
“say it,” he whispered. “say you deserve it.”
“i—i deserve it,” you choked out. “i was a brat—i teased you—please, just fuck me—”
he groaned softly into your ear.
“good girl.”
and then—
he finally, finally—
thrust all the way in.
your breath left you in a sob.
the stretch was immediate, delicious, deep—every inch of him sliding into your soaked, twitching heat in one slow, punishing stroke. your body seized from the sudden fullness, walls clenching around him like you’d never had him before, like you were about to shatter from the inside out.
“fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth, burying himself to the hilt. “you’re so fucking tight—look at you. this pussy missed me, didn’t it?”
you could barely answer.
you were already clawing at his arms, tears spilling down your cheeks, mouth open as your body trembled under the weight of finally, finally having him inside you.
“please,” you sobbed, “please move—please just fuck me—”
he didn’t answer.
not with words.
he pulled out halfway, grabbed your thigh, then slammed back into you with a wet, obscene slap of skin-on-skin. you screamed, voice raw, legs shaking around his waist.
and then he started to move.
hard.
fast.
each thrust knocked the breath from your lungs. his cock dragged along every sensitive spot inside you, each stroke merciless and deliberate. there was no warm-up. no buildup. he fucked you like he owned you—like he needed to feel you break around him.
your moans were high and cracked and near-constant. every thrust drove the tension higher, coil tighter, heat spreading so fast your mind was spiraling.
“r-rin—i’m gonna—”
“yeah?” he growled, hips snapping into you faster. “gonna come now? after all that?”
you nodded frantically, tears falling, lips trembling. “yes—yes—i need it—need it—”
his hand wrapped around your throat.
not too hard. not choking off your breath—but just enough. enough to tilt your head back. to make your eyes flutter. to make your walls clench down violently around him.
“you’re gonna come when i tell you to,” he snapped, fingers tightening slightly. “you wanted to be a brat? now take your fucking punishment.”
he leaned over you, his hips still pounding into you, the sound of wet skin slapping echoing through the room.
“you want to squirt all over my cock?” he growled into your ear. “make a mess all over this bed?”
you whimpered, too fucked out to speak, body thrashing with overstimulation.
“do it,” he said. “fucking come for me. right now.”
and your body obeyed.
you screamed—back arching, legs locking, walls clenching around him so hard he groaned your name.
and then—you broke.
your orgasm ripped through you like fire.
you squirted—wet, hot, and messy—gushing around his cock as your whole body convulsed. the sheets were drenched. your thighs trembled. your vision went white. and suna didn’t stop. not for a second.
he fucked you through it.
“that’s it,” he growled, watching you completely fall apart. “just like that. so fucking pretty when you come like that—ruining the bed—shaking like you can’t take another second—”
you were sobbing now, barely coherent, still twitching from the force of it.
he slammed into you harder. faster.
“gonna come inside you,” he panted, teeth grit. “fill you up so good, kitten. you want that? wanna feel me spill inside your pretty little pussy?”
you nodded. choked on your breath.
“yes—yes—yes, please—please, rin—”
he buried himself one last time, hips stuttering.
and then he came.
hot, deep, endless—thick ropes of cum spilling inside you as he groaned, holding your throat, fucking you through every wave of his release.
you felt every throb. every twitch. every last drop.
and when it was over—you were soaked, dripping, ruined.
he collapsed over you, breathing hard, still twitching inside your overstimulated cunt.
his hand loosened on your throat and slid up to cradle your cheek.
“you okay?” he whispered, softer now.
you blinked up at him—blurry, fucked-out, still trembling.
you nodded.
he leaned down and kissed your tear-streaked face.
“good girl.”
his voice was softer now. hands warm and steady as they trailed gently down your sides, grounding you. your body still pulsed from your last orgasm, muscles twitching, every inch of you raw and oversensitive. but beneath all that wreckage was something else—something aching.
you didn’t want to stop.
you wanted him again.
“rin,” you whispered, voice small, wrecked.
he looked at you—really looked—taking in your flushed face, the tear stains, the dazed way your eyes fluttered half-open beneath him.
“you’re tired,” he murmured, brushing a thumb across your cheek.
“i know,” you breathed. “but i want more.”
he exhaled slowly.
then gave you a look—quiet, reverent, like you were something fragile and divine all at once.
“…okay,” he said after a beat. “come here.”
he pulled back just enough to tug his shirt off over his head, tossing it aside. then he lay back against the pillows and guided you into his lap, his hands never leaving your skin. you climbed onto him slowly, your limbs heavy, trembling, your knees on either side of his hips.
and then you saw him.
laid bare beneath you.
and fuck—you could’ve come right then and there.
his chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, lean and sculpted with just enough definition to make your mouth go dry. collarbones sharp, shoulders broad, skin flushed from everything he’d just done to you. there was a slight sheen of sweat across his torso, glinting in the warm hotel light, catching the outline of his abs and the faint trail of hair that led down to where his cock lay heavy against his stomach—still slick with your release, throbbing, flushed red at the tip.
his arms flexed slightly as he reached for your hips again, forearms roped with tension, veins prominent beneath golden skin. you could see the marks you left on him—scratches along his ribs, faint red lines trailing down from your nails, love bites scattered on his neck and shoulder.
but it was the look on his face that nearly undid you.
his eyes were half-lidded, dark and hungry and soft all at once, like he wanted to devour you and cradle you in the same breath. his hair was messy, flattened against the pillows, strands clinging to his forehead. his lips—god, those lips—were swollen from kissing you senseless, parted slightly like he couldn’t wait another second to feel you wrapped around him again.
“you’re staring,” he murmured, voice low and rough.
“you’re hot,” you breathed, almost delirious.
he smirked, hand sliding up from your waist to the dip of your back, guiding you closer.
“yeah?” he said, thumb brushing the side of your thigh. “then sit on it.”
you whimpered—actually whimpered—as your hips instinctively shifted forward, his cock pressing up against your folds, the head catching right at your entrance.
your whole body pulsed.
and suna?
he was still watching you. eyes low, hands steady.
“come on,” he said, voice soft, seductive. “take it, kitten. nice and slow.”
you hovered above him, breath stuttering.
his cock pressed up against your soaked entrance—warm, thick, slick from your release and his previous thrusts. it throbbed beneath you, twitching ever so slightly when your hips shifted, barely brushing against his length.
and he just watched you.
his back rested against the pillows, lean body flushed, chest rising slow with each inhale. his lips were slightly parted, and his dark hair was a tousled mess against the hotel bedding. he looked patient. calm. but there was heat simmering behind those half-lidded eyes, burning slow and deep, waiting for you to behave.
but you didn’t.
instead, you rolled your hips forward—just a bit—grinding your dripping folds along the underside of his cock, letting your clit drag against the tip.
his jaw twitched.
“kitten,” he warned softly.
but you weren’t done. you rocked again, slower this time, letting the head catch right against your swollen entrance before sliding forward, soaking him in your arousal, teasing yourself just as much as you were teasing him.
“i thought you said to take what i wanted,” you murmured, a little breathless smile playing on your lips.
he didn’t say a word.
not at first.
his fingers gripped your hips—hard enough to bruise—holding you in place as you tried to roll again.
smack.
his palm came down on your ass in one clean, open-handed slap.
you gasped—a sharp, needy sound, the sting sinking into your skin and pulsing between your legs.
then he leaned in, mouth brushing your cheek as his voice dropped low, calm and devastating.
“you wanna act up again? make me flip you over? tie those pretty wrists and fuck you until you can’t speak?”
you whimpered, your body pulsing just from his words.
his hand smoothed over where he’d spanked you, slow and almost tender. he wasn’t angry. just in control.
“no?” he prompted, kissing your jaw. “then behave.”
your whole body shivered at the authority in his tone.
so you listened.
you angled your hips and slowly—finally—sank down.
inch by inch, you took him in. the thick head of his cock stretched you open again, your walls fluttering in overstimulated sensitivity. he filled you perfectly, your slick easing the way as you took him all the way to the base.
your hands landed on his chest, steadying yourself.
“fuck,” you breathed out, head tilting back. “you’re so deep…”
his groan rumbled beneath you, hands still steady on your hips. “you’re so fucking tight still. can feel how sensitive you are, baby.”
your thighs trembled slightly from the stretch and the exhaustion still clinging to your muscles, but your body wanted him. wanted more. you started to move—slow, careful grinds, small circles of your hips to test the friction and find your rhythm.
but before you could really take over—
his hands stopped you.
“uh-uh,” he murmured, sitting up just enough to press his chest to yours, one hand sliding up your back to keep you close. “you said you were tired. let me do it.”
you opened your mouth to protest, but he leaned in, lips brushing yours.
“you wanna come again, right?” he whispered, eyes half-lidded. “then be a good girl. just feel me.”
his grip returned to your hips, guiding you now—lifting you slightly before dragging you back down onto him with a slow roll that made you gasp.
you moaned into his mouth as his cock hit deep—too deep—making your walls pulse around him, already close.
and then he kissed you.
not rushed. not sloppy.
slow. deep. intimate.
your lips molded to his, your tongues moving together in rhythm as his hips rolled up into yours from below, letting you ride him while keeping control. every slow grind had his cock brushing your sweet spot, every thrust pulling broken sounds from your throat.
you moaned into his mouth, your fingers sliding down his shoulders and across his back—leaving light scratches that made him growl.
he didn’t stop kissing you.
his hand on your back pulled you closer, chest to chest, while the other held your hips firmly as he kept thrusting up into you from below, guiding your movement like he had all the time in the world to love you like this.
your thighs were shaking again, every nerve lit up, body overwhelmed in the best way possible.
and still—he held you, kissed you, rocked into you like nothing else existed.
“fuck—rintarou—i’m gonna—”
“shh,” he breathed against your lips, slowing you again. “you’ll come when i say.”
you whimpered, your walls tightening around him, everything too hot and too deep and too much.
and still—he made you wait.
made you feel everything.
you pulled away from his lips to take a breath as you can feel your stomach tightening. your eyes rolling at the over whelming pleasure. suna on the other hand being mesmerized by your tits bouncing in front of him.
"rin. fuck please harder, deeper, faster."
granting your wish, he did exactly that at the same time sucking your tits
made you feel everything.
you pulled away from his lips, gasping for air as your head tilted back, a broken moan falling from your throat. your body was flushed, trembling, and slick with sweat, and you could feel it — that tightening heat in your stomach curling tighter and tighter with every roll of your hips.
your thighs trembled with the effort of staying upright, of taking all of him. the pressure was building fast, your chest heaving with each breath as your eyes fluttered shut, rolling back from the overwhelming pleasure.
suna, beneath you, looked like he was in a trance.
his hands were still firm on your hips, but his eyes were locked onto your chest — mesmerized by the sight of your tits bouncing with each grind down on his cock. you looked utterly ruined and breathtaking on top of him, your flushed skin glowing under the low hotel light, your mouth open, your body completely given over to him.
you moaned his name again, voice higher, wrecked. begging.
“rin,” you gasped. “fuck — please — harder, deeper, faster — i need it — please —”
his eyes snapped up to your face. and the second he saw the way you were breaking — how desperate you were for him — he gave you what you asked for.
immediately.
his grip on your hips tightened, and in one fluid motion, he began thrusting up into you with more force — harder now, deeper — meeting each grind of your hips with an unrelenting snap of his own. the sound of skin slapping filled the air, wet and obscene, and you cried out, head falling forward as he fucked up into you with a pace that made your thighs tremble harder.
then — his mouth was on your chest.
he leaned in and sucked one of your nipples between his lips, hot and eager, tongue circling the stiff peak before biting down just enough to make your hips jolt. he groaned low in his throat as he felt you clamp down around him.
“fuck — you like that?” he murmured, voice muffled against your skin. “you want me to use this pretty body until you can’t move?”
“yes — yes, fuck, please—”
he sucked again, harder, teeth grazing sensitive skin as he moved to your other breast, leaving wet, messy kisses in his wake. his cock kept driving into you from below, deep and precise and merciless, hitting that spot inside you over and over until you were gasping with each thrust.
your nails dug into his shoulders, clawing down his back, and he groaned — hips snapping up even harder as your walls clenched tight again.
“you’re so close, aren’t you?” he panted against your chest. “i can feel you squeezing me. you gonna come all over my cock again?”
you nodded frantically, tears spilling at the corners of your eyes. “i c-can’t hold it — rin, please — let me—”
he pulled back, lips slick from your skin, eyes dark and wrecked as he looked up at you.
“then come for me, kitten.”
and with one final deep thrust — you did.
you shattered on top of him.
your orgasm hit like a lightning strike—violent and immediate, rolling through you in waves that left you sobbing, trembling, breath punched out of your lungs. your walls clamped down around his cock like a vice, and then—
you squirted.
hot and sudden, your release gushed around him, coating the base of his cock and spilling down over his abs in a slick, messy rush. it splattered against his taut stomach, glistening across the faint ridges of his toned muscles, dripping down onto the sheets below.
your thighs twitched around his waist. your nails dug into his shoulders. your head dropped forward with a cry so raw and wrecked it didn’t even sound human.
and suna—fuck.
he groaned, deep in his chest, his head falling back for a second as he felt you come all over him.
but he didn’t stop.
not even close.
“fuck, look at that,” he muttered, voice wrecked but steady, eyes dropping to where you soaked him. “you’re dripping down my stomach, kitten. making a mess.”
his grip on your hips tightened again, steadying you. and then—he kept moving.
his cock never left your walls, still hard, still buried deep, still thrusting up into you even as your whole body trembled from the overstimulation.
you whimpered—a high, broken sound—and tried to squirm, hips twitching as his cock dragged against your raw, hypersensitive insides.
“r-rin—i can’t—” your voice cracked on the way out, too hoarse from crying out his name.
“yes, you can,” he said again, low and unwavering. “you’re still taking me. look at you. your body knows who it belongs to.”
your head dropped to his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut, tears pricking at the corners as he kept fucking you—slow, grinding thrusts that dragged out the aftershocks of your orgasm, stretching them into something near unbearable.
his abs flexed beneath your thighs, sticky with your slick.
his cock throbbed inside you, dragging through your fluttering walls with unrelenting pressure.
and all you could do was feel.
“you hear that?” he whispered, right against your ear. “listen to how wet you are, baby. you’re still dripping for me.”
his hips snapped into you again—one, two, three thrusts in a rhythm that made your breath stutter.
you were twitching on top of him now, nearly delirious from overstimulation, your clit throbbing, body giving out with every second. but he held you steady—arms wrapped around you, chest flush to yours, every movement guided by his hands.
“just a little more,” he groaned. “you can give me a little more, can’t you?”
your fingers clung to his back, nails raking down as your walls clenched again around him, still so sensitive, still fluttering uncontrollably.
and he felt it.
“fuck—kitten—i’m gonna—”
his breath hitched, hips stuttering as his rhythm faltered, and then with a low, guttural groan—he buried himself deep one last time.
and came.
you felt the first pulse hit deep—hot, thick, spreading inside you as he spilled everything into your already wrecked body. his arms pulled you close, forearm tight across your lower back as he held you in place, cock twitching with each release.
it was messy.
filthy.
his cum mixed with your slick, dripping around his cock, pooling between your thighs.
you moaned softly into the crook of his neck, every part of you limp and soaked and shaking.
and he just stayed there—buried deep, breathing hard, holding you tight like he never wanted to let you go.
after a long moment, he ran one hand up your back, smoothing down your spine with gentle strokes, his other palm cradling your hip.
you could feel his cum leaking out around his softening cock. the bed was soaked. your thighs were trembling.
but in his arms—you felt safe. warm. wanted.
“you okay?” he murmured, voice rough but soft now, lips brushing your temple.
you gave him the smallest nod against his shoulder, your fingers still curled into his skin.
“that’s my girl,” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “you were so fucking good for me.”
his arms never left you.
he stayed buried inside for a while, just holding you close as your breathing slowed, his hands gliding up and down your back in soothing, slow motions. he kissed your shoulder. your temple. your jaw. your fingers twitched weakly against his chest, and you mumbled something too soft for him to catch.
he tilted his head, voice barely above a whisper.
“what was that, baby?”
“’m tired,” you breathed. “too tired to… to dress up. don’t wanna move.”
you felt him smile against your skin.
“of course you’re tired,” he murmured. “you came so hard you cried all over me.”
you let out a sleepy, breathy laugh.
his hand slid gently into your hair, brushing back the damp strands clinging to your face. he leaned up, kissing your forehead.
“we made a mess,” he said softly. “you’re all sticky. can’t let you sleep like this.”
“can’t do a full shower,” you mumbled, still buried in the crook of his neck. “my legs won’t… they don’t even work.”
he chuckled, warm and low. “then we’ll do a half one. just enough to clean you up.”
you whined softly in protest, but when he began to move, you didn’t resist. his hands were careful as he lifted you off his lap, his softened cock slipping out of you with a slick, messy sound that made your cheeks flush again despite everything. his cum leaked from between your thighs, down the inside of your legs.
“look at this,” he said, more to himself, almost in awe. “made such a mess of you.”
you were too dazed to care.
he helped you to the edge of the bed, supporting you the whole way as you tried to get your bearings. your legs did feel like jelly. he kissed your shoulder again and whispered, “told you i’d fuck you dumb.”
“shut up,” you mumbled sleepily.
“you love it.”
he left for a moment to run warm water in the hotel bathroom, then returned to scoop you up in his arms like it was nothing. you didn’t even have the energy to tease him for it. you just curled against his chest, arms around his neck, breathing in the warm scent of his skin as he carried you.
the bathroom was misty with steam, light dimmed, and everything felt safe and slow.
he sat you on the counter first, grabbing a clean towel and soaking it in warm water. then—without a word—he began to clean you. soft, gentle strokes between your legs, over your thighs, down your stomach. he was careful, tender, like you were something precious and breakable.
you watched him with half-lidded eyes, lips parted, your body loose and pliant under his touch.
you sighed, your head resting against the bathroom mirror, too boneless to even tease him back, your body still thrumming from earlier. the towel trailed lazily over your hip, and then your waist, his fingers ghosting just behind the fabric like he didn’t want to stop touching you.
“i’ll grab you a shirt,” he murmured eventually, reaching for the bathroom door.
but your fingers caught his wrist before he could step away.
you shook your head weakly, voice a whisper. “just dry me up.”
he paused. then smiled softly, that quiet, knowing smile he always gave when you let yourself be vulnerable with him.
“needy,” he teased under his breath, but his tone was fond. adoring.
he bent down, slipping one arm under your knees and the other around your back. you didn’t even try to fight it—you just let him lift you, tucking your head against his bare chest, letting his warmth swallow you whole again as he carried you out of the bathroom.
he set you down gently on the edge of the bed, one hand trailing down your spine before he reached for the overnight bag on the floor.
you blinked, eyes fluttering closed and open as you watched him grab a simple pair of your underwear—soft, lacy, dark.
he knelt between your legs, still warm and bare and relaxed from the bath.
“lift your hips, baby.”
you did, barely.
he guided the underwear up your legs with careful hands, pausing once the fabric reached your thighs. he glanced up at you, and you could already see it—the glint in his eye. that quiet mischief he never needed to speak aloud.
“rin,” you warned sleepily.
he didn’t listen.
instead, he leaned in.
and kissed your clit.
soft.
slow.
indulgent.
you twitched, a surprised little jolt, too sore to take more but too sensitive not to react. then his tongue followed, a small, deliberate lick, and then—
he sucked.
your body gave the weakest kick, a tired squeal leaving your lips as you pushed at his shoulder, legs twitching.
“rintarou—!” you half-laughed, half-whined.
he chuckled against your thigh, smug. “couldn’t help it. she looked lonely.”
“she’s tired,” you hissed, voice soft and hoarse, your hand swatting at his shoulder with no real force behind it.
suna just grinned — that lazy, smug grin that said he knew exactly what he was doing.
“still pretty reactive for someone who’s tired,” he murmured, unfazed, as he slowly pulled your underwear up the rest of the way. once the fabric settled snug against your hips, he didn’t move right away. instead, his hand lingered — palm pressing over your core, fingers dragging lightly against the damp lace, just to make you squirm again.
your hips jolted slightly at the contact. you whined, feebly, already too sore to keep up with his teasing.
and he didn’t stop there.
before stepping back, his other hand casually slid up your body, fingers skimming your waist, your ribs — then cupping one breast, warm and firm. he gave it a slow squeeze, thumb brushing your nipple before giving it a light pinch.
you squeaked and smacked his arm again, this time with a little more urgency.
“rintarou!”
he laughed — full-bodied and low, amused at your flustered glare and wobbly kick beneath the covers.
“just checking everything’s still where i left it,” he said smugly, and stood up off the bed.
you watched through half-lidded eyes as he padded across the room, his lean, toned body bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. he bent over slightly to pick up his discarded underwear from earlier, giving you a brief, unfair view of his back and thighs.
he caught you staring.
of course he did.
he smirked, sliding his boxers on slowly, just to be annoying. “see something you like?”
you rolled onto your stomach, burying your burning face into the pillow. “i will throw something.”
he chuckled again, warm and affectionate, and made his way back to you. his weight dipped the bed beside you as he pulled the blanket over your back, sliding in behind you once more. his arms snaked around your waist, his chest pressing to your spine, and he kissed the top of your shoulder softly.
“go to sleep,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin. “we’ll clean the rest up tomorrow.”
you let yourself melt into him, surrounded by warmth, his scent, and the steady rhythm of his breathing. his hand found yours under the blanket, fingers lacing with yours like it was instinct.
you let yourself melt into him, surrounded by warmth, his scent, and the steady rhythm of his breathing. your body fit perfectly against his, your back to his chest, the blanket cocooning you both in heat and quiet.
his hand found yours beneath the covers, fingers lacing with yours like instinct — like second nature, like he’d never not touched you this way.
but of course, suna being suna, he couldn’t keep his hands entirely to himself.
what started as innocent palm-to-palm comfort slowly shifted — his other arm, wrapped lazily around your waist, began to inch up. slow. casual. until his fingers brushed the curve of your breast. then rested there.
soft. possessive. too natural to even feel like a tease.
you sighed, half-asleep. “rintarou…”
he hummed behind you, feigning innocence, his breath warm against the nape of your neck.
you swatted weakly at his hand. “stop copping a feel.”
he didn’t move it. just chuckled low in his throat and gave it a slow squeeze.
“can’t help it,” he mumbled. “they’re warm. perfect. mine.”
you groaned into your pillow. “you’re so annoying.”
“you’re the one who started it,” he murmured, lips brushing over your bare shoulder, warm and featherlight. “rubbing your foot up my leg during a gala like you wanted to die.”
his voice was smooth and smug, a low, velvety tease that made your skin tingle. the way he said it — half-laughing, half-accusing — sent a little flutter through your chest, even though your body was far too spent to properly respond.
you let out a breathy huff, cheek pressed to the cool side of the pillow. “worked, didn’t it?”
he chuckled — the sound rich, indulgent — and you could feel the curve of his smile against your back.
his hand, still resting comfortably on your breast, moved again. his thumb swiped lazily over your nipple — a slow, almost absentminded stroke that made your breath hitch just slightly. not from lust, not anymore — but from the feel of him. steady. warm. always touching you like he didn’t know how not to.
even in your exhaustion, your body twitched at the contact, the faint spark of sensation making your muscles shiver in the best way. but you were too far gone — melted into him, soft and pliant, your limbs heavy and boneless.
you didn’t push him away this time.
you didn’t even swat at his hand.
you just let him.
and then, instead of another teasing pinch or roll of his fingers, he began to massage.
gently.
slowly.
like he was coaxing every bit of tension from your chest with the warm weight of his palm. the movements were languid, rhythmic — his large hand molding to your skin, kneading softly as if your body was something fragile and sacred.
it wasn’t lewd.
not now.
it was something else entirely.
intimate. grounding. his.
you let out a shaky exhale, the tension slowly seeping from your shoulders. your spine curved a little more into his chest. your breathing steadied.
his touch didn’t stop.
he kneaded and rubbed in slow, patient circles, fingers tracing your curves like they were familiar territory. like he was memorizing you for the thousandth time. like he needed you closer even though there was already no space left between your bodies.
your voice came out quiet, barely above a whisper. “feels… really nice.”
“mm,” he murmured into your hair. “i know it does.”
you didn’t need to look to know he was smiling again — that small, proud smile he always wore when he had you soft like this. when you gave in. when you let him care for you after fucking you apart.
his lips brushed over your neck, the tip of his nose nudging gently at the back of your ear as he pulled you in tighter. his legs tangled with yours under the covers, keeping you close, his heartbeat slow and steady against your back.
and still — his hand stayed over your breast. protective. soothing. his thumb rubbing lazy, comforting circles just beneath your nipple now, no longer to arouse — just to calm. to keep you floating somewhere between sleep and safety.
you closed your eyes again, your fingers tightening slightly around the ones he’d laced with yours.
“don’t stop,” you breathed, half-lost to the weight of his touch, the warmth of his skin, the feeling of being absolutely, completely his.
he hummed softly, pressing one last kiss into your shoulder before settling in.
“not planning to.”
and he didn’t.
his body molded to yours perfectly — warm, secure, possessive in the quietest way.
your breathing had just started to slow, your muscles relaxing inch by inch, and for a moment, it felt like the night was finally winding down into silence.
until—
“wanna go again?” he murmured against your skin, voice low and teasing, his lips brushing your shoulder. “you’re so soft right now… think i could get one more out of you.”
you didn’t even open your eyes. you just let out a weak, raspy groan and swatted your hand behind you, landing it somewhere on his hip.
“rin,” you grumbled. “say that one more time and i’m booking a separate hotel room.”
he laughed, full and smug and completely amused at your threat — knowing damn well you didn’t have the strength to do anything about it. not after the way he ruined you tonight.
“so mean,” he murmured, nuzzling deeper into your hair, his voice dripping with lazy amusement. “after everything i did for you tonight?”
you didn’t hesitate.
“you edged me, rin,” you muttered, voice hoarse and sleep-laced. “i don’t even know how many times.”
he snorted against your neck, his body shaking lightly behind you. “you’re the one who teased me under the table in front of like half the board.”
“i wasn’t asking to be ruined in five different ways.”
“you weren’t wearing panties. that was basically a contract.”
you groaned and shoved your foot weakly at his shin. “you’re unbelievable.”
“you loved it.”
you sighed, lips twitching. “…yeah. still booking another room next time though.”
“sure, kitten,” he said, voice smug as hell, already pulling you closer again like he’d never let you sleep apart. “whatever helps you sleep at night.”
you didn’t even respond — just let out a sleepy huff, too tired to argue, too full of him to care. you were already sinking, slowly, gently, into the kind of sleep that only came after being thoroughly ruined and even more thoroughly held.
your back stayed pressed against his chest, the curve of your spine molded perfectly to him, like your body had long since learned where it belonged. his breath was steady against your shoulder, warm and slow, like the whole world had stilled around you.
your fingers stayed tangled with his across your stomach, his hand resting protectively beneath your ribs — a quiet, grounding weight that made your heart settle in your chest.
and his other hand?
naturally, still on your boob.
not squeezing this time, not teasing — just resting there, palm splayed, warm and possessive, like it was the most natural place for him to be. and honestly? it was.
you didn’t swat him away.
you didn’t even try.
because that was just how suna rintarou loved you — wrapped around you, pressed to your back, with a lazy hand full of your tits and his name still echoing somewhere in your bones.
you fell asleep like that.
spoiled. sore. and wrapped up in the warmest kind of quiet love that never needed to say much.
i am terrified by how quickly people change their minds. it fucking terrifies me to think about letting someone in and trusting them and then them just changing their mind about me. and it terrifies me because it’s happened too many times
i got my dumped by my boyfriend of 14 months and i can’t even write smut now without thinking of him it’s killing me im so sorry guys i swear i have a lot of stuff in the drafts i just can’t bring myself to finish it bc he’s all i can think about when i write 😔
i js wanted to drop in and say ur writing is some of the best here on haikyuublr right now and u have such a talent <3 loved ur iwa and atsumu fic and greatly loking forward to reading more of ur stuff after writing this. thank u for sharing ur stuff and excited for whatever else u decide to write!!! ALSO i would love to request something longer with suna if thatd be possible,, maybe something where reader's feeling insecure bc its been a while since theyve done anything? when in reality suna's js exhausted from work and accidentally neglected her T-T if u dont wanna do this i dont mind at all anything with sunarin is fine <3 love ur writing againnn
still here, still yours
after weeks of exhaustion and unintended neglect, pro volleyball player suna gently reassures his insecure partner through tender, praise-filled intimacy—reminding her she's always wanted, never forgotten, and deeply loved.
author's note: long overdue but here it is! i hope you enjoy reading this hehe
it’s subtle at first.
the distance.
not a storm, not a blowout, not even a sharp word. just… a creeping quiet. the kind you don’t notice until you’re already sitting in the dark, wondering when the lights went out.
you chalk it up to exhaustion—the kind that’s expected from a professional athlete grinding through mid-season. rintarou comes home past midnight most nights now, his footsteps dragging, his voice low. the door opens, then closes with a tired sigh. his bag hits the floor, and he exhales like the weight on his shoulders is just too much.
he always greets you. always. a soft, automatic “hey,” murmured against your hair as he walks by. sometimes a kiss on the top of your head if he remembers. sometimes, if he isn’t too far gone, he pulls you against his chest for a minute, just holding you in that quiet, liminal hour between exhaustion and sleep.
but more often lately, he heads straight to the shower. a ten-minute rinse, the door left cracked open so the steam doesn’t fog the glass. when he returns, towel slung low on his hips, he drops into bed beside you with a grunt, kisses your shoulder if he’s awake enough, and passes out before you can even finish whispering, “welcome home.”
you tell yourself it’s nothing.
because technically, nothing’s wrong.
you still laugh at the memes he sends you at 1 a.m. from his side of the bed. you still hear him humming under his breath when he makes you tea in the morning. he still saves your leftovers when he eats out with the team. he still picks up your favorite snacks at the corner store without you asking.
but something’s missing.
something deep.
and you don’t even realize what it is until the third night he doesn’t come home at all.
no warning. no messages until after midnight, just a tired update:
[rintaro]: staying at the facility tonight. too tired to drive back. love you.
you believe him. of course you do. you never doubt him. suna may be many things—dry, aloof, chronically low-energy—but he has never lied to you. never once gave you a reason to question his loyalty, his commitment. he’s yours. fully.
and still—you ache.
you lie in bed in one of his old shirts, the fabric stretched soft from years of wear, and your hands wander. you trail your fingers down your ribs, over your hips, part your thighs and slip under your panties.
you try.
you really try.
but your hand doesn’t feel like his.
your fingers don’t curl with the same hunger, don’t slide with the same deliberate slowness that he always used when he wanted to wreck you slowly. they don’t press firm and steady on your clit the way he does, the way that always made your legs shake. they don’t fill you the way he does—long fingers that crook just right, mouth murmuring praise between licks as you unravel under him.
you moan, trying to conjure him. you imagine his voice, low and thick with sleep, telling you what a good girl you are. how sweet you taste. how soft you feel. you remember the way he used to breathe harder when he got close to making you come, like your pleasure turned him inside out.
but it’s not the same.
your own touch feels foreign. lonely. hollow.
and when the heat finally builds and fizzles out, you lie there unsatisfied, eyes burning, chest aching more than your thighs.
not because you’re angry. not because you don’t trust him.
but because you miss him in a way that makes your body ache.
you miss the way he used to need you.
now it feels like he needs rest more than he needs you.
you know he’s tired. you know he’s overworked. you’ve seen the stiffness in his shoulders, the way he winces when he peels off his tape, the dark circles deepening under his eyes. you know that every match, every practice, every press event chips away at the energy he has left.
but still—you miss him.
and more than that, you miss feeling wanted.
not just loved. not just adored in the passive, every-day kind of way. but craved. desired. claimed.
you can’t even remember the last time he touched you like that. not out of obligation. not for routine.
but because he couldn’t not.
because his body had to be on yours, had to taste you, had to feel you wrapped around him.
you pull your hand back and curl into yourself, frustrated tears pricking the corners of your eyes. you’re not mad. you’re not suspicious. just…
lonely.
quietly, devastatingly lonely.
and you don’t know how to bring it up without sounding like you’re asking for too much.
without sounding like one more thing he doesn’t have the energy for.
but this quiet?
it’s starting to feel like a slow kind of heartbreak.
like watching the tide pull away, further and further, and wondering if it’s ever going to come back to shore.
it’s starting to feel like a slow kind of heartbreak.
like watching the tide pull away, further and further, and wondering if it’s ever going to come back to shore.
you wipe your hand on the hem of your shirt and breathe in deep—once, then again—trying to convince your body that the tears pooling in your eyes are just from frustration. not sadness. not rejection. just a fleeting ache. something that sleep will solve.
except, sleep doesn’t come easily anymore.
not when the bed feels too cold on one side. not when the sheets still smell like him, and your fingers ache from trying to replace a warmth that only he can give.
so you sit up.
pad into the kitchen. open the fridge. close it. not hungry.
you scroll your phone, rereading old messages from months ago—selfies he used to send from the gym, photos of his legs iced up and flexed after a match, paired with a lazy “you like this, don’t lie” and a smirking emoji. voice memos of him mumbling how much he missed you after a long away game. a grainy video of him shirtless in the locker room, whispering a low “wish you were here” against a backdrop of noisy teammates.
that version of him feels so far away now.
not gone. but buried. like a season passed, and no one told you it wouldn’t come back the same.
you curl into the couch with a blanket over your lap, eyes on the clock.
12:46 a.m.
then 1:22.
then 1:37.
no update.
he’s not home.
again.
you check your phone just to be sure, even though there’s no buzz, no badge.
nothing.
you think about calling. about asking if he’s okay. about whether he ate dinner, or if he remembered to put on the muscle rub that helps with his back. but then you imagine him in the locker room, tired eyes barely open, chin tucked to his chest as he tries to survive the day, and guilt gnaws at your resolve.
you don’t want to be a burden.
but when the door finally creaks open at 2:04 a.m., your body jolts upright before you even realize you’ve moved.
he looks… drained.
dark circles. damp hair. eyes dull like a storm cloud that never opens up. he kicks off his shoes without looking up, his bag thudding against the door.
“hey,” he mumbles, like always.
suna walks toward the couch, still shrugging off the weight of the day, and bends just enough to press a soft kiss to your temple. the press of his lips is warm—familiar—but distant, like a habit rather than a want.
"why are you still awake, baby?" he murmurs, voice low and raspy, like gravel smoothed by exhaustion.
you stare at the muted tv for a beat too long before answering.
“i couldn’t sleep.”
he hums absently, his hand brushing the top of your head in that same distracted way he always does lately. like he means to be comforting but doesn’t linger long enough to make it count. then he turns, already peeling off his hoodie as he makes his way down the hall.
"don’t wait up for me,” he says, voice fading as he walks, “i’ll head to our bedroom after i shower, okay?”
you don’t answer.
because if you do, you’re scared it’ll come out as a sob.
so you just nod, even though he can’t see it, curling in tighter on the couch as you listen to the bathroom door click shut. the sound of running water soon follows—soft at first, then rushing.
you stay where you are.
wrapped in silence. in soft cotton and worn-out longing. your body curled like muscle memory, trying to make yourself small. the blanket's gone cold now, and the cushions beneath you are sunken with the weight of waiting.
you think about getting up. think about brushing your teeth and sliding under the sheets like nothing hurts. think about pretending you didn’t cry earlier, about slipping into bed beside him and offering your back like a silent invitation he probably won’t take.
but you can’t move.
not yet.
because even now—after he’s home, after he kissed your temple, after he said he’d meet you in bed—there’s still a hollow ache in your chest that hasn’t quieted.
you hear the water shut off.
moments later, the door opens. his familiar steps thump softly against the hallway floor.
you expect him to go straight to the bedroom like always.
but instead—
“…babe?”
his voice comes from behind you, confused. not panicked. but uncertain.
you blink slowly, still curled up on the couch, and turn your head just enough to see him standing there, fresh from the shower.
hair damp, sticking in dark strands across his forehead. a towel slung loosely around his hips, clinging low on his hips. water still glistening down his chest—broad, lean, the kind of frame built from quiet discipline and relentless training. his hand clutches a shirt he probably meant to put on in the bedroom.
but he never made it that far.
because you’re still not there.
and he notices.
“…why’re you still out here?” he asks quietly, his brows drawing together.
you don’t answer at first.
you just look up at him.
and that’s when he really sees you.
the tired set of your shoulders. the way your lips are pressed together like they’re holding back a flood. the way your eyes glint—not from the tv light, but from the tears you refuse to shed a second time tonight.
his expression falters.
he drops the shirt in his hand, chest still rising and falling slowly from the heat of the shower—and maybe now, from something else.
he crosses to you without a word, crouches beside the couch, and touches your knee with gentle fingers.
“talk to me,” he says, softly. genuinely. “please.”
and that’s when your voice cracks.
“did i do something wrong?”
you don’t mean for it to come out like that.
small. fragile. broken around the edges.
but there it is—bare and trembling in the air between you.
“did i do something wrong?”
suna’s breath stutters, his hand tightening just slightly on your knee. not out of anger. out of heartbreak. it’s written all over his face now—the pieces finally clicking into place, sharp and clear and cutting.
“no,” he breathes. “no, baby, you didn’t.”
you look away, ashamed, eyes blinking hard as your throat constricts. but he doesn’t let you pull away—not even in silence. he gently climbs onto the couch beside you, still shirtless, still warm from the shower, and wraps an arm around your shoulders like he’s trying to shield you from the weight you’ve been carrying alone.
“i just…” your voice trembles. “you haven’t touched me in weeks. you don’t look at me the way you used to. you barely come home anymore. i thought maybe—maybe i wasn’t enough for you anymore.”
“hey—hey.” he pulls back just enough to cup your cheeks, to make you look at him. “don’t say that. don’t even think that.”
you try to hold it together, but your bottom lip quivers.
“i trust you, rin. i do. i never thought you were cheating, or that there was someone else, i just… i miss how it used to be. i miss how you used to be with me. i miss you.”
he lets out a quiet sound, like it physically hurts to hear.
and then his forehead is pressed against yours, his hands cradling your face with aching care.
“i’m so sorry,” he whispers. “you didn’t do anything wrong. you’re still everything i want. everything i need. you always have been.”
“then why…?” your eyes flicker shut, voice barely a breath. “why did it start to feel like i wasn’t?”
“i got caught up,” he admits, voice hoarse. “with the team, and travel, and press—and i kept telling myself i’d make it up to you after the season, or the week after, or the next time i had energy. but all that time, i didn’t notice i was slowly… fading out of us. and i didn’t realize how far i’d drifted until i looked up tonight and you weren’t in bed. you were still out here, waiting.”
“i wasn’t waiting,” you say, barely.
he nods. “i know. i mean—i know you were done waiting. i should’ve come home to you weeks ago. i should’ve noticed that i was holding you at arm’s length when i should’ve been holding you close.”
he pauses, then says quietly:
“you never stopped being enough. i just stopped showing you that i saw it. that i saw you. and that’s on me.”
you blink again, this time letting the tears fall.
“rin…”
he wipes them with his thumbs, leaning in to kiss your cheeks—once, twice—then your nose, then your forehead.
“i love you,” he murmurs. “i love you so fucking much. and i’m sorry for making you feel anything less than wanted. i hate that you thought you had to question how much i still want you.”
your voice comes out cracked. “it’s been hard.”
“i know.” he kisses the corner of your mouth, soft and slow. “let me make it easier again.”
you hesitate. “i don’t want you to do it just because you feel bad.”
“i’m doing it because i miss you,” he says, firmer now. “because i’ve been starving for you and too fucking tired to reach out. but i’m reaching now. if you’ll let me.”
you nod slowly, and he presses his lips to yours fully this time—gentle at first, then deeper, like he’s pouring every apology and longing into the kiss. like he’s been aching too. like he finally remembered how to hold you.
he kisses you like he’s starved for it—like he’s been standing in the doorway of himself for weeks, unable to find the key, and tonight you finally let him in.
his hand slides up your thigh, warm and steady, until his fingers dip just beneath the edge of your shorts. his knuckles brush your inner thigh, and you shiver, gasping softly into his mouth. the heat that floods your body is instant—dizzying—and he groans as you squirm in response, like your reaction only feeds him.
“come here,” he murmurs, already tugging your hips toward him until you're lying flat on the couch cushions, head tilted back against the armrest.
he drops to his knees between your legs, and the moment he looks up at you—wet hair falling over his eyes, mouth already parted like he’s hungry—your breath catches in your throat.
“you okay?” he asks, softer now.
you nod, eyes half-lidded.
“i just… i missed you,” you whisper. “so much.”
his jaw clenches.
“i know,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “i’m gonna make it up to you, baby. just lay back. let me take care of you.”
you lift your hips obediently when he starts to tug your shorts down—slow, reverent, like he’s unwrapping something fragile. he kisses your inner thigh first, just barely grazing his lips over the sensitive skin, then drags his mouth higher.
when he sees how wet you are—already slick, glistening under the dim light—he pauses.
his eyes flick up to yours, and you don’t even try to hide it.
“i touched myself earlier,” you admit, cheeks burning. “it didn’t feel the same. i—i needed you.”
his jaw tightens, eyes darkening.
still kneeling between your thighs, his gaze drags down slowly—over your flushed cheeks, your heaving chest, the soaked curve of your panties stretched tight against your pussy. and he just stares.
his voice drops, low and edged with heat. “you know i hate it when you touch yourself, baby.”
you shiver.
“but…” he leans in, nuzzles your inner thigh, his lips brushing hot against your skin, “…i wasn’t there for you, huh?”
you nod faintly, biting your lip. “i tried. it just… didn’t work.”
he hums against your skin, one hand trailing up your thigh, splaying wide over your hip. “because this pussy doesn’t open for anyone but me.”
your breath catches in your throat.
then—he hooks his fingers into your panties and drags them down excruciatingly slow, eyes locked on your glistening cunt. you swear you feel his breath hitch when he sees how wet you are.
“fuck,” he breathes, like it punches the air out of him. “you’re soaked.”
he leans in without hesitation, licking a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit—and moans.
loudly.
like the taste of you alone nearly makes him lose it.
“missed this,” he murmurs, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “missed you.”
then he dives in.
his mouth seals over your clit like he’s starved—tongue warm and wet, flicking in tight, steady circles that make your thighs twitch. you gasp, back arching, and he groans again, like your reaction turns him on more than anything.
his tongue flattens and licks broad and slow, then tightens again to flick quick patterns over your clit. when you whimper, he slides his hands up, pressing your hips down with his forearms to keep you in place, to stop you from squirming away.
“you don’t get to run,” he says against you, voice muffled. “you wanted this—missed this. let me give it to you.”
and god, he gives.
he moves like he’s memorized every sound you make, every tremble, every part of you that begs to be touched. his tongue works your clit in perfect rhythm—slow, steady, precise. he moans every time you gasp his name. and when your fingers slide into his hair, tugging, gripping, he growls into your cunt like he wants to drown in it.
“rinnie—” you gasp.
that name. that soft little plea.
it makes something snap in him.
he pulls back for a second, lips slick, panting, and stares at your ruined expression.
“say it again.”
“rinnie,” you whisper, voice shaking.
his mouth crashes back to your clit and he slides two fingers into you with practiced ease. they stretch you open—deep, slow, curling perfectly against your sweet spot.
you cry out, body arching. “oh my—rin—!”
he starts fucking you with his fingers—deep and unrelenting. his pace is slow, but brutal, curling on every thrust. paired with his tongue flicking your clit again, your whole body starts to tremble.
you’re drenched. you hear it. every wet drag of his fingers, every slick suck of his lips over your clit.
“so fucking tight,” he rasps against you. “this pussy’s been waiting for me, huh?”
“y-yes—!”
“this is mine,” he growls. “say it.”
“yours! it’s yours—rinnie, please—!”
his fingers speed up.
his mouth stays locked on your clit, sucking harder now—his tongue flicking faster, relentless. the combination builds fast—pressure curling, tightening, cresting under your skin like a wave you can’t stop.
“i wanna feel you cum, baby,” he pants against your pussy. “you gonna let me taste it?”
you’re too far gone to speak.
so you moan, and moan, hips bucking, thighs trembling.
and then—
you fall apart.
your orgasm rips through you—sharp and hot and overwhelming—your walls fluttering around his fingers, your cries echoing in the room.
suna moans into your release, drinks it down like it’s holy. he doesn’t stop. not until your body jerks from oversensitivity, and your hand pulls weakly at his hair.
then, slowly, he eases his fingers out and kisses your inner thigh like he’s thanking you.
you’re a mess—panting, legs trembling, chest heaving with every shaky breath. your skin is flushed with heat, overstimulated and glowing, and slick glistens between your thighs, dripping onto the couch cushions beneath you.
and him—suna—he’s still kneeling there, shirtless, broad shoulders rising and falling slowly, his chest kissed with droplets from his earlier shower. the towel around his waist has loosened just slightly, dangerously low on his hips, and his cock strains against the fabric, hard and heavy.
his chin glistens with your release, his lips swollen and pink. his eyes—dark, glassy, starving—drink you in like he’s imprinting every ruined inch of you into his memory.
and then—
he raises his hand.
two fingers glistening with your cum. slick and shining in the low light.
and without breaking eye contact—
suna brings those fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean.
slow. leisurely. obscene.
his lips wrap around them and he moans low in his throat, tongue dragging up to savor every last drop of you.
your breath catches hard in your throat.
you feel it.
another gush of heat between your legs—like your body’s responding all over again, already throbbing with fresh want.
he notices.
the corner of his mouth lifts, slow and lazy, but his eyes are still hazy with need. still dark.
“you’re wet again,” he says quietly, fingers slipping from his mouth with a soft pop. his voice is low—dangerous—but wrapped in velvet. “that turn you on, baby?”
you can’t even deny it. not when your thighs press together involuntarily, chasing the friction. not when your skin burns under his gaze like he’s touching you with his eyes alone.
your voice comes out breathy. “rinnie…”
and that name—that sweet, submissive lilt—makes his towel tent even more.
he growls, climbing up onto the couch, crowding over your body.
“you taste so fucking good,” he murmurs against your mouth, kissing you again. “and you’re gonna let me fuck you now, yeah?”
your breath hitches.
he presses his forehead to yours, thumb caressing your cheek.
“let me make love to you slow, baby,” he whispers, voice wrecked with reverence. “let me remind you what it means to be mine.”
you barely nod before his arms are sliding beneath your back and thighs, lifting you effortlessly from the couch. the shift makes you gasp, but he holds you close, your bare chest pressed to his while your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. the towel is bunched between you now, loose and useless, your slick center brushing against the rigid outline of his cock.
you can feel him—hot, thick, already throbbing.
suna walks with slow, steady steps toward the bedroom, eyes fixed on you. he nudges the door open with his foot, never once faltering in his hold. the hallway light hits just enough to cast the sharp lines of his jaw and the soft gleam in his eyes.
you’re both half-undressed, your body flushed and still twitching from your orgasm, but your need spikes again just from feeling him so close—so hard. you grind against him instinctively, rolling your hips forward to chase the friction.
he hisses under his breath, arms tightening around you.
then—smack.
his hand lands firm and hot against your thigh, just enough to make you jolt.
“behave,” he mutters, voice dark now. his lips graze your ear, and you can feel the warning in his breath. “you wanna cum again tonight, don’t you?”
you bite your lip, nodding wordlessly.
“then wait,” he says, his palm smoothing over the sting he just left. “be good for me. i’ll give you everything. just let me get you to bed.”
you whimper, the heat between your legs pulsing at the way he speaks to you—firm but reverent, like you’re something precious and his.
on the way to the bedroom, his hoodie and your bra are discarded along the hall—rushed, messy, fevered. the moment you reach the bed, he lays you down gently, almost worshipfully, like you’re breakable and holy all at once.
he looks down at you.
bare. breathless. glowing.
and he lets the towel drop.
it pools at his feet, but your gaze doesn’t follow it. your eyes are locked on the heavy line of his cock—hard, flushed, thick, the tip glistening with arousal. he’s already leaking, already twitching as if your soaked body alone is enough to ruin him.
your thighs instinctively fall open, legs parting like muscle memory, inviting him in. suna watches the motion with a soft inhale, his eyes hungry, dark with something primal.
“look at you,” he murmurs, climbing over you slowly, like he’s savoring the view of your bare body spread out just for him. “dripping for me already.”
he leans down, kissing your collarbone first—slow, open-mouthed—then drags his lips across your skin until he reaches your mouth. and when he kisses you again, it’s warm and deep and wet, the kind of kiss that swallows everything.
he kisses you like he’s been dying of thirst and you’re the only thing that could ever quench it.
his hips dip lower, cock sliding through your folds, coating himself in your slick. he moans softly into your mouth when he feels how ready you are—how wet and swollen and clenching at nothing.
“feel that?” he murmurs, voice rough, hips rocking gently to tease your clit with the thick, aching head of his cock. “your pussy’s begging, baby.”
you whimper into his kiss, hips rising to meet his.
then—finally—he pushes in.
the tip eases past your entrance, stretching you open so slowly it makes your eyes roll back. he doesn’t rush it. he keeps kissing you, swallowing your shaky moans as he fills you inch by inch. his tongue slips into your mouth with the same lazy intensity, syncing perfectly with the slow, deliberate slide of his cock.
“fuck,” he hisses against your lips. “so tight. so warm. still the best thing i’ve ever felt.”
you break the kiss with a gasp, head tilting back into the pillow. he follows, mouthing down your throat, your jaw, the edge of your lips. you’re trying to breathe, trying to think, but he’s barely halfway in and your body already feels like it’s burning alive.
your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in when his hips roll forward again, pushing deeper.
“r-rinnie,” you moan, voice breaking into a whisper. “it’s so much…”
he kisses you again—slower this time, deeper.
“i know, baby. you’re taking me so well,” he murmurs against your mouth. “just like that. let me in. let me fill you up.”
his hand cups your thigh, spreading you wider. his pace never quickens—never—he sinks in slow, thick inch by thick inch, kissing you through the stretch, through the way your body tightens around him like you’ve been waiting to be whole again.
you whine against his lips, body arching, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming stretch and sweetness of it all.
when his hips finally press flush against yours, he doesn’t move.
he just holds himself there—buried to the hilt, twitching inside you—his lips brushing yours with a reverent sigh.
“there,” he whispers. “finally.”
you nod, dazed, barely able to speak.
“you feel me, baby?” he murmurs. “deep inside you, where i belong?”
“yes—rinnie, i feel you, i feel everything—”
he kisses you again, swallowing the way your voice trembles, and he doesn’t pull out yet. instead, he rocks his hips gently, barely moving—just enough for you to feel the weight of him, the thickness, the stretch.
“gonna take my time,” he promises, voice thick with emotion. “gonna love you so good you’ll forget all the nights i wasn’t here.”
your hands cup his face now, lips brushing his as your eyes flutter closed.
“just don’t stop,” you whisper. “don’t leave me empty anymore.”
his expression softens like he’s about to break.
“i won’t,” he says. “never again.”
and then—he pulls out just an inch, then slides back in, kissing you harder now.
and finally, finally, suna starts to move.
his hips roll into you with a lazy, deliberate rhythm—each thrust slow, smooth, like he’s memorizing the way your walls flutter around him. there’s no urgency, no rush. just the deep, steady grind of his cock inside you and the weight of his body pressed so perfectly into yours.
his lips never stray far from your skin. he peppers soft, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck, then down to your shoulder, lingering at the dip of your collarbone like he’s anchoring himself there. every kiss is slow, reverent—matched to the way he moves inside you, the way he fills you with every deep, perfect stroke.
“feels so good,” he whispers against your skin. “so warm. so tight. you always take me so well.”
you gasp softly, fingers threading through his hair as you tilt your head, giving him more of your throat. he takes it, mouthing gently at your pulse point, his breath hot and ragged.
“missed this. missed you.”
he thrusts again—deep, slow, the kind of pace that makes your toes curl and your breath catch.
“i never got tired of you,” he murmurs, voice rough but steady. “not once. never stopped wanting you, baby.”
you whimper his name—“rinnie”—and his hips stutter, just slightly.
his hand slides down to grip your thigh, spreading you wider as he rocks into you again, a little deeper this time. your body stretches around him perfectly, molding to every slow, grinding thrust like he was made for you.
“not your body,” he continues, kissing below your ear, “not your voice, not the way you look at me when you’re falling apart.”
his words settle deep, like warm honey sinking into cracked skin.
“fuck, i missed this sweet little pussy,” he groans into your shoulder, voice husky. “i’ve been so out of it i forgot how fucking good it feels to be home.”
you choke on a moan, clinging to him tighter as your hips roll up to meet his—chasing his rhythm, desperate to be even closer.
“rinnie—please, don’t stop.”
“not going anywhere,” he breathes, kissing your jaw, your temple, your mouth again. “you hear me? i’m not gonna stop. not until you believe how much i still love you.”
his thrusts stay deep, measured—his cock dragging perfectly along your walls, kissing that sweet spot inside you with every roll of his hips. you feel so full, so cherished, your body buzzing under the slow build of heat.
and all the while, he never stops touching you, kissing you, talking to you.
“you’re everything to me.”
“you’re the best thing i’ve ever come home to.”
“i’m sorry it took me so long to show it.”
your heart squeezes painfully, eyes brimming with tears as you breathe out his name again.
and he kisses the corner of your mouth, whispering against your lips:
“let me stay here. let me love you right this time.”
the words linger in the air, wrapped in the heat of your skin and the tremble of your breath. your legs are still wrapped loosely around his waist, your arms clinging around his shoulders like you’re afraid he’ll disappear again if you let go. but he doesn’t. suna stays right there—inside you, above you, around you—thrusting slow and deep, like he’s in no hurry to reach the end.
his palm smooths along the side of your face, thumb brushing over your cheek. his forehead rests against yours, breath mingling as he presses another kiss to your lips—soft, warm, home.
it’s quiet for a beat.
just your bodies moving together.
your soft moans swallowed between kisses.
the slick sound of him sliding in and out of you.
the weight of weeks of longing melting between the sheets.
but the ache is growing—coiling low in your belly. the slow rhythm is beautiful, addicting—but it’s not enough anymore. not with how full you feel. not with how much you need him.
your voice is barely more than a whimper.
“rin… faster, please.”
he freezes, eyes flicking down to meet yours.
and just like that—his expression shifts.
from tender to something darker. more possessive.
his lips curl into a quiet, knowing smirk. “could’ve just asked, baby.”
then his hands slide down—gripping the backs of your thighs as he pushes your knees toward your chest, folding you beneath him in one smooth, practiced motion.
the mating press.
his favorite.
because this is the position where he feels the most connected to you—where he can press every inch of himself into you, watch the way your face contorts with every thrust, feel your pussy tighten around him with nowhere to run.
where he can fuck you deep enough to hit your soul.
“you know i love you like this,” he grits out, adjusting his hips until the angle is perfect, until he’s buried even deeper.
you cry out at the stretch, the sudden change, your hands clutching at the sheets.
and then he starts to move.
harder. deeper.
his hips snap into yours, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room. every stroke punches a moan out of you, your legs trembling where they’re pinned against his chest. he doesn’t let up—he won’t.
then—he leans down, shifting his weight so your thighs are still pressed high but his chest meets yours again. his mouth finds your breast, warm and wet as he wraps his lips around your nipple and sucks.
your head falls back with a moan. “rinnie—!”
he groans around your skin, tongue swirling slowly, then fast, then pulling off with a soft pop before switching to the other.
“can’t get enough of you,” he pants, voice muffled against your chest. “wanna be close. wanna be inside you when you cum.”
your nails dig into his back as he fucks you deeper, faster, rougher—his mouth latching onto your nipple again like he’s drinking from you, like it grounds him.
“rin, i’m—! i’m gonna—!”
“i know, baby,” he groans, voice cracked with the effort of restraint, his hips stuttering just slightly from the way your walls are already fluttering around him. “cum for me. milk my cock. show me how good i make you feel.”
and then he shifts—just barely—but enough to slip one hand down from your thigh and press it between your bodies. the way he moves, the way he always knows exactly what you need, even now with his cock buried deep inside you, makes your heart swell.
his fingers find your clit instantly, already slick and swollen from how thoroughly he’s worked you up.
and then—he touches you.
a single, perfect swipe.
your back arches, a cry tearing from your throat before you can even bite it back.
“rinnie—!”
“i’ve got you,” he whispers, low and reverent, eyes flickering from your trembling body to your face as his thumb begins to rub slow, tight circles over your clit. “i always do.”
his thrusts stay deep and unrelenting, grinding into your cervix with each push as your thighs shake around his waist, pinned wide in his favorite position. the mating press makes you feel so full, so claimed, so his. and with his fingers teasing your clit—just right, just perfect—it’s too much.
you sob beneath him, pleasure threatening to snap loose like a wire pulled too tight.
every thrust hits your sweet spot dead-on, his cock dragging against every oversensitive nerve, while his thumb massages slow circles that have your vision going blurry, breath leaving your lungs in shuddering gasps.
“you gonna cum, pretty girl?” he pants, lips grazing your jaw. “gonna cum all over my cock while i’m this deep inside you?”
you nod frantically, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes from how overwhelming it feels.
“yes—yes, rinnie, i—oh my god, i’m gonna—”
“then fuckin’ let go.”
he leans in close, pressing his mouth to yours, and the second you moan into the kiss—your entire body breaks.
your orgasm hits like lightning—hard and hot, making your thighs twitch violently and your core clamp down around him in pulsing waves. your back lifts off the bed, body arching against his as you cry out his name over and over again, voice raw and ruined.
“fuck, yes—cum on my cock, just like that,” he growls, watching your face, eyes nearly wild as he feels you squeeze and throb around him. “god, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful like this. so perfect. this pussy was made for me.”
you can’t even speak—only sob, gasping as his cock continues to grind deep, his thumb slowing its circles now as your orgasm washes through you in long, drawn-out tremors.
your body collapses against the bed, boneless and overwhelmed, every nerve ending still buzzing.
but he’s still hard. still inside you.
and still fighting his own edge.
suna groans above you, his pace beginning to falter, a different kind of urgency taking over his movements now. his hand leaves your clit to grip your thigh again, pushing your legs even higher, even tighter to your chest.
“so fuckin’ tight when you cum,” he growls, hips snapping harder now, chasing his own release. “can’t hold it anymore—gonna fill you up, baby—gonna cum so deep inside this pretty pussy—”
his breathing shudders as your walls continue fluttering around him, your body still wrung out and gripping him like you never want to let go.
you manage to lift your arms, wrap them around his back, anchoring him to you.
“please,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “cum inside me, rinnie. want it so bad.”
that’s all it takes.
he plunges deep one last time—so deep it punches the air out of your lungs—and cums.
he moans your name as he spills into you, thick ropes of heat flooding your cunt, his cock twitching inside you with every wave of pleasure. his face buries into your neck, one hand gripping the back of your thigh, the other curled into the sheets beside your head as he rides out his orgasm in long, slow pulses.
you feel it. every drop. every throb.
and it only makes you hold him tighter.
he stays like that for a moment—breathing hard against your skin, chest rising and falling with yours, cock still buried deep, not ready to let go just yet.
“i needed that,” he breathes finally. “i needed you.”
you nod, lips brushing his temple, still trembling beneath him from the high. your heart pounds against your ribs, the slow stretch of afterglow sweeping over your limbs, but beneath it all—you're still pulsing. still needy. still not ready to let go.
and neither is he.
suna’s still inside you, his cock softening slightly from his orgasm, but the way your body stays wrapped around him—warm and wet and clenching gently with each little aftershock—has him breathing unevenly against your shoulder again.
his voice is rough, thick with the hint of a groan. “you’re gonna get me hard again if you keep squeezing me like that.”
you smile softly, tilting his chin up until your eyes meet.
“then let me take care of you now.”
he blinks, eyes fluttering, a little caught off-guard by the shift in your tone—no longer pleading or aching, but devoted. steady.
still straddling his waist in the mating press, you slowly slide off of him—every inch leaving you makes you both moan softly, the sensation almost too much, too bare. your thighs tremble as his cock slips free with a wet sound, followed immediately by the warm, slick spill of both your releases—his cum and yours—dripping from your swollen folds down onto his lower abdomen.
it’s messy. sticky. intimate in the way only lovers who’ve been through everything can be.
you try to move, try to shift off him gently, but suna catches the motion. his eyes drop immediately between your legs and he groans—deep and low in his throat, like he’s trying to keep it in but fails.
your mixed slick is coating your thighs, still trickling slowly down onto his stomach, and the sight wrecks him.
“fuck,” he breathes, eyes darkening again. “look at the mess we made…”
you don’t even get the chance to respond—not when you feel it.
him.
hardening again beneath you.
you glance down, eyes wide, as his cock, flushed and glistening, twitches back to life against his stomach. he’s already half-hard again, his breathing uneven just from the sight of you still soaked, your folds glistening and dripping with his cum.
“rinnie…” you murmur, somewhere between breathless and shy, “again?”
“i can’t help it,” he groans, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding up your back. “you’re still dripping, baby. fuck, i didn’t even get to watch it all spill out properly…”
you tremble, heat spiraling through your core again despite the exhaustion in your limbs.
“you do something to me,” he murmurs, sitting up so you’re straddling his lap again, chests flush. his cock presses right against your slit now, nudging between your folds, still slick with everything. “you make me insatiable.”
he leans in, kissing you—slow and greedy—his fingers sliding down to spread you open again, groaning into your mouth when he feels how soft and wet you still are.
“and you’re still ready for me,” he adds, voice rough. “still warm. still fucking perfect.”
you whimper into the kiss, rocking your hips against him again, helpless to the way your body responds.
your pussy’s still sore, stretched, and yet—his need for you, the heat of his voice, the mess between your thighs—has you wanting him again already.
“you think you can ride me now, sweetheart?” he murmurs, thumb grazing your clit with a featherlight touch. “wanna see you take me like you missed me.”
and you nod, breathless, already sinking back down—ready to remind him that no matter how many times he fills you, no matter how much he takes, you’ll always want more.
always want him.
your body aches, your thighs tremble, and your pussy’s still throbbing from everything he’s already given you—but none of that matters. not when he’s looking up at you like this. not when his touch is soft on your hips, like he’s trying to ground himself in your warmth.
suna leans back slightly against the pillows, legs spread, his toned chest rising and falling with each breath as he watches you from beneath heavy lids. his cock stands hard again, already flushed and leaking, the head slick from your shared release earlier.
“come here, baby,” he murmurs, voice low, thick with need. one of his hands slides down between you, wrapping around the base of his cock as he guides you toward it. “i’ll hold it. just take your time.”
you shift your hips, positioning yourself over him, your hands braced against his chest. slowly, carefully, you lower yourself down—letting the thick, aching head stretch you open once more.
both of you groan.
the feeling of him sinking into you again—after already being fucked so thoroughly—makes your head spin. he’s hot, thick, deep, and every inch feels like too much and still not enough.
“that’s it,” he pants, watching your face, his grip tightening around the base as you inch down farther. “take all of me. let me stretch you out again.”
you moan, breath hitching as your body accepts him—slowly, completely—until your hips finally meet his. you’re seated fully now, and you can feel everything. the stretch. the twitch. the fullness that has your pussy fluttering helplessly around him.
“fuck, you feel unreal,” he groans, both hands now gripping your waist. “look at you—already squeezing me like that.”
you begin to move—shallow bounces at first, your thighs trembling slightly with each rise and fall. his hands guide you, steady you, and soon your movements grow bolder—more confident—grinding down against his pelvis with every bounce.
the sound of slick skin meeting skin fills the room again, the wet heat of your cunt wrapping him so tightly that suna’s jaw clenches, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he opens them again—locked on you.
“come here,” he growls, sitting up suddenly, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer until your chest is pressed to his.
and then—his mouth finds your breast.
he sucks in your nipple hungrily, moaning around the soft skin as he tongues it, teeth grazing lightly before he switches to the other with a wet pop. his hands never stop guiding your hips, helping you ride him in rhythm, pushing you down harder each time he thrusts up into you.
“rinnie—!” you cry, your hands tangled in his hair as you arch into his mouth, pleasure building again too fast. “that feels so good…”
“yeah?” he breathes between kisses and licks, lips shining. “these pretty tits missed me too, huh?”
he lavishes each nipple with attention—sucking, licking, pulling with just enough force to make your back arch and your pussy clamp down around him.
your rhythm grows messy, your moans louder, the coil in your belly winding tighter again as he thrusts up to meet every bounce of your hips, his cock dragging along all the right places inside you.
“don’t stop, baby,” he pants, fucking up into you now with more urgency. “wanna feel you cum again—ride me just like that—show me how much you missed this cock.”
and you do.
you ride him like your body was made to fit his. like his cock was crafted just for you—thick and deep and angled so perfectly that every bounce forces the air from your lungs and sends shocks of pleasure through your spine.
every time you drop your hips, he thrusts up to meet you, and the head of his cock kisses your cervix with an aching precision that leaves you trembling. it’s deep. devastating. the kind of depth that makes your vision blur and your breath come in stuttered moans.
“rinnie—fuck—it’s so deep,” you gasp, head falling to his shoulder. “i-i feel lightheaded…”
“i know, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and full of praise, his hands gripping your hips tighter, helping guide your rhythm. “you’re taking it so well. so fuckin’ good for me.”
his mouth finds your neck again, pressing kisses beneath your jaw, tongue flicking against the heat of your pulse point. one of his hands slides up, fingers splayed across your lower back, holding you steady as he bucks up harder, faster, the sound of your bodies meeting growing louder, wetter, messier.
your thighs burn. your clit rubs against the ridge of his pelvis with every movement. and your pussy—slick, swollen, fluttering—clings to him so desperately you swear you can feel the outline of every vein.
weeks. it’s been weeks.
weeks of aching. of waiting. of touching yourself in the quiet of night and hating how empty it felt.
but this?
this is everything.
his heat. his hands. the way he fills you up and stays there, panting against your skin like he needs you just as badly.
“missed this pussy,” he groans, voice cracking as your walls squeeze around him again. “so tight. so warm. no one gets to have you like this—just me.”
your thighs quake where they straddle him, your nails leaving crescent-shaped dents in his chest as your movements begin to falter. the rhythm you kept moments ago—desperate, steady, purposeful—is now stuttering into something sloppy and slow, hips barely rolling, your muscles too spent to keep up.
your head dips forward, forehead pressing into his shoulder as your mouth falls open in a soft, breathless moan.
that’s when he notices.
the way your moans turn into soft, broken whimpers.
the way your body trembles like it’s overwhelmed, overstimulated, ruined.
and suna grins.
a slow, knowing smirk curls against his lips as he looks up at you, the flush on your cheeks, the faraway haze in your eyes. his hands slide down, gripping your hips tighter, keeping you perched on his cock like a doll about to fall apart.
“ohhh,” he murmurs, voice deep, lazy, almost playful. “is my baby going cock dumb?”
you whimper, too dazed to even respond properly, only nodding against his neck as your pussy flutters around him again—wet, sensitive, clinging to every inch of him like your body can’t bear the thought of him pulling out.
“yeah?” he coos, a note of pride in his tone. “that’s what i thought.”
he doesn’t wait. he shifts beneath you, adjusting his position just slightly, and then—he starts to fuck up into you from below.
you sob, your fingers flying to clutch his shoulders as his cock punches into you over and over again, so deep, the tip brushing your cervix with every sharp thrust. the slick mess between your thighs makes the glide obscene—wet, hot, perfect.
“you were riding me so good, baby,” he pants, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “now look at you. barely holding on. just sittin’ on my cock like a dumb little bunny, letting me do all the work.”
his hands move to your ass, gripping tight, guiding your hips to grind down in rhythm with his thrusts. your clit rubs against his pubic bone just right—enough to make your entire body twitch.
“feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, mouth dragging along your jaw. “so deep. so full. this what you missed while i was gone, huh?”
“y-yes, rin—please, it’s so much—”
“you can take it,” he groans, pressing his forehead against yours. “you always do.”
then his mouth finds your nipple again—wet, hungry, greedy—sucking hard as he fucks you harder. his tongue flicks over the sensitive peak while one hand slips between your bodies again to rub tight, deliberate circles over your clit.
the stimulation is blinding.
his cock fucking up into you like he’s trying to brand the shape of himself into your body.
his mouth at your chest.
his voice whispering filth and devotion in the same breath.
his fingers never stopping.
“cum for me again, baby,” he grits, his thrusts turning rougher, deeper. “wanna feel that pretty pussy gush all over me again. i need to feel it.”
your back arches. your thighs start to shake again. and your orgasm builds fast—white-hot and overwhelming, swelling inside you like pressure about to burst.
“rinnie—!” you cry, your entire body going taut. “i—i’m cumming—!”
and then it hits.
your walls clench hard—tightening around him like a vice, squeezing his cock so perfectly it draws a strangled moan from deep in his chest. your climax rips through you like a tidal wave, crashing fast and furious, leaving you breathless as your moans dissolve into shattered whimpers. your entire body trembles in his lap, thighs quaking, nails digging into his shoulders as your release gushes from you uncontrollably. it hits hard—sharp, hot, overwhelming—and then your body reacts.
you squirt.
the pressure releases all at once, sudden and messy, and your slick spills out of you in wet pulses. it covers both your thighs and his abs, drenching his lower stomach, soaking his cock, the bed beneath you already ruined. you gasp, head thrown back, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as the pleasure peaks and doesn’t let go.
“fuck,” suna groans, watching it happen with parted lips, jaw slack. “you squirted, baby—fuck, look at that. look what i do to you.”
you can’t even answer. you’re still shaking, barely able to hold yourself upright, your thighs limp where they straddle his lap. you feel like you’ve melted, like you’ve unraveled entirely. and still—still—he’s hard inside you. still thick, still pulsing, twitching against your oversensitive walls. he doesn’t stop. he doesn’t even think about stopping.
instead, he grips your hips tight, lifts you slightly, and drives up into you again.
your cry is sharp and wrecked, fingernails dragging down his back as your overstimulated cunt clamps around him again, your whole body jerking from the intensity.
“s–suna—rinnie—please, i—” you gasp, but the words fall apart when he thrusts again, deep, slow, and deliberate.
“oh, you’re not done,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and feral. “you think you can cum like that and not get fucked through it?”
you try to speak again, try to find something to cling to, but then he rolls his hips up—his cock dragging against every too-sensitive nerve ending inside you—and your hands fly to his shoulders, digging in hard. your nails scratch down his back in helpless, shaky arcs, and he groans, head falling to your neck, his breath hot against your skin.
“mark me, baby,” he pants, fucking up into you harder now. “go ahead. scratch me. bite me. let me feel how good it is.”
you do. without even thinking, you sink your teeth into the skin of his shoulder, muffling your moan as another wave of pleasure slams into you. he hisses through his teeth, hips jerking up in response, his cock pressing even deeper—filling you in a way that has your body arching, your head spinning.
“you’re so fuckin’ wet,” he growls, the sound of your soaked pussy squelching around him with every thrust. “this pussy’s so messy for me. so fuckin’ perfect. you like it when i fuck you after you cum, huh? when you’re too sensitive and still can’t stop squeezing me?”
you nod against his shoulder, still biting down, your moans breaking through your clenched jaw as he picks up the pace. he’s relentless now, hands holding your hips in place as he uses you—drives up into you with hard, deep thrusts that have your breath catching, your entire body lit up from the overstimulation.
each drag of his cock makes you twitch. each grind of his hips against yours sends another electric shock through your system.
you’re sobbing now—too much, too full, too fucked out—and he’s still praising you through it.
“take it, baby,” he breathes. “take all of it. you’re doing so good. let me fuck you dumb. let me make you forget your own name.”
your pussy flutters again, clenching down on him like a vice, and he groans so loud it vibrates through your chest. his rhythm stutters, hips bucking more erratically now, breath catching.
“gonna fill you up again,” he growls, voice wrecked. “wanna cum so deep, make you feel me for days.”
you nod again, eyes rolling back, body giving in completely.
“please,” you whisper. “please, rinnie, cum inside me. want all of it.”
that’s what does it.
he lets out a low, broken moan, burying his face in your neck as he thrusts deep, deeper, then stills—his cock twitching violently as he spills inside you. thick warmth fills you again, flooding your sore, stretched walls as he holds you tight, arms trembling around your waist, chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths.
he stays there, buried to the hilt, pulsing, groaning softly as you twitch around him—still trembling, still so full, your walls fluttering weakly with every aftershock. his cum leaks out in slow, warm trails, dripping down between your thighs and smearing across both your bodies in the tangled mess you’ve made together.
but even after everything—after you squirted all over his abs, after he came deep inside you for the second time, after your entire body is limp and trembling in his arms—you feel it.
him.
still hard.
still inside you.
and when you whimper, shifting just a little on his lap, the slight movement makes his cock twitch again, still thick and rigid despite how thoroughly he just came. your head lolls against his shoulder, dazed and barely able to think straight.
“rin… you’re still… hard?”
he chuckles low in your ear, the sound deep and smug, his hands stroking slowly down your back.
“told you i missed you,” he murmurs, voice rasping with the weight of his lust. “i’m not done.”
you don’t even have the strength to respond—not with words. but your pussy clenches weakly around him, your thighs twitching, and that’s answer enough.
he shifts you gently, guiding your hips again, and groans when the motion makes your swollen, used cunt squeeze down on him with resistance. you’re sore, so sore, but the sensation of still being stretched open around him, of still feeling his cock twitching inside you, has heat building in your gut again.
“i’ve been away too long,” he mutters, lifting you slightly before thrusting back in—slow and deep, making you moan softly against his skin. “weeks without you. you think i’m gonna stop at two rounds?”
you cry out softly as he starts to move again, dragging his cock in and out of you with slow, grinding thrusts, letting you feel every inch. it’s not rushed this time—it’s deliberate. heavy. sensual. his hands cradle your hips, guiding your body to meet his rhythm.
“you deserve more than that,” he whispers, brushing his lips along your cheek. “deserve to be fucked so good you can’t walk tomorrow.”
you bury your face in his neck, moaning weakly, body already starting to melt again as overstimulation gives way to something new—slower, deeper, a third round wrapped in pleasure that borders on worship.
suna leans back against the pillows, shifting you slightly so your knees are spread wider, your chest pressed close to his, his cock sliding even deeper from the angle. he kisses you then—soft and possessive—while his hips roll up into you again and again, stretching you slowly as your slick mixes with his release and drips down his shaft.
“you gonna let me make up for all that lost time, baby?” he whispers against your lips, voice husky. “gonna let me fuck you again? take it like the good girl you are?”
you nod helplessly, barely coherent now. every inch of your skin feels fevered. your heart pounds. your body burns for him again.
and he gives you everything.
he proves himself over and over again.
with every deep thrust that leaves you gasping.
with every kiss that lingers on your skin like a promise.
with every time he brings you to the edge and pulls you back in.
and long into the night—until you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve cum, how many times he’s filled you—he holds you close, bodies still joined, proving that you were never too much to want.
he just needed time to remember how much he missed everything about you.
now here he was, kneeling at the edge of the bed with a towel in hand, wiping your thighs with slow, deliberate care.
the room is warm with the scent of sex and sweat, heavy with the afterglow of everything that’s just unraveled between you. the sheets are a soaked mess beneath you, tangled and clinging to your body, while your limbs lie slack, trembling, utterly spent. your skin is flushed, glistening in the low light. your chest rises and falls in unsteady breaths, and your thighs twitch involuntarily every time he touches you—still reeling from that final climax.
suna is quiet now, all of that teasing energy faded into something softer, something intimate. his hands move gently over your legs, wiping up the slick trails of cum and arousal that have dripped down to the backs of your knees. his thumb strokes just beneath the crease of your thigh, and even that has you flinching.
“easy,” he murmurs, glancing up at you with tired but affectionate eyes. “i’ve got you.”
you nod weakly, your voice hoarse from moaning his name all night. “i know… i’m just still—sensitive.”
he smiles at that. “yeah, i know.”
you watch as he folds the towel, his brows furrowed in concentration as he leans back in, wiping again, slower now.
and then, because he’s always been a little selfish when it comes to you, suna leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of your trembling thigh.
“rin—” you start, a soft warning in your voice, but it’s too late.
his tongue is already dragging up your overstimulated slit, collecting the last remnants of his cum and your release, and you gasp, your hips jerking upward as your hand flies to his hair.
“i’m just cleaning you up,” he murmurs with a devilish smirk, but the way his mouth moves against you is anything but innocent. it’s slow, tender, savoring.
and somehow, even after everything—your body responds.
your legs twitch again, a sharp tremor crawling up your spine, and you shake your head, breath catching.
“rinnie—please—i can’t—” you whisper, but you’re already grinding against his mouth without realizing it.
his arms snake around your thighs, holding you open as his tongue dips into your entrance again, licking you through it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
one long stroke, then another.
and your body gives up.
you squirt again.
it’s sudden and messy, a wet gasp tearing from your throat as you soak his face with a hot rush of release. it pours down your thighs and splashes across his chest, some of it dripping to the floor beside the bed, and you collapse fully into the sheets, eyes fluttering back as your body convulses one last time.
he groans into you like it’s the best gift he’s ever received, letting the warmth of your release soak him as he finally pulls back—face dripping, lips parted, his abs slick and glistening.
“shit, baby…” he pants, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he looks at you with pure disbelief. “you really missed me.”
you can’t even answer. you just groan, turning your head into the pillow, utterly ruined.
he laughs, breathless and fond, and reaches for a clean towel, dabbing your thighs again, this time with a reverence that makes your heart ache. he doesn’t rush. he wipes gently between your legs, pressing soft kisses to your knees, your hips, the swell of your stomach.
“okay,” he murmurs, voice low now, soothing. “let’s get you in the shower. you need to be warm and clean. i’ll help you.”
you don’t protest. you can’t. your body’s heavy and sore, but when suna lifts you into his arms bridal-style, everything in you goes quiet. safe. anchored. he carries you down the hall, bare skin against bare skin, your arms looped around his neck as your head rests on his shoulder.
the bathroom light is soft. the water’s already running—warm, with the faintest scent of lavender from the body wash you both share.
suna sets you down carefully on the shower bench and steps inside with you, guiding your body beneath the spray. he stands behind you, shielding you from the pressure of the water, and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his cheek against the back of your head.
you sigh. the water rolls down your skin like peace itself, soothing the soreness blooming in your thighs, the ache between your legs, the raw tremble in your muscles from being thoroughly and lovingly ruined. you lean back against suna’s chest, his arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder as the steam rises around you both.
but the silence—the warmth—the intimacy—it's not enough.
not when he’s right there.
not when your body still remembers the stretch of him inside you. not when your skin is still buzzing with the echo of every touch, every kiss, every praise-soaked thrust.
"rin…" your voice is quiet, a bit raspier than usual, fragile and needy, "i want more."
he doesn’t move right away. you can feel his lips curve into the faintest smile against your wet shoulder.
then his arms tighten around you.
“baby…” he hums, low and indulgent. “you’ve cum how many times tonight?”
you pout, head tipping back to rest against his shoulder, eyes fluttering open lazily. “i don’t know. a lot?”
he chuckles, nuzzling into the curve of your neck, his breath warm and teasing against your damp skin.
“exactly. you squirted so many times i lost count. you’re spent,” he murmurs. “and i’m not about to let you pass out in the shower just because your pussy’s greedy.”
you flush, both from the warmth of the water and his words, and you squirm a little in his hold, grinding back against where you can already feel him half-hard, heat pressed up against the curve of your ass. you’re too sensitive to do anything serious, but even the faint contact has both of you groaning quietly.
still, he tightens his grip immediately, stilling your hips with a firm hand across your stomach.
“hey,” he warns, voice suddenly stern against your ear. “what did i just say?”
“but—”
“no buts,” he mutters, mouth brushing along your jaw as he presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss there. “don’t make me bend you over this bench and hold your thighs open while you cry from overstimulation.”
you shiver—not entirely from fear.
he smirks again, knowing exactly what he’s doing, before softening as he kisses your temple.
“i mean it,” he murmurs. “you’ve been so good for me tonight. let me take care of you properly. you’ll get more tomorrow—hell, you’ll get everything tomorrow.”
you lean back into him, huffing softly, your bottom lip jutting out as you whisper, “promise?”
suna kisses the pout away, slow and deliberate.
“i promise,” he breathes. “wanna see you on your knees. then ride you again. want to fuck you in front of the mirror. all of it.”
you moan into the kiss, but when your hips twitch again—another teasing grind—he growls softly and slaps your thigh gently under the water.
“behave,” he murmurs against your lips.
so instead, you melt into him, letting him tilt your chin toward his, his mouth finding yours again with no rush, no heat—just long, tender kisses beneath the stream of water. the kind that say i’m not done with you—not even close—but right now, i love you too much to fuck you again when your legs are already trembling.
your arms loop around his neck, fingers carding into his wet hair as he kisses you deeper. you moan softly when his tongue slides into your mouth, slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you all over again.
his hands roam your back, slow and reassuring, massaging out the tension in your shoulders. he kisses you again and again, coaxing you down from the edge you didn’t even know you were still standing on.
and even though he doesn’t take you again in the shower, that kiss—the way he holds you against him, strong and steady, murmuring soft little praises between each press of his lips—it feels like more. more than sex. more than lust. it’s him saying: i love you. i missed you. i see you.
when the water is turned off and the steam begins to settle, he wraps you gently in a towel and dries you off like you’re something fragile—like he’s afraid to lose you again to the space that had grown quietly between you these past few weeks.
suna hums under his breath while helping you into your favorite sleep shirt, one that’s oversized and soft, one that used to be his. he slides on his boxers, still damp around the edges, then gently combs his fingers through your damp hair, tucking it behind your ears like it’s second nature. there’s no rush in any of it—just tenderness, care, and quiet devotion.
back in bed, the sheets have been changed—he did that too, while you rested your head against the bathroom counter, legs too weak to stand fully. now the duvet is clean and warm, the lights dimmed low, and when you climb into bed beside him, his arms are already waiting to pull you into the curve of his body.
you curl into him like muscle memory, your leg tangled over his, cheek pressed against his chest. his hand strokes your back lazily, up and down, grounding you.
“you’re so good to me,” you murmur, voice soft and sleepy.
“not as good as you are to me,” he replies without missing a beat, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.
there’s a pause, a silence filled with his fingertips tracing shapes into your spine.
“rinnie,” you whisper, “you’re not… tired of me, right?”
his hand stills.
he shifts slightly, tilting your chin up so you’ll look at him, even in the low light.
“never,” he says firmly, his voice low and hoarse from everything—sex, emotion, everything. “i’d never get tired of you.”
you blink slowly, lip quivering just slightly. “even if we don’t do stuff like tonight all the time?”
“baby,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your temple, your cheek, then your lips. “i didn’t fall in love with you because of what we do in bed. i fell in love with you because you’re you. the way you always know when to check on me. the way you always leave the hallway light on because you know i hate coming home to a dark apartment. the way you still get nervous when i kiss your neck like i didn’t already make you mine years ago.”
his voice gets softer, more serious.
“i got exhausted. i let the world outside this apartment wear me down, and i forgot how much you were waiting for me. that’s on me. but being with you? coming home to you? touching you, holding you, just lying here like this? i crave it. i crave you. always.”
you bury your face into his neck, pressing a slow kiss to his skin, holding him tighter.
“i wanna sleep with you still inside me,” you whisper.
he tenses just slightly, then sighs into your hair with a low chuckle.
“you’re insatiable,” he murmurs, voice fond. “you really want me to stay inside you while you sleep?”
you nod against his neck. “you said you missed me…”
“i did,” he groans. “i still do. i always do.”
another sigh, this time heavier, but laced with nothing but surrender. he shifts onto his side, nudging your thighs apart as he settles behind you, one hand guiding himself back to your entrance—still slick, still warm.
he slides in slow, careful, groaning low in his throat as he buries himself inside your sensitive cunt one last time.
you gasp, body relaxing immediately at the feeling of being full again—of him, deep and slow and safe.
he wraps his arms around you from behind, one hand cupping your breast, the other holding your waist as he presses a kiss to your shoulder.
“happy now?” he mumbles sleepily.
“mhm,” you breathe, already drifting. “perfect.”
and that’s how you fall asleep—his cock still nestled inside you, his arms wrapped tight around your body, your heart steady again in the rhythm of his presence.
for the first time in weeks, the bed doesn’t feel cold.
❦ biker!ryomen sukuna x biker!f!reader [non-curse au]
❦ smut oneshot
❝ when you get home after work grumpier than sukuna usually is, he knows something's wrong. when you deprive him of a kiss once you've returned, well now he's just pissed. for that, he'll deprive you of all of your senses as he pampers you with his mouth and fingers. ❞
❦ cw ; 18+ only. mdni. contains explicit sexual content. husband!sukuna. dom!sukuna. sub!reader. sensory deprivation. ball gag. blindfold. music. manhandling. nipple play (f! receiving). neck kissing. marking. biting. licking. bondage. fingering. oral (f!receiving). spit. use of pet names (brat, baby, sweetheart, wife, girl). praise. praising degradation. taunting. edging. pussy slapping. toys (bullet vibe). teasing. aftercare. kinda soft!sukuna during aftercare :]. part of the love & company series of oneshots but can be read separately/out of order.
❦ words ; 5.2k.
previous l&c oneshot || love & company masterlist || main masterlist
Biker!Sukuna leans his head on the back of the couch, windswept pink hair hanging over the fabric as you sigh the moment you shut the door of your shared home behind you. He twists, a bulky bicep resting on the back of the couch to see you better. “Long day?”
“Long fucking day,” you agree, sighing once more.
“Work?”
You nod, pulling your laptop from your bag and setting it on the counter, only to open it back up and resume working. Your husband’s eyes narrow as he watches you stand at the kitchen counter in your work attire without so much as a welcome home kiss.
Like really, what the hell? You didn’t even kiss him?
With his extremely usual scowl, he pushes up from the couch, discarding the hoodie he was wearing (because there’s no world where you can resist Sukuna’s cocky charm and veiny forearms, right?) and follows you to the kitchen. He slides his body up to you, his hands finding a place along your waist as he presses his body against your back.
“I need to work, Ryomen,” you mutter tiredly, pulling away.
Stunned and downright offended at this point that you’ve just used his government name, denied him of his ‘honey, I’m home’ kiss, and shrugged him off like a discarded shawl, his lip curls in confusion.
“You should quit.”
Your head finally whips around, and he swears his own scowl is mirrored on your face. “I can’t just quit. We have bills, Ryomen.”
“Stop fuckin’ calling me that-”
“Your name?” You query incredulously, giving him just an ounce more of your attention.
“My full name,” he corrects you, crossing his arms over his chest, and that’s when you notice it. Your big beefy husband is pouting.
Oh you do not have time for this. Shaking your head, you turn back to your laptop, still standing at the counter in your work clothes.
“C’mon. At least change into something comfy,” he prods, knowing you’re just at wit’s end with the day, and not with him specifically. He may be offended by your dismissal of his affections, but he knows he hasn’t done anything wrong.
Probably.
He does pause to think about it, though.
No, no. He’s good.
“I will later,” you wave him off again, leaving him further perturbed as he makes a show out of huffing and trudging back to the living room to resume what he was watching.
As over an hour goes by and you haven’t even moved from standing at the counter, he gets fed up, shutting the TV off and practically stomping back into the kitchen. He stands on the cusp of entering the room, arms crossed over his chest.
“You done yet? I need to make dinner, you’re in the damn way.”
That’s not the issue, he’s deflecting and he knows it, but Sukuna’s not about to admit that he wants your attention.
And his kiss.
“Not yet, give me another hour.”
“No. You got home fuckin’ forever ago. Go get changed, lemme make dinner.”
Sighing, you rub at your neck, sore from craning it to look down at your work. “Please, sweetheart. Give me a bit.”
Sukuna’s nose scrunches up in disdain. You only call him that when you’re attempting to sweet talk him in order to get your way when he’s uncooperative. And damn it, he’s a lovesick fool and it works. Every time.
You want to play dirty? He can play dirty.
With a huff, he takes a few steps towards you and physically shuts your laptop.
“Hey-!”
“Nuh uh. No more,” he frowns, looking you dead in the eye with that signature scowl, his hand firmly resting on your computer.
“You don’t understand, I have deadlines, I need-”
“You need to recharge,” he insists, his tone dropping to a hint of a growl. “I’m not arguin’ with you on this, sweetheart,” he mocks, flipping his hand to grab your wrist so that he can slide your hand into his much larger one. His skin is calloused and rough against yours, but the softness with which the grumpy and hardened man handles you never fails to make your heart race.
You want to give in and curl up on the couch and watch a reality show that he pretends to hate, but you have a presentation due early tomorrow morning and- “Please, Ryo. I just need one more hour, I promise.”
His scowl deepens and you fear the lines etched into his forehead might be permanent with the frustration he’s regarding you with. He grumbles your name, setting his free hand on your hip. He squeezes, making sure his intent comes across. “Go change into something comfy. I know you’re tired, don’t make this harder on yourself. Or are you askin’ to be tied up?”
With his breath fanning your face, he doesn’t miss the subtle way your pupils grow, your eyes darkening.
He snorts, squeezing your hip tighter. “If that’s whatcha want, then try me,” he taunts, pleased to have finally caught your attention. He knew from the moment you entered the door that you were overwhelmed and he equally knows that the easiest way to get his pretty wife to finally relax after the day he’s sure you’ve had is to take away your senses and allow you to focus only on him, only on pleasure, and only on yourself.
You contemplate his words, eyes sliding towards your laptop, then back to his lips. Your presentation is important, but you could just get up a bit early, right? Maybe you need a fresh perspective anyway, and you’re so wound up from the overwhelming day at work that giving in to Sukuna doesn’t sound so bad.
In fact, it sounds almost heavenly.
He watches carefully as you pull your arm out of his grasp, a bratty little smirk on your lips as you aim to open your laptop. He clicks his tongue before you even get the opportunity to touch the computer, barreling into your legs and flipping you over his shoulders with a triumphant grin.
“Good choice,” he hums in a gravelly tone as you squeal in surprise and cling to his shirt. “Even if you’re bein’ a brat.”
“Wait, my shirt, you’re gonna wrinkle it-”
“Enough about work,” he huffs, tossing you on your bed and pinning both of your arms over your head in one hand. “Enough. I don’t wanna hear about the damn presentation. You can finish later.”
“But-”
He growls your name in warning. “Don’t be a brat. Lemme take care of you.”
Your chest rises as you suck in a breath, nodding. He can see in the way that you hold your shoulders and the crease between your brows that you’re still stuck in your head and if that’s the case, he’ll give you something else to focus on. Pamper you in his own ‘Sukuna’ sort of way.
“That’s my pretty little wife.” He holds his hand out to you, searching for your consent. “You gonna let me take care of you?”
Again, you nod, taking his hand as you squeeze your thighs together. Heat pools in your core and you shuffle your hips, chasing the friction.
“Good,” he grins, rubbing his hand over your knuckles before disappearing altogether to open a drawer you know all-too-well. Your eyes darken a shade again as you watch him pull out a familiar set of ropes, as well as a new matching blindfold and ball gag you have yet to see. Your eyes widen, lips pursing as you take in the sight, shuffling on the edge of the bed.
“Is that new?” You ask, reaching out to slide your hands along the silk blindfold that matches Sukuna’s Ducati bike, a bright cherry red.
“Mhm,” he hums, a concentrated look on his face as he ties a slip knot into the shibari ropes you let him use on you every so often. “Wrists,” he commands, holding the knot out expectantly at you.
You make no attempt at arguing with him, slipping your wrists into the silk rope and allowing the cool material to bind your hands in front of you. The thrill causes your heart to race as you give in to your husband, allowing him to take full control. You shuffle once more, seeking any amount of friction on your already-throbbing clit.
Sukuna clicks his tongue, pressing his hands down on your thighs and spreading them just enough to keep you from seeking the friction you want so badly. “Be good,” he growls, leaving one hand on your thigh as your legs hang over the edge of the bed. “I’m only askin’ nicely this once.”
Your tongue swipes your lower lip before tugging it between your teeth, nodding slowly when the door suddenly creaks open. Sukuna pays it little mind until the newest furry addition to your family is softly headbutting his ankle and yelling.
“Not now, Cati,” he grumbles as though the young cat can understand him. When the little creature doesn’t let up and yells at her father for attention, Sukuna just sighs and picks her up, holding her out in front of him. “I’m tryna set a mood. You don’t make the mood better,” he explains. Her ear flicks and she wiggles her back legs, twisting her body in an effort to escape Sukuna’s grasp. “We can cuddle later,” he explains as he shuts the door with her outside it and heads to the ensuite to wash his hands.
“Brats, both o’ my girls,” he mutters to himself, turning to see you fiddling with the hem of your pencil skirt. He returns to the space beside you, picking up the blindfold and tying it expertly behind your head. He then takes the ball gag, using one hand to grab your chin as the other hovers the device over your lips. “If anything feels bad,” he says in all sincerity, staring straight through you to your soul as he even temporarily folds up the blindfold to get your full attention, “you use your foot to tap me twice, yeah?”
You nod.
“Words.”
“Yes, baby.”
“Good girl,” he approves before buckling the leather of the gag in place and replacing the blindfold. Testing your senses, or lack thereof, you twist your wrists against the rope, tilting your head in an effort to find your husband, only to whimper at the realization that you’re giving all of your trust to him right now and it’s hot.
You wait at the edge of the bed, twisting your head in search of any sign of him, but you’re unable to find him. It’s only when he turns on what might be the most generic ‘sex music’ you’ve ever heard that you get an idea of where he is. You want to tease him for his playlist choice, fight against the ball gag, maybe be the brat he keeps saying you are, but before you can, you’re yelping in surprise as your arms are carefully tied to the top of the bed, your body dragged with them.
You struggle to swallow, adjusting your lips around the gag as you aim to search for him again, but with all of your senses aside from smell completely deprived, you can only whimper.
A large hand presses against your collarbone, pushing you into the bed and allowing you to relax into the mattress and pillows. Your husband’s weight makes the bed dip as he crawls over you, testing the hold the shibari bamboo ropes have on your wrists. Satisfied with his setup, he sweetly kisses your cheek once, before shocking you as he massages your shoulders.
“Relax,” he purrs into your ear, sending a shiver straight down your spine. Beneath the blindfold, your eyes flutter shut as you turn to putty in his hands with the way his digits work the knots from your muscles. This isn’t exactly what you had in mind, but you’re pleased nonetheless. He slides his hand down the front of your chest, unbuttoning the front of your white blouse and pushing it over your shoulders to give him better access.
You sigh, melting as he straddles you in order to rub the knots from your muscles. It only takes a mere couple of minutes before you’re blissfully relaxed, eyes heavy with the exhaustion of the day as your husband takes care of you. So comfortable, you barely even notice that he unbuttons the rest of your top. He searches for the zipper on your skirt, unzipping it and slipping them down your legs.
He smirks at the sight of you in a pretty pair of black lingerie that he got you on your first wedding anniversary. Always spoiling him, even if you don’t mean to. His cock twitches in the tent of his pants, but he sets his own needs aside in favor of servicing you.
Placing himself over top of you again, he kisses down the expanse of your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your collar. He grins as you sigh in pleasure, relieved that you’re finally letting go of the shitty day.
His lips travel the length of your neck down to your collar, sucking and leaving his mark just below where the neckline of your shirt falls. Any higher and he knows you would scold him for forcing you to use makeup to cover it at work, but he toes the line anyway, sucking just a bit higher. Pleased with the marks that make up your skin and the way you’re squirming beneath him, he moves lower, palming your left breast over your bra.
His other hand slides around your back, unhooking the lingerie and letting your breasts free with a small jiggle that has him eagerly grinning.
“Mmph,” you attempt to ask him not to rip or ruin your favorite bra, but the gag does you no favors.
Moving your bra up to rest on your upper chest, Sukuna runs the flat of his tongue over your bare nipple, thrilled when you jolt hard at the suddenness of the metal of his piercing grazing your nipple. “Yeah, baby?”
Your muffled words make no sense as you attempt again to worry about something, and Sukuna’s not having it.
“Stop thinkin’. No sight, no sound, no taste, just feel me. Be a good lil’ slut for me, yeah?”
It’s hard not to listen to him when he talks in that low purr you adore so much, his hands roaming your body as he sucks your nipple between his lips. He flicks and pinches the other bud between his forefinger and thumb, allowing his teeth to graze the sensitive skin between his lips when he grins.
Every reaction is tenfold with how heightened your sense of touch feels right now, every movement by Sukuna increasing in pleasure immensely when it’s all you can focus on as everything fades away. Your head lolls back as he swirls his tongue around your perky nipple, breath coming in fast pants when he switches his attention to the other side. He nips at the perky skin, satisfaction coursing through him when you jerk and jolt, your wrists tugging on the bamboo ropes.
With a final soft kiss, his lips move down to your waist and hips, kissing every inch of your body as he quietly worships you. This may be about you, but Sukuna takes great pleasure in seeing you melt and quiver under his gentle and saccharine touch. After all, he’s not a particularly soft man, so he knows it turns you to putty when he shows another side to him.
He spreads your legs, one hand on each thigh, positioning himself between them so that you can’t close them. Leaning down, he watches the way you fiddle against your restraints, unable to stay still under his attention. He chuckles lowly, though you can barely hear it over the music, when your entire body jerks as he licks a stripe up your damp panties.
“So wet,” he groans, both of his hands roaming up your thighs to your hips and waist, before he brings them back down and pulls your panties with them, discarding them from your ankles. “So fuckin’ wet,” he repeats with a view of your bare pussy.
Unable to see him, your breathing quickens as you eagerly await the feeling of his tongue on your clit, but he only teases you as he runs his fingers through your soaking wet folds. You let out a muffled whine, jerking your hips up to meet his fingers as you chase the friction he won’t bestow upon his poor needy wife, too occupied with teasing you.
His fingers pause as you wriggle in his grip. “Ah-” he clicks his tongue, lightly slapping your pussy. “Be good for me.”
Your body jerks as you shuffle away from him, whimpering at the unexpected sensation and attempting to close your legs. Your husband pulls you back by your thighs, keeping you spread as his weight shifts, before he’s finally where you want him. He tests the waters, pleased when you tense with the small kitten lick he gives your clit. You can feel his grin against your skin when he buries his tongue in your needy cunt.
Your back arches for him and you tug against the ropes when his tongue plunges into the depths of your pussy, the metal of the ball piercing in his tongue amplifying the sensations of pleasure. He moves slowly, enjoying the taste of your slick and the way your body jolts, tenses, and twitches as his tongue explores your body.
He hums in approval when you whimper and whine, accentuated with gasps as it’s all you can manage behind the gag. You can feel drool slipping down your chin, unable to care as Sukuna has you so thoroughly bound, unable to care about anything but him.
You just barely hear him mutter “all mine”, before his tongue moves up to swirl around your clit. Your jaw clenches against the red ball gag as he sucks the sensitive bud between his lips, intense pleasure coursing through your body.
God, you needed this. You just didn’t know how badly, but the muscles in your stomach are already clenching as you feel the wave of your orgasm nearing its shore, only for Sukuna to pull back. You whine in protest, tugging hard against your binding as you yearn to pull him back down by his hair. You whimper again when you aren’t able to, lifting your lead in an effort to see him, but it’s all in vain. There’s nothing but darkness, no sounds to fill the air but yours and his, no taste but the blandness of the gag, and no smell but him to fill your nostrils.
It’s so overwhelming in all the right ways, unable to think of anything but his touch as you seek him out in whatever way you can. Work is a problem of the past as you clench your thighs.
“Thought I told ya to be good,” he hums, though his only punishment seems to be more serviceable to you, and you certainly won’t complain about that as he plunges his middle and ring finger suddenly into your soaking hole. He hums in approval as you gasp and clench your fists, nails digging into your palms with the sudden wave of pleasure that ripples through you.
He pulls them out slowly, pushing the digits back in to the hilt as you feel the cool metal of his wedding ring sink between your folds. You whimper, eyes rolling to the back of your head, attempting to whimper a “please”, but it barely comes out as anything more than “pfff”.
“I know, princess,” he hums, kissing your rib below the swell of your left breast. “Feels good, yeah?”
You manage a nod, crying out when he curls his fingers forward, your stomach clenching each time he expertly hits your G-spot. It sends you into a flurry, legs closing in around him as you chase that same wave from earlier, every muscle tensing as you swear you’re right there, only for him to pull his fingers from you.
Another whine, another tug of the ropes as you’re left hanging right on the edge of your orgasm. Again. Your stomach relaxes as the feeling passes and your chest heaves. You clench your teeth down on the ball again, growing frustrated and needy as hell. Sukuna can see it in the way your brow knits, a crease forming just above the blindfold.
You hear him chuckle again. “Somethin’ got you riled up, sweetheart?” His hand slides from your breast around your body until he’s arching your back closer to him. “Easy to forget all the bullshit when all you can focus on is me, huh?” You can hear the grin in his voice as the flat of his tongue licks a stripe up your right nipple, making your head hang back in sheer pleasure.
Your pussy pulses around nothing, desperate for attention and release. As you buck your hips up towards your husband, he presses you into the mattress with a strong hand.
“Needy girl,” he chuckles, sliding his opposite hand from your sternum to your chin. He runs his thumb along your lips, wiping the saliva from the corners of your mouth as you whine and whimper around the ball gag.
Every sense is completely occupied only by Sukuna, his touch electrifying. A shiver runs up your spine as you just barely hear the scraping of your bedside drawer open once more. The mattress shifts under his weight, before he’s leaning over you again.
His lips brush your ear for a moment, the deep rumble of his voice only making you more wet for him. “You’ll cum when I tell you, got it?”
Whining around the gag, you nod.
With a satisfied hum, the bed shifts beneath you as Sukuna positions himself between your legs again, able to feel his strong thighs seated between your own. He leans down, pressing a startlingly gentle kiss to your stomach that throws you off-kilter, only to meanly bully his middle and ring finger back into your pussy.
Your hands curl into fists as you cry out, desperate to cling to anything as you attempt to close your thighs on your husband, who keeps you spread with his free hand, while your other leg presses against his torso. Sukuna doesn’t let up his pace, hitting the gummy part of your walls with ease and sending bliss straight to your core like lightning.
His name comes out muffled as you attempt to whine for him, bucking your hips up as a knot ties in the pit of your stomach, threatening to come undone at any moment. The second your abdomen begins tensing, Sukuna’s pace slows to an agonizing halt.
“Ah- what’d I say?”
You whine, but he’s not having any of it.
“What did I say?” He repeats lowly.
It surely makes no sense with the ball still between your lips, but you repeat back to him that you’re only allowed to cum when he says. He hums in approval, one large hand leaving your thigh to caress your cheek as he tries to- literally- fuck you dumb, until you forget about your presentation altogether.
And it’s working. Well.
Your head hangs back against the pillows, your chest heaving as you shuffle against your bindings, whining when he doesn’t pick up the pace at all, even as you obey his commands. The slow in and out of his fingers is just enough to keep you squirming and whining, but equally not enough to satiate your desire.
It’s muffled, but you just barely manage a “please,” much to Sukuna’s pleasure.
“Yeah, princess? You willin’ to beg?” He hums. The bed shifts again, and you jolt when cold steel is pressed to your clit. Gasping at the sudden chill, your body gradually relaxes as the toy is held still for a moment, only to be turned on a second later, the vibration sending a tingling sensation through your body to your limbs.
Your hips jerk and twitch with the subtle movements of the metallic toy, the continued stimulation to your clit and his fingers still slowly curling sending you closer to the edge and closer to overstimulation. You whine out, your stomach tightening as the knot is just about to unravel when he pulls away altogether.
You whine louder, pleading with him behind the gag though it all comes out as little more than mmphs.
Your legs are trembling, your walls pulsing around nothing as Sukuna teasingly flicks your nipple, pulling a cry from your pretty lips. “What’s that, princess?” He chides, tugging on the leather strap of the ball gag and pulling it back just enough to hear your whiny request.
“Please let me cum, Ryo, plea- mmph-!” Your chest heaves again as you pull on your restraints. Your movements are growing wearier the more fucked out you get, and Sukuna figures he might just have some mercy on you.
“Since you asked so nicely,” he purrs, and before you have time to process that he’s there, his tongue is on your clit, sucking hard and sending sparks straight to the knot in your abdomen. It tightens as his tongue swirls around the sensitive bundle of nerves, his teeth grazing it and causing you to jump. He keeps you right on the edge until tears of overstimulation are wetting the blindfold and you’re trembling around his fingers.
“Cum for me, baby,” he commands, latching his lips back onto your clit.
The final push across the finish line are his fingers effortlessly pinpointing your G-spot and sending you straight over the edge in an orgasm that rocks your body. Your husband slows his movements, pulling wave after wave of your climax through you and watching every subtle twitch and jerk of your body as he coaxes you into a completely blissed out state.
Your head hangs back against the pillows as he slowly pulls his mouth and fingers from your core, slipping the soaked digits between his lips. He pulls them out with a sinful pop! and a smirk that betrays his satisfaction, despite the rock-hard and throbbing issue between his own thighs.
His weight disappears for a moment as the volume of the music softens to something low and comfortable, before he’s carefully untying your wrists. No longer bound, he brings them down to your lap before focusing on the gag and blindfold. As he slips them both off and sets them aside, you blink as your eyes adjust to the low lighting of your bedroom.
“How’re you feelin’?” He grunts, gently taking your chin between his fingers and tilting your head in either direction as he searches your skin for any signs that anything might have been too tight.
Yawning, you nod. “I’m good. I needed that, thanks Kuna.”
“Mmm. I could tell,” he smirks, satisfied that the gag and blindfold he bought are to his liking. He checks your wrists over and nods to himself before focusing in on you. “Relax for the night, yeah?”
You nod again. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry I was a little snappy earlier.”
He kisses the crown of your hair in acknowledgement before making his way to the ensuite washroom. You watch as he leans over to fill the tub for you, a subtle smile making its way to your lips.
As he returns to your side, you eye the twitching tent in his pants, your gaze sliding up to meet his. “Turn off the bath,” you murmur sweetly, a feline look in your eyes that Sukuna shuts down with a scoff.
A goddamn scoff while he’s looking like that. Bewildered, you stare at him from your place on the bed.
“I got a hand, I’ll take care of myself. Now lemme take care of you,” he gruffs, slipping the sleeves of your blouse off your arms and pulling the straps of your bra along with it. He hoists you effortlessly into his arms, carrying you bridal-style to the bath and setting you on the edge to check the temperature before lowering you into it.
The water warms your skin and you feel your muscles loosen even more, but you still pout up at him. “Are you sure? You could join me, maybe-”
He says your name chidingly. “You’ve had a long day. Relax.”
Letting out a breath, you just smile at your husband. For as rough around the edges as he is, and for how frustrating and stubborn he can be, he’s a sweetheart when it comes to what matters. Pushing up on the edge of the tub, you place a sweet kiss on his cheek. “I love you,” you murmur.
You don’t expect him to reply, he rarely does. He’s a man of action, not of words, so his next movements don’t shock you.
He hums, heading to the cabinet below the sink. “Y’got any of those bath bomb things?” He asks, in his own little ‘I love you’ sort of action.
“Um, probably. Towards the back in a little bag, maybe?”
He rustles through the cabinet for a moment before pulling out a brown stone with a questioning raise of his brow as he presents it to you.
“That’s a pumice stone.”
“So… no?”
Stifling your giggle, you shake your head. “Definitely not.”
“Don’t say ‘definitely’,” he gripes sarcastically. “I don’t know any of this shit.”
You don’t hold back your giggle now, only pausing your laughter when he presents a pink bath bomb to you. You nod, though your fit of giggles doesn’t cease.
Returning to your side, your husband flicks your forehead softly in mock disdain, waiting silently by your side for the water to fill before dropping the bath bomb into the water in front of you. It fizzes softly, dyeing the water (and the side of the tub) a soft pink. With shining eyes and a weary but satisfied expression, you grip Sukuna’s wrist before he can leave.
“Thank you.”
“‘Course. Maybe now you won’t forget my kiss when you get home,” he grumbles, grumpy as ever once again.
Your jaw slacks, gaze narrowing. “Hold on. Is that what this was about?”
Sukuna freezes in your grip, regarding you with a deep scowl. “No. Just wanted you out of the kitchen to cook.”
It’s just about the saddest excuse you’ve ever heard, and while you brushed past it earlier while you were busy, it sounds even more pitiful now. “Ryo.”
“What?” He huffs.
“Come here, you big baby.”
He doesn’t move for a split second, still caught in the grasp of your hand on his wrist, but even with the frustrated scowl he’s sporting, he can’t deny you. At least, that’s what he tells himself. He’s doing this for you.
Duh.
He gets down on his knees, letting you pull him in for his hard-earned ‘welcome home’ kiss. It’s soft and sweet, filled with the very same love he’s poured into taking care of you.
Your eyes flutter open as you pull back, your fingers tracing the rough stubble poking through his skin along the tattoos lining his chin. “Better?”
He grunts, side-eyeing the wall as if it’s suddenly interesting. “Love you.”
Your eyes widen for a split second before you break into a grin, pulling him in again. Your lips brush his as you whisper your reply. “I love you, too.”
previous l&c oneshot || love & company masterlist || main masterlist
❦ a/n ; hope you enjoyed the return of my fave freaky couple! needed a break from the angst of my ongoing sukuna series [wyk], but the next chapter is about halfway done <33
❦ taglist ; OPEN. please comment here or on the masterlist to be added or removed. 18+ only, age must be visible on blog.
writing is so funny because i could write nonstop for 9hrs and then hit a block where im like "how do i transition between this moment and the next?" and then i just dont touch it for 6 months
summary. your best friend thinks he'd be a better boyfriend. your boyfriend decides to let him prove it.
content. 6.5k nsfw, fem!reader x boyfriend!character x bestfriend!character, choose your own characters!, college au, lowkey toxic boyfriend, soooo much jealousy, best friend is down bad, arguing, angst, college parties, bad communication, use of petnames (baby, princess, sweetheart, pretty, gorgeous), banter, teasing, swearing
warnings. smut, alcohol consumption, slightly dubcon (only bc reader is tipsy and theres toxic elements), THREESOME, double penetration, manhandling, spitroasting sort of?, degradation, dacryphilia, squirting, oral (fem rec. and male rec.), cum eating, p in v, doggystyle, cum facial, hair pulling, choking, praise, breeding kink (no mention of pregnancy), dumbification, tit play, overstim, lowk humiliation, creampie, passing out, hints at aftercare
author's note. i couldnt decide what characters to put for this so just imagine its ur favs!! personally i see sugu and choso or tsukki and kags! also this is my first fic omg
You think you could cut the tension with a knife. Your boyfriend stands so close to you you’d think he was fused to your hip. You told him not to come to campus this weekend. That you had plans with your best friend. Your boyfriend never was one to listen to your orders though. It’s not that he explicitly told you “You can’t hang out with him”. No, instead he knows that you’ll have no choice but to ditch your plans with your friend since he did come all this way to be with you.
“So…um we’re heading out.” You directed at your best friend. You felt bad for leaving him but you had no choice.
You feel your boyfriend wrap his arm around your waist and somehow pull you even closer. You had fully planned on going to the party anyways and your best friend just isn’t into that.
“Alright, have fun. Let me know when you’re back?” He eyes your boyfriend up and down. Neither men have a single word to say to each other. But one look in their eyes and you can tell a million thoughts are running in their minds.
“Ya i’ll see you later!” And with that you’re dragging your boyfriend outside and making your way to his car.
“God that rude ass. Didn’t even acknowledge me. I think he hates me.” He scoffs, starting the car and turning on your seat heater so that your bare legs aren’t cold against the freezing leather seats.
You can’t help but giggle, “Neither did you. you’re both just as petty. He doesn’t hate you and you shouldn't hate him either.”
He does hate him, actually.
You arrive at the party after less than a 5 minute drive (your boyfriend insisted on driving because it was “too cold” to walk). The music is blasting so loud you’d almost think the house itself was shaking. There’s empied solo cups and crushed beer cans sprawled on the lawn alongside semi to highly drunk people.
“God I hate parties,” your boyfriend sighs, stepping out of the car to open the door for you.
“Then why do you always come with me?” you question, knowing the answer.
“You think I’d let my extremely hot girlfriend go to a college house party without me? You must be drunk already sweetheart.” You both walk in and are immediately greeted with flashing strobe lights and music that is impossibly louder than it was outside.
Your boyfriend didn’t try to pretend he was having a good time. You try to remind yourself that he came and that’s what mattered. But your boyfriend had been distant, scrolling through his phone, nursing a drink, barely touching you. You really didn’t understand why he was so insistent on coming to see you this weekend if he wasn’t even going to dance with you. Yes, he does this everytime he goes out with you. But it was the fact that he went out of his way to show up this weekend only to act like he didn’t even want to be with you.
You finally spot your friends near the kitchen and light up. “There they are— I’ll be back!” you tell him, pulling away.
He gives a quick nod and leans against the wall. You make your way over, greeted with cheers and a drink in hand. Forgetting about your suddenly distant boyfriend, you let yourself get caught up in the music, the lights, and the laughter.
By the time your friend hands you your nth drink of the night, your mood has significantly improved. You feel lighter and your mind is no longer clouded with thoughts of your boyfriend but instead focused on the swaying of your hips and distractingly loud music.
In the corner of your eye, however, you spot a familiar face. Your best friend, sitting on a faded leather couch with some other guys smoking cigarettes. Without hesitating, you make your way over to him.
“You came!” You beam, unable to contain your excitement seeing your best friend who never goes to parties -and also very impaired from the alcohol- you stumble onto the couch.
He chuckles, a worried expression in his eyes. “My buddy dragged me along. Figured I’d keep an eye on you anyways.”
You plop down next to him, laying your head back on the couch with a heavy sigh.
He notices your strange attitude. “How much have you had?”
You move to take another sip from the beer in your hand and he snatches it from you, dropping his half smoked cigarette in the can to prevent you to drinking more.
“Hey! What the fuck why’d you do that!” You shout at him.
“Where’s your boyfriend? You’re way past tipsy y/n. No one put anything in your drink, right?”
“Hmm— I don’t know. Why’re you asking all these stupid questions! He doesn’t care about me, he won't even dance with me.” You lean into his shoulder, head feeling heavy from intoxication.
Your friend gently shrugs you off his shoulder and wraps and arm around your waist to lift you off the couch. “Sorry guys I gotta her home.” He tells his friends, arm still wrapped around you tight making sure you don’t face plant onto the floor.
Navigating you through the crowd of sweaty, moving bodies he tries to get some answers out of you. “Did your boyfriend leave? Can you call him?” You just roll your eyes.
Almost on cue, your boyfriend appears. His eyes catch yours immediately as he’s pushing through the crowd of people to get over to you. His face goes hard as soon as his eyes land on the arms wrapped a little too snug around your waist.
“Y/n what the hell—I’ve been looking all over for you.” He sighs, now by your side and pulling you away from your friend.
Before you have a chance to respond your friend is stepping in. “She’s completely shitfaced. Not sure where you were the whole time she was getting wasted but i was just about to take her home.”
“’M not drunk! ‘N I don’t wanna go home with him. He doesn’t even care about me.”
And then—you said it.
“I hate you.” It came out slurred and tiny. Almost like you were afraid to say it. Almost like you knew what was going to happen next.
And he didn’t take the bait right away—no he knew better than that.
“Alright, baby let’s just get you home.” He gently wraps his arm around your waist and begins guiding you to the door.
“No! ‘Said I don’t wanna go with you…” You push him away, stumbling backwards in the process.
Your boyfriend really wasn’t going to take the bait. He knew you were drunk. He knew you didn’t really hate him. But he also knew exactly what you needed- a show.
And if a show was what you wanted, if you needed him to prove you had his attention, he’d give you exactly that.
“Really?” he says, exhaustion evident in his tone. “You’re gonna do this here? Now?”
You don’t back down. “Well maybe if you acted like you wanted to be with me—”
“Oh, I don’t want to be with you? You‘re throwing a tantrum because I’m not all up your ass like him?”
His voice cuts through the music. Heads begin to turn.
You flinch, but you don’t deny it. Because he’s right. You do want attention. Okay—maybe not like this, but at least now he’s looking at you.
He scoffs, pulling away from you slightly, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. If that’s what you want baby, then let’s give everyone a show.”
And then he raises his voice again. “You wanna act like I’m the problem, but the second your best friend shows up, you’re all over him. Don’t look at me like that—tell me I’m wrong.”
You freeze, because he’s not entirely wrong, and you hate that.
“That’s not true,” you say under your breath, looking away from him.
The room goes quiet around you. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of every stare, every phone out ready to record.
You’re not aware, however, of your best friend who is fed up with sitting on the sidelines and decides to step in.
“Maybe you should be less concerned with who she’s friends with and more concerned with how she obviously was drinking her feelings at this party. She could’ve got roofied man. You weren’t even making sure she was safe.” Your best friend points out with a glare.
“Who the fuck do you think you are telling me how to take care of my own girlfriend? You’ve been wanting this huh? Waiting for me to screw up so you can swoop in?” He barks.
Your best friend’s jaw tightens. “You are screwing up.”
“What did you say?” your boyfriend snarls.
“She’s drunk. You’re yelling at her. Yeah, you’re screwing up.”
Your breath catches. Your stomach drops. People are staring. Whispering.
The words hit like a slap. People are definitely watching now.
You try to cut in, try to calm it down, but your boyfriend shakes his head, laughing like he can’t believe he let it get this far. “Nah, you know what? Let’s not do this here. Let’s go.”
He grabs your arm and pulls you away from the crowd. Your friend is quick to follow behind.
You weren’t mad at him, and yet you really didn’t want to drive home with him.
As if your mind is being read, your friend suddenly pulls you out of your boyfriend’s grasp.
You’re in shock by his actions— eyes wide and jaw dropped.
Your boyfriend scoffs, “Fine, take her home. I’ll be waiting.”
You leave the party with your friend, but your cheeks are burning. The silence as you walk back is louder than anything the DJ could’ve played.
As you’re walking up to your apartment building, your phone buzzes.
You’re not getting outta this so easy, sweetheart.
Putting your phone away, you shiver. Not from the cold— your friend had draped his jacket over your shoulders while he was walking you back—but from whatever your boyfriend was insinuating with that text. And you already know him seeing your friend’s jacket on you is just going to escalate the situation. If your boyfriend wasn’t mad before he really will be now.
You finally make it up the steps of your apartment building and to your apartment.
You turn to your friend, “Thanks for walking me back. I really needed some air.” Moving to take off his jacket, he stops you.
“Keep it. Your ass is gonna catch a cold if you keep walking around without a damn jacket all the time.” He playfully scolds. You had been wearing hardly any clothes, the only fabric covering you all night being a tight, backless tank-top and an equally tight black micro skirt.
But no matter how hard your friend tries to lighten the mood, it’s impossible knowing that your boyfriend somehow hasn’t arrived yet. It’s suspicious— no, it’s frightening. Your boyfriend doesn’t do anything unintentionally. And you have a feeling he’s waiting for something. Or making you wait for something.
“Thanks, but you probably should get going before my boyfriend gets back.” Your face feels hot and you’re so sick of their annoying bickering. The last thing you want is your boyfriend showing up and arguing with your friend. You stumble a little before your friend stops you from face planting into the front door.
“Sorry princess but I’m not leaving you alone ‘til your boyfriend gets back. You can’t even stand up, you’d be insane to think I’m gonna leave you alone while you’re still tipsy like this.” You groan at his response. You want to protest and tell him you’re fine but you choose the easy route.
Rustling in your pocket for a minute, you pull out your key to unlock your apartment door. To your surprise however the door is already unlocked.
Uh oh.
You feel as if you’re instantly sobered up, freezing in the doorway.
He has a key, damnit. You mentally facepalm yourself at this realization.
You’re regretfully greeted by your boyfriend standing up from your couch, long legs making their way towards you.
“Breaking and entering is a crime, you know.” Your friend snides, positioning himself slightly in front of you.
Holding up his key to your apartment and shaking it in his face, your boyfriend chuckles. “And if only trying to steal my fucking girlfriend was as well.” He moves closer to you, arm suddenly reaching out. You flinch, but not out of fear—more from the sheer unpredictability of it all. In one smooth motion, he grabs the jacket off your shoulders, his fingers brushing your collarbone. He drops the jacket onto the floor with deliberate contempt.
You’re not sure what to do in this moment— your boyfriend is calm. Too calm.
“You think just because you walk her home and throw a jacket over her shoulders, you’re some kind of savior? You’re completely stuck to her. It’s honestly embarrassing for you.” He remarks.
Your friend refuses to take his insults. “Well, maybe if you actually paid attention to her, she wouldn’t be stuck with me.”
Your boyfriend stiffens. “She’s not attention deprived. I always go to parties with her.”
“Do you always ignore her the entire time too?” your friend bites out.
“She was with her friends,” your boyfriend shrugs. “I trust that I don’t have to babysit her every second. You on the other hand, came to the party just so you could sit around and watch her. Because that’s what you do isn’t it? Watch and wait. You’re just playing the long game.”
“I’m not playing a fucking game,” your friend snaps. “Clearly you don’t trust her or you wouldn’t have shown up to her campus unannounced and interrupted our weekend plans. You have zero trust in her at all.” He sneers.
Your boyfriend tilts his head, eyes cold. “No—I don’t trust you.”
Your friend can’t stop the fit of laughter that comes out of his mouth. “Please, enlighten me! What could I have possibly done to betray your trust?”
Despite his laughter, you can feel the fury in the air. Like static before a lightning strike.
And then, it does.
“You wanna fuck her.” His sudden crude remark shocks your friend.
“What? What the fuck is wrong with you man it’s not like that!”
“Right,” your boyfriend smirks, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because texting and calling her every hour, buying her coffee, giving her rides—that’s what best friends do, huh?”
“God- you’re so fucking insecure! Have you ever considered maybe I just care about her? Wake the fuck up, whenever you're not there for her I am. Not because I’m playing some stupid game but because I care. If you wanna be an asshole by all means go ahead she’ll just come running to me anyways.” You don’t think you’d ever seen your best friend this mad before. And you really don’t think you've ever seen your boyfriend this mad either. They were both fuming you almost thought you could see steam coming from their heads.
Your boyfriend laughs bitterly, “You wanna be the hero so bad. Go ahead. I give you permission. You think it’s so easy to be the boyfriend, huh? Then fine. Have her.”
You haven’t spoken a single word this entire time, hoping that they’d just get this frustration out of their systems. But at this rate, you fear they could go one forever. You don’t know how much longer they're going to go at it and you’re starting to feel hot. Not from the remnants of alcohol in your body but from something else. It could be the way your boyfriend’s arms are flexing under his tight black t-shirt or the way they’re practically fighting over you. Whatever it is you hate to admit that a sick part of you is enjoying their bickering.
Your ego is loving hearing the way they talk about you and seeing the way they look at you. You can't even pretend you're innocent in all this which is why it's best you stay silent for now. You know damn well you never refuse your best friend and you do hangout with him maybe a bit more than your boyfriend. You also know that you don't necessarily tell your best friend the full stories when your crying to him about some fight with your boyfriend. If anyone is playing a game- it's you.
“I never said that,” your best friend mutters, stunned. “This isn’t about me. This is about you and how you treat her.” Your friend is shell-shocked, face completely flushed from anger and embarrassment.
It’d almost seem as if they didn’t even care that you were standing there this whole time listening. That is until your boyfriend grabs your face by the chin to face it towards your friend.
“What do you think, baby? Think he can treat you better than me?” He whispers in your ear, just loud enough for your friend to hear. His eyes don’t leave your friend’s face, trying to gauge a reaction. see if he’ll fall for it. He already knows you’re horny- you’re always horny when you get drunk. He also knows that’s why you started a fight in the first place. You just wanted attention. So if attention is what you want, he’ll make sure you get it.
And you were drunk off the attention, off the heat in the room, off the twisted little thrill of the two men looking like they could rip each other apart.
You’re probably not in your right mind but you just can’t help yourself when they both look so good. And you were just the right amount of tipsy and horny for your boyfriend’s words to put you in a trance, sounding like a spell in your ear. Suddenly it was like you couldn’t think with your brain, the only thing motivating you being the throbbing sensation in your aching pussy.
“Yes… yes please-.”
“Who do you want? You think he would do such a good job as your boyfriend, how ‘bout we let him prove it?”
Your friend still doesn’t know what to say. Of course he wants to fuck you. Any man would have to be out of their mind not to. But these aren’t exactly his ideal circumstances. More than anything though, he wants to prove himself to that asshole. That he can give you everything and more than your boyfriend can.
You’re not sure how to respond. You’re so turned on that you can’t think straight. You just want somebody. And if this means they’ll finally stop fucking fighting and shut up then you’ll take it. You’ll take them.
“Both. I want you both.”
Your friend’s jaw drops almost so low you could’ve swore it fell to the ground, while your boyfriend just chuckles at the statement.
“Greedy fucking slut.” He scoffs, making your friend stir in anger at the crude remark.
He couldn't just sit by and let him talk to his best friend like that.
“I’m in.” He says.
Your boyfriend is completely unamused by this. He knew it all along. This motherfucker just wanted you.
If there’s anything that tastes better than being right, it’s your pussy.
Your boyfriend had you sprawled out on your bed with his head buried in between your thighs. Licking, sucking, teasing. Although by now you were completely sober, your mind was even less clear. Head in a total daze from lust. All you could think about was pleasure and your boyfriend’s teasing was going to make you go insane.
You squirmed under his grasp, trying to get some sort of friction. He only responded with an extra firm squeeze on your thighs until he suddenly snapped.
“You just gonna stand there like a fucking cuck all night or what?” His voice filled with complete disinterest. Matter of fact, he would rather your friend stand there and watch him absolutely ruin you. He didn’t need to prove to you or anybody else that he could fuck you better, he already knew it was true. But he couldn’t help be frustrated with your friend thinking he could do a better job than him. You can deny it all you want but he knows your friend is the one you go to when you two get into fights. He knows that he thinks he doesn’t deserve you. But if he thinks he can take you away from him he’s got to be out of his fucking mind.
He moves away from your heat and gestures towards it, eyebrows raising at your friend.
“Well? Go on. Make her cum.” His hand wraps around his thick length and moves it towards your mouth. He didn’t even need to say anything for you to immediately open your mouth and take him in. Licking the tip first, enjoying the hiss that escapes his mouth, before taking his length down your throat.
“Good fucking girl,” your boyfriend moans as you swallow around his cock, your throat constricting.
“Fuck,” your friend curses under his breath, accepting his position and moving towards you. He wasn’t sure at this point if he was doing this purely out of spite for your asshole boyfriend or because he genuinely wanted to fuck you so bad.
He leans down, shaky hands spreading you open.
“You’re so fucking perfect, y/n.” He hesitantly takes a finger and begins rubbing your clit, closely monitoring your expressions. Hearing a muffled moan escape your lips, he gets to work. Tongue licking and diving in between your folds. He fucked you with his tongue so gently, his finger never losing sight of your clit.
It was hard to focus on the pleasure, however, when your boyfriend had begun fucking your face so hard you could barely breathe. His strokes hitting the back of your throat each time making your eyes water and your throat tighten. Staring up at him through wet lashes you could see the smug expression on his face. Bottom lip caught between his teeth and a grin spread across his face. He wanted to make sure he was the only thing you could think about right now- and with the way he was fucking your face so hard you thought you’d lose consciousness his intentions were definitely clear.
Feeling you gag especially hard this time, he coos, “What’s wrong baby? Can’t run your fucking mouth now huh? Shit—had so much to-hah, say earlier, what happened? Wanted to run your mouth all night- fuck baby. Hah, the least you could do is tell your friend he’s makin’ you feel good,” you could tell he was close.
Your friend just rolled his eyes, not giving in to your boyfriends taunting. He worked his mouth harder, trying to make you cum like his life depended on it. His mouth moved to suck on your clit- hard- while he worked two fingers in and out of you at a relentless pace. His fingers were shorter and smaller than your boyfriend’s fingers but you couldn’t deny he was much more meticulous.
Suddenly your head was being pulled down even deeper onto your boyfriends cock. nose pressed against his abdomen. “Fuck- shit, im fucking coming. Want me to cum down your throat?” he panted.
You shook your head up and down the best that you could. God you wanted to taste him so bad.
“Not tonight baby.” Your eyebrows furrowed in disappointment at his statement. And before you even have the chance to protest, he's pulling out of your mouth. Ropes of cum drip down your face- in your lashes, down your nose, and reaching your lips. He looks down at you with a sinister look in his eyes. A look that lets you know this is just his warm-up.
He grabs your face as you lick your lips, tasting what you can of him. “Horny little slut didn't get what she wanted, hm?” You moan at his words.
Though your friend was paying all his attention to your pussy, he couldn’t help look up when he noticed your boyfriend was finished. Seeing your friends eyes move towards your face, your boyfriend grabs a handful of your tit and roughly massages it.
“Hah—you think you’re so smart. Cum on her face so I can’t kiss her huh?” Even dizzy and fucked out from the constant stimulation you're still shocked by your friends words. What’s gotten into him?? He looks down at your wiggling hips, cunt aching from the lost stimulation, and shoves two fingers in. You moan loudly, his fingers absentmindedly massaging your most sensitive spots while he continues bantering with your boyfriend.
“Just shut up and make her cum before I kick your ass out.” Your boyfriend twists your nipple hard, unconsciously and clearly out of frustration toward your friends newfounded attitude.
“Not my fault your limp dick cums too fast. I’m just getting started.” He shoots back, fingers speeding up inside you. Do they even realize i’m still here? you think.
You could feel it building up. His thick fingers hitting your gspot with scary precision every thrust.
“Is he gonna make you cum baby? Is this asshole making you feel good? Tell him how much better I am, come on.” Your boyfriend takes his hands off of you and steps back. Almost as if to show you that without him it won’t feel nearly as good. You immediately whine, missing the feeling of his rough hands on your body.
“Yes-yes it feels so, hng-good! But youre better—ugh god, I want your cock please.” You can barely think let alone speak with the way your friend is finger fucking you. And yet, it still can’t compare to your boyfriend’s thick cock. You need it, you're aching for it.
Your boyfriend’s face lights up and you can hear him break out into a fit of laughter next to you.
“That’s alright. Can't miss what you've never had. But we’ll fix that.” And with that your friend lifts you up and pulls you into his lap, turning you to face your boyfriend. He grabs your chin with his free hand and kisses you with no shame. Your eyes are wide open- in pure shock that he’d not only kiss you with your boyfriend’s cum on your lips but in front of him nonetheless. You’re too scared to look away from your boyfriend’s fuming expression. If looks could kill, everyone in this building would be dead.
Your friend pulls away for a breath, pulling out his fingers to rub your clit. “Look at him all you want princess im the one inside you right now, making you feel so fucking good.” you whimper at his words as his fingers re-enter you.
“Fuck-fuck, hnngg I’m coming! I’m gonna cum-” his fingers don’t stop as you ride out your high. Cumming so hard your whole body convulses in his lap.
“Good girl. “ His fingers leave your pussy, moving to rub your tits. He looks at your boyfriend with a smug expression, “Who’s the fucking cuck now?”
Ah.
That did it.
Something finally snapped. His patience? His temper? Whatever it was, you knew this wasn’t going to end well.
As predicted, he grabs you by the waist flips you over on your friends lap. Now, your face barely an inch away from your friend he rams his thick, hard cock inside you. Giving you no chance to adjust or even breath he fucks into you like hes trying to make a dent inside you. He has one hand holding a bruising grip on your hip and the other on your ass.
“Please—fuck, i-it’s sensitive!” He was going so hard and so fast you couldn't catch your breath. After that orgasm your pussy was still sensitive and your clit rubbed raw. Every thrust into you had the wind knocked out of your body and pushed you embarrassingly close to your friend. You had no way to hide your lewd expressions from him as you relied on his chest for support from the demanding pace your boyfriend kept.
“’M not sure how—fucking hell— you don't seem to understand that you’re mine. You wanna act like a fuckin slut then you're gonna get treated like one, baby.” Noticing your proximity to your friend (and wanting to prevent another kiss) he grabs you by your neck and pulls you up. One hand keeping a possessive grip on your neck while the other keeps its hold on your hip for stability.
“Poor baby.” Your friend coos as he sits up towards you. His mouth latches onto your nipple one hand massaging your tit while the other moves down towards your aching clit. You wine in protest and in pleasure. “It's just too fucking good huh? Tight little pussy cant take anymore I bet. He's so rough with you,” he pauses to whisper in your ear, eyes meeting with your boyfriends, “I’d fuck you like the princess you are. Nice and gentle. You’d like that, hm?”
Your boyfriend tuts, “Nah she likes it like this, shit—being fucked so hard her brain turns off. Isn't that right baby?” you moan out an incoherent response, proving your boyfriend right.
God you think you can’t take it. Its too much for your poor overstimulated body. You’re already littered with hickeys and bite marks, your nipples red and swollen.
“Cmon baby squirt for me. Let's show him you're not the innocent little princess he thinks you are.” Your boyfriend increases his pace, determined to make you squirt.
All you can do is moan as they both keep up their relentless pace. And suddenly your vision begins to turn white and your pussy tightens to an unforgivable grip.
“Fuck— boutta cum baby? cum for me. Make a mess all over your fucking friend.” With that you cum, clear liquid spraying all over the bed sheets and your friends torso. Your body relaxes and falls limp in your boyfriends grip. “Thaaat’s it gorgeous.” He moans as he fucks you through your orgasm, now chasing his own.
“That was so fucking hot yn.” Your friend moans and squeezes your two cheeks to hold your face up, kissing you gently.
“Shit—‘m gonna fill you up baby. You want that? Want me to pump you so full of my cum youll be dripping for days?” His pace quickens.
“Yesyesyesyes- pleasee hng.” Your mind is so fucked out you honestly aren’t even sure what he asked you. It was too many words for your poor slutty little brain. At this point youre at the mercy of both of them. They could do whatever they want and you’d beg for more. Youre no longer drunk off of cheap beer and vodka but pleasure.
You hear a loud moan and with a few hard thrusts he’s filling you up, cum shooting into you so deep you really do think you could taste it.
“Fuuuck, baby” your boyfriend groans as he pulls out, watching his cum leak out of your throbbing hole.
“Alright princess. My turn.”
You barely have time to process his statement or recover from your second earth shattering orgasm before your friend has you pinned on your back.
“Gonna make you feel so good gorgeous. You won’t even remember that assholes name.” He licks a stripe up your neck and softly nibbles on the thin flesh before slowly inserting his thick cock into your aching pussy.
“Hnngg- it’s too much!” you whine, feeling the burn settle in from the stretch.
“Aww you hear that? it’s too much. I’m just too fucking big for you princess.” He taunts, maintaining eye contact with your boyfriend who is now on the edge of the bed unsparingly fuming.
Noticing the look on your boyfriend’s face he decides to quite teasing you and finally bottoms out. You moan at the now pleasurable burn.
“Knew you could take it. You’re such a good girl for me—shit, taking my cock so good.” He can barely get his words out as he thrusts in and out of you painfully slow, rubbing your clit in aching tight circles.
“She doesn’t like it slow like that.” Your boyfriend critiques, jaw clenched and cock hard once again.
“Oh really? Is that true princess? You want me to stop, hm? I guess if you don’t like it then I’ll stop.” He abruptly stops his thrusts and you respond exactly as he wanted.
“Nooooo—pleasepleaseplease don’t stop. It feels so fucking good please don’t stop fucking me.” Tears well up in your eyes as you whine. You try to move your hips to get him to move but he places a firm hand on you halting your movements.
“My poor baby. Don’t worry, ‘m gonna fuck you till you can’t cum anymore.” And with that he’s thrusting into you- this time harder and deeper. Fucking your boyfriends cum even deeper into you. He drags his tongue up your check, cleaning up the droplets of tears staining your cheeks.
“Ah! F-fuck, i-it’s so good-hng!” you moan into your friends shoulder. He fucks into you like he loves you. Slow and deep thrusts with his thumb on your clit making sure you are stimulated as much as possible.
And just when you think it can’t get anymore overstimulating- he finds it.
And hits it.
Hard.
“Hnggg! Shit shit right there pleaseee-” you move to bite into his shoulder but your boyfriend stops you, turning your face to his as he shoves his fingers in your mouth.
“Ah, there it is.” He doesn’t stop hitting your g spot- he hits it harder.
“Fucking hell—that’s it.” Your boyfriend suddenly pulls his drool covered fingers out of your mouth.
In seconds your being pulled out from under your friend and into your boyfriends lap. His now painfully hard cock easily slides into your dripping pussy. Now laying down, your boyfriend doesn’t even hesitate fucking up into you with a fervor you didn’t think was possible.
“What the fuck man.” Your friend isn’t just stunned—he’s pissed. Your boyfriend thinks he can deprive him of this sweet pussy? He’s gonna take care of you. One way or another.
“Sorry did I- hah, interrupt? Oops. Didn’t realize she was your fucking girlfriend.” Your boyfriend pants over your moans.
You can’t see your friend’s facial expression from this angle but you have a feeling it’s not reflecting any sort of positive emotion. You can feel his presence achingly close behind you and you want him. You miss his cock already. even with your boyfriend fucking into you, it’s not enough.
“If I remember correctly you did say I could have her.” He moves closer to you lining up his cock with your already stuffed hole. “Since you think my princess is such a fucking slut, let’s test it out shall we? Plus, ‘s not a fair competition if you keep hogging her.” He places his hand on your ass, giving it a smack before rubbing soothing circles on it.
You and your boyfriend both are too late in realizing what your friend is about to do to protest. You feel an aching, burning stretch far worse than earlier as your friend nudges his cock inside your pussy. He takes his time, letting your boyfriend feel his cock rubbing against his.
“Are you— fuuuck, fucking crazy???” He moans as your pussy suddenly becomes much tighter.
“The princess can take it. She wants it, doesn’t she?” He says as he’s now fully bottomed out .
“I want it, wanna cum please-”
You’re overwhelmed by how full you feel. The pleasurable ache of their huge cocks shoved against your tight walls moving at vastly different paces almost sends you into a trace.
Though your boyfriend had to adjust to the newfound tightness, his relentless pace quickly returned as he thrusts into you with an intensity you can’t handle.
Your friend however returns to his slow and loving pace, fucking you as if your boyfriend’s cock wasn’t literally nudged against his own.
Every single part of your body is being stimulated simultaneously. Your boyfriend rubbing your clit in fast, hard circles while your friend reached his hands over to massage your tits and pinch your nippes.
“God— she’s so fucking loud.” Your friend grunts out.
You were loud. Not just your moans— your whole body. The squelching and sloshing of your wetness was music to their ears. And the sound of your ass hitting back against your friend each time he thrusted into you reverberated off the walls of your small apartment bedroom.
“Hear that, baby? He thinks you’re too loud. I love how loud my baby is, but since he’s the guest ‘m gonna have to shut you up.” You moan at his words but he’s quick to silence you with his tongue down your throat.
Though his attempts to silence you were seemingly pointless as you continued to release muffled moans against his lips.
Your brain was officially mush, trapped in a lust-filled daze that was dependant on the constant pleasure you were receiving from the two men. Your friend even began to speed up his pace, clearly chasing his high. His painfully hard cock begging for a release as he thrusted against your boyfriend’s cock. It was as if they were racing eachother- both chasing to breed you full.
“Fuck- princess I’m gonna cum inside. Is that ok?” He moans, circling your clit faster.
“No the fuck it is not—ugh, damnit baby don’t tighten like that.” Your boyfriend doesn’t miss a beat answering for you.
“I didn’t ask you, asshole. Tell me, princess. Want me to fill you up?” His pace quickens.
“Hnng—yes! ‘Wan your cum.” You can barely manage to babble out a response. The pleasure is brain numbing and all you can think about is reaching your own high again. You know it’s coming soon as you can feel it with every drag of their cocks against your walls. Stomach tightening and pussy throbbing uncontrollably you are unable to hold back your release.
“Anything for you, gorgeous. Shiiit I’m cumming.” Feeling you tighten around him, he rubs your clit harder.
Then you feel his cum filling you to the brim. There’s so much of it you think he’s never going to stop. Your orgasm hits you quickly after—it’s blinding. Your vision turns dark and you begin to feel dizzy.
“Shit princess don’t pass out on me yet.” Your friend pulls out, cum leaking out of his still hard cock. Now out of the way, your boyfriend has full control of your body again. He thrusts into you quick and hard. Hitting your deepest spots over and over until you can’t take it. You’re going in and out of consciousness, you think.
He hugs you tightly, pulling you down onto him and continues thrusting like he’s trying to mold your insides to his shape.
“Gonna stuff you so full, baby. You want it bad don't you? Brain empty and pussy full.” He groans loudly before his cum is shooting up into your already stuffed pusy. As his thrusts slow he continues to shallowly fuck his cum back into you, as if making a point not to waste any.
“Think I proved myself yet?” Your friend asks, though your hearing has become muffled and you’re barely still conscious.
“Only thing you proved is that I was right all along.” Your boyfriend shrugs.
“I proved that I’m both more caring and better at sex than you! Don’t fuck with me right now!”
“Eh you didn’t prove either of those. I bet I could make her come without my cock or my fingers.”
“Hey princess, want a round two?” Your limp body lies heavy on your boyfriend chest as your friend questions you. “Princess?” He calls out again. You have no energy to open your eyes let alone respond.
“Shit, she actually knocked out. Go get a fucking towel, dumbass.” Your boyfriend snaps at your friend, since he can’t move in his current position. “And a glass of water!”
