Lia’s LaLaLand

lia|20|mdni

[d1gitalg1rlz-deactivated2026042]

waking up to texts like this #romance

[madamechrissy]

Coming Home

Art in the banner by @3-aem who is amazingg <3

You and your fiance Satoru Gojo were so happy just a few months ago, before you both got devastating news - the baby boy you all thought were coming never did. A second miscarriage, a second devastation. you begin to push him away, afraid you'll drag him down with you, but he needs you and doesn't know how to approach it. The two of you drift apart, becoming strangers in your own home. Can you find your way back to each other?

pairings - Satoru Gojo x f! reader

warnings - heavy angst at the beginning, pregnancy loss, TW- miscarriage, a ton of hurt/comfort, estranged couple, distance, finding each other again. Explicit sex, pregnancy, breed kink, spitting, oral (f receiving) rough sex, cumplay, lactation kink lowkey, makeup sex, fluffy happy ending, dad gojo - oneshot - WC 10.5k

This was a commission for my very dear friend @strychnynegirl who I adore so very much! You are one of my closest friends angel. I hope you all love this story of finding each other again <3

You look at a photo of you and Satoru from last year, snuggled in a booth at a fancy restaurant, he’s grinning so bright and happy, and you’ve got your face buried against his chest, a big smile on your features you haven’t had in so long. You touch it lovingly, achingly, heart so full in that moment.

You remember being happy with him, so fucking happy, god the two of you love each other so much, from the moment you met, you’ve hardly spent time without him. A whirlwind of love that in the past three years before your loss was blossoming and so beautiful – Satoru was just your best friend in the world, and your love.

Now you look at him and you feel you don’t know him anymore, but when you look in that mirror? You don’t know yourself either.

It’s been three months.

Three months since you lost your baby in your tummy, a little boy – you’d both just found out, you’ve never seen your fiance Satoru so fucking happy, he proposed to you while you were pregnant, he kneeled and kissed your tummy. It was beautiful, you have a photo of it now face down, because it just hurts too fucking much to look at any more.

This wasn’t your first miscarriage, it was your second, but the first was so early on that you hadn’t processed that. No, it still hurt, but nothing like seeing your baby’s face on screen, nothing like knowing he would be here in just a couple months. Having friends and family so excited, already Satoru had set up a nursery for him, a beautiful one that was extravagant.

Now it collects dust, the little stuffie Satoru bought – a little white plush cat – sitting in the bassinet that your baby should. Satoru never goes into the room, he refuses to even let the cleaners dust it, and he refuses to change a damn thing. That door stays shut mostly, but sometimes you walk in there and just sit in the rocking chair that he bought you, holding the plush.

Satoru would see you like that, but instead of reaching out, he tended to hold back, taking a shaky breath, unsure of just how or what to say. What made it any better, any easier, that you lost two pregnancies when you wanted so badly to be a mom? You wanted to get pregnant, fuck he’d had so much fun trying with you, reading every baby book known to man to prepare.

Satoru pictured a whole life, basketball games with him, shooting hoops in the front yard, he’d already started baby proofing the house even, as excited and perfect as any man could be. Even now as he goes to grab something from one of the pearly white cabinets below, there’s a little plastic stopper.

Just that alone makes him hurt.

You didn’t cry at first, you were so in shock when they told you, you’re not sure what hurt more, knowing the baby wasn’t moving or seeing Satoru’s crestfallen face, feeling his pain right along with yours. You have always been an empath and now is not any different. You know he’s hurting right with you, that day tears filled his brilliant blue eyes.

He was there for you, holding you tightly as you cried after, he sat there in the shower with you, he was perfect comfort for a horrible, devastating time, and you tried to comfort him. Telling people the baby shower was cancelled, making announcements to friends and family, it was as if all that happiness went away within one sentence of a doctor in a sterile room.

You both got through it, he works running the Gojo corporation, and you have your own job running a small business, it helps you both cope to stay so busy. He told you to stop working, he’s rich after all, but the last thing you needed was to stay home alone . You didn’t even enjoy the hour before he walked through that door every day.

Then why were you all so lonely together?

Satoru sits down, staring at the intricate plate carefully, his eyes focused on the meal you plated. “Looks really good.”

“I hope you like it,” you murmur softly. His eyes lock on you then, seeing how fragile you’ve become in the months since you lost the baby, dark circles rampant, you’ve lost some of your color.

“I’ll like it.”

He barely eats, you barely eat.

“It’s good,” he murmurs, you smile just a little, but it doesn’t hit your eyes, it’s one of those fake ones you always give him now. “How was your day?”

“There’s a new girl at work,” you stab at something with your fork. “She seems to be nice.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

You both just sit there in silence, avoiding each other’s gaze, making the most dumb fucking menial small talk known to man, as if you’re aquaintances rather than lovers.

It’s been this way.

Satoru goes to his office quietly, and you go to your room, diving into a book, into a world where things were lovely again, trying not to think of how he won’t come to bed tonight. How his clothes weren’t even in here any longer, fuck he used one of the bathrooms downstairs to shower.

You don’t go to him, he doesn’t come to you.

Tears fall even as you feel sleep tugging at you, aching to just go see him, but too terrified to actually get up out of bed, to ask him. And he sits down there alone, wallowing in the fact that he’s fucking up, that he’s not there for you – because he’s so scared, him Satoru Gojo, who used to not be scared of anything, is scared. Is he losing you forever?

*****

The two of you don’t even sleep in the same room, that glittering rock on your finger a reminder of a happier time, a time when he knew he was good for you, that he would provide and take care of you. A time where he saw a future with you, with the little boy on the way.

He loves you the same as he did then, if not more, loves you so deeply it hurts him at times, yet he doesn’t come to your bed, he doesn’t hold you anymore, he falls asleep in his office chair, or on the couch. He’s not unfaithful, he’s home with you, but it hurts too fucking much to lay next to you and not know what to do, not know if he can touch you, not know what will upset you.

You didn’t ask him to come to bed, either, not until about a week ago, he’d catch sight of you finally walking by his office, looking so small in one of his big shirts. He eyed your body hungrily, fuck he misses it so badly, misses making love to you and staring into your eyes, so in love with him even now that you’re broken.

“Satoru,” your voice breaks a little in the middle, your hand on the doorway. “It’s been a long time since you… um… held me?”

It’s quiet that night, the pain ripping through your chest, tears stinging, you haven’t gone near him any more than he has you. A fight would be a million times better than whatever the fuck this is. You see his drink on the desk next to his anti anxiety meds, his cocktail to pass out at night, it’s a tempting combo, yours is a glass of wine and a melatonin.

You both have your vices, your coping mechanisms, it hurts you both all the same to be this way – to have this distance between you, that’s ever expanding and growing. You just stand there as he leans back, bringing a crystal glass up to plump lips that used to kiss every inch of your body with devotion, that now leave a small press on your forehead at best.

You miss him.

“I know I haven’t been…”

Blue eyes flick up to yours, just a little red around the irises. “Say it, what you want to. Just say it.”

You look down, trembling, half of who you were, Satoru knows you’re fucking in there somewhere, but he’s too afraid to push, to hurt you more.

“You used to talk to me freely, you still can,” he takes another sip, huge hands wrapping the glass and making it seem so tiny. “Go ahead.”

Your teeth sink into your lower lip. “Could you come to bed tonight?”

“Come to bed?” You nod, shyly then. “So we can look in opposite directions, not hold each other? Not kiss?”

“Satoru…” You feel yourself getting so frustrated now, eyes narrowing.

“Is that what you want, sweetheart, me to lay next to you like we’re in our fucking coffins?”

“You know what, you’re being cruel,” he scoffs, shaking his head now, throwing back his drink. “It’s been months.”

“You wanted it like this, you told me to leave you alone.”

You hate that he’s right, there was a time you wanted to wallow, and you shoved him away, and now you see the damage you caused too written plainly on his pretty, perfect face. You take a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut as if to try to gain some courage, to steel yourself and try to express what you feel.

It’s always been hard for you, but Gojo used to just know you, without a word, but now he can’t read you anymore, can hardly feel you anymore.

“I don’t want that anymore,” he sighs now, leaning back a bit. “I know I hurt you when I pushed you away, but I had no other option, I didn’t want to make you suffer more by watching me.”

“I suffered being alone,” his voice breaks, and so does your heart, racing in your chest now, so much you feel lightheaded, you feel sick. “I know you hurt, and you wouldn’t let me even hold you, and I needed that.”

“Satoru I…” You blink tears, hot and heavy, realizing how he’s changed, stubble where he never had any before, his own brand of eye bags, a line between his brows that wasn’t there.

How have you two changed so much?

He says your name but you run off, acting like you don’t hear, leaving him alone in that office, as you lay in that bed, not able to sleep. At a certain point, the door opened, and you pretended, so afraid to acknowledge him, to accept the hurt and suffering rampant in both of your hearts. Afraid your relationship is ending, that you’ll lose him too.

He curses softly when he sees dried tears on your cheeks, leaning down and brushing his lips across one, resting his head on yours. You’re so delicate to him in this state, like a porcelain doll that can break at any given moment. He pulls back and clears his throat, the tears forming again.

Satoru never cried until that day.

“I fucking love you,” he whispers, you open your eyes then, adjusting in the dark, swirling with emotion. He gasps, realizing you’re up, sitting back a bit. “Pretending to be asleep?”

“I love you.” You whisper instead of answering, a hand holding his wrist and tugging it. “I love you still.”

“And I love you still,” he kisses you gently, lips humming, before he feels himself already throbbing from just that, so pathetic. He doesn’t know if or when you’ll want something physical and doesn’t want to scare you, so he backs off. “I can’t just kiss you, I wish I could.”

The intention is very clear, you get flustered, remembering how it felt when he touched you, making you long for it. “You get excited from kissing me still?”

Satoru’s eyes narrow. “What kind of question is that?”

“Sometimes I think you don’t want me now that I… now that I couldn’t…” You trail off, sensing him tensing against you.

“I’d never be like that! It’s like you don’t know me!?” You’re a mess now, leaning up on your elbows as he stands. “I wouldn’t care if you couldn’t give me any kids, we’d fucking adopt, or take in a bunch of animals, whatever we needed or wanted. I’d give you anything, and you think I don’t want you?”

“I think I failed you.”

Fuck.

Satoru’s jaw tenses. “I think I failed you.”

You look down, sniffling now, a hand on your stomach. “I want to give you a son, it’s why you asked me to marry you, and now I’ve failed twice-”

“I asked you because I’m in love with you! It was not just the baby!”

“No?” He turns, and you shout his name, sitting up in the bed, you watch the moonlight cast a glow on his back, the strong muscles there. “Come back, please.”

“It’s like you forgot who I am,” he says, by the door now, a tall and buff man who’s just a little smaller in that moment. “Yeah, I rushed it because of the baby, but I was always going to ask you to marry me, since the day I met you.”

He leaves then, the pain too much for him, leaning his body against the door, tears falling, as you curl up into your little ball, the huge bed empty like it always is. You don’t stop crying, and he hears you, fuck he wants to reach out – to touch you, hold you in his arms, but he can’t move from this spot, as if firmly affixed in this position, cursing himself as your tears die down.

You think he only wanted to marry you for the baby, you couldn’t be more wrong, but your insecurities are eating you up.

You just keep pushing him away when you need him the most.

*****

“How is dinner looking?” You ask, you always ask, smiling as you hand him his plate and sit across from him.

“Looks great.”

Same answer.

Another day, where Satoru would rather drink than eat anything, another day you both fucking pretend, at least last week you almost fought that night, at least the two of you shared something other than utter fucking silence. You look more fragile every passing day, like you’re losing more of that light, the beauty that makes you who you are, was it all because of him?

The thoughts eat him alive while the quiet drives him fucking insane, just looking at you, hoping you’ll say something, anything. Yet you sit there and pretend with a smile on your face, plastered on and sweet, when he knows it’s bullshit. He knows you’re hurt, you’re mad, you’re upset, but you show nothing but this fake smile to him.

Him.

The man who knew you, who loved you.

“What are we doing?” He asks suddenly, your breath catches.

“What?”

“This, the fuck are we doing again? Acting like we actually are a couple, a normal couple, when I can’t even talk to you.”

“You can!”

“When? When will you actually open up and not shut down?” You glare now, hand gripping your fork, jaw clenched.

“I’m trying to act normal, Satoru.”

“Fuck normal, I want real, I want you!” He throws down his handkerchief, the one you folded into some origami shape. “All perfect, huh? Fuck that suzy homemaker whatever, fuck this, I want the girl I met.”

“Well she’s changed forever!” Your words are broken and shaky, he halts, standing there across from this fucking table like it’s a barrier. “I’m not the girl you fell in love with now.”

“That’s not true, you are still her, you just won’t let yourself admit that you’re devastated, so am I. Fuck so am I.”

You break down into tears, hands over your face, and Satoru curses, shaking his head, hating your pain. “I don’t want to bring you down.”

“This brings us down, this bullshit act,” he comes close to you then, tilting your chin up to look at him, tears slip and fall. “I want the real you, the one you buried deep inside.”

“I don’t know if she’s in there anymore,” you admit softly, he cups your face and sighs, kissing your lips gently. “Mnh.”

His heart races in his chest, breath caught in that moment, god hearing your little whimper makes him remember so much about you, about how you react when he kisses every inch. Torn between wanting to kiss you, to get on his knees and worship you, and wanting to just cry over the loss of this relationship, he pauses, pulling back just a bit.

“Don’t make noises like that, god it’s so hard not to touch you,” he whispers, even closer. You look up then, blinking back tears. “I am scared that if I touch you… that you will just break.”

You’re aching for him, in your core, your body needs him as much as your heart does, but you know what he means then. You are so delicate he is afraid one wrong move will hurt you, one wrong phrase will make you cry all over again, he’s scared to even be himself, and you’re a part of that.

That makes you hurt worse.

“You think I’m so easy to break?” Your insinuation is clear in your shaky little words, Satoru steps closer, until he presses you against the table, thigh between yours.

“Sweetheart, have you forgotten how I fuck already?” His whisper makes you crave him, your nails pressing into his shoulders, thighs trembling on either side of his hard one.

“Do you still want to fuck me?” Your question has him pressing further against you, cupping your face.

“Stop asking it, you know I do.”

“I don’t know that!” Your lip trembles, he’s so furious then, shaking damn near in anger that you don’t know how beautiful you are to him.

“All I do is show it, all I ever have done is show you how much I need you, how much I want you. Question is, do you even want me?”

It’s your turn to scowl up at him. “Of course I do!”

“And when have you shown it?” You step away, breathless now, as his words sink in and deliver their blow.

You say nothing.

“Gonna shut down again, yeah?”

You’re quiet, he scoffs and walks to the kitchen, snatching up a bottle of whiskey. “Satoru, please, I will always want you. God how couldn’t I?”

“You don’t show it, maybe I fucking need reassurance too,” you walk over to him, but he’s already heading to the office. “Doubting me constantly, why the fuck are you still even with me?”

“Because I love you!”

Satoru wants to believe you, he wants to throw this bottle and just hold you, but instead he shuts the office door. You throw your napkin on the floor, perhaps the only mess in your whole house, all you even do is clean. You’re trembling when you grab the bottle of wine, not even bothering with a glass, just downing it.

The two of you drink alone.

The two of you don’t share a single word the next day, not even a fake fucking good morning, not a ‘have a good day’. None of your bullshit, just ignoring each other like neither of you are really there, like none of this even exists, just going through the motions. Roommates, rather than best friends, than lovers, all hurting alone, and sleeping alone.

What is this existence with each other? Were you both just so tired of the fucking pretense?

*****

Work was shit today, you can’t get the words out of your head, that he didn’t even think you wanted him, that he doesn’t recognize you. As you smile at everyone while at work, all cheerful on the exterior, when inside you’re dying, when internally your heart is shattering, thinking of the fact that Satoru’s hurting, and you’re doing nothing about it, just as you’re hurting.

How can it keep going like this?

You remember his kiss, touching your lips, your eyelashes fluttering with a sigh. You need to feel him next to you, on you, against you – but how? How to make that step, when the other night he shot it down? When he’s so full of anger, but you’re so very numb?

Satoru sits at his office, legs crossed on his desk, staring at a pretty picture of you on his phone. You’re so beautiful, so sweet and soft in every way, now you’re like a little crystal figure, that warmth isn’t there, but the beauty is. Tangible in the way he sees it, but terrified he’ll break it, break you.

Satoru at first didn’t even think of sex, but it was such a huge part of his love language, physical touch, yet he never wanted to pressure you, to do this before you were both ready. Yet to think of never having you again? When just a brush of your lips and a sigh were enough to make him cum?

To think of never pleasuring you again?

He’d go without it all if he could even hold you, but the days are blending, they’re exactly the same and nothing changes. What can make it better, what can he do to make it heal, or just to feel you again?

The day goes by as normal, he’s busy as fuck, he’s thrown into running his company, where he has less time to think of the cold, sad remnants of a home he’ll return to. No fall scented wax cubes or little decorations could ever make that house feel homey after not being near you for so fucking long.

On the outside, he seems all right, on the inside, a storm rages, with need, grief, anger and desire.

He’s dying inside.

*****

Dinner the next night is different, there’s a tension in the air that’s damn near fucking indescribable, you can’t even pinpoint it. You’re not throwing on your fake smile, you don’t ask him how dinner is, you didn’t even make his plate for once, just left the dinner on the stove.

He liked that, actually.

He likes you being you and not whatever perfect homemaker bullshit you’ve been pulling, as if overcompensating for losing the baby, for something out of your control.

You’re so scared to lose him you actively push him away.

“So this is what we do?” Satoru asks across the table, you tense then, biting your lip and looking down.

“You've been drinking, Toru?”

“Have I been drinking,” he laughs then, without humor, shaking his head. “Yeah, I had a drink.”

“You get like this when-”

“Like what!? Upset, have feelings, talk!? You never even talk to me!” He’s slammed his hands on the table, you tremble and your eyes fill with tears, making him curse softly. “I’m sorry, fuck.”

You get up from the dinner table, plate untouched, the one you keep making perfectly every day not to touch. He grips your wrist, pausing you, turning you toward him now, but you don’t meet his, how can you when you feel you’ve failed him? When you haven’t given him what he needs, what you need?

“Look at me,” he murmurs softly, tilting your chin. “Now.”

Your eyes hit his, the brilliant blue that swirls, the man you love so much you can’t take it, the one you’re hiding from when that’s what you don’t need, but you don’t want to drag him down with your pain. Satoru – once bright and happy – is miserable right now, and you don’t want to make it worse.

“Just talk to me,” he rests his forehead on yours. “Sweetheart, I know I’ve been drinking, I know I’ve been hiding in my fucking office, but it doesn’t mean there’s not one day I don’t love you.”

“Satoru…” You break down now, letting him cup your face. “I know I’m hiding too, from you, from it.”

“Don’t hide tonight,” he kisses you now, mouth moving over yours hot and heavy, lifting you up and sitting you on that table, you whine out. “God, I haven’t had you in months, I’m fucking dying.”

“Me too,” he shoves up your dress, plates clattering to the floor. “Toru…”

“Fuck them, fuck being perfect, just spread your goddamn legs,” you do just that, and he’s drunk off you already, dizzy with the alcohol warming his system and your body so pliant for him. “That’s it, my good girl.”

It’s been so long since he said that.

Your body reacts eagerly, soaking wet when he slips your panties to the side, tongue slipping into your mouth hot and heavy, the whiskey dancing across your own taste buds. It feels like coming home when he runs his thumb up and down your slit, groaning at how wet you are after so long, swirling in circles while it’s twitching against the pad of it.

“Still this wet for me?” His desperation is clear, you swallow down the guilt of not coming near him for so long.

“Satoru, I always want you, I was just…”

“No more.”

He cuts you off with two fingers shoved deep, his other hand yanking your dress down and letting your tit spill out, groaning. He sucks on your nipple, mouth wrapping desperately, your hands entangle in his hair, gasping. He’s devouring you, your nipple pressing up for more, back arching as your eyes flutter shut.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmurs against your skin, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that spot that makes your legs tremble. “Look at me when I’m filling you up.”

You force your eyes open that are already lidded from pleasure, meeting his intense gaze. His pupils are blown wide, the blue almost swallowed by black to where it’s like his eyes fucking are black they’re so dark. The raw need in them steals your breath, how could you be so blind to how much he wants you, needs you?

He’s not hidden under those layers while he’s moving his fingers and watching your head fall back, his lips parted with his lust, his snowy lashes trembling when he exhales. “That feel good?”

“F-feels perfect,” you answer instead, and he loses it, slamming his lips on yours, hot and messy. “Ngh!”

“That’s it, clench my fingers baby, f-fuck… you’re soaking them,” he’s fingering you in wonder at it, as everything starts to come back to you both, the touches, the kisses, the spots only he knows, working you so fucking good. “So wet, you miss my touch?”

“You know I have,” your tears are of pleasure but also of how much you missed this, how loved and beautiful he makes you even fucking you with his fingers. “Ah!”

“That’s it,” he’s scissoring them in and out of your tight entrance, your fingers hastily unbuttoning his dress shirt, yanking on his tie as you meet his lips, your own kisses messy, tongue meeting his. “There she is, my slutty girl, huh?”

“M’here,” you’re arching for more, hearing the lewd squelching. “Miss your touch, miss your kisses.”

“I miss you.”

He pulls back, brushing his thumbs across your cheeks and taking a breath, even as his fingers press up. “I’m here, I’m right here.”

He kisses you again, drinking your moans and claiming you with every swipe of his tongue, now his thumb is finding your clit, rubbing tight, relentless circles on the twitchy little bud again. The pressure builds fast, too fast after months without his touch, you haven’t been touched since before that night you found out it happened, and you’re so touch starved and aching.

“Needy girl, want me to have you cum on my fingers?” His words make you blush, it’s been so long since he’s spoken to you that way.

“Yes.”

Fuck, a firm answer, not some elusive little nod and a bite of your lips, no your hands are slipping across his shoulders, nails pressing in and making him hiss. Your hips buck against his hand, a soft whine elicited from your lips.

“Hmm, say please.”

There’s a smirk, for the first time in so long, the cocky and conceited Satoru showing up again. You bite your lower lip, so close, thighs trembling around his big hand. “Please.”

“Anything for you, baby girl,” he arches them up, pressing you down on that table, mouth making love you yours while he rolls his thumb just the way you like. “Cum for me.”

You’re falling apart like on command, head slamming back against the table, he quickly slips his hand underneath it to catch it, arching two fingertips on that spongy spot one more time, and watching you cum for him. You’re gushing down his fingers, whining out and pulsing around them, your pretty eyes rolled into your skull, and Satoru almost cums against his boxers from just that.

“You’re so beautiful,” you choke up a bit then, blinking tears from the release. He pulls his fingers free, slick and glistening, and you whine at the loss. But he’s already fumbling with his belt, the buckle clinking loud in the quiet room - the room that was too fucking quiet. “I need you baby, are you ready, or do you want to wait?”

“I’m so past ready, Satoru,” you help him tug it out, stroking it when his pretty cock springs free, thick and hard and throbbing, flushed dark rose at the tip that’s leaking so much pearly white pre. “Please, in me.”

“Fuck,” you don’t have to tell him twice, it was going to take everything to hold back. He lines himself up, the head pressing against your entrance, hot and insistent against a slippery mess you’ve been made into. “Cunt is so ready, isn’t she? Can you still take me?”

You cup his face then, thumb swiping his lower lip. “I want you to stretch me out,” Satoru whines out, you talking dirty after so fucking long, your lips against his ear. “Want you to fill me up.”

“God baby,” you hold your breath, bracing your hands on the table edge, spreading your thighs wider when he pushes in, one long, slow stroke that steals the air from your lungs. It burns a little, stretching you after so long, but it’s the good kind of burn, the fucking delicious one that has you spasming. “So tight, oh my… mnh…”

He rests his head for a moment, he can’t just bust in two seconds the first time he fucks his fiance in months, but you’re so tight it’s killing him. He pulls out, leaning back to spit right on your clit, rubbing it and looking up at you. “Mnh!”

“Loosen just a bit, please,” you nod quickly, relaxing your hips, and soon you take more and more, inches and inches. “That’s it, good girl.”

Good girl.

You’re almost cumming again, so sensitive when he fills you completely, bottoming out with a broken moan, against your ear, cock so deep you almost can’t take him, whispering his name over and over as he just pauses. He gives you a moment to adjust, hands on your hips now, looking down at you.

He just stays buried deep, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged and tasting like that whiskey and the sweetness of him. He’s trying to hold back, to not hurt you, despite wanting to fuck you so deep, so hard, restraining himself.

“You feel so good wrapping around me, sweetheart.”

“You f-feel s’good, Toru,” he exhales at the nickname, his hands slide under your ass, lifting you slightly, adjusting the angle and making you scream out as he presses on your cervix. “Ngh so deep!”

“Ready?” He asks softly, you nod eagerly - then he pulls back, almost all the way out aside from his leaky tip, leaving you achingly empty for a heartbeat before driving back in, hard.

You gasp out at the first brutal stroke, but your answer as he studies you is arching your hips for more, nails pressing into his biceps over a dress shirt half on.

“Oh my g-god… yes…”

That little gasp ends him, he starts fucking into you mean, cock bullying your gummy walls, slamming your back into that table, you're too full, he's in your stomach, he's everywhere. 

Satoru is filling every one of your senses, his loud filthy smacks of skin mixing with your cries, his moans, the slurping sound of your cunt drinking him. His taste swirling on your tongue, his scent filling your nostrils. 

Satoru’s muscles flex, a vein pressing out of his neck, those black fucking eyes with a ring of blue looking down at you, lost, your lashes flutter, fingers clenching those strong biceps, trying to keep him in sight.

“Look at me, right at me,”  he whispers so commanding. “Let go for me, don’t hold anything back.”

“Nothing back,” you agree softly, and then he slams his lips right with his hips, a gasp drank by his mouth, as he starts fucking you faster, harder, stretching you out on him with his thick, veiny cock.

“All of you, give me all of you,” your jerky nod earns his whimper, he gets impossibly thicker as he brings you higher, that soft white hair tickling your clit and grinding when he bottoms out.

It’s not gentle any longer, your kisses or how he’s thrusting his length so hard into you over and over – and you’re not gentle, biting his lip, your nails scratching him, thighs clenching his hips. Filthy strings of words from his lips echoing as you’re closer and closer, whining out his name, head falling back for possessive kisses.

No, it’s raw, it’s necessary, a physical tearing down of every wall you both built up from each other for too long with every kiss, every movement, every slap of skin, falling into each other, so deeply nothing else exists.

His heavy balls smacking your ass, wanting to fill you. He groans as you’re fluttering, he can feel you’re ready to cum for him again.

He grips your hair and pulls, half out of your pretty bun that's now spread across your shoulders, tugging it and looking down at you, his snowy hair falling over his brow. “Gonna squirt for daddy, huh?” 

God you haven’t heard that in so long, your body reacts to it, to his dominance, how he looks hovering over you, cock slamming. “Y-yes, daddy, for you.”

Satoru Gojo’s long fingers dig into your hips, bruises you’ll keep for days, ones you’ve been secretly craving, holding you steady as he fucks you like he’s trying to fill you up so full you won’t be able to walk. Fucking every frustration and every bit he’s missed you as you take it, clinging to him tighter, brows drawing together now as you feel your climax about to hit.

“That’s it, make me a fuckin’ mess, be slutty for me,” he huffs, sinking his teeth into your neck, and that’s when he feels you grip him so tight you milk him. “There you go, let go.”

You cum so hard you see stars this time, hoarse little cries of his name, eyes rolled back and seeing stars. It’s so much, too much, that pressure between your thighs, in your tummy, deep inside your cunt. Your inner walls clamp down on him, pulsing as your orgasm makes you soak him, dripping down heavy balls and the pretty, once pristine kitchen table.

“Milkin’ me for all this cum,” he whispers hoarsely, his rhythm faltering with just how good you feel. “Do you want it inside you?”

His question is heavy, it says so much, you’re so fucked out you can hardly take a breath, arms wrapping his neck. “I want you to fill me with all of your cum.”

Satoru’s done for.

His thrusts become erratic, desperate. “Fuck, yes, take it,” he groans out, his voice rough, breaking. “Take all of my cum so deep, yeah baby?”

“Please!” He buries himself to the hilt one last time, cunt gripping like a vise as he presses into your cervix, and you start feeling his hot streams of cum filling you, his body trembling against yours while he kisses you, pumping so much inside it’s already spilling.

“Oh my f-fuck,” he groans out, moving slower, pushing more and more of that cum inside your greedy little hole. “Wanna fucking put so many babies inside you.”

“Oh, Satoru…” you’re needing it, to hear it, even though he was so scared to say it. Your eyes meet his as he brushes back damp strands of your hair. “I want all of it too.”

The silence that follows after he collapses over you, breathless, is louder than any words. His big arms wrapping you, his lips planting kisses up your neck as your lips dance across his shoulder sweetly, both tasting the sheen of sweat dripping. You stroke his back, he strokes your cheek, just looking at each other.

“No more hiding,” he whispers, and you swallow, nodding. “And I won’t hide from you anymore.”

“Neither will I,” he pulls out with a hiss, you look down at his cock and flush furiously. “You came so much.”

“You came more.”

“Hmm,” you touch a bit of the sticky cum pouring from his tip, lapping it up, his lips part at the sexy little action. “Debatable.”

Satoru lifts you and you giggle, the sound melting him as he carries you up the stairs, like it’s nothing with his big ass arms, you feel so small compared to him, how he lifts you up so damn high, pressing you on the wall in the hallway just to kiss you. He sets you down to stand in the room he hasn’t slept it, slipping your dress and studying your body.

You hesitate then, you’d gotten stretch marks from the pregnancy, and your breasts got a little bigger, even though it wasn’t full term, your body changed – and he hasn’t seen it. He exhales, you go to cover up and he grips your wrists, pinning them over your head with just one hand, his fingers trailing down your body ever so slowly, across the couple lines left.

“You’re so beautiful,” he leans low now, lips pressing yours. “I can’t wait to fill you so full again. And again. And again.”

*****

You wake up in Satoru’s arms, naked and with his thigh between yours, sunlight filtering in through the blinds. The gentle breeze of the fan leaves goosebumps on your skin, slightly covered by a soft blanket.

It feels perfect in his embrace, it feels like home.

You turn to see him awake, smiling down at you, making you melt, tears filling your eyes. He frowns then in concern, as you break down.

Did he fuck up?

Did he hurt you!?

“Sweetheart,” he lets you turn and holds you close, as you cling to him, your arms wrapping his narrow waist. “What is it? Fuck are you okay?”

“I’m so happy,” you sniffle now, he swipes your tears off your cheek carefully, sniffling as your lips tremble. “I thought last night was a dream.”

He sees then, how badly he’s hurt you.

“It’s real, I’m real,” he murmurs, kissing you again, and again, tugging you so close and pressing you on his body. “I’ll never not sleep by your side in bed again, long as I live, okay?”

You nod, filled with tears, kissing him desperately, so wet when he flips you on your back it’s embarrassing. He’s stroking against you, your nails are slipping down his back, when he slides his cock into your sore little cunt again. You’re gasping out, head falling against the pillows, while he moves.

“Sore, huh? Tiny cunt hurts?” He taunts, a mix of sweet and sadistic, just the Satoru you craved, to live with, to be under.

“You’re too big,” he moans at that, thickening even more. “Want more.”

“More cum?” You nod, and he chuckles then, slamming his cock deep again. “Then I’ll give it all to you, greedy girl.”

Satoru’s busting deep in your hole again after you cum for him, hissing as he fingers that cum back deep in your hole. You’re whining out at how bad it hurts in the morning, with the sun glowing across both of your skin, the stupid alarm going off. You barely manage to sit up, but he shuts it off and throws it.

“Satoru!”

“I’m spending the day with my fiance, neither of us is working,” he sucks the mix of his cum and yours off his fingers, grinning as you watch. “Open for me.”

You do just that, as he spits his cum inside your wide open mouth, groaning at the sight of it slipping out of the corner, swiping it gently. 

“Swallow.”

You do as he orders, how you love to be ordered by him, and soon he’s kissing it off you, making you a mess, pressing you into the soft satin sheets and pillows, fucking you until the two of you are ruined, desperate and weak and panting. You’re so sore and he’s shooting blanks at this point, your hole so full of cum, your tummy bloated with how much he’s stuffed you with.

You pass out snoring on him at about noon, and he just brushes your hair back, smiling against your hair.

He missed you.

*****

Six months later

“Hmm,” Satoru has your thighs spread, on your hands and knees on the bed, your tummy swollen with your baby inside you, cunt just leaking the milky white seed he filled you with. You tremble as his fingers brush you. “We don’t need to keep it all in anymore, you’re pregnant now.”

“Yeah, do you want me to push it out,” you taunt, smiling over your shoulder, so pretty and just glowing. “Or are you gonna clean me?”

“You know I love tasting us together,” he whispers softly, you two had just finally announced you’re expecting even though it’s been six months, you were both so nervous, tentative.

But everything looked amazing this time.

You had a celebration, you’ve both sort of took time off to just constantly be together, after so, so long of being apart, and Satoru may or may not have been fingering his pregnant wife under the table at dinner. He can’t help it, you smell even better, taste better, and your nipples were leaking milk that he was sucking on in the back of his limo.

How could he not fuck you more and more?

“Hmm, I’ll clean you up, filthy little girl,” he whispers, spreading your thighs and leaning down, tongue swiping up your slit and gathering it all. “Oh my fuck.”

He loves licking his cum out of you, tongue swirling inside your cunt to get every drop, slurping it up and groaning as he swallows it down his greedy throat - you’re sweet, he’s just a little salty, but together? Fuck it’s perfect, especially drooling out of your pretty cunt.

He spreads your folds wide, looking at the abused little hole, and your moans fill the room, fingers twisting in the sheets tightly as he eats you out like he’s starved, your swollen tummy is tensing with pleasure. Every time his tongue flicks your clit it has you arching, whining out, trembling, pouring more and more.

“You took so much this time,” he whispers. “I’m so proud of you.”

He shoves his entire tongue up inside your walls, already sticky and gummy and coated, hitting your spot. “Oh f-fuck,” you gasp, arching your back, “Satoru, oh my god.”

His tongue is giving you such slow, deliberate strokes, lapping up and gathering every trace of milky seed from your swollen folds. “So fucking good,” he rasps against your skin, breath hot and burning, teeth lines against your puffy cunt. “That’s it, lemme drink all of us up.”

You arch as much as you can in your pregnant state, while he tugs your hips to him, ass right against his face.

“Mmm,” he’s drinking all the juices pouring, before gently gripping you by your hips and turning you, laying you on your back. His lips are glistening from you both, you lean up and lick them, earning his moan. “Fuck you’re so pretty.”

“Oh, Toru,” your hands entangle in his hair as he kisses up your swollen belly, hands drifting across it. “You make me feel so pretty.”

“You are,” he is whispering against your skin, kissing even higher while his thumbs press against your breasts, and his lips trail higher, gripping a breast that leaks milk.

“Oh!” You get a little flustered, you haven’t gotten that far before, and now it all seems even more real. You feel a flutter and a kick when you tense, and his tongue swirls your nipple, sucking it into his hot mouth, moaning. “Toru, that’s milk! Crazy man…”

“It tastes so sweet,” his hand grips your tit and squishes it with one hand, the other resting on the side of you, sucking sweet milk into his mouth. “Oh fuck, I’m addicted.”

“You cannot even be!” You’d giggle but he’s making you feel so good, so sensitive you’re whimpering. “Mnh, they hurt!”

“I’ll be easier,” he smirks, and milk slips across his lips, grinning. “Maybe.”

You laugh breathlessly, before sucking in a breath, he’s sucking on your other nipple now. “You’re insatiable, freaky man.”

“You’re the freak here,” his fingers trace the curve of your bump while his tongue swirls a puffy nipple. 

“Oh!” It feels good then, you're wriggling underneath him, still sore from his cock but ready again.

“Can you blame me?” His voice drops low, rough with want. “You’re fucking gorgeous, yummy, perfect.”

Outside, rain starts tapping against the windows suddenly, not a sprinkle but a hard downpour, while he kisses around your nipples that are just leaking so much milk, swirling it with his thumb. Your heart is fluttering right along with his soft breaths in the dimly lit room, soft and rhythmic, the two of you kissing, the tastes mingling of all the sweetness he’s sucked off you.

Soon he’s got you in the bath, your tummy and breasts slipping up from the bubbles, massaging your tummy gently, lips kissing up your neck, your cheek, your temple. Your hand covers his, and he feels him kick - another boy, this time he’s very active, and he loves to flip.

“He’s saying hi,” he murmurs, laughing softly. You look over at him, the water dripping from his chin, a big grin on his handsome face. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

“Oh, me too. God I’m so excited!” He buries his face against your neck, tasting the water on your skin. “What are we gonna name him!?”

“I haven't even thought of the right one and I've read so many books.”

“Hmm,” his fingers slip up and down your arms gently, lovingly, you sigh and inhale the steam, letting it fill your senses. “Do you like Asahi?”

“I do, what's that mean! It sounds so pretty.” You lovingly touch your tummy.

“Ray of hope, it's what he is.”

“I love it,” you're crying again, hormones are getting you, but also you feel so loved. He holds you close and just lets you cry, just staying silent, being there for you. “Asahi.”

“Yeah?” He smiles and swipes at your tears, the rain is pouring on the rooftop, while you're in this steamy bubble bath, your tears falling like little drops of rain.

“Hope.”

“Mmhmm,” he kisses your forehead gently, stroking your belly. “Hope.”

After wrapping you in a towel, he carefully blow dries your hair, pampering you to no end, he always used to before, and after that few months of not, you relished in the feeling. You sigh and lean back as he carefully brushes your hair, smiling at you in the reflection of the mirror, lips plush and soft as he leans low.

“Look at you, glowing.”

“Fuck I love you.”

“Mmm,” he kisses you gently, cupping your chin. “I know.”

He’s got you in bed later on once you’re both all dried up, wrapped in a light blue fluffy robe, and he’s rubbing your feet while you’re sitting up against the pillows.

“Now I’ll get too used to this.”

“Well, go ahead,” he presses kisses up your calves, feeling how soft they are from the lotion he’d massaged into them. “You’re growing our baby in there, you need to be taken care of.”

“You’re so good to me,” you whisper, your eyes heavy with sleep, but you don’t want to sleep, you want to feel him, be with him. “Mmm, I feel so good.”

“You deserve it,” he whispers back, his fingers pressing into your arches, making you moan softly. “You’re carrying our baby, you’re doing all the hard work. Poor girl, you can’t even have wine.”

“Who needs wine with you,” you’re already slurring your words, sinking into the bed and relishing in it. “Drunk off you.”

“Are you now?” He chuckles, letting your foot drop.

“You don’t have to do all this, not that I’m complaining,” you murmur, your hand reaching for his, intertwining your fingers, tugging his knuckles in so that you can kiss the back of them. “All I need is you here with me.”

Satoru’s emotions get stuck in his throat then, hearing the need in your words, both of you were scared after what happened, so scared you’d lose the baby. Even now, the fear lies there, at every meeting and every doctor visit, you’re both a little apprehensive, clinging to each other for support.

Satoru leans forward, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss that tastes of mint rather than whiskey these days, those mints he sucked on constantly when you met him. So familiar and warm, something you never ever want to go a day without, that taste that is just so uniquely him. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, as if he can read your mind.

He knows you.

He’s always known you, even in those moments that he felt he didn’t, even when the two of you fell into that desperation, the darkness that swallowed you all whole. Since then you’ve been connected, talking things out, expressing things. You were both in therapy over the loss of the previous miscarriages, and you all had good and bad days.

Today was a good day, a perfect day.

“I’ll never go anywhere,” his voice is a low little murmur that vibrates through your lips, tickling them with his breath, his hand delicately brushing your hair back as he smiles at you. “Ever.”

You smile back at him, a sleepy little cute one that grips him in the chest, your eyes fluttering closed as his thumb traces circles on your cheek. “Good.”

The rain outside that was downpouring has softened to a gentle patter, a soothing rhythm that makes you even sleepier, yet you fight it.

“You trying not to rest, why?”

“It’s too perfect,” you say now, looking up at him. “Every moment of this I need to savor it.”

“Like I savor your pretty pussy?”

You blush furiously, and he grins. “You love to make me blush!”

“I do, it’s cute,” he continues to caress you, fingertips sliding down your neck, your shoulder, with the rain in the background lulling you both into a comfortable silence. His touch is tender and sweet, as if he’s memorizing every curve, every swell of your body, and he is.

He wants to remember how you feel while you’re carrying his baby, the heaviness of your breasts, the roundness of your tummy and hips, how your cheeks are just a little rounder too. Everything about you he commits to memory with his careful touches, his sweet little kisses.

“You know,” he says after a while, his voice barely above a whisper, “I used to think I had everything. Wealthy, right, so much influence, and I had you, fuck how do you top that? But this?” His hand rests on your belly, where Asahi stirs beneath his palm, making you both grin. “This is everything to me.”

Your heart falters at that, you don’t know how to put into words how you feel, where Satoru was amazing at them, you at times faltered. “Toru… you’re everything to me, and now Asahi.”

He leans in again, this time kissing the corners of your mouth, then your cheeks, then the tip of your nose so precious, earning your sleepy giggle, your cute little yawn, your own hands slip up and down his bare shoulders, feeling the lines of his strong biceps, fingers pressing in ever so gently as you kiss on him.

His hand slides up your thigh, beneath the robe, his touch teasing, you whine out and shift.. “Still sore from my cock baby?”

“You’re diabolical…” He grins now.

“Are you?”

“A little,” you admit, shifting slightly again, as if to shove his fingers towards your slick cunt, even as you act all innocent. “But I love feeling you inside me.”

“Greedy girl,” his fingers trail higher, skimming the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, making you shiver. “Let me take care of you again, then. I’ll give you anything.”

*****

Three months later

What once was a dusty, empty nursery is filled with love, decorated with everything before and more. Filled with you in the rocking chair, and holding your beautiful little boy. Satoru had run and grabbed you something to drink so that you can relax while you feed your little boy. You smile up at him, so heartbreakingly pretty with his son in your arms like that.

In that moment he falters by the doorway, just studying you both, feet locked into place, it’s hard for him to put anything into words of how he feels, to have been blessed by you both. It’s hard for him to fully grasp how lucky he is, he would seem so sappy if it all spilled, but he truly did not care how it came out.

“I’m so lucky…” he says then, and watches you brighten even more.

“You’re so sweet,” you say softly, he clears his throat a bit and heads to you, kneeling and angling a straw so you can sip. “You don’t have to do all that! I can hold it you know.”

“I want to make sure you rest some,” he murmurs softly, touching your face tenderly. “You had a rough time.”

“I know, but I’m on the good stuff, so I feel great.” He snorts a bit then, stirring your son awake, he opens his beautiful blue eyes - just like Satoru Gojo’s.

“You sure?”

“Very, I love holding him,” you snuggle and press a kiss on his snowy white head as he dozes off again, all milk drunk. “He’s so precious.”

“Just like you,” you giggle and then wince a bit. “See? You’re sore.”

“Well yeah, but I wanna be up,” he shakes his head.

“Stubborn girl, will you be like your mom I wonder? Or sweet like me?”

“You, sweet huh?” He grins deviously, you ruffle his hair, holding Asahi close to your chest. “You are sweet.”

“I’ll put him to bed, you need more rest,” Satoru stands then, taking him carefully, the baby is already tiny but looks even tinier in Satoru Gojo’s huge hands, his head so small right on his palm. “Hi buddy.”

He pecks a kiss on his head, and you melt in that moment, adjusting your top to cover up breasts still leaking a little milk, eyes glimmering as you look up at your son and your soon to be husband. They’re both so beautiful, the moonlight is gently pouring in, and illuminating their forms.

It makes everything worth it, every tear shed, every bit of soreness in your body, to see the happiness of Satoru’s lit up face, while he cooes at the baby, wrapping him and cradling him in his big arms, you’re so in love with Satoru in that moment – and you love your son so much – it physically hurts. Like your heart expanded in order to adore them both, and it barely fits in your chest.

You stand up and he frowns down at you. “Sit down, stop being so stubborn, hmm?”

“I just wanna hold you both,” you wrap an arm around Satoru and lean against him, looking down at your beautiful son. “I love you two so, so much.”

“And I love you both,” Satoru murmurs, kissing your head, and then his son’s, the spitting image of him truly. You think the only thing that he got of yours was maybe your nose. “You have mama’s nose.”

“I was just thinking that’s all he has of mine!”

“Yeah, weak genetics, psh,” you giggle again, holding your sore stomach. “Will you sit, you just got cut open a few days ago y’know.”

“Mmm, I may need more of the good stuff,” you mumble. “It’s been like eight hours I think.”

“They said six, see Mama’s stubborn,” he says to Asahi then, kissing his little head and holding him close to his chest, you see the baby’s lips curve up, melting you further, you’re literally just a fucking puddle now, for the two men in this room who you adore. “She doesn’t listen.”

“I do, sometimes,” Satoru rolls his baby blues, settling down Asahi now. “Let me swaddle him.”

“Mmhmm,” Satoru kisses across your shoulder blade, bare from the big sweater hanging off it, watching as you wrap him all up so tightly. He stands there and holds you from behind, a chin on your head, just keeping you there.

You lean back, your eyes shutting in relief at how good this feels, his hand presses on your tummy comfortingly, knowing it’s hurting to stand like this, just supporting you. You feel tears start to form in your eyes then, and look up at Satoru, they’re glimmering off your cheeks in the moonlight.

“What is it, are you hurting?” He panics then, Asahi moves just a bit, crying a loud little cry. “Hang on.”

Satoru goes and snatches up his binky, leaning over to pop it in his mouth, so he can suck on it and calm down – and that makes you break down more, how fucking in love and happy you are, after the pain you went through. How everything feels so blissful despite the physical pain and exhaustion, how you can’t believe you almost lost this.

Satoru immediately picks you up in his arms, cradling you. “Satoru, you can’t just carry me all over.”

“I sure can, and I will,” he gently shuts the door with one shove of a hip, you cling to his neck ever so tightly, tears sticky on his skin. “Let’s get you some meds and something to eat with them.”

“You do too much for me.”

Satoru pauses now, easing you down once you’re in the kitchen, frowning and cupping your face. He leans low now, lips a breath away. “You and him are my everything, I will do anything for you.”

“Oh, Toru, I can’t believe we almost…”

“Shh,” he kisses you now, your salty tears and slightly chapped lips from being dehydrated, holding you so close and rocking you against him. “We didn’t split apart, we are still here.”

“I am so scared that I almost lost you, I love you so much.” He kisses you again, exhaling, his arms wrapping you tight.

“I was scared too,” he swallows and sighs, his eyes so blue and glimmering. “We made it through all of it, and now look, we have him.”

“And I have you.” You hold his face, tiptoeing.

“And I have you, my cute little crybaby.”

“Hey!” He chuckles, trying to brighten your mood, he always does, and he always will, stay by your side and care for you. “I am a crybaby right now, but because I’m so very happy.”

“So am I, but I’d be happier if you rested,” he grabs your pain medicine, and a ginger ale. “Here, I’ll find you something to eat.”

“You spoil me.”

“Sure do, and I’ll spoil all of our kids, as much as I want.”

“You’ll make them country club brats?” You tease, swallowing the meds and wincing at the taste, Satoru hands you a little snack to nibble on.

“Maybe I will,” he tilts his head and grins at you. “What’s your little ass gonna do about it, huh?”

“Probably join you all,” you roll your eyes too, before nibbling and sighing. “Mmm, I was hungry.”

“See, I already knew.”

Soon he’s got you in his arms, he makes sure to sleep in bed with you every night, the baby monitor shows your little boy on the screen sleeping so soundly. It’s quiet, save for Satoru’s steady breathing, his arm wrapped under your breasts, his nearness and warmth lulling you ever so gently to slumber.

You turn and look at him, seeing his eyes still open – wide open – just staring down at you, his lips curve lazily, while you flush under his study. “What is it?”

“Thinking how proud I am of you.”

“Toru, I’ll cry again!”

“I am,” you’re already a mess, but he makes you more and more with every look, every motion, every movement. “I’m very proud.”

“I’m proud of us, we made him, god he’s so perfect.”

“He is,” Satoru cups your jaw, kissing you. “I think when you’re ready… he may need a sister too.”

“Satoru!”

“What?”

You smack at him playfully. “Are you already thinking of another?”

“Sure am,” his finger brushes your nipple over the big shirt of his you’re wearing. “Wanna keep these full.”

“You have to wait at least three weeks,” you taunt, turning and kissing him, your hand slipping down to grip his cock. His eyes flutter shut, moaning softly. “Look at me.”

“Using my lines?” He raises a white brow, but his look fails as you stroke him. “Fuck…”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t take care of you for once, hmm?”

Satoru kisses you as your hand finds him, stroking ever so gently. “Fuck I love you. I can’t wait to put more babies- ah!”

“Shh, just let go, cum for me.”

Satoru gasps at your little bold statement, the baby cries for a moment and you both pause, but he goes right back to sleep, making you laugh softly. “You’re even freakier now that you’re a milf, huh?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?”

Your kiss meets his lips as you stroke him once more, and his hand grips your breast, pulling back to rub some of the milk on his lips, moaning. “Yes we will.”

Once you’ve pleased him, he’s drunk off you, just studying you once more, snoring and exhausted. He looks at the monitor and grins over at his baby boy, wriggling just a bit.

This is everything and more than he could ever have imagined, he snuggles against you and falls right asleep for the little bit of time you all can before the baby wakes up, thinking just how lucky he is. 

My sweet girl I hope you love this <3 TYSM for trusting me to write this for you!!

commissions info here! (I'll be opening some more spots soon loves <3)

Reblogs/comments so appreciated if you enjoyed, kisses!!

[cumironi]

chrissy what the fuck???? i don't know if i should be sad or horny. . .

[indiewritesxoxo]

say you don't

today's episode of...who the fuck did I marry? (literally)

synopsis: so you woke up next to the hottest man you've ever met. except, you've never seen him before and he swears he's your husband. and the more you talk to him, the less certain you are he's even human. what'll break first? him? or your sanity?

pairing: eldritch-esque entity!gojo x f!reader

wc: 7.3k

content: mdni, DARK CONTENT, angst, light smut, gojo is an entity masquerading as a human lol, but he's down BAD for you, basically God!Gojo has no concept of any kind of societal norms and is pathetically in love with you, technically kidnapping, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, gojo gets everything he wants and that includes you, Geto guest starring as fellow gaslighter LMFAO, some slight body horror (occasional extra eyes and limbs), wet dreams, fingering, touching, casual affection, mentions of taking meds (that aren't actually needed), reader is convinced she's going crazy, messed-up dynamics, some codependency

a/n: this was a super special commission from @specialgradefckr that was SO fun to write!! hope you guys enjoy too <3

The man sitting across the table from you was not your husband. 

It didn’t matter what the shiny gold ring on his finger said – or the glittering diamond on your own. His mouth was moving, but nothing was coming out. Pretty pink lips parting, the bright white teeth behind them opening wider, the sharp tips of his canines catching the bright sunlight streaming through the window of an apartment you’d never been in before. 

You weren’t even sure he was human. 

Or if you were still asleep. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” He cocked his head to the side, but he couldn’t even get that right. You guessed it was supposed to be cute (well, it kinda was) but it was angled too far, his ear nearly touching his shoulder.

The newspaper in his hands was upside down. The coffee in front of him was half sugar. He hadn’t blinked once in the past two minutes. 

You might not have picked up on that if his eyes weren’t so blue. It wasn’t the same shade as the oceans or the sky. Nothing in nature matched what was staring straight at you. They shimmered, brilliant and burning, intensely focused on each little twitch of your face. 

Spit was pooling in the back of your throat, pulse pounding in your ear as you smoothed down the hem of a thin slip you definitely didn’t own and certainly hadn’t dressed yourself in the night before. No, you just tossed on a ratty old t-shirt before crawling into your own bed, pulled the comforter over your body and crashed. When you woke up, you were here, wherever here was, with no fucking clue how you got here. Or who he was. 

With him half on top of you, sturdy arms wrapped around you and the prettiest man thing you’d ever seen purring good morning in your ear. Kissing your cheek like you and hugging you tight like you were some stuffed toy he always slept with. 

You pinched the back of your hand under the table. Hard enough for your nail to break the skin. You weren't dreaming. 

So he was, for better or worse, real. 

“I should go,” you cleared your throat, glancing down at the almost untouched plate in front of you. Pancakes, apparently, although you’d personally never had any that were so…spongy. You poked it with a fork when he first set it down, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stomach it. 

“Is my cooking not good enough for you?” He quizzed, stark white brows scrunching together like it was a problem he had to solve. Like you were. 

“It’s just, whatever this, uh, weird roleplay thing is-” 

He blinked. 

One eye at a time. 

“What do you mean?” He frowned as you stood up, dropping the newspaper he wasn’t reading to stand too. 

You stepped back, only glancing away to mentally calculate how far away the front door was. 

“I should go back home,” you slowly reiterated. Not that you had any way to get there. You didn’t have your phone, your wallet, your keys. No clue how fucking far you were from your place. 

“This is home.” 

You shook your head slowly, left hand closing into a fist, but it just reminded you of the ring on your finger. Five carats, set in white gold and glimmering while you reflexively looked down at just another detail that didn’t add up.

“No,” you muttered. “This-”

You blinked, and you were on the couch. It was softer than yours, didn’t creak when you shifted, missing all the spots and stains that came from people actually sitting on one. It scratched something in the back of your brain, bothered you for a reason you couldn't name as you sat up and looked around to confirm your suspicion. 

“I'm worried about you,” Satoru murmured, carrying a glass of-

Wait. 

How the hell did you know what his name was? 

Was it on something you’d seen without realizing it? On his phone when you were waking up? On a diploma or piece of mail somewhere your brain had subconsciously picked up on? 

He placed the drink on the clean coffee table in front of you. There was only a small vase with a few white-and-blue flowers stuffed in it as decoration on it. No coasters in sight. And somehow, no scratches or water rings staining the light wood finish either. 

“Who are you?” You asked, hearing how hoarse you sounded. Scared. 

You didn’t want to take the water – but all you could think of was how sore your throat was, reluctantly reaching over to take a sip. 

“Your husband?” He insisted, firm and a little sarcastic, like it should be obvious. 

“I’m not married,” you scoffed, even if the weight of the ring on your finger got heavier by the second. “I don't even have a boyfriend.” 

He made a soft sound, a coo, humming like this was still normal. 

And then it clicked. 

It had to be a prank. Probably pulled by one of your asshole friends who heard you complain one too many times about how sick of being single you were – or maybe even part of a shitty show that would only get aired on an absolutely unethical network. 

“Are you an actor?” You asked, and he laughed, as if you made a joke. “It's not fucking funny. Did someone pay you? Or-”

“I'm your husband,” he echoed, like it was one of the only lines they'd given him. 

“Seriously, are there cameras somewhere?” You started to stand, but your legs felt like jelly. Not quite limp, but unsteady on your feet as you took a step forward. But you bumped into the corner of the table right as he grabbed your arm to steady you, water spilling on the carpet, the cup remaining intact and rolling under the couch.

The only stain on it. 

“Cameras, baby? Really?” He dismissed, innocence you didn’t believe in shining in those big blue eyes. 

“That’s not a no,” you pointed out, looking up and around from the furniture to the corners of the room for any blinking lights or objects out-of-place. 

But nothing stood out.

Except for the fact there wasn’t a single personal item in sight. No photos or signs. No bookshelves stuffed with albums of memories or even shoes or socks left forgotten on the floor? 

“I mean, it doesn’t even look like anyone lives here,” you kept going when he didn’t deny it, gesturing to what could be a stock photo for a bachelor pad. “I mean, you didn’t bother photoshopping a single photo of us? That’s just lazy-”

He slid a photo album across the table you were pretty fucking sure had just been empty.

You stopped, stared blankly at the clean black leather, uncracked. Shiny as he flipped it open to the first page. 

And there you were, in a white wedding dress you’d rather die than wear, one of those poufy princess ones you couldn’t believe actually existed. Your mouth fell open, mid-exhale as your fingers trembled to flip through yourself. 

If it was edited, he’d done a good goddamn job at it. 

His arm was around you, fingers flexing against your waist and a beaming smile across his mouth. No glaring issues or missing fingers to point at. But the flowers in the vase were almost identical to the bouquet in your hands in the photo.

You pulled one free from the plastic, flipping it over to find a date on the back. Almost a full year ago. 

“What is this?” You asked, but the bite in your voice was gone. 

“Our wedding pictures, pretty girl,” he answered, and his bottom lip pushed out like he felt bad for you.  

You didn’t know what was worse, the pity on his face or the pride in his voice.

Each photo was more perfect than the last. The lighting, the shadows, your makeup, his suit, all the tiny details that might give the deception away in order and as expected. Not even a stray hair in sight. 

Your family was in them. Standing in the background or barely in frame, friends laughing and drinking and toasting to a marriage that just materialized. 

“You wanna call someone and ask?” He offered, a calm expression on his face, and you couldn’t help but think he’d done this before. 

“Where’s my phone?” You felt weak, your brain getting foggier as you tried to organize and collect all the information being splayed out in front of you. 

He dug it out of his pocket, and you wanted to protest – tell him that it was weird as shit that he had it. 

You held your tongue though, trying to think of who wouldn’t go along with a prank like this and would actually come clean if they knew someone who would. 

It was kind of hard when your homescreen was him though. 

A candid too, one that looked like it’d been taken in a restaurant somewhere, across the table from him with a candle burning and casting warm shadows on his unnaturally pretty face. 

Your thumb still unlocked it though, and all your contacts were still there – even if there were also now a thousand more photos of him clogging up your storage when you scrolled through. 

It took five phone calls to convince you that something was very, very wrong.

Family members, friends, even a fucking coworker, and they all thought you were the one pranking them. Chuckling at your discomfort, asking how Satoru was, inviting you both over for dinner before your panicked pleas for them to tell you the truth twisted their amusement to concern. 

When the last one hung up on you, you couldn’t even look up.

Just stared down at the smile on your screen, the first full squeeze of fear taking hold in your heart when he said nothing either, waiting for you to look up at him. You could feel his eyes on you. Oppressive and heavy, almost as if some invisible force was pressing against you. 

“I think we should schedule another appointment with your psychiatrist,” he hummed, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, like he really just wanted what was best for you. 

Which, according to him, was an emergency session with a man you’d also never seen. 

You had a psychiatrist already – an appointment you always kept. Every three weeks, curling up on a couch and complaining about work and your friends and venting about everything that bothered you from stupid to significant. 

But he was about half a foot shorter and balding. Not another absurdly attractive guy who shouldn't know your name and still somehow did. 

You blinked at him. 

He stared back at you. 

The clock ticked – your appointment time slipping by in silence when you refused to speak at first. 

You broke first. Glanced out the window at the barren trees outside, wind blowing a brittle chill and frosting the edges of the glass. Shifting seasons. “Weird weather we’re having, huh?” 

“Is that what you’d like to talk about today?” He cooly replied, a sharp edge of sarcasm cutting through the tension.

You shrugged, not that you expected him to answer back with anything actually helpful. 

It was summer last night. The heat had choked out the ac in your apartment, your skin sticky and slick with sweat when you fell asleep, mumbling under your breath it was too fucking hot before you got under the covers

That was the first thing you’d noticed this morning. Your first clue. Eyes still closed and thinking that it was freezing – that your ac must have somehow fixed itself.  

The weather was wrong outside. The man on the other side of the door kept saying he was your fucking husband when you knew he wasn't. And the rest of the world seemed to be in agreement. 

“What brings you back so soon?” Your new psychiatrist asked, one hand firmly gripping a ballpoint pen while the other pushed a thin pair of glasses higher up his nose. How were you supposed to answer when you didn't even remember seeing him once? 

Rationality hadn't quite let you, your brain suggesting reasons you didn't fully believe. Maybe your old one quit, some family emergency or last-minute thing and this was just a replacement he'd forgotten to tell you about. 

You looked over the diplomas proudly displayed on the wall for a Suguru Geto. You made a mental note of the name, one you were sure you’d be searching and scouring the internet for later to see if any of them were real and he was actually an accredited doctor. 

God, that really did sound fucking insane. 

Genuinely suspecting the fact a (hopefully) licensed psychiatrist was just another paid asshole fucking with you? 

There was a calendar by the diploma closest to the windows, and even though the days hadn’t been marked off, it was still on the last month you remembered. You pretended not to notice, shifting your stare back to him. 

What the hell had happened in the past twelve hours? 

“I’m not crazy,” you preemptively said. It wasn't very convincing coming from someone sitting on this side of the desk though. 

“Did I say you were?” He smiled, but it was sly. He reminded you of a fox in a funny way, casual remarks coming off crafty. A hint of cruelty hiding underneath his polished, professional surface. 

“You’re staring like something’s wrong with me.” 

“What would be wrong with you?” He returned your statement with another annoying question, your scowl coming easily as you picked at your cuticles in your lap. 

“I don’t think anything is,” you argued back. Except he wasn’t arguing – he was just setting traps and waiting for you to walk into them. 

“Then why are you here today?” 

Because you fell asleep and somehow in eight hours you’d gone from your bed to living a stranger’s life? Even worse, becoming a stranger’s wife? 

“Why don’t you tell me?” You frowned, eyeing the thick folder he pulled out when you walked through the door, one he quickly closed before gesturing for you to sit. 

“Your husband started bringing you here before for, ah, memory issues for the past year,” he soberly said, like his seriousness could make up for the fact he was full of shit too. 

You almost scoffed. A year? No fucking way. 

“Memory issues?” You repeated, daring him to elaborate and dig them both in a deeper hole. 

He cleared his throat, eyes narrowing like he’d decided on a different approach since the current one wasn’t working. 

“We could start considering inpatient treatment,” he started to suggest, a flare of panic seizing your chest at the thought of a future spent in grippy socks and stuck with needles. 

“No,” you swallowed hard, shaking your head and quickly turning to where your husband was waiting on the other side. Even if you didn’t know him, couldn’t remember a fucking thing about him and didn’t have an explanation for any of it, he wouldn’t let that happen, would he? 

“How about this? I'll write you a new prescription then and schedule a follow-up in a few weeks to see how you're feeling,” Suguru smiled at you, but it was cold. 

“Sure,” you returned his fake smile. 

It wasn’t like you had another choice. How hard would it be to flush pills anyway? 

“Mind sending your husband in for a few minutes?” Your possibly-fake psychiatrist asked, and you could feel your brow twitch, threatening to betray your suspicions. You weren’t all that familiar with privacy laws, but it still felt like a breach of confidentiality. “I would like to discuss a few details of your care plan.”  

Care plan – like you were some troubled child that needed nurturing and hand holding instead of actual answers. 

Stuck sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair out in the hall while they chatted behind a closed door, unable to hear what they were talking about. Just that the man you were supposedly married to looked thrilled walking out, leaning down to kiss your cheek and promise to pick up your favorite food on the way home. 

You figured out two answers of your own about him in the car. The first being he was a really bad driver. You weren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed on the way there, but you guessed you’d been busy staring out the window trying to discern whether or not this was just a really weird vivid dream or not. But now? Paying full attention to the way his hands were positioned on the wheel, the complete and total lack of awareness he had for anyone else on the road? 

It was ridiculous. 

He rear-ended someone five minutes into it. Completely crushed the back of her bumper, about to drive away until you hissed at him to stop and give the other driver his insurance information. He cocked his head to the side like he didn’t really understand, but he got out of the car anyway – in the middle of the busy road and blocking all traffic behind him. 

The woman he hit was pissed, short hair bobbing in the wind as she started shouting at him while you attempted to hide your face in the passenger seat. 

Until your husband just grinned at her, pointing at her probably totaled car and casually chuckled. That was all it took for her to freeze, mouth hanging open, cheeks blushing when he took another step closer. 

“I think that was your fault,” he hummed, and she nodded. 

“I must’ve stopped too fast,” she said it like she hadn’t been screaming three seconds ago, her eyes glittering like he was a goddamn celebrity who was so kind to grace her with his presence and hadn’t just hit her car. 

“Yeah, you should be more careful,” Satoru cooed, all condescending and still somehow charming, clapping a hand over her shoulder and squeezing before getting back in the driver’s seat.

You stared at him, and he just looked to you for approval. 

“Do you always get what you want?” You asked, too surprised to even frown. 

“Pretty much,” he flashed a smile. What, was it just pretty privilege? 

That the world bent around him because he thought it should? 

You weren’t sure when you started to bend too.

Just that the proof (and inconsistencies) started piling up – and started burying you beneath it.  

He knew everything about you – things you never told anyone else. Not just the easy stuff like your favorite color or food, but what hole-in-the-wall restaurants you liked to order it from and what day you liked to do your laundry on. Could recite off when you were born and what you got for your fifth birthday, collected memories of yours like coins or stamps he wanted to save. 

Any way you tried to slice it, he was either the most sentimental man you ever met or a stalker. 

Maybe both. 

When you asked for the marriage certificate, he pulled it from the shelf on a bookcase in his office. When you wanted to know what college he graduated from, suddenly there was a degree hanging on the wall. If you questioned how long you’d been dating, tried to pick apart his timeline, he pulled up the messages between you from as far back as your first date. 

“You don’t trust me,” he pouted, pushing out his bottom lip too far as he tossed his phone on the couch. 

You bit your own lip. Looked at the floor so you wouldn’t have to find something wrong with his face. 

“Why me?” You asked instead. Why couldn’t he go pick some other girl to torment? Get a divorce and unbind his life from yours? 

“Would you believe me if I said it was love-at-first-sight?” 

You didn't really believe anything he said. 

Even if he always had an answer (or an excuse) at his disposal.

But other stuff stood out, getting ready for work a few mornings post your psychiatrist appointment just for him to furrow his brows and station himself by the front door to ask where you were going. 

“My job?” You huffed, slipping on your shoes. All your clothes had come with you here, half his closest stuffed full of them, your shoes set up on a nice little rack by the door. There were a few things you knew you hadn’t bought, frilly and flimsy and all in that unnatural shade of blue, but you ignored them. 

Foolishly tried to kid yourself that pretending they weren't there would make them go away. 

“You don’t work,” he casually replied. 

“I do,” you insisted, trying to push past him before he stopped you with a firm hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Sweetheart,” he tried to sound kind, but there was no mistaking the authority in it. “You quit six months ago.” 

He guided you back to the kitchen table, sat you down softly before walking over to one of his dark cabinets. Pulled out something from the top shelf and returned to you like he was every ounce the devoted husband he was pretending to be. He handed it to you, something you were sure was supposed to be a show of trust. 

The pill bottle was clear. Thick, almost translucent, white label stretching around with pretty blue pills rattling inside when you shook it. 

Simple instructions printed neatly below your name to take two a day with food. 

“I’ll make you breakfast, baby,” he promised, waiting for you to open the cap and take two. Part of you wanted to accuse him of just not being able to open the child-proofed caps. 

You slowly did, feeling ill already, although it was hard to tell if it was from the idea of eating his cooking or taking the pills. 

He waited for you to put them in your mouth, stood there while you let them sit on your tongue.

“Don’t make me check,” he chuckled, a low warning you could tell he meant.  

You swallowed. 

And still, through the side effects and brain fog they seemed to bring on, you clung to the edges of your sanity, the logic remaining. Enough that when he was distracted typing away at his laptop, you were trying to text former coworkers, your old boss, anyone that would know anything more. 

But none of the messages were ever marked delivered. And when you looked up your former place of employment, you discovered everything about them had been scrubbed online, completely wiped. Like it never even existed. 

And when you managed to slip past him four days later down the stairs and out into the parking garage, you couldn’t find your car. 

The days dragged on - no job, no distractions. Just him and the cocktail of prescription drugs to coast on. 

His work schedule wasn’t kind to you. Allowed him to ‘work’ remotely, although he barely seemed to be in his home office, usually too busy bugging you. Half the week he never even stepped foot in there at all. But they never fired him. Never seemed to pester him to finish projects or demand for more of his time. 

You, apparently, were the most difficult part of Satoru Gojo’s life.

“One kiss?” He pouted, pointing to his cheek and leaning against the wall by the office door, an easy grin on his face.

“I haven’t brushed my teeth,” you excused, itching to walk away for the few hours of peace you got a day.

“Later then,” he shrugged, still unbothered, like he had all the time in the world. 

He liked to take you shopping after work or on weekends, doll you up in dresses and treat you to overpriced restaurants where he always seemed to score free meals or desserts every time. Although, the first time, he accused a waiter of flirting with him (and eventually you) just for asking questions about what he wanted to eat, demanding to speak to a manager. Squinting and scrunching his nose up like ‘is the food to your taste?’ was the equivalent to asking what color underwear he was wearing. No one listened when you tried to apologize for him. Paid any attention to you saying it was fine. The waiter was fired and your food was comped. 

People stared when he passed by. Men asked him about his cologne and his clothes. Women told you how lucky you were to lock him down.

As if it had ever been your choice in the matter.

Sometimes, you'd slip. Forget that you should be fighting this. Instinctively reach out for his hand in crowds in public, offer him bites of your food, roll over closer to him in bed on cold mornings. And somewhere deep inside, you knew it wasn’t right, but you seeked his comfort anyway, soothed yourself with his freezing hands and warm voice like it’d make your skin stop crawling, like it’d scrape away all the paint and varnish covering up the ugliness hiding underneath your relationship. 

You always snapped back to what was left of your reality eventually. 

It was after you pulled back that it would be there, the unsettling discomfort of his stare when you turned away from him. 

It was the worst in the mornings.

Crawling out of the sheets first, leaving him with his legs tangled in the blankets. He only ever slept in his boxers, his chest bare and rising slowly. It took too long to fall, like he was faking it. Mimicking sleep like he was imitating something from a movie.

And even when his eyes were closed, long white lashes fluttering, you could still feel them watching. 

His body, however pretty, however perfect, felt more like a shell, a casing containing something too big for it. A man who’d never been told no – and knew how to make sure it was never an option for you.

Not when every day you teetered closer to crazy, swallowing pills you didn’t need, sitting next to Satoru on the couch with a strong arm slung over your shoulder, stuck in a never-ending routine of brain-numbing domesticity. 

You couldn’t even lay in bed and sleep in late. 

The sky outside his window never seemed to get lighter until you got out. Your phone was always out-of-reach – Satoru didn’t confiscate it, but you conveniently could never find it once night time rolled around. He never had watches around either – even though he seemed like the exact sort of asshole that would own a Rolex and brag about it. 

You might’ve called him out. Confessed your suspicions, made a whole fucking list of them to shout at him, scrutinize every tiny detail and demand answers. Until you started seeing the eyes and were forced to reconsider the growing possibility that you were the problem here. 

He was talking – he almost always was. Telling you some convoluted story you were pretty sure was the plot of a bad tv movie he must’ve watched while you were sleeping, one you had overheard blaring from the bedroom, the volume also perpetually stuck too loud. He never left the remote out for you to change it either. 

Your stare had been fixed on the tv anyway, nodding along bored until you caught a glimpse of it out of the edges of your vision. Right below his cheek. An extra eye, just as bright and observant as the other two. It blinked, and you turned.

But it wasn’t there anymore, and Satoru was staring at you innocently, head tilted to the side like he was pleased to have captured your attention at all.

“Everything alright, pretty girl?” He purred, reaching out to place his hand over yours. You didn’t pull away, couldn’t convince your body to move when the surprise had left you practically paralyzed.

You tried to sleep it off. 

But they kept popping up. Behind you in the mirror. When he was making breakfast. On his hands and face and even once on his back. The second you looked, the moment you tried to look directly at it, it was gone, dissolved back into normal skin like it’d never been there at all. 

And then came the ones in places they couldn’t be. 

On the walls and in the furniture. Constantly being watched whether you were alone or with him. 

You used to think you could get used to anything. 

But the paranoia never ended – and you were starting to question if maybe he’d been right this whole time. How much of this was him? And how much was in your head? 

“How have you been doing since the last visit?” Your psychiatrist asked, fixing you in the same cold stare as last time. You hadn’t wanted to come back, but Satoru insisted – and despite all your digging, you couldn’t find any proof he wasn’t who he said he was. 

“Fine,” you lied. 

You were one string away from unravelling. On a short tether ready to snap with one more eye, one more changed memory or crooked detail that didn’t match up.

“Have you remembered anything? Any flashes? Images?” He asked, like someone who had a degree probably would. 

You shook your head, the urge to claw and scratch and fight this slowly seeping out. “Um, no.” 

“Well, we can talk about something else then,” he smiled, and it still didn’t reach his eyes. He shuffled through the folder in front of him. “How about your family then? Or maybe your friends?” 

Your mouth had started to open, to dismiss the idea of talking about the one area of your life you still considered somewhat private until a name he shouldn’t have known left his lips. Until he continued to mention more information you only ever told your old psychiatrist about. 

“I think I’m done today, actually,” you muttered. You brushed down your skirt, standing up and hurrying over to the door to twist the knob just for it to bump into something on the other side. 

Satoru had been listening in. 

But he didn’t condemn you for ending your session early. Just wrapped a strong arm around your shoulders and brushed your hair out of your face before asking if you wanted to go out to eat or pick something up. 

Suguru Geto would never be able to give you the help you needed.

You didn’t think help like that even existed. What god would be able to overwrite your husband when it seemed like he was the one who made the rulebook? Who never did wrong and always got precisely what he wanted? 

In a weird way, there was an odd comfort in being with him. He didn’t make you feel crazy – even when you threatened to throw his shit out the window and cried yourself to sleep when you did toss his stuff out just for it to reappear in the same spots. He just cooed that it was okay, promised that it would be better soon, pressed faint kisses against your shoulder blades and down your skin like his touch could make the world stop spinning. 

Something was seriously wrong with him and you.  

You were both bad at pretending to be normal. 

Maybe you didn’t remember him. Maybe you hallucinated the eyes on the walls and the secrets buried in his skin. But here he was, sitting on the couch while the sun was still out watching a girl get her back blown out with a fucking notepad in his lap. 

Squinting at the screen while she got backshots in 4k Ultra-HD, her gasps and moans the soundtrack while he made unintelligible scribbles on the page. Pants on, fully clothed, not even fucking erect or hard or anything.  

If he noticed you behind him, he didn’t say it. 

“You're not jerking off,” you dryly commented, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Do you want me to?” He glanced over his shoulder, sincerely asking. 

You stared at him, lips parting as you tried to formulate what the fuck you were supposed to say to that, your own eyes shifting down to where the notepad was suddenly gone, his hand already tugging down his zipper and about to pull out his cock. 

Maybe you would've said no, but you shut up the second you saw it. And really, it was kind of fucking absurd. 

Even more than the situation itself was.

Bigger than what the guy on screen was packing, like someone copy-and-pasted what an ideal one was supposed to look like, vein throbbing and pre-cum leaking around a pretty pink swollen tip. As if it hadn't just been soft and hidden under his jeans a handful of seconds ago. 

“I'm, um, going to bed,” you awkwardly stammered, jutting your thumb down the hall. 

Sleep washed over you here. Like a hand pushing your hand under waves until you were forced to suck water into your lungs. 

But you never drowned. 

You dreamed of being somewhere vast, where the dark stretched out endlessly in each direction. Outside, you guessed?

Except there wasn't a sky. No ceiling. Just space – cold and cruel but not empty. Eyes were everywhere. Instead of being on CCTV, you were being captured from every goddamn angle by the same unblinking blue eyes that haunted your days. You used to think two was a lot. That it was all he needed to see though you. 

Here there had to be at least two hundred. 

All watching you splayed out for their viewing pleasure. Pale hands held your wrists in place, veiny arms and thick fingers tracing and groping you. Squirming against (into?) him while another set of palms spread your thighs. His touch seared. 

Burned into your soul with each pattern he painted and pressed along your skin and inside you. It wasn’t like he had a face, or like you could hear his voice. But you knew it was him all the same. 

And you didn’t resist. 

Didn’t want to. 

When dreams had blended into your waking world already, what was so wrong about letting yourself have him like this? The rest of your life was wrong anyway. You closed your eyes, rested your head back for another hand to hold it up, fingers petting your hair while another set did the work of spreading you open and stretching you out. 

It didn't feel like fingers though, not when each touch was pure energy, electricity that raced through you and back down, pressure building and cresting just to come back twice as hot with each pump of something thick and hard thrusting inside you. It curled cruelly, reached places you never could on your own, invisible and intoxicating as it dragged you close to your climax just to rinse and repeat. 

Being rearranged and remade into something that fit him better. That felt better.

Time didn't exist. It could've been five minutes or five hours. Lost in the void of him while he lost himself inside you. 

You could've lived in it. 

But your life had taken on its own dreamy shape, one that bordered on fantasy. 

The sheets were damp. Thighs soaked and slick. 

“Sleep good, sweetheart?” He prodded when you woke up to the sun shining through the window, a lazy arm slung over your side. Deceptive. You knew if you went to slip out, if you pulled away too soon, his relaxed grip would turn into a harsh squeeze, holding you against him until you whined that it was hard to breathe. 

You were about to turn around to look at him, but his fingers groped your tits and when you started to count how many there were on you, there were too many. 

In your panic, you elbowed him, pulling away before he could fully react. 

And you saw it. 

Not just a glimpse. Not a flash. 

But a full second where there was an extra arm attached. 

It was gone again by the next blink. But you'd seen it, and it felt like everything shattered again. 

“You-” You started, pointing at where it had been. 

“I what?” Satoru dared you to say it. 

“You had another arm,” you accused, voice trembling. 

“You must have missed your dose yesterday, huh, beautiful?" He crooned, still smiling at you like it was okay you just implied he was a fucking shape shifter or alien or some fucking creature charading around as your husband. 

He'd pull documents out of thin air the same way he made an entire limb disappear. Convinced people to give him whatever he wanted for free with just a wink or a purr. 

How easy would it be for him to do the same to you? 

“I'm not crazy,” you said it again, but you weren't so confident. 

Because whether it was real or not, pieces of him, thoughts and images and daydreams, had all started to seep through into your heart. Consideration or codependency, although maybe that was just you coping. Telling yourself that it wasn't some fucked-up form of lust or love. 

There was too much you couldn’t reconcile from reality and the world he was trying to convince you of. 

Something had to snap - and it was you. 

And still, he tried to act like everything was normal, tried to hold your hand in the waiting room and took you to the conveniently-available doctor. 

Suguru Geto tapped his pen against his desk. 

And you tapped your nails against your leg. 

“I think my husband isn't human,” you admitted. Said the big bad words that had been bouncing around in your head out loud. “I don't really know what he is, but-”

“You do realize how ridiculous that sounds, right?” Suguru dismissed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. 

“I know,” you nodded. 

You'd come up with a list of theories on the car ride here while Satoru promised to prove how much he cared about you. An alien disguised as a human? Some freak stalking you? That one didn't explain the arms or the eyes. The dream you guessed could've been all you, spurred on from seeing his cock. 

“One moment,” Suguru held up his finger, and you figured this was it. He'd call the psych ward and you'd have white walls to look forward to instead of the cool blue of Satoru’s bedroom. 

He stood up, walked towards the door where Satoru was waiting outside. Offered you another professional smile before stepping out. 

Your file was left on his desk. 

It took you two seconds to snag it, flipping through it, half-expecting it to be normal. To be another piece that you'd be left wondering if it was fabricated. But no, most of them were in familiar handwriting, notes taken by your previous psychiatrist, signed and dated precisely how you remembered. 

Suguru was a fraud – and your husband, whoever (or whatever) he was, was too. 

His office was unfortunately on the third floor, too far from the ground for you to make an escape through the window. So, you did the next stupid thing you thought of, pressed your ear against the door like you'd hear anything that would fix the anxiety churning in your stomach. 

Your brain was trying to block out the information you found, to hit erase and rewind the clock on today. You felt fuzzy, thoughts slipping away before you could fully hold onto them. 

“You really fucked this up,” your pretend psychiatrist grunted, irritated as you tried to blink away the fog, to drag your mind out of the haze and back to clarity. “I told you this would happen. Just scrub her memories and then add your own.” 

“I want her to like me for me,” Satoru whined, and the next blink made the world around you sway. 

“You're an idiot,” Suguru scoffed at him. 

“Am not,” he argued back. “I'm intelligent, attractive, attentive, shouldn't that be good enough?”

“Not when she doesn't know you,” Suguru retorted. 

You felt like you were going to pass out.

“Well, you said she started to figure it out so-” 

You didn't mean to make a sound, but your knees threatened to buckle, and you had to lean against the door to stop yourself from falling. They immediately stopped talking. The doorknob jiggled, and then opened, Satoru catching you before you could collapse.

“There's my smart girl.” He poked your nose, one long finger pressing softly against the cartilage as he chuckled. Like an owner playing with its pet. 

A kid testing the limits of his toy would probably be closer. More accurate.

A vein throbbed across Suguru’s forehead, annoyed at how this was playing out. You guessed he was like him too. Something that was out of your understanding, too much for you to fully conceive, under the cover of human faces and fucking around with someone like you because they could. 

“What are you?” You bluntly asked, unable to pretend to not know. To act like you hadn't been listening. 

“Your husband.” 

You wondered what he'd do if you asked for a divorce. Although, here, in his arms, with him looking at you like he loved you, like in spite of everything else that was real, you didn't want one. 

What vows had he sworn? 

For better or worse? In sickness and health? Human or not? 

“Fix this.” Suguru didn't ask. Demanded. 

Satoru frowned, but there weren't any frown lines. Barely even a crease between his brows either. An emotion he hadn't mastered well in this body of his. 

“I could just reset her,” he grumbled, unhappy at the prospect. 

You barely had any strength left – but you scraped together enough to shake your head. You didn’t want to be fucking reset. 

“No,” you hoarsely said. “Don't.”

Satoru’s face immediately brightened, grinning and pulling you closer, squeezing too tight again, until you hit his chest twice to get him to stop. 

“Sorry, Suguru,” he shrugged. “I do what my wife wants.” 

You fiddled with your ring in the car on the way home. For the first time, it felt like yours. Or maybe, you'd just accepted it as part of you. Let go of the pieces of you that didn't fit anymore. Shed those parts of your skin like he stepped into this one. 

“What do you want?” You asked as he ran a red light. 

“You,” he easily answered. 

“You could've asked me on, like, a date,” you grumbled, resting your head against the window. 

“Do you want to go on a date now?” He quizzed, cocking his head to the side at the correct angle this time. Learning, adapting to acting his role out. 

“I want to go home,” you murmured. 

The image in your head wasn't your apartment anymore. When you thought of bed, you thought of his. 

And when he parked the car (and managed to scrape the front bumper against the concrete wall), he still hurried around to open your door for you, to hold your arm to steady you. 

Took off your coat when you got back inside, got down on his knees to take your shoes off. 

“You know you can ask me for anything, right?” He hummed, and there was something unsettling at the thought he could actually conjure up anything he wanted. 

But being scared was exhausting. 

So you didn't say anything when he followed you to the bedroom. 

You stripped off your clothes, one piece at a time, methodical, precise. He stared, reverent. The lump in his throat bobbing as he took small steps forward. 

“Do you love me?” You asked, unsure. 

“You're the only thing I care about,” he reassured, fingertips settling slowly on your hips, one-by-one too. Dipping into the flesh, feeling it for himself and breathing in your air. His eyes glowed. 

Literally. 

A bright gleam that hurt to look at, burning into you with a dangerous intensity. When he spoke, his voice reverberated into your core. “Do you love me?” 

“You're all I have left.”

[seijorhi]

a little something for the King's birthday <33 oikawa x reader yandere, a/b/o, dub-con, same universe as All In i could be convinced to write a full fic for this

The fresh bite on your neck throbs. 

You could blame it on the tabloid pictures of Ushijima Wakatoshi and his pack at a charity gala, a tense, deeply uncomfortable looking beta – their bonded beta, apparently – tucked between them, but truth be told, any mention of the tall, brooding athlete would likely have set him off, shiny new beta mate or no. 

“They’ll need an omega soon enough,” you say.

Everyone knows alphas can’t permanently bond betas. Eventually they’ll find an omega who smells too good to resist, who begs just prettily enough for their knots and their bites that their promises to the beta fall by the wayside. The bond fades, no more pack beta. That’s nature. That’s how it works – always, without fail.

Alphas don’t belong with betas.

A laugh rumbles at your back, Oikawa’s tongue darting out to lick at his latest bite, pleasure spilling down the bond at your shiver. “You sound so sure, sweet girl.”

“Betas aren’t built for knots,” you remind him, your voice less steady and sure than you’d like. 

Oikawa rolls his hips, the painful tug of said knot drawing a wince from you, “You take my knot just fine.” 

He sounds inordinately smug about it.

You shake your head. “Not in a rut I won’t. You won’t be thinking clearly enough, and I–”

“You’ll take me perfectly. I don’t need an omega; I’ve got you.” The same teeth that marked up your throat now nip at the shell of your ear, another full bodied shudder rolling through you.

A looming threat. An inevitability, one that’s approaching far sooner than you’d like.

“And your pack?” 

It’s a low blow, but perhaps your sole saving grace. The hope you cling to for your sanity’s sake. 

Oikawa’s pack is busy courting omegas because oikawa’s pack doesn’t know you exist. 

You don’t need to sway him with arguments about biology and long term compatibility, you just have to wait until they find one good enough to introduce to him and wait for her – or him, you suppose – to do what omegas do best.

The bond will fade without the repeated bites, and you’ll be unceremoniously cast aside and forgotten in favour of the newcomer – with any luck, before Oikawa’s rut hits.

You’ll be able to go home.

A thick lump lodges itself in your throat, an ache so sharp that for a moment it hurts to breathe–

“Let me be selfish a little longer,” he purrs against your throat, another kiss laid lovingly against his latest claim. “But don't worry, they’re gonna love you.”

[barbieandkento]

₍^. .^₎⟆ synopsis: nanami wakes up in a hospital - confused, dazed, and suddenly kissed by his attractive doctor. who turns out to be his wife that he can't remember. word count: 2.7k

nanami wakes to the sound of persistent beeping.

at first, he thinks it must be his alarm clock. but it can't be, he reasons, because it's not an uninterrupted noise. rather, it's flicking on and off in a consistent rhythm.

the next thing he notices is the smell. harsh disenfectants, a mix of citrus and bleach. it lacks the smell of his laundry detergent - sandalwood and bergamot - and now that he thinks about it, his sheets were never this itchy and dry.

when he forces open his eyes, they're immediately blinded by the flourscent lighting up ahead. his eyes blinking furiously against the white burst of light to adjust to his surroundings.

he realizes his regular suit has been replaced with a hospital gown, white and frumpy with printed blue squares. his feet are bare against the stale white sheets, the same shade of white as the walls enveloping the room. the darkness outside the window tells him that he must've woken up late at night. a quiet ticking clock on the wall confirms his suspicions - 10.28pm.

the beeping, it turns out, was his heart monitor. situated carefully next to a small bedside table with water and an untouched sandwich. there's a small note next to it, in beautiful cursive writing someone has written - 'feed yourself, kento!' - in black sharpie. examining the sandwich up closer, he can see it's turkey and pesto (his favorite).

to his left, there's a single chair with a cardigan draped over it (a cardigan certainly not belonging to him, nanami notes). on the seat, there's a newspaper open to a crossword puzzle and a pen resting carefully on top.

trying to get a closer look at the crossword, he sits up, nearly swearing out loud from the sharp pain shooting up his left side. his heart mointor goes wild, the silence of the room broken, when he instinctively pulls down his blanket to see a nasty gash along his side.

within a few seconds, he hears hurried footsteps down the hallway and the door slams open.

"you're awake." you say, relieved. you almost sound like you're about to cry, which he finds strange, but chalks it up to you being a very attentive doctor.

the next thing he notices is that you're really pretty. the kind of pretty that would have made him blush profusely in his 20s and stoically stare at from a distance in hopes that you'd make a move first. you smell like daisies and fresh rain; you smile at him so dazzingly that his words turn to mush.

you then suddenly rush towards him, tossing your clipboard onto the chair, before grabbing his face and kissing him. his mind short circuits at the sudden contact, face flushing red at the unsolicited kiss. his whole body is buzzing with electricity, your sticky lipgloss staining his lips, and he almost has to surpress his whine when you pull away looking confused.

"...are you alright?" you question him, noticing your husband seems more quiet and stiff than usual.

nanami coughs awkwardly, attempting to calm his beating heart.

"i... i'm not sure how professional it is to kiss your patients, doctor." he says earnestly, but you (to his surprise) laughs him off.

"oh come on, nanami. you're acting like it's the first time." you quip, shaking your head sideways.

he's genuinely confused.

"is it not?"

you open your mouth again, ready to give him a sassy remark, but the words die in your mouth when you see that serious glint in his eyes.

lack of sleep before the mission. blunt force trauma to the head. submersion in freezing water for five minutes before geto could pull him out.

all things, logically speaking, which could result in temporary amnesia.

"you're... you're joking, right?" you trail off, hoping for even a flicker of amusment on his face. "please say you're joking."

his heart breaks at how desparate your tone becomes, but no matter how hard he tries to remember, he can't seem to find you amongst his memories.

"i-i'm sorry. do we... know each other?"

there's a beat of silence as his question hangs heavy in the air. you seem to swallow nervously, eyes shifting down to the floor as if you're lost in thought before you look back up at him with an unreadable look on your face.

"what'd you think?" you mumble quietly, raising your left hand. a diamond ring with rose details shines back at him, and suddenly nanami can feel the weight of a ring on his own left hand.

but before he can respond, a nurse is calling for you.

"I'll be back in a bit. just... eat something and rest, okay?"

nanami has so many questions he wants to ask you, his wife that he can't remember, but you're gone in an instant with an apologetic look.

what lingers is your smell, your perfume haunting the room for hours before he eventually falls back asleep.

his head plagued with questions.

==================

it's been three days since he's woken up.

so far, you've been in his room daily to monitor his vitals, ask him the usual questions (how have you been eating, any odd pain, do you need your sheets changed), and swap out the usual hospital food with his favorite foods. he suppresses the urge to ask how you know what he wants to eat so easily, and it becomes clear that you're putting in an effort to keep your distance from him.

you no longer smile wide and bright as you did the first time he saw you, your lips always pressed in a professional smile and your body never hovering closer than a few inches from him.

he misses you. there's an odd ache in his body when you're near, like he's trying to hold onto a ghost from his past that's too close and too far from him at the same time. he swears he still tastes your lipgloss when he anxiously licks his lips, which drives him even more insane.

he manages to get a few answers out of you during the routine checks. he asks anything, in hopes it'll spark his memories, but also because he can't stand the silence in the room.

the heavy tension as you avoid his gaze, whilst simultaneously staring at him from the corner of your eyes whenever you're in the room.

"where do we live?"

"fifteen minutes from ueno."

"how long till i get discharged?"

"depends on your vitals, but i'd say maybe another 36 hours."

"are you taking care of yourself?" nanami can't help but ask you that one day, when you look particularly tired and drained.

you give him a weary smile, nodding weakly.

"mostly. don't worry, our neighbours are keeping an eye on yuki."

his throat runs dry at that answer, his mind suddenly flashing with imaginations of a young girl the spitting image of you and nanami.

"yuki? is that... our daughter?" he asks carefully, his heart racing.

your eyes become so wide and you nearly choke on your spit.

"oh! uh... no. yuki's our cat. she's a really sweet, white cat we adopted from a shelter a few months back. she's two." you trail off, feeling guilty. "sorry, I forgot that you would've forgotten that yuki is our cat too."

nanami just quietly thanks you and doesn't press the subject further.

but the image of yours and his fictional daughter lingers.

true to your word, nanami gets his clean bill of health confirmed the next day and his belongings are returned to him in a meticulous manner. changing out of his hospital gown, his old clothes feel foreign against his skin.

staring at himself in the mirror, he traces every curve and dip on his face in an attempt to spark a memory. he knows his name. his friends. dreadfully, his work. but the past two years feels like a blank in his memory, ripped out pages of an incomplete sketchbook.

splashing water onto his face, he steps out the bathroom, feeling more on edge than ever. whilst waiting for you in the reception room, he can't help himself from nervously adjusting his cuff links and fiddling with his tie.

because he's going home. with you.

"ready?" you ask, slinging your bag over your shoulder. you've changed out of the uniform he's gotten so used to seeing - now in a loose tank top with a cherry print on it and form fitting jeans. your lipgloss has become more sheer through out the day, and you're wearing less mascara than usual.

"you look beautiful." he comments, without really thinking it through. you seem embarrassed by the compliment, ducking your head to avoid his gaze.

"thank you."

he purses his lips because you're still avoiding his gaze. it doesn't feel right, even if he doesn't know you as well as you know him.

"please don't look away."

it's the first time he's addressed the fact that you've been avoiding looking at him directly, making you freeze in place.

"please." he nearly whispers it, and you can't find it in your heart to refuse him.

you take in a small breath, mustering up the courage to look at him square in the eyes.

"okay."

he wordlessly takes your bag from your shoulder, trailing behind you as you walk towards your car in the parking lot. he also refuses to let you open the car door by yourself, placing his spare hand on the ceiling so you won't bump your head as you sit down.

it's so routine, you almost forget that he doesn't remember anything.

and he stills sits in the seat next to you, not the back seat. and he switches the radio to the station he'd always listen to, without being prompted to.

"are you alright?" nanami questions, noticing how your eyes are becoming watery.

you're barely able to croak out that you're fine before pulling out of the driveway, your thoughts a complete mess on the drive home.

==================

"this is the living room.... we had a bit of an argument over what color to paint the walls but we eventually settled on sage green because it's calming. though-" you chuckle, mostly to yourself. "you always insisted it wasn't an argument because you'd always let me win."

it's strange, for nanami, getting a tour of his own house. but he dutifully follows behind you, nodding along to each of your descriptions, analysing every nook and cranny of the apartment.

the kitchen is sleek but homey. DIY tiles, vintage kitchenware, vase of sunflowers in the middle of the table.

the bathroom is small but clean. his aftershave and razor sits untouched next to your bottles of perfume and makeup brushes. a crinkled book settled by the bath tub tells him that you're a fan of reading in the bath.

the office room is busy but organized, stacked high with books and files belonging to him. there's a few odd artifacts here and there - souvenirs from travels abroad, you say - and he spots a photo frame with you hugging him from behind. the scenery says malaysia, but he can't make out the exact date of the photo.

"and this... is the bedroom." you wait for him to look around the room by himself, standing at the doorway awkwardly as you wait for the right thing to say.

it's nearly 11pm now, and you're so tired that you want nothing more than to curl up next to him and sleep.

but that would be highly inappropriate, you reason, given that he's a stranger now.

"i've already laid out your clothes for the night on the corner of the bed." you explain slowly. "i've already taken out my stuff for the night, so don't worry."

he spins around and stares at you, confused.

"but then where would you be sleeping?"

you shrug, trying to come off nonchalant.

"i figured you'd want to sleep alone on your first night. what with the temporary amnesia and all." even the word amnesia leaves a sour taste on your mouth as you admit it out loud. "i can sleep on the couch in the living room, it's fin-"

nanami shakes his head sideways immediately.

"nonesense. no lady should be sleeping on a sofa. i'll take the couch, you should take the bed."

"are you-"

"yes, i'm completely sure. i will not have you sleep outside in your own home." he replies sternly, the glint in his eyes oh so familiar. a warning sign that it's not up for debate, he's made up his mind.

"it's your home too." you respond quietly. but nanami catches it, and his stern look falls for a short second.

"i... i know, but... please. i couldn't bear the thought of you sleeping on a sofa after a hospital shift."

"okay."

after moving over a few pillows and a blanket for him to the sofa, and an awkward exchange of 'good nights', you shut the bedroom door behind you and crawl into bed.

suddenly, the bed feels too cold and empty. the blankets are overwhelmingly heavy and hot against your skin, and the ceiling fan seems to be louder than usual. the heaviness of the situation begins to set in and before you know it, you're crying.

salty tears streaking down your face, body shivering under the sheets as you grieve what you've lost.

two years of marriage - gone.

he tries to hide it, but whenver he looks at you, you feel it in your guts.

you're a stranger to him.

and now, you fear he may never remember you again.

it might've been twenty minutes. or a full hour, you're not sure.

but in the complete darkness, you can't tell the passage of time before you hear a soft knock on the door.

"it's nanami." he announces himself, as if you wouldn't know that it was him (if you were in a better mood, it'd probably make you laugh). "can i come in?"

wiping the tears from your face as fast as you can, you sit up to face the door.

"y-yes. come in."

even in the pitch darkness, you can imagine nanami's beautiful face scrunching up in worry, his figure slowly moving towards you in the dark.

"i heard you crying." he whispers, and the tenderness in his voice nearly threatens to break you again.

"i'm sorry, i should've been more quiet." you reply, as he sits down on the bed across from you.

"it's fine, i.... fuck, it's not fine."

you blink in surprise, knowing that it was rare to hear nanami swear.

"of course it's not fine, i can't imagine how painful this whole ordeal must be for you. you've been incredibly strong and brave to tolerate me this long. i am just amazed that i would've managed to land someone like you as my wife."

you want to respond, but all you can feel is the wave of sadness rushing over you again, his sweet words piercing your heart like daggers.

"i... i can't sleep." you whisper into the night. it feels easier to admit it when it's dark, and you can't see how intensely he'd be looking into your eyes, as if he's staring into your soul.

"could i stay with you?" nanami asks, before clarifying. "until you fall asleep."

"you can stay for as long as you want."

his weight leaves the mattress for a moment before he settles down next to you, his familiar cologne washing over your senses.

"can i... hug you?" he asks, voice so gentle, as if he's afraid you're going to break at any moment.

"yes please." you manage to get out, before you're full on sobbing again, staining his shirt with your tears. his arms are now around your back as he scoops you onto his chest, his rough fingers drawing soothing circles on your back. his lips find his way to the crown of your head, and he wishes nothing more but to take some of the pain away from you.

but he can't.

"i'm so, so sorry love." he whispers against your head, lips trembling. "i wish i could remember."

you don't respond, rather, you can't. he's hugging you in bed like everything's normal. he's speaking to you as if he's your nanami, your husband, the same nanami who would bring home pastries on his way back from work and take baths with you on nights you couldn't sleep.

eventually, you feel emptied out of your tears, your limbs finally feeling heavy. his steady heartbeat against your ears lulls you to sleep, your fingers naturally grasping his thin shirt, crinkling the fabric.

"don't leave." you whisper, half-asleep.

"i won't." he whispers back, hugging you closer.

that's the last confirmation you need before your breathing evens out and he's sure you're asleep, your chest rising and falling in regular rhythms.

and despite nanami's eyes begging to close, his mind feels wide awake and sleep won't come to him easily. his nerves are on fire as he hugs you closer to his frame.

looking at your face in the dark, the small green glow of the alarm clock carving shadows onto your face, he presses a small kiss to your forehead and swears to himself he'll remember.

he'll die trying if he has to.

a/n: second ever fic on this blog! i was feeling angsty/slow burn today so wanted to give the loss memory trope a try. seriously am a sucker for pining gentleman!nanami. apologies for any medical inaccuracies in this fic btw i'm not a med student/professional so i googled a few things and called it a day lmao. lowkey tempted to write a part 2 to this if this does well :)

ᯓ★ likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! ᯓ★

[in-a-faith-forgottenn-land]

[mintmatcha]

being too shy about your body and refusing to let your boyfriend go down on you becomes a night of him pinning you down and eating you out until you give in and except it

[kenntoria-deactivated20250831]

synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ nanami accidentally finds your small, anxious-but-sincere vlogs and quietly falls for you through the screen. and when you meet, he becomes a gentle, faceless presence behind the camera—helping you grow, and loving you all the while.

tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ this was so fun to write

nanami doesn’t really use youtube. it’s too loud, too cluttered, too full of people trying too hard. he’s more of a quiet reader or podcast listener—he likes his content slow and thoughtful. but sometimes, during quiet lunch breaks or sleepless nights, he finds himself scrolling, searching for something simple to fill the silence.

the first time he sees your face, he skips the video. it’s nothing personal. the thumbnail just seems… ordinary. a soft smile, a blurry background of what looks like a street food stall, and a simple title: “trying something new today (๑•́‿•̀๑)”. he doesn’t think much of it.

but youtube, in all its persistence, keeps putting you in his recommendations.

every few days, your face reappears. new title. new blurry background. another small smile. there’s something oddly comforting about it, even if he hasn’t clicked yet. eventually, curiosity wins. one night, half-asleep and curled up on his couch, he taps on a thumbnail without thinking.

the video is quiet. not silent, but there’s no obnoxious background music or jump cuts. just you. talking a little nervously to the camera, explaining how you’ve never tried this kind of food before, how it makes you anxious to eat alone in public but you’re doing it anyway, for yourself. you pause a lot. laugh at yourself. your editing is minimal—sometimes you just leave long clips in where you sit there silently, debating the next bite.

and nanami… stays.

he doesn’t mean to. he thinks he’ll just let the video play in the background while he dozes off. but he finds himself watching. then clicking on another one. and another. you talk to the camera like it’s a friend. you say things like “i know no one’s really watching this, but…” and “this was scary for me, but i’m proud of myself anyway.”

there’s no performance. no show. just you, trying. trying to live a little braver. trying to make the world a little softer for yourself. and even though your videos have only a few thousand views at most, and a comment section with maybe ten or twenty kind words, nanami can tell you read every single one. you reply with gratitude and sincerity. you sign your replies with hearts and “thank you for watching!!” even when someone just says “nice vid :)”.

he doesn’t comment for a long time. he watches quietly, always late at night, a silent companion to your small adventures. his favorite video becomes one where you try to bike through a park trail you’ve never been on before. the camera shakes the entire time, the sky is gray, and you end up getting rained on halfway through. soaked and breathless, you laugh and say, “this was a disaster. but i don’t regret it.” and something about that sticks in his chest.

he comments on a video one day. it’s short, awkwardly formal:

“i admire your courage to keep stepping outside your comfort zone. thank you for sharing.”

a few hours later, you reply.

“thank you so much!!! i get really nervous about posting sometimes so this means a lot ;; i’m trying my best!! ♡”

nanami reads that reply more times than he’d like to admit.

—

he doesn’t think he’ll ever meet you. you feel like a little glowing orb in his private world. something precious that lives on his phone, just a click away, not real, not tangible.

but then, he’s at a weekend market. the kind of place you’d probably vlog, actually. he’s just there to buy fresh bread, enjoy the quiet, maybe grab a coffee. he’s walking past a stand selling handmade keychains when he hears a familiar voice.

soft. a little unsure. asking for the price of something.

he turns.

and you’re there.

you look just like your videos—maybe a little shorter, bundled in a cardigan despite the warmth, your bag too big for your frame, holding a small camera that’s not even recording. your hair’s a little messy. your eyes bright, darting around nervously. you’re alone.

and suddenly, nanami is nervous in a way he hasn’t been in years.

he debates not saying anything. he could let this pass. keep you as a digital secret. but then you glance in his direction, and smile—just polite, a brief flicker of recognition for another passerby—and nanami finds himself stepping forward before his brain catches up.

“…excuse me,” he says, and your eyes widen a little.

“yes?” you ask, voice soft.

“i’ve… watched your videos,” he says, and you freeze for a second. “they mean a lot to me.”

you blink. your mouth opens a little in surprise, then closes. and then you smile.

“really?” you say, a little breathless. “you… you actually watch them?”

“yes,” he says simply. “i think you’re brave.”

your hand flies up to your mouth, eyes darting away. “oh my god,” you mumble. “that’s—thank you. that’s so nice. i didn’t think anyone recognized me. my channel’s tiny.”

“doesn’t change the impact,” he says, and it’s honest. the way he always is.

you talk for a while after that. awkwardly at first—your nerves, his reserved nature—but slowly, something soft and lovely builds in the air between you. you laugh a lot, mostly just nervous. he listens a lot, mostly because that’s just the way he is. he tells you his name is kento. you tell him you were scared to even leave the house today, but you’re glad you did. he smiles.

before you part ways, you ask, very shyly, if he’d be okay with you filming just a little. not his face, of course—just his voice, his presence. he agrees.

that night, a new video goes up.

“a tiny adventure at the weekend market ✿ i made a new friend today…”

nanami watches it from his bed, and when his offscreen voice appears—gentle, amused, offering to carry your bag for you—his heart does something strange in his chest.

—

the first time nanami appears in a vlog, it’s his hand passing you a coffee.

you call him “a friend i made recently,” and giggle when he corrects your pronunciation of a pastry. he’s never shown — not fully. a shoulder here. the back of his head. your viewers are very curious. you just smile, almost bashful, and say, “he’s camera-shy, but he’s very sweet.”

you start mentioning him more in your vlogs. he’s still off-screen, but you’ll glance his way and smile. say something like “he helped me set this up,” or “he picked this place,” or just “he’s here with me.”

you don’t have to say his name. he stays a faceless figure in your videos. your viewers start to notice something more.

you never confirm anything. you just smile, cheeks pink, and say, “he’s really sweet. i’m lucky.”

nanami doesn’t need the spotlight. he’s happy to carry your bag, offer a steady hand when you’re nervous, and hold the camera when you want to capture something new. he’s happy to be the one encouraging you behind the scenes, whispering that you’re doing great when you doubt yourself.

you film together more and more. he goes with you to bookstores, little food stalls, quiet museums. he carries your tripod. holds your coat. gives you gentle encouragement when you freeze up in public and smile too hard when it’s over.

he falls in love with you quietly. over time. he doesn’t say it at first. he lets it bloom through little gestures — buying the tea you liked, learning how to edit videos just to help you with cuts, leaving voice notes when you’re too anxious to leave the house. he listens. he supports. he stays.

and he’s happiest when, in a quiet clip near the end of a video, you look off-camera and say, “i think i’m a little less scared of the world lately.”

he squeezes your hand off-screen. you smile at the touch.

and your viewers never hear the softest part—how, when the camera stops recording, you lean into his side and whisper, “thank you for finding me.”

nanami, who never believed in fate or chance or algorithms, just kisses your cheek and replies, “thank you for being found.”

[pmpmyread]

This is such a nice, cute read. Thanks for sharing, OP! 🩵

[kitimeq]

ੈ✩‧₊˚we can’t be friends 🤍 xavier 星回 ੈ✩‧₊˚

RE-UPLOAD! The original post didn’t show up in the tags, sorry for the confusion :c

pairing ੈ✩: xavier x reader

summary ੈ✩: you and xavier had been best friends for years, nearly inseparable since the moment you met. But after one slightly drunken night, everything shifted: you became friends with benefits. You told yourself you could handle it, but as time went on, your heart began to ache. You had to end it, for your own sake. You were in love with him, but you couldn't shake the painful truth: you believed he’d never feel the same. Still, what if, all this time, while you were trying to push him away, he was quietly hoping to show you how perfect you two were together?

word count ੈ✩: 12k. omg. it’s LONG, long. grab some snacks and let me entertain you for a while!!

tropes ੈ✩: 18+, smut, best friends with benefits, miscommunication, unrequited love, not really tho, angst, angst with happy ending, plot with porn, love confessions, needy xavier, obsessed xavier, domestic xavier, i suck at giving tropes i swear i will get better someday, desperate xavier, everything is consensual, the consumption of alcohol mentioned, pet names, xavier was once in love with mc but the myths are not canon in this one!!

author’s note ੈ✩: GUYS this one’s IT. This idea was blooming slowly in my mind for quite some time. I really hope you’ll like it 🥹 also, please be gentle with me, i’m not a native speaker of english and I’m definitely not a writer. I like to think that everything i create is just fueled by my passionate delulu. please let me know if you liked it and if maybe you’d like to read part 2!! ♡ enjoy your reading!!

!!do NOT read if you’re not 18+!!

ੈ✩‧₊˚ 

It all started with the simplest of touches.

Your hands grazed, as if by accident. Then your eyes met. He grabbed you by your forearm, or maybe you grabbed him, everything was so blurry in your mind. A touch on a waist, a hand on a chest, and a sudden clash of your lips. You saw fireworks exploding in your mind, sending pleasant thrumming throughout your whole body.

Desperate touches. Rapid breaths. A whisper, maybe two. He said something. What did he say? The sound of your heart was the only thing you could hear.

Your dress came off. You felt lips. Lips marking every part of your body, leaving behind wet paths that made the exposed skin shiver due to the coolness of the air. He went down. Down. Down, and looked at you expectantly. Your head never nodded that quickly and it probably never will again. You saw stars. Millions and millions of them, shimmering under your closed eyelids. He grabbed your hand and put it into his hair. You caressed it gently, savoring the softness of it.

Then, you saw his eyes. Beautiful, deep blues that looked far too innocent for what he did and what he was about to do with you next. He kissed you again and again, and again, and he held you close throughout the whole night, making you shiver, moan, cry, beg — until you fell asleep from exhaustion right in the safety of his arms. He turned your world upside down.

And then came the next morning, when you began to question the entire ordeal. You panicked, thinking about your friendship that you valued the most and Xavier, whom you just couldn’t bear to lose. However, when you wanted to put it past you, to blame the alcohol consumed that night, act as if it was just a slip of your judgment, a mistake, a reaction caused by the need of intimacy after being single for a long time, he wasn’t having it. He said that he couldn’t forget about it, that it changed things, and you blurted out the first thing that came into your mind. You proposed the whole arrangement.

And that’s how, after several months, your relationship with Xavier stayed clear and technically uncomplicated. Friends with benefits. You thought that even if that night did change things, then in this way you could act as if it wasn’t a big deal to you. In this way, you wouldn’t have to lose him, wouldn’t make things awkward. You still acted normally in front of each other, you continued to spend time in almost the same way you were before that faithful night, but with one drastic change.

Almost every encounter since that night ended with you in his bed or the other way around. Hours and hours spent in each other’s embrace, touching and feeling too much, all at once.

And said feelings were what made you finally decide that you couldn’t do this anymore. You couldn’t continue sharing with him this intimacy, pretending that everything between you remained unchanged. You couldn’t do this anymore, knowing that it was all that you’ll ever get from him, despite being in love with him for so long.

You knew that he would never reciprocate your feelings. You knew that from the beginning, from the very first touch of your fingertips that night, but you foolishly thought that having him close for as long as he wanted you, would be enough for you. Even if he wanted you only for your body, because you were the easiest choice.

However, your heart was breaking every time you were reminded of one significant fact, a harsh reality that felt like a bucket of cold water in your face.

He will never love you. Because you were not her.

And you will never be.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

You already had a strategy to end the arrangement. You wanted to take it slow, step by step, with just a bit of pain on your side. You knew it wasn't your best plan, but it was a plan nonetheless. You wanted to end the friends-with-benefits arrangement in a way that would make you both slowly, almost naturally, drift apart—so subtly that he wouldn't even notice the change. As for you, you were ready to bear the painful consequences of your actions, if it saved you from the excruciating pain of a broken heart later.

You started with avoiding his kisses.

And it turned out to be a tough job to do, because you didn’t realize before how much of a kisser Xavier became during your friends-with-benefits situation. It never really bothered you before, you always accepted every single kiss with content. However, during your last meeting, you were trying so hard to avoid his lips, and noticed that he made it into an almost impossible task.

When you went out one night, he wanted to kiss you three times during hot pot, even though you were sitting across from each other. You thought that the sitting situation was enough of an obstacle, but you quickly learned that he always somehow managed to find a chance to try to steal a kiss. That not only bewildered you, but also made you blush so hard that you had to blame the spicy food for it to not look suspicious. Yet, you managed to stay your ground and ignored his needy attempts at capturing your lips.

You also avoided his lips while you were later watching a movie in his apartment, by pretending that you didn’t see or feel his constant gaze on you. You thought that maybe if he saw that the movie engaged you so much, he would finally drop the attempts. Unfortunately, your plan failed the moment his patience thinned, when he started kissing your neck while cradling your body to his. He was grabbing at you almost desperately and you really couldn’t escape from every single kiss he was giving you, no matter how much you tried to. And you really tried to.

“Why—why are you turning your face away? A-Ah… Let me look at y-you—mmm.” He said between his moans, and he never once stopped thrusting inside you. It was the day when he took you on a sofa between his soft, plushy pillows with the movie still playing in the background. Your legs were laying on his shoulder, his both hands holding onto them tightly while his hips thrust deep inside you, making you gasp in pleasure. When you didn’t respond and kept your head away, hoping that he would finally stop with his relentless kisses, his hand gently grabbed your face and turned it towards his so that your eyes met. He smiled softly, his cheeks pink and face damp. “Yes, there you are. You feel good? You wanna break?” He almost slurred and you adored how quickly he was loosing himself with you, how much he was losing his composure. When you squeezed your eyes, moaning at a harder thrust and shook your head no, he whimpered. Next thing you knew, he lowered your legs onto the sofa and lay between them, bringing his body closer to yours. Your chests touched and you could feel his rapid heartbeat, mirroring the rhythm of your own. He nudged your head, which was still turned to the side, with his nose.

“Give me a kiss, c’mon, starlight.” He kissed your cheek, slowing down his thrusts to a lazy, delicate ones. “I couldn’t get a kiss all day, I need it. Let me.” And when you saw his eyes, full of desperation and something that reminded you of adoration, you couldn’t keep denying him. Your lips touched his and he didn’t let go of them until you came, and later when he began growling straight into your mouth, chasing his own undoing.

It was the last time you met up, and after that you decided that you had to cut it off completely. You couldn’t continue being with him like this, not when you knew that he already loved someone else. Being with him this close messed with your head. You didn’t want to feel like a convenient second choice and you couldn’t help but feel that your meetings were slowly becoming more and more intimate. You had to constantly remind yourself that you weren’t together. You made sure to label the change in your relationship properly at the start of the arrangement — still on friendly terms, with occasional mutual pleasure. But the close proximity and constant intimacy started to make the lines blurry in your mind.

And your heart couldn’t take it anymore, it hurt every time you reminded yourself that he didn’t reciprocate your feelings, and that he never will.

After that movie night you decided that the next step to your goal would be to stop engaging in small talk with him, especially the one that occurred at work.

You worked together at the Hunter’s Association, he was one of the best Hunters out there, and you specialized in weapon modification from the safety of your own desk. You wanted to be a hunter once, but with your Evol involving micromodification you guessed that you could be needed in a position that involved working with weaponry. After working there for years, you were passionate about your work and elated to have a job you loved and where you thrived while helping others to the best of your abilities.

Thus, because of the shared place of employment, you saw Xavier almost every day. He was often near your desk, passing by it, putting snacks before you or teasing you with that soft smile of his. So, cutting the contact out there was one of the toughest jobs for you, but it had to be done.

When you knew that he would be free, you found a task that needed completion in other departments, so that you will not cross paths. Often, instead of others coming to you to fix their weapons, you proposed to make the trip instead. In this way you were always quick on your feet, going from department to department, back to the workshop and again to the others’ desks. You didn’t mind the extra activity, it made you think less about your breaking heart.

And when Xavier managed to catch you from time to time, because he always somehow would, you were trying to appear too busy even for a small conversation.

“Where are you rushing off to again? I didn’t manage to talk to you these past few days.” He said one day when he caught you by your elbow while you were going out of the bathroom. He must’ve seen you go in there and wait for you to come out. He brought you a little closer to himself and looked at your face so intently, that you got scared he could see right through you.

“Sorry Xai, I’m just really busy lately.” You answered, maybe too quickly, and were trying to calm your beating heart upon seeing him so close again. Too close. It didn’t help that he was in his hunter’s uniform, that made him look twice as dreamy. You were so close that you could also smell his comforting scent and see the small scar on his cheek that he got last year after you two tried ice skating for the first time.

The first and the last, for it appeared that you were much better at it than he would ever be, and you wanted to avoid him getting hurt again. It was also before your friends-with-benefits situation, when your friendship was pure and healthy. Your heart squeezed remembering how he grabbed your hand then, and how tightly he used to hold it throughout the whole activity.

“Xavier, are you sure you don’t want to go back home already? I’m afraid that your cut will scar if we leave it like that.” You said, looking at the band aid on his cheek, the only remedy for his small injury that you could provide at that time.

He squeezed your hand and still appeared sheepish after his fall. You secretly found him adorable, you never saw him doing something in which he didn’t excel in. It was as if he let you see a part of himself that no one had ever seen before. That thought made your chest warmer.

“No. I won’t let the ice defeat me.” He said surely and you knew that he won’t give up, even if his legs already visibly trembled from exhaustion. You let out a sigh. “Besides, you’re holding my hand now, so I feel much safer.” He looked at you, his voice soft and cheeks red, most likely from the cold air. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state made you completely overcome by the feeling of tenderness, and you send him a huge smile, thinking that it was the first time he relied on your protection, and not the other way around.

Little did you know that this smile would catch him by surprise so much that he slipped backwards, this time pulling you down with him. However, your reflexes slightly worked, because you managed to put your hand behind his head, shielding it from the impact with ice. You landed on him with a groan as his hands moved to pull your body closer.

“Oh god, Xai, are you okay? How did that happen?” You asked him, trying to lift yourself off of him. You felt him relax his head further into your hand, and when you raised yourself enough to face him directly, he sent you a wide smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. This sight made your heart melt.

“See, I knew you would protect me.” He replied, clearly referring to your hand behind his head. “My little savior.” He called you, and when you puffed the air out, annoyed that he could have hurt himself for real this time, his smile turned into a full laugh, his body shaking under yours. He looked so angelic, covered in snow, laughing in a way that was so scarce that you couldn’t help but join him in his moment of happiness.

And thanks to your mittens, your hand was left with only a purple bruise from the impact. Still, Xavier couldn’t let you forget about it up to the day it disappeared completely, expressing guilt for the minor injury, his sight chasing your hand every time it appeared in his line of vision. He often caressed it softly with his fingers, looking at it with a mysteriously thoughtful expression, whispering “My little savior.” under his breath. It made you wish that the bruise would never disappear.

You took a step back, suddenly overwhelmed by the memories and the closeness between you. He always invaded your personal space, stood so close that you could almost feel his breath on your face. This time, you had had to cut it out for your own good.

“S’okay. You’re always busy but I guess I just got used to meeting you near your desk. Just text me after work? Maybe we could meet up for our book club today.” He said and you swallowed the awful feeling of longing in your chest. Book club was the term you came up with when you both just wanted to sit and read together for hours. Unfortunately, you knew how book club sessions looked like since the beginning of your friends-with-benefits arrangement.

You were sitting together in silence, reading for hours, then talked about your books until you both lost your breaths. A wonderful experience, you adored your little reading sessions, but you knew that recently they always ended with his lips on yours, and with your clothes scattered around his bedroom.

You couldn’t let this go on forever. You couldn’t go back to being just friends now, and you couldn’t keep him so close, knowing that he will never fully be yours. You pitied your poor heart.

“Sure, will do. See you around!” You were aware how awkward you sounded, but before he could stop you, you were already off to another task of the day.

You didn’t text him after work, and neither did you reply to his message in time. The next day you send him an excuse that you were tired and fell asleep quickly, and you hoped that he believed it or didn’t care enough to question you further.

If the distance hurt you this bad now, you couldn’t even imagine how would it feel when he eventually would’ve left you for her.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

The next stage of your plan involved not answering his texts at all. You allowed yourself small replies from time to time, most often very brief, if the situation called for it. Replying excuses from left to right. Then, you incorporated not picking up his calls, especially on weekends, when he appeared to want to see you the most, because you were absent from the Association building and he couldn’t catch even a glimpse of you.

The distance you yourself put between you broke your heart, and you were getting more and more depressed by the day. Ignoring the person you loved wasn’t easy, when he was the one with whom you wanted to spend your time the most.

To distract yourself from the situation, you were trying to pass your time differently. You were meeting up with your family and friends, or you started doing things that you were putting off for ages. Everything and anything to fill the void in your heart caused by the absence of the one you loved. The absence forced by you.

It had to be done, you reminded yourself daily. You had to end this somehow, no matter how it hurt you. You had to move on. You couldn’t still be in love with him the day he would end up with MC. You knew it would ruin you.

Three weeks passed since your last meeting at the Association and you could feel that Xavier was getting impatient. His calls were more frequent. His messages longer. Sometimes while running away from him at work, you could catch how he was scanning the room in search of you. How frustrated he seemed to be. How upset.

You understood it. You were best friends after all, and he also probably needed someone near him to help him get his head clear of MC. You knew that it must’ve been hard for him. But you were sure you were doing the right thing, that’s why you kept avoiding him during the past month, and not only it was the longest period you’ve been away from each other since the start of your complicated arrangement, but also the longest time since the start of your friendship. Even when the times were rough, you managed to see each other at least once or twice a week.

You felt the pain of the distance too. Missing him almost every second of the day. But you had your reasons. You didn’t want to try to satiate the hunger he felt for another woman anymore.

So every time his name appeared on your phone screen, along with the picture of him shoving two muffins into his mouth at the same time, you closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and waited out the signal, simultaneously praying for and dreading the silence.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

On a quiet rainy day, after a month of ignoring almost every attempt to make contact from Xavier, you heard your phone ping thrice. You sighed and put the book you were reading down, deciding that it was a good moment to reply something short to him in order to slightly ease his worries, and make him feel less alarmed. You wanted distance, but you still sticked to responding from time to time, to appear casual. To let the connection break off less abruptly.

xavier: why cant I see U at all recently.

xavier: why are U not picking up my calls and not replying to my texts.

xavier: are U hiding from me?

you: Of course not, just busy.

xavier: busy for me but not busy for others I know U are going out all the time.

xavier: are U mad at me? did I do something wrong.

you: No, you didn’t, don’t worry. It’s just me. I have a lot of things on my mind recently.

xavier: could U please have me on Ur mind too? I miss U.

xavier: so bad it hurts

You let out a rugged breath, and decided to stop responding, but then another text came. This time, making your blood run cold.

xavier: going back from a rough mission right now i think i need help.

you: Oh my god, are you okay? Are you injured?

xavier: cant tell U why dont you come and see me for Urself.

you: Fine, I need to see if you’re okay. Do you need anything? Food? Medicine? I will pick something up on my way there.

xavier: i just need U

You closed your eyes and hid your face in your palms, then swore it would be the last time. You will go in, treat his wounds and go out. It had to be the last time you allowed yourself to be this close to him, and then you had to cut him off completely. A month wasn’t enough to heal your broken heart, and these small sightings won’t make your heart feel any less burdened.

It had to end today.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

When the door opened, he managed to take your breath away once more.

First, only figuratively. His beauty always managed to amaze you. He looked so handsome no matter the circumstances, his hair so fluffy and shiny, his face like that of an angel, with sharp jawline and soft, pink lips almost screaming at you to be kissed. When you met his eyes, you almost gasped at the intensity of his deep blue gaze. There wasn’t a thing about him you didn’t miss terribly after so much time apart.

Then, literally, when the first thing he did was grabbing your hand and hugging you tightly to his chest, that was still clothed in his hunter uniform. He pressed his face into the crown of your hair and touched the nape of your neck, holding it gently with his cold hand.

“Was the mission that difficult?” You asked, thinking that his reaction to you was mostly due to his need for someone else’s closeness. The need for security. “Were you in danger?” You asked quietly, fear bubbling in your mind.

“No. I lied.” He murmured and you felt him squeezing you even harder, inhaling your scent with content. His hand started stroking your back, slowly making its way under your thin coat. “Didn’t know what else to say to make you come see me.” He said and you hoped that he couldn’t hear, nor feel the sound of your erratic heartbeat.

He shouldn’t say things like these, it made you feel too hopeful. You tried to push that feeling down, knowing that’s how he normally acted with you, his best friend. You knew that he didn’t have a lot of people beside him, thus he treasured the ones that stayed. And that thought made you so incredibly apologetic that you had to swallow the tension in your throat. You hated that you fell for him so hard. You hated that you had to leave him because of it. You hated that you knew, that he would blame himself when you’ll leave.

And you started to hate yourself the most because of all of it.

“Did you miss me that much?” You teased, trying to calm yourself with a friendly banter.

“Yes.” The answer was immediate. The kiss he placed on your temple as natural as breathing. “Everything and everyone seems to be taking you away from me these days.” He said and you could hear him sulking. Your heart squeezed again, but you knew that you were doing the right thing. The distance was necessary.

Necessary for you to avoid breaking. You had to protect yourself first, you decided. You couldn’t remain in love with him forever. You had to move on and in order to do that you had to keep the distance. Which was impossible with him around, when he craved physical touch so badly.

You started to be so mad at yourself for breaking your streak today. You didn’t realize how touchy he will be after some time apart and it was getting to your head. You were so conflicted. You felt too much, and that was always the case when you were around him.

He was in love with someone else. Your head was screaming loudly, trying to calm the wave of unwanted emotions.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. I love you, you thought. “But now I’m here, so maybe I can inspect you for any injuries? You always seem to neglect them as long as they don’t make you bleed out.” You managed to free yourself from his hold and missed how his hands went after you for a second. He didn’t want you to put distance between you two. Not yet, not ever.

He looked into your beautiful, shiny eyes and nodded without a thought. He couldn’t say no to you, not when he saw the still remaining hint of worry in them. Besides, checking for injuries always came with physical contact, and he was so starved. He needed to feel your body close to his. Your hands on him, somewhere, anywhere, everywhere. He felt addicted and craved some kind of relief. He looked after you like a lost puppy, following your footsteps closely, touching the familiar material of your coat that you left on a counter. The distance this past month made him feral, every part of his body screamed to hold you and don’t let go.

You sat down on his couch, and patted the place next to you, hinting at him to sit beside you. He was trying not to appear too eager while doing so, and also when he started taking off the upper part of his uniform. He was almost shaking with excitement knowing that you really came to see him. That you were worried about him. The distance was making him sick. Furious. Desperate. Hurt.

He suppressed a shudder when you touched his shoulder and peeled away the material off his back completely. Your hands were pleasantly warm, as always. He bit his lip trying not to gasp from the contact.

He needed more.

“Xavier.” He hummed, giddy inside upon finally hearing his name from your lips. He was bracing for your outburst. Couldn’t wait for it. “You said you lied about the mission being hard, while having a fucking gash on your back? I-I can’t believe you...” He heard your angry, shaky voice and smirked unintentionally. You were worried about him and he liked that. He liked the attention, when it was coming from you.

Yet, you didn’t know that.

You cursed under your breath and went to grab the first aid kit from one of his drawers, and proceeded to patch the man back up, having no idea that he allowed the Wanderer to injure him, to have an excuse to see you. To keep you with him for a minute longer, even if it was only under the pretense of tending to his injuries. He was ready to do anything at this point to keep you from slipping away from his grasp.

If you knew that, you wouldn’t be so adamant on distancing yourself.

But because you didn’t know, you also didn’t predict that after patching him up, he would propose you to eat dinner with him, making up an excuse that he didn’t want to be alone with his pain. Later, when you wanted to come back to your place, he mentioned he wanted to play kitty cards, the game you adored. You couldn’t refuse him.

During the next hours you spent at his place you both talked in the same way you always used to - about everything and anything, exchanging opinions, stories and everyday thoughts. You laughed together for the first time in weeks, and your cheeks hurt from how much he was able to make you smile. You always had so much fun with him; he was your favorite person in the whole world. You missed him so bad, despite knowing that you couldn’t back out from your plan fully. Yet, you allowed yourself a little break, telling yourself that it was in order for your distancing to not look suspicious. In addition, he was injured, and you felt the need to comfort him in any way you could. The gash on his back wasn’t that deep, but it worried you regardless.

The atmosphere changed drastically only when he managed to win the next round of kitty cards. You jokingly frowned at him, forging displeasure, and he looked directly at your pouting lips. The time seemed to stop when you noticed that look. He raised his hand to touch your collarbone, caressing it with his fingers, up to your neck and over your cheek. He looked deeply into your eyes, and you noticed how dark his became. You found it fascinating that his soft gaze could change so drastically in a matter of seconds.

His hand reached out to grab your chin and brought your face closer to his. And when he whispered: “Could I ask for a reward?” with that dangerous, needy voice of his, you knew that you couldn’t deny him anything.

When your lips touched, you decided that it will be the last time you let it happen. It would be your goodbye, before losing the feel of his touch. You thought that you could at least make the best of it, get lost in the artificial feeling of being treasured for the last time, before you started the last phase of your plan.

After that, you had to cut off the ties with him completely. No matter the measures. No matter the pain.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Xavier, m-maybe not today?” You asked when you realized how low he was going with his kisses. You knew what he was about to do, and you hated how much you couldn’t contain the sounds that were coming out of your mouth when he was doing it. Besides, it didn’t feel like a mutual pleasure anymore, it felt like an act of service and you were not sure you wanted him to pleasure only you.

He looked at you, having already dropped to his knees. He looked ruined, his hair already a mess from the touch of your fingers, lips wet and swollen, shirt off displaying his toned chest, bandaged in the center with caution. He was practically heaving. The sight made you blush.

“Why not?” His voice sounded whiny, his lips already kissing the inside of your thigh as if he couldn’t restrain himself. Every kiss sent electricity to your already wet core and you found it hard to think clearly. His hands were grabbing your tights possessively, relishing in their softness. “Please, let me eat you out. I’ll make you feel good, I promise.” The pleading in his eyes was so apparent. So unfiltered.

“Don’t you want to get to the point already?” You offered shyly and he huffed out a laugh.

“Where are you trying to run off to this time?” It sounded like a joke, but he appeared annoyed. “Relax, starlight and let me take care of you. Please.” You still hesitated. It made him pout. “I need it, please, star. I want to taste you so bad. I didn’t manage to last time.” He kissed your knee and put his head on it, looking for the answer in your unsure eyes. “Will you let me?” His pleading tone, along with his desperate gaze was what made you break. You whispered a soft confirmation and it was all it took before he quickly put his mouth on your core, licking vigorously, devouring you like the most delicious thing on the planet.

“Mmmm.” You heard him humming, before your own cries, along with the constant tremble of your legs, drowned out any other sound.

He was elated.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Mmmh— Yes. Yes. H—holy—” He whimpered at the same time with his thrusts and squeezed your waist harder, moving his hands up and down your back, caressing it affectionately. “You are s-so warm, so beautiful, fuck—” He moaned when you tightened on him. You stiffed a whimper and tried to commit to memory the touch of his strong hands.

He was taking you slowly from behind and the pace was almost unbearable for you. You needed more, and you couldn’t stand how romantic it felt when he was this gentle with you. However, at the same time you didn’t want him to strain himself, you were aware that the slow pace was reasonable due to the injury on his back. The slow pace did surprise you either way, you thought that after so much time apart he would be quick and rough, chasing his pleasure faster than he normally would. Instead, he acted even more passionately than usual.

The slow pace brought you so much pleasure that you couldn’t contain the sounds escaping from your lips. He kept pressing your most sensitive spots, his thrusts slow, deep and precise. His forehead rest on the back of your shoulder, and you could feel his hot, labored breath pressing against your damp skin.

He made you feel so appreciated, and so cared for, and that made you uneasy. More so, with the accompaniment of the things he was constantly saying to you, from the moment you allowed him to touch you today.

“Can you turn around now? Please, my star, I want to see you.” He half-whispered and started kissing your neck, then moving his mouth to every patch of your skin he could reach: your shoulders, back, arms. No place was left unkissed under his relentless lips. You shook your head no; you didn’t want to let this become even more passionate than it already was. You positioned yourself facing the headboard of the bed from the very beginning, and you were adamant to keep your stance up until the end. You feared that your eyes would betray you, displaying your feelings for him and that was what made you not lose your composure.

Upon hearing your refusal for the third time this night, he proceeded to voice his frustrations by grunting, and thrust into you a little harder. You moaned loudly, surprised at the sudden change of tempo.

“Please, starlight.” He begged; his voice achingly earnest. He picked up the pace and you almost choked with how deep he reached inside of you now. You thought that you could never get used to how big he was, his girth filling you up to the brim. “Turn around. T-turn around for me.”

“X-xavier slow down, I don’t want you to get hurt—” You managed to choke out, grasping sheets with your hands for some kind of stability. You closed your eyes when they were turning upwards, biting your lip in the process. He felt otherworldly, but you couldn’t help but think about the gash on his back. He shouldn’t strain himself.

“Then turn around and look at me.” He repeated and you shook your head again.

“I-I can’t, I—Ah—”

“W-why do you keep—Mmh—denying me?” His voice came out like a growl and he kept up the fast tempo. Then, he grabbed your shoulder and put his other hand on your lower back, making you bend over more. His thrusts got even faster, making you moan louder. “Like that. Yes.” You breathed quietly. So good. He was so, so good. “I just want to see your face. I need to kiss y—A—Ah—Kiss you so bad, so, so, so bad.” He thrust more deeply, making you involuntarily back out from the stimulation, your body almost collapsing, but he quickly grabbed you with his strong arms, and brought you even closer to him. You saw stars and touched one of the arms that held your whole body — from your waist, between your breasts, to your neck. His arm was so hard, so strong. He was huge compared to you. “No, n-no, don’t run away, star. You feel so good—G-God how I missed this—” He held you closer by the second, pressing more kisses to your shoulders, his thrusts becoming quicker, less deep. You were holding back your tears from how good he felt inside you. “I missed you. I missed you. I miss you.” He started babbling and that’s how you knew he was close.

To your surprise, he suddenly pulled out of you completely and grabbed you by your shoulders, turning you around to finally face him. Before you could show any signs of protest, he lowered himself onto his forearms, caging your head between his biceps so that he could have a perfect view of your face. He took his cock in one of his hands and he slipped himself into you again with ease. You shuddered and cried out softly with astonishment.

“Xavier—!”

“Yes. Yes, that’s my name.” He started thrusting into you again, this time much slower and more attentive, and looked deep into your eyes. You had nowhere to run, the only thing you could do was to close your eyes, but the sight of him so close made you want to never look away. “Say it one more time. Just once.” He looked ethereal, his silver hair wet from the perspiration that gathered on his forehead, and his cheeks painted a pretty shade of red. You could see how blissful he felt. “So p-pretty.” He finally kissed your lips softly. “So sweet.” He licked into your mouth, deepening the kiss. It made your toes curl, you loved when he kissed you this sloppily. When he released your already swollen lips, there was a string of saliva connecting you. It was all so intense.

“Why were you denying my kisses?” He kissed you again deeply, sucking on your tongue. His slow thrusts made you go insane. “You don’t like kissing me like this?” He sucked on your lips until they were red and swollen. There was so much saliva. He licked them and kissed them again. “I could come from this feeling alone. So soft.” You were shocked at how much he talked. Was he always this talkative? Or were you realizing it only now, when you knew that the closeness with him would soon come to an end?

“Am I making you feel good? Yeah?” You decided to nod at him truthfully, your moans short, resembling small hiccups. You were lost in the pleasure; you could feel the end approaching. He put his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. “W—wow, you—you sound so adorable, I won’t last long—” He moaned and grabbed your face in his hands, kissing your nose first, then softly your lips.

“Yes, yeah, let go. Let go my little star. My starlight, my treasure.” He whispered into your ear, feeling you clench down on him as you came with his name on your lips. You felt him reaching the end quickly after you, he shuddered, his mouth opened, and he released into the condom with a low moan. Still cumming, he took your face into his hands and kissed your forehead gently. When you both were still coming down from the high, breathing heavily, he began stroking your hair, pushing it out of your face, and kissing your cheeks.

What in the world was all that?

God, you couldn’t do this anymore. You couldn’t let this keep up, it felt too real, too romantic, and your heart really couldn’t take it. Not when every time you were together like this you keep thinking that he would like you to be someone else instead. Did he imagine her under him this time? You trembled, scared because of that thought, but the things he was saying made you feel that it really could be the case.

Your breath came out shakily and you took his muscular forearms in your palms and grazed them gently with your thumbs. You let yourself feel for the last time how warm his body was, how pleasurable his weight on top of you. You kept your eyes closed to not let him see your tears, but you couldn’t stop one from going down your cheek.

And of course, he saw it as soon as it appeared. He seemed to always look at you when you wanted him to ignore you the most.

He kissed it off, swiped the wetness with his thumb and proceeded to kiss your temple.

“Why are you crying?” He asked softly, his eyebrows furrowed. “Did I hurt you?” He appeared so concerned, and you felt the shivers going down your spine.

Yes, you wanted to scream.

“No, of course not.” You said instead. Because it was your fault for feeling too much. “I’m okay, just tired.” You lied straight to his face. He sent you a small smile and kissed your closed eyelids gently.

And when he shifted and pulled out from you slowly with a little hiss, you let out a sigh and knew that your time with him had to end now.

But before you could lift yourself up, he hugged you from the side and put his head on your chest. He was listening to the sound of your heartbeat, and you already knew that it had a soothing effect on him. His hand started caressing one side of your waist, his hair touching your chin, his scent overlapping you. You could feel his heartbeat on you, fast but steady. Another tear escaped from your eyes. You had to run away. You couldn’t take the closeness anymore. It was too painful.

“Xavier, I—” You swallowed the sob forming in your throat. Your voice came out rusty. “I really need to go.”

“Already? Stay with me for a little while longer.” He squeezed you harder to himself, showing no intention of releasing you from his hold. You hated that you needed to cut short such a vulnerable moment with him. “The night is still young. I thought we could maybe watch something together? Or bake these cinnamon cookies you like? I practiced, they taste and look almost perfect now.” You closed your eyes hard, moved by his thoughtfulness, and you almost sobbed audibly if it wasn’t for your hand quickly covering your mouth.

But he felt it, and it made all the muscles in his body tighten, as if he was struck.

“Star?” He loosened his hold on you and quickly studied your face. “What’s wrong?” His eyes became huge, filled with worry. And that concern on his features was what finally made you run.

You raised gently and pushed yourself from him, starting to pick up your scattered pieces of clothing. Your hands shakily put the panties and your sweater on your trembling body, not once looking Xavier’s way. He was waiting patiently for your answer.

“I can’t do this anymore, Xavier.” You replied, feeling more comfortable now that you had some clothes on. You couldn’t meet his eyes, but you heard him standing up from the bed.

“Do what?” He sounded puzzled. You heard him grabbing and putting on some pants hastily, clicking his belt in place. As if he was preparing to run after you. “Did I do something wrong? You didn’t like it today? Was I too intense?” You had never heard him speak so quickly, and the panic in his tone was a rare occurrence too.

“No, it’s— I am at fault here.” You answered truthfully, and you took a couple steps away from him. You wanted to run as fast as you could but for the love of God, you couldn’t locate any other pieces of your clothing. Your eyesight was clouded by unleashed tears. No, not now, you couldn’t let them fall until you were in the safety of your home.

“But you were perfect.” His voice carried more panic by the second. “We could change some things. You could tell me what to do differently, everything works with me as long as I do it with you.”

You suddenly remembered the beginning of your night, and rushed to his living room, were you finally found your pants.

“No. No, and please stop trying to persuade me. This—this friends with benefits thing, it ends now.” You uttered surely, now fully clothed. You turned around and finally laid your eyes on him, and saw him wearing only black jeans and a miserable expression on his face. God, he still looked perfect. He almost shined, the workout clearly visible on his face, his hair, his lips. Your resolution almost wavered.

“Okay. Okay, of course, I—I understand.” He answered quickly, and you felt a slight pang in your chest at how easily he took the news. This whole time you were so easily disposable. “But please stay. I want to spend some time with you, I haven’t seen you in such a long time.” He took a careful step towards you, and you wanted to bolt then and there. “Please, stay.”

“No, Xai, I—” You paused to take a breath, trying not to crumble in front of him. His worried expression felt like a knife to your chest. You were his best friend, yet here you were, clearly wanting to run away from him—how could you expect him to feel anything but hurt upon such a sight? You felt incredibly cruel. “I really can’t. I think I need a break from all—all of this.”

“You mean from me?” He didn’t wait for your answer, the thoughts in his head seemed to go quicker than lightning. “No, please, I swear that if you don’t like it then I won’t touch you anymore. I swear.” You hated how upset he sounded. You closed your eyes for a second and fresh tears slipped away. You couldn’t keep them from falling anymore. “You know how much you mean to me. Don’t make me stay away.” He looked as if you were tearing his heart out, his posture slumped, hands shaking. How you wished you could take them into your own and warm them up.

“I have to.” Your voice came out whiny. He stepped closer to you, keeping his arms in front of himself.

“But why?” His question was quiet, nearly a whisper. He couldn’t help but wonder, if you really wanted a break from him, then why were you crying as if you didn’t want to go?

“I—” You stopped yourself before going as far as to utter a confession. He couldn’t know. Not now. Not ever. “This— This situation, and how our friendship looks like right now it’s—it’s so wrong.” You opted for a response that was the closest to the truth.

“It’s not.” He replied immediately. “Not for me.”

“Well it is for me. Friends don’t sleep with each other, Xavier! We messed up so bad this time and I’m afraid we can’t let this past us.”

“Do you regret it that much?” His voice was losing its’ strength, and he seemed so utterly hurt. Meanwhile, you were just trying to protect yourself from feeling even more pain. How could you make him understand without confessing to him? You didn’t really know because you were always honest with him before. He was your safe place.

And to think that everything could be avoided, your friendship left unscratched if only you could control your feelings better. But you had no idea how to stop loving him so deeply, when he was everything that you’ve ever dreamed of.

“I should. I know that I should, it was never going to end well, I—”

“Stay. Please, starlight, stay. At least for one more night, let me hold you just for one more—” His arms went out to grab you and you flinched, taking a few steps back. His jaw tightened.

He was always afraid that he will see you run away from his touch. He felt as if his nightmare became reality - the thought of losing you too much for him to bear.

“Xavier, I can’t!” You trembled all over. Why did he make this so hard for you? “I can’t do this with you anymore, can’t you understand how much it hurts me?” The truth was at the tip of your tongue, craving to be spoken out loud.

“Why? Why does it hurt you? The only one who has a good reason to be hurt is me, you avoided me, ignored me, and for what? If you just talked to me honestly one time—”

“You are in love with someone else!”

The silence that followed was unbearable and seemed to last ages. Slow ticking of the clock was the only thing cutting through the tension, reminding you that the time didn’t stop, even if your heart seemed to do so.

You turned to him, the tears falling from your eyes in cascades now and your chest was coming up and down rapidly with how fast you were breathing.

The tears run down your cheeks quickly, making your vision less blurry. How you wished that they stayed in place, if that meant that you wouldn’t have to see Xavier’s pained expression, that quickly changed into one of utter confusion. You were shaking with how much you were feeling, your frustration pooling out of you in a form of shaking hands and bitten lips.

“I can’t continue being like this with you when I know that you’re in love with her! And I get it! I really do. She’s so wonderful, and so, so lovable. And I could never be her, no matter how much you would want me to be. I just don’t want to be a replacement anymore.” You continued, the desperation in your voice almost making you wince. You sounded pathetic and felt so embarrassed for it. You felt as if you were losing the ground beneath your feet.

“What?” He said completely stunned. He wasn’t moving a single muscle. “What on earth are you talking about?” He hissed, and took a step towards you, and when you shook your head and wanted to bolt through the door, he quickly grabbed you by your wrist and pressed your body close to his. You gasped at the contact, so sudden and forced. “No, stop running away from me!” He raised his voice, still holding your wrist tightly. You’ve never heard him sound so irritated. “Speak.” You kept your head low, when he was desperately trying to catch eye contact, but you couldn’t look at him right now. Not when your true feelings were basically flowing to the surface.

“About what? You really thought I didn’t know about your feelings for her?” You struggled to keep your voice from shaking. “Xavier, I know, and I knew from the very beginning, and you really don’t have to explain yourself to me. I really understand.” You tried to free your wrist from his grasp, but he held it too tightly. You needed to run, this conversation wasn’t supposed to happen, you didn’t even have a reason to be mad at him. You couldn’t blame him for not loving you romantically, nor for feeling this way towards someone else. You were only friends, and friends should be happy for each other when they find someone dear to them, not sick of the idea of losing the other to someone else.

“I’m afraid you actually don’t understand anything.” He sounded almost defeated. His voice back to its soft tone, but his hold on you unrelenting.

“It’s really okay, I—”

“No.” He scoffed. You finally gained enough courage to let your eyes meet his and you were instantly appalled at how furious he appeared to be. “It’s truly NOT.” He released your wrist and put his hands up to stroke his hair back. He breathed out loudly. “Who the fuck are you talking about?” He asked, confusion and irritation taking over his features completely. You never saw him wear that expression while talking with you.

“Oh, don’t make me—” You cut off, seeing his furious glare. You took a deep breath, stepped back from him and touched your cheek, trying to swipe the wetness caused by your tears. You failed, they were still coming down, one by one, making your efforts futile. “MC. You know that I mean MC.”

“You have to be fucking kidding me.” He groaned and let his head fall back. He covered his face with his hands for a second, and when he looked at you again, you couldn’t read his expression correctly. “Who told you about it? Where did you get it from?”

“Jeremiah.” That’s all he needed to know. And apparently it was enough for him to grasp the situation. He laughed humorlessly and shook his head, his hands squeezed tightly into fists by his sides.

“I will strangle him this time. I swear, I will—”

“Oh, please, Xavier, stop! What’s so wrong about me knowing? I was glad that someone finally enlightened me!” You couldn’t believe that he was so angry at you for knowing such an important thing. Not when from the moment Jeremiah said that he had a thing for MC for a long time, you wondered why he kept that a secret from you. “You never even said a word about it even though I thought we were best friends. I had to learn from someone else and that already hurt.” You wanted this conversation to be over. You wanted him to admit to it already and let you go away, with a broken, but at least free heart.

But he had different plans.

“Have you maybe thought that I never said a word about it simply because it wasn’t true?” He asked carefully, his voice still angry. “I just can’t believe you thought that I loved someone else—”

“What?” Your mind went blank. You needed a moment to collect your thoughts. “What do you mean it’s not true?” You sniffed quietly, confusion taking over your face.“B-But Jeremiah said that you had a past with her and—”

“I did. I had feelings for her once, but that was literal lifetimes ago!” His irritation didn’t ease in the slightest. “I had feelings for someone who looked similar to her. But she’s not the same person anymore, and even if she was, I couldn’t possibly fall in love with her. Not now, not ever.” You stopped in your tracks, trying to analyze everything he was saying to you and failing miserably at it. You looked at his face, your expression puzzled, searching for an answer there, hidden between his beautiful, soft features. It shocked you to see that now he started to calm himself down, gaze genuine, an image of complete transparency.

You couldn’t wrap your head around the idea that you were mistaken. All this time, when you thought you never stood a chance, when you thought that he loved another, when you wanted to let him go—

“You’re not in love with MC.” It wasn’t a question anymore, your voice quiet while you were trying to process that thought. He must’ve seen how you fought with the thoughts inside your head, because he released a groan and took a step towards you. You unintentionally took one step back. He frowned.

“Of course I’m not.” Voice sweet like honey, stance sure, his eyes searched desperately for yours. He looked at your face, covered in tears and his eyebrows furrowed deeper, hating how upset you seemed and didn’t know how to reverse it. “How could I ever be, when your face is all I can see, every time I close my eyes?” He uttered looking at you with such devotion that it almost made your knees buckle.

Complete silence took over your thoughts after his confession. You didn’t know what was happening.

But fortunately, his mind finally started to piece everything together in a picture, that although was beyond frustrating to think about, was giving him so much hope for something he thought he already lost.

He allowed himself to relax, took a deep breath and finally decided to drop his inner shackles, letting his emotions flow out of him without restraint.

“You are the one that I love.” He said clearly, not moving a muscle. He wondered if you could see the quick movement of his chest, with how hard his heart was trying to escape through it to reach you. Whereas, you felt as if yours stopped moving completely, along with the time around you, not ready to believe that this was truly happening. “It was you from the very beginning. I adored you since the day I first saw you.” He continued, his gaze piercing into your face, slight confusion visible on his features. “And I thought that was obvious? I wasn’t exactly the best at hiding my feelings, especially after I told you about them the first night we spend together.”

You blinked slowly. Once, then twice.

Your head hurt. You couldn’t wrap it around everything he was saying. Xavier was in love with you? And he already told you about it? You were so confused that the only way you knew how to react was with denial.

“You—You didn’t. I didn’t know, you are not being serious.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“I did. You really don’t remember?” His tone softened, and he waited a short second for your answer, but couldn’t contain his nerves. “It was the night I kissed you for the first time, thinking that would be the last. But you reciprocated.” His eyes gleamed in the moonlight, and you found yourself holding your breath, afraid even the slightest sound might interrupt the flow of his confession.

“You—You kissed me back, and let me do things to you I only ever dared to dream about before.” He took another step your way, a small smile grazing his handsome face. “And the confession slipped out of me so naturally before we even reached the bed.” He briefly recalled that fateful night, describing the conversations you forgot, but longed to remember since that very moment.

“You didn’t reply, but you responded nicely to my touch, so I thought that meant that you wanted me too, that maybe you’d accept me. As your beloved. Your soulmate.” You brought your hand to cover your mouth. You couldn’t believe it. “But then in the morning when you woke up, you were panicking. I tried to reassure you, but you weren’t listening to me.”

That part of the story you knew by heart, him telling you that he couldn’t forget, didn’t want to forget. Back then you didn’t connect it with anything close to confession, but more with the change in your relationship. You really didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, you didn’t even dream about him loving you, when you thought that he loved MC. Insecurities and false assumptions completely clouded your vision.

“And when you proposed staying friends, with the bonus of intimacy, of course I took the chance. I thought you remembered my confession and didn’t reciprocate my feelings, but I was so desperate that I would take anything you were willing to give me, even if it didn’t involve your love. I—” he cut off, blush flushed over his cheeks, up to the tips of his ears. He took a shaky breath. “I was clinging to the hope that maybe through the new shared intimacy I could show you how much you meant to me. And maybe, maybe someday you would start feeling the same, when you realized how good we are together and how good I can be for you.”

“Xavier—Oh my god.” You breathed, your hand still covering your mouth, your eyes never leaving his face. His beautiful, starstruck face, now so full of confusion and unspoken hurt. “Bunny, I’m so, so, so sorry. I had no idea, I—” Your voice practically a whisper, you were still coming to terms with the fact that your feelings were reciprocated. And that you were the one who complicated things between you. “I don’t remember anything you said to me that night. I couldn’t even hear you through the sound of my own blood thrumming in my ears, that’s how drunk I felt. How overwhelmed after our first kiss.”

The alcohol consumed that night also wasn’t of big help. You were a lightweight and you drunk only occasionally, so the few drinks you had already made you feel dizzy. Mixed with the intensity of your emotions, it overwhelmed you so intensely that his touch was all you could remember from that night. But now you could make it all alright.

“I only remember your touch, the things we did, and our conversation the next morning. I remember touching your hand and initiating the kiss, and my tipsy brain just thought that you went with it to forget about MC.” You said truthfully, letting it all pour out of you. Your cheeks burned with the embarrassment of admitting how desperate you were for him, that the thought he loved another didn’t stop you from having sex with him.

Then the blush deepened from the realization that from the very beginning the only one he was thinking about was you.

This thought made your head spin, the happiness slowly bubbling in your chest. Your whole body trembled.

“That’s— Fuck. You really don’t remember.” He shook his head again, realizing how deep the misunderstanding reached. “You didn’t initiate anything. I was the one who kissed you first.”

“No, I—”

“Yes. You touched my hand, smiled at me contentedly and said some things and I—I just couldn’t restrain myself any longer.” This time you were the one who started approaching him slowly. You needed him close. Always. And you realized that now you didn’t have any reasons to deny yourself that lack of distance. “You looked so soft, so open and kissable, and I just went for it. And then you reciprocated.” The light in his eyes started sparkling when he noticed that you were finally coming closer to him. He reached out his hand for you and you took it gently, still shaking from the unspoken emotions.

“I can’t believe it. All this time I thought that you were in love with someone else.” His hand was warm, the touch electrifying. You squeezed his hand and intertwined your fingers together. You saw how between your clasped hands, his Evol started shining brightly, shading soft light upon your features. It was a sign that he was excited. “I tried to put a distance between us, end this intimacy because I thought that I was just a second best for you. An easy distraction.”

“How could you think that? Almost from the moment I met you, I have loved you passionately—” He brought you even closer together, pulling you by your intertwined hands, and put his other hand on your cheek. He swiped the reminder of your tears with his fingers, looking into your eyes with a devotion so apparent that it took your ability to form coherent thoughts. How did you manage to miss the way he was always looking your way?

“X-Xavier.”

“I couldn’t even think about anyone else even if I tried to. You occupy my every thought. How could I ever find a place for somebody else in my heart when you fill the space out completely?” Everything that came out of his mouth was laced with impatience. He was trying so hard to make you understand him, and the intensity of his emotions. He couldn’t psychically hold it inside anymore, he restrained himself for so long that he felt as if all of his walls finally crumbled. He needed you to know everything.

“I love you, starlight. I’m so in love with you that I couldn’t contain that feeling inside anymore. I couldn’t even spend five minutes in your presence without trying to touch you, to kiss you, to hold you. My whole body longs for you constantly.” He said, thinking about the months after you started being friends with benefits. How at first, he wasn’t sure how much he could take from you, and then, when he noticed that you didn’t mind the affection outside the bedroom, he couldn’t contain himself. He kissed you every time he had a chance, he touched you everywhere he could, he was trying to stay away from you as little as possible. Despite thinking that you did not reciprocate his feelings fully, his love for you flowed out of him naturally, every look and every touch laced with unconditional devotion.

During the period of your silence and avoiding him, he thought that it was because he finally crossed a line. He let his feelings out too much, he finally made you uncomfortable. He was starting to act as you lover, not as your friend and it wasn’t what you agreed to. He thought you still didn’t love him and maybe that was a sign that you never will. And even if that could be the case, he still couldn’t let you go.

And it appeared that he didn’t have to.

That you were not uncomfortable, but unsure.

That it was all a huge misunderstanding.

And the words that came out of your pretty, little mouth next, almost brought him to his knees.

“Xavier. Xavier me too, I—” You stuttered, completely overwhelmed by how much you were feeling. You squeezed his wrists, and looked deep into his beautiful, hopeful eyes. “I love you too. And I fell in love with you long before our first night together. I just thought that it was wishful thinking, because your heart was already taken by someone else. And that I could just stay beside you as your friend and that would be enough. And then share your bed from time to time, if that meant that I could hold you close, be on the receiving end of your affection.” You said and raised on your feet to place a quick kiss on his lips. He chased after you instantly, despite appearing stunned. You noticed his hands were shaking.

“You really mean it?” He asked, leaning towards you, kissing your lips again, this time for longer. He had trouble keeping his mouth away from yours, especially now, that he knew that every one of your kisses was filled with love. “Am I not dreaming this time?” You smiled and stroked his hair affectionately, petting his head, wanting to convey your feelings in every way possible.

“Xavier, I love you.” You repeated, grabbing his head in your palms and looking deep into his eyes. Your voice was strong, leaving no room for uncertainty. “I love you so mu—” He didn’t let you finish that sentence, because he quickly picked you up and spun you around, holding you in his arms. You giggled and put your arms around his neck, holding him tightly, his face buried in your neck. When he stopped, he quickly found your lips again and that kiss felt groundbreaking.

He held you close to him, one hand squeezing you by your waist, and the other holding your jaw gently. His brows furrowed in desperation and his kisses were slow, sensual, sending pleasant shocks throughout your whole body. His tongue made an appearance, and he tasted you in a way that made your legs feel like jelly. He licked into your mouth, grunting lowly, his fingers placing a strand of your hair behind your ear, then tracing patterns on your warm cheek. When you opened your eyes for a second, you could see that the tips of his ears were red. The blush spread through his cheeks too, making him look so adorable.

“It does feel like a dream.” He breathed between kisses. “And sounds too good to be true.” He captured your lips again and you smiled into his mouth. Your heart was about to burst.

“I love you.” You repeated, basking in the feeling of finally being able to say it out loud, be open with your emotions. He released your lips and kissed your forehead. You looked up, and he placed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a wide smile adorning his face.

“Don’t stop saying that. You make me so happy.” He said quietly, and you whispered the confession once again, making him sigh shakily.

“I was so stupid. I should’ve asked you right from the start if what Jeremiah said was true.” You said and hugged him more tightly. “I should’ve told you sooner.” You placed your head on his strong chest, your ear touching his bare body, listening to his fast heartbeat. Your hands were hugging his waist, mindful not to touch his bandaged back.

“No, I foolishly thought that telling you once would suffice. I forgot that you drank that night and that could’ve clouded your memory.” He squeezed you harder to himself and started back away with you in his arms, until the back of his legs touched his couch. He fell into it, holding you close, making you sit on his lap. “To think that I could have you sooner—” He looked into your eyes, as if searching for something.

“You had me before, and you have me now. My heart, my body, my soul.” You positioned yourself more comfortably, placing your legs on both sides of his waist, and took his face into your hands. He closed his eyes at the contact, and started to caress your body, from your waist, down to your legs. He squeezed the plush of your tights and let his head fall against the couch pillows.

He couldn’t believe that this was happening. He prayed that this wasn’t a dream, that all of the things you were telling him were true. His chest vibrated pleasurably, incredible warmth spreading through it. His heart beat so quickly, and so loudly that he thought it was the first time he felt its’ beat so intensely himself. Your words made him feel drunk with emotion.

He opened his eyes to look at your face.

He almost choked with how beautiful you were. How divine, sitting on him, caressing his shoulders, smiling at him with the stars in your eyes. He looked at your lips, full and swollen, bearing the signs of his kisses. He looked at your neck, delicate and unmarked, and he stroked it with the back of his hand, wanting to change that fact immediately, knowing that now he was allowed to do that. He switched his gaze to your eyes again and drank them in, basking in their light, wishing that this moment could never end. Or maybe it should, so it could become your new beginning.

You were his treasure. His star, his light, guiding him through life, making his existence worth pursuing. You showed him that the world can be beautiful, despite its overbearing cruelty. You were his salvation, his safe place, his one and only, showing him every single day that he mattered, that he was not a lost cause, or a villain in disguise. You taught him that he was capable of loving so intensely and now, that he was loved as passionately in return.

He doubted his worth, but the only way he knew to prove his love for you was by protecting you with his very life. You had no idea, but his sword, now a symbol of your bond, was yours to command—and you were the only reason he continued to wield it.

“What are you thinking about?” Your voice was not more than a whisper, your eyes still looking into his starry ones, losing yourself in the deep blue. You loved them, how magnificent and expressive they were, and you swore to yourself to tell him about it every day.

He seemed to get out of the trace he was in, and his eyes softened, still taking you in. He smiled and took your hands into his, and kissed your knuckles, his kisses gentle and long-lasting.

“You.” He replied shortly, his voice gentle and reassuring. He put your hands on his shoulders, making you hug his neck with them. You complied and put your whole arms around his neck, bringing your bodies closer. One of his hands touched your waist, caressing it delicately, and the other one stroked your hair, admiring its’ softness. His eyes never left yours. “Always you, my starlight. Then, now, and till the end of my days. I will always carry you in my mind, and in my heart, to be able to reach you, no matter the distance.” You could feel his breath on your face with how close you were to each other, and he gazed at your open lips, which were already waiting to be kissed senselessly. “I love you, as I never loved anyone else in my life, and I never will again.” His lips captured yours in a kiss so soft, yet so desperate, and full of adoration, that you felt a single, happy tear escape from your eye. He deepened the kiss and held you throughout the night, kissing you and touching you, never wanting the moment to end, the warmth of your skin to become a memory.

It all started with the simplest of touches, and it never truly ended. The spark you ignited that first night has never faded. Since the moment you met, it has burned brightly between you both, a light so powerful that it could be seen across the vastness of deep space. Everlasting and exquisite, just like the different lifetimes you both had ahead of you, always finding each other, as if guided by its warmth.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

thank you for your time and please let me know if you liked it!! i was thinking of writing more for this au, maybe from xavier’s perspective? how they met and how he fell in love + how their first night really played out ♡

if u liked it, u can buy me a coffee here!: https://ko-fi.com/kitimeq

[seijorhi]

Inexorable ♕

My birthday present for my beloved wife @iwaasfairy​ and my contribution to her birthday bash collab you can find here. I love you, you’re incredible and I hope you like this i even wrote smut for you smh

Iwaizumi Hajime x female reader

tw: dub-con, stalking, unhealthy relationships, very questionable decision making, smut, nsfw, um… implied murder?

He’s sitting on the steps outside your apartment when you get home from work, a lit cigarette dangling between long fingers. He brings it to his lips, the bright cherry red tip glowing as he takes a nice, slow drag and you scurry on past.

Not a word passes between the two of you, but olive eyes follow you up the stairs regardless, just like always. His name is Iwaizumi – Iwa – but you only know that because you’ve heard his friends yelling it down the hallway. In the three months since you’ve moved in, you haven’t so much as introduced yourself to the guy, but like most strangers crammed into the same shitty place there’s some kind of a routine between the two of you.

Why he religiously chooses this time of night to take his smoke break is beyond you, but like clockwork you’ll arrive home, having walked back from the bus stop and Iwaizumi’ll be there waiting for you, cigarette in hand.

Well, not waiting, just… there. Black leather jacket with a hoodie underneath, there’s a cut above his eyebrow tonight that he hasn’t bothered to clean, a purpling bruise colouring his jaw. Whatever dealings Iwaizumi’s tangled up in, you don’t like to think about too much, but you know it can’t be anything good. His friends dress like him, all have the same ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe. You’ve seen their scrapes and bruises too – the weapons that stick out from the waistband of their pants – though you’re always quick to avert your eyes when they catch you staring.

Keep reading

[mintmatcha]

fatgum pussy training literally lives in my head rent free I need to stretch myself open on his absolutely massive cock and be the only person to ever take it

You're on your knees above him, guiding his fingers to your cunt.

"Have you put your cock inside a pussy before?"

"No," he swallows hard as you guide hos dingers through your folds. It takes a second for him to understand what you want; he presents two fingers, crooked perfectly for you to slide inside yourself. The thickness of just two fingers has your eyes crossing as you sink on to it. "I tried, just--"

God, your pussy is throbbing around him so hard, he thinks if it was actually his cock he'd cum on the spot.

"I couldn't fit. I was too big."

Your jerk your hips against him, riding his hand like it's the dick you so desperately want.

"It's not too big-- its perfect. I rub my clit thinking about how huge your cock is," you pant. "How fucking heavy your balls are and how bad I need you to empty them inside me."

your humping gets harder-

"Stretch me out, Tai. Ruin all other men for me. Make my pussy yours. 'Cause once your cock fits, you're gonna own this pussy. it's gonna be yours to fuck and cum in whenever you want."

[liasdivinity]

MY PUSSY’S GONE CRAZY

[deltamel]

Big Man, Little Dignity

── MEMORISED ALL YOUR LINES, FANTASISE YOUR DEMISE. satoru is more likely to strip naked and stroll through tokyo tech like he owns the place—to risk a fine for public fucking indecency—than to submit, mind and body, to you. word count. 5.5k

CONTENT. MDNI. fem!dom!reader, manipulative!sub!gojo, (brief mention of reader having a cunt but otherwise no description), bratty sub gojo, manipulation, foot humping, degradation, light choking, no prior discussion of kinks or aftercare, toxic dynamic, existing relationship, friends with benefits, pwp

MEL'S NOTE: what began as a character study of manipulative!gojo devolved into sentencing him to come in the most deliciously humiliating way. title insp. is the namesake song by paramore. a massive thank you to my gorgeous beta @nyxomniax (nyx's ao3) <3

“I really don’t like your attitude.”

Although attitude is a crude euphemism—Satoru’s sharp gaze seems to penetrate even through his blindfold. If looks could kill, as the saying goes. 

You sigh. Tonight was supposed to be a taunt, a challenge, a plea—all rolled into one tight, conniving quip that would snake its way around Satoru until the tips of his ears turned red where he knelt before you. You shouldn’t be surprised, really, at how your words roll off him, as though they’ve physically hit his Limitless and have slowed to the point of non-existence.

“Well,” he starts, petulant. “I really don’t like how long this is taking.”

You scoff, crossing one leg over the other as you lean further back into the cracked leather of the sofa you're sitting on. It creaks beneath you in protest.

“So how about we skip to the good part?” Satoru grins widely at you, utterly unashamed even as your eyes dip down to the hard outline tenting his uniform slacks. 

You’re bored, you realise. Uninterested in acting out the same scene and reciting the same worn, tired script to a man who, to your knowledge, couldn’t give less of a shit if you were completely mute as you let him rut into you.

It is… strange.

Months of hushed, sweaty hook-ups flash through your mind, like some kind of slideshow that should be playing all of your favourite memories before you die. These are anything but; they’re a twisted amalgamation of simmering anger and bestial grunting way too close to your ear to be enjoyable.

Why had you let it get this far? Spin this far out of control?

“Oh sure, I have all day,” Satoru says, his voice laden with sarcasm. “Absolutely no rush whatsoever. Take your time, even!”

You press your lips together, unimpressed.

Shame burns through you like you are no more than bone-dry tinder unfortunate enough to be in its path. You wanted to lead tonight, to set the pace—and you believed forcing him to kneel at your feet and feeding him the command to behave would be sufficient. That he may finally take the bait. Naturally, you seem to have asked too much, and you’re utterly lost as to how you’ve deluded yourself into such a fictional image of him. One that is flushed and moaning and writhing beneath you. One that would beg you for more.

He’d never.

Satoru is more likely to strip naked and stroll through Tokyo Tech like he owns the place—to risk a fine for public fucking indecency—than to submit, mind and body, to you.

“Now, I may look the picture of youth, but if I’m sat on my knees any longer, we may have an issue when I finally fuck you.” He laughs, presumably imagining himself as a hobbled-sorcerer or something equally inane, hell-bent on clumsily thrusting into you. “And we can’t have that, can we? How will I satisfy that greedy cunt of yours?”

It’s an unconscious impulse as you kick hard at the centre of his chest, anger flaring at the hit to your own ego, only to be rebounded by Satoru’s Limitless. You never stood a chance.

“Fuck you, Satoru,” you snap. “I’ve never met anyone who loves the sound of their own voice as much as you do.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts, admonishment smeared over his face. “Ask nicely.”

Breathing out through your mouth, you try to summon the patience that seems to be rapidly eluding you the more Satoru talks.

“‘Ask nicely’,” you repeat blandly.

“Yep,” he says, emphasising the pop of the p at the end.

“Like how I ‘asked nicely’ for you to behave?”

“I wouldn’t say you ‘asked nicely’...” he trails off, looking askance as though he’s working hard to recall the memory from only five minutes prior. “More like demanded and expected that I, bearer of the Six Eyes, would obey.”

“Huh,” you tilt your head, “that’s funny. I’m pretty sure you’ve been demanding to fuck me.”

Satoru rolls his eyes, heaving a labouring sigh, as though you’d told him that his favourite coffee shop—the quaint, crumbling building a few blocks away from the school run by an elderly couple, that you’re near positive Satoru only frequents because he can bat his lashes and they will give him free coffee—has run out of the sugary atrocity he usually drinks.

“Did you miss,” he waves his arms down his body, presenting himself, “the bearer of the Six Eyes part of my sentence? That was pretty integral info.”

Wishing you were surprised at the lack of gravity he’s giving the situation doesn’t come easily. He’s always been like this, since as long as you’ve known him anyway; years of dropping ill-timed jokes and unbothered banter in the face of national threats and almost always imminent death. It’s illogical. And above that, it’s quite frankly insane. So why would you be the exception to his whims? Why would he afford you real concern when it proves no benefit to him? You could tear at those towering walls surrounding him, brick by brick, until your bare hands are broken and bloody and unrecognisable, yet there’d hardly be a dent big enough to warrant his attention.

Before you have a chance at spitting back any lacklustre rebuttal, he speaks over you.

“So let’s cut whatever bullshit you’re trying to pull. Honestly. What are you trying to achieve with me down here and you up— wait.” He perks up, likely seeing you anew from behind his blindfold as he rambles. “Was this all an elaborate plot to get me to eat you out? Because baby, I do not have to be on my knees to have you on yours. Why didn’t you ask sooner?”

You launch forward, sinking a hand deep into his unpigmented hair—allowing yourself only a split-second of astonishment that he allowed you to make contact with the real him, not his Limitless—before yanking him forward to unbalance him. That’s all it takes. One slip-up, intentional or not, and you use the momentum to force his face down into the floor between your feet, pressing his cheek against the rough grain of the wood. The connecting thunk is the most satisfying sound you’ve heard from Satoru all evening.

Against the dark wood below him, Satoru’s alabaster skin is downright ghostly. Stark and obvious in every way that Satoru is himself. It’s fitting, really. You savour the colour rushing to his cheeks, the strands of hair fallen over his blindfold, the blood welling in his lip where he must have bitten himself on impact. You want to taste it. To draw more than just blood from his lips.

The bounds of his Limitless do not protect him from himself, you think. How ironic.

Satoru’s chest stutters where he’s bent over awkwardly, still kneeling. His hands are trapped underneath him like he meant to stop his fall. You know he could have. So why didn’t he? And why is he letting you hold him down, making no effort to brush your hand from his hair or sit up as you watch him try to regulate his breathing?

Hell, he’s not even said a word. Quiet as a field mouse where he’s pressed down between your heeled shoes.

“You want to eat me out?” you murmur, leaning over your lap to study the side of his face in interest.

Satoru exhales sharply, and at first you think you might finally have him snared—a hunter’s high when the bullet rings loud and sharp in the air, the elation when their prey drops to the ground like a stone. But then he angles his head further to the side, twisting as though to catch your eye through the blindfold, and he smiles.

Smiles.

A scoff bursts from your throat before you can help it—an ugly sound, perfectly complementary to the resentful look smudged across your face.

Well.

You tried, at least. But it’s beyond clear that Satoru Gojo is a lost cause—a fool’s errand—and you are no such thing, not for him. No matter how much you desire to see his pale skin painted with deep red want as he pleads for your touch, pent-up and desperate, an orgasm withheld tenfold until he’s panting and whining, bucking his hips up to knock his dick uselessly against your leg—how he would tip his head back, baring the smooth, unmarked column of his neck for your teeth to sink into and… god.

Your imagination is painting cruel washes of colour over the pallid picture before you, and you bite your lip in frustration, yearning for some kind of restraint to resist being his fool. Shifting his knees slightly, Satoru hums thoughtfully and shatters the illusion your mind has conjured. The sound fills you with dread. Nothing good comes from his premeditated words.

“I’m not sure anymore…” he trails off. Does he sound breathless? No—he can’t, right? No. You’re the one who wants this. He’s just messing with you. “You’re being kind of mean to me.”

And now he’s pouting. The revered six-eyed sorcerer is pouting against the floorboards. You tighten your fingers in his hair, relishing how it makes him hiss at the sharp pricks of pain. Again you wonder, why hasn’t he put his Limitless back up?

The harsh treatment doesn't, however, stop him from barrelling forward.

“I have feelings you know! I’m not some sex doll you can push around however you like—although you’d probably love that, thinking about it now… you know, I can probably find a guy for you. I’m talking someone real shady. Under-the-table type of deals. All I have to do is put up one ad on Craigslist—’hot single in urgent need of a man who won’t talk back’—and the offers will come swarming in. It’ll be uncomfortable, but for you…” he laughs. “Just for you, I’ll bite the bullet if you’ll consider shelving this stunt indefinitely!”

His mouth is moving a thousand miles a minute, like it’s replaced his heart and is running to keep him alive. To pump the very blood around his body. You know he has it. Blood, that is. Your eyes flicker to the beads of it that are shifting on his lips as he speaks, hardly taking a breath between each sentence.

“Satoru,” you say, interrupting him impatiently. “Please shut the fuck up.”

He grins, all teeth. There’s a smear of red on them.

You stare down at him. “You’re insane.”

“Yeah,” Satoru breathes through the ugly smile. “Probably. That would explain why I’m still hard, even with a psycho bending me over.”

You can’t even wipe the indignant expression from your face if you try, because your brain latches onto the fact that Satoru is still hard, and runs with it despite your protests. You try to form some kind of barb, a cruel insult at least—but you’re fighting a losing, bloody battle of the highest dishonour with yourself. You know every offensive and defensive move in your arsenal, and so you are defeated, your traitorous brain attempting once more to make the man underneath you submit.

“I’m the psycho?” you prompt.

He hums, his cheek still against the floorboards. You wonder if you’d be able to feel the reverberations of it under the soles of your feet were you not wearing heels.

“Huh, maybe you’re right,” you say, levelling your eyebrows and veiling the trepidation buzzing behind your features. “Hands behind your back.”

Your words are plain, and you hold your breath as he mulls over the request. His fingers flexing and flagging on the floorboards where his hands are tucked beneath his torso.

Please.

One of his hands moves to brace himself on the floor and you can feel the heat pulse in your core, expectant and hopeful, only to be slaughtered as easily as a curse in the face of his boundless power when he slowly pushes himself upright. He doesn’t dislodge the tight grip you maintain on his hair and you don’t bother trying to keep him pinned. Satoru has evidently decided he’s done with your little display of dominance and you can’t overpower him. Even if you wish fervently to have the ability to do so.

“I’m good, actually,” he says. Matter-of-factly and in a tone so chipper you want to strangle him just to hear his words wobble and break from the sure path they’re on. “But thank you.”

The flush you can feel creeping up your cheeks is humiliating, degrading you impossibly further when Satoru simply watches you. His face is an expressionless mask. Frustration wraps itself around you, coiling until you can’t breathe and you use your hold in his hair to shove him. Your palm forces his head to the side like it may give you a reprieve, but when you hand drops, his head simply swings back to face you a moment later. Bright eyes stare at you impassively, as though he’s watching a bug crawling by his stupid, shiny shoes. Too small to care about. Not worth the effort to catch, nor kill.

“Fuck you,” you say. But there is no anger in it, not anymore. You’re deflated, and the level tone you try to uphold barely masks the hurt you feel trembling through your words.

You’ve been a fool, after all.

Months spent convincing yourself 'one day’, while deluding yourself over scenarios that could never be—because you’re, well… you’re you, and Gojo Satoru is the Six Eyes. You’ve been kicking up circles of dust running from that very notion since the first time you slept with him.

“Come on,” he broaches, voice light as he shifts back to sit on his haunches more comfortably. “You still going to let me hit?”

You are nothing to him. You know that now—the ember is glowing bright and burning through you, sacrificial in every right—and you will only be saved if you are cleansed of Satoru.

“I’m done,” you mumble, eyes shifting to drink in the Tokyo skyline from your apartment. Thousands of minuscule lights flicker, each a person tangled in their cobweb of life as insignificant as your own. “I can’t do this anymore, Satoru.”

It’s ironic, really, that now seems to be the moment you’ve finally stunned Satoru. His mouth opens but no quick quip or joking response comes forth. He closes it again. You can see it in your periphery—the blinking lights call your name as you let your gaze drift over each building, every life, and the sun dipping slowly behind them.

“Hey,” he starts, voice guarded. “I thought this was all part of our give and take.”

An apology? No. An excuse? Hardly.

Of course he wouldn’t debase himself with atonement; you aren’t worth that. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever heard Satoru apologise to anyone—not when he decimates acres of land fighting a curse, nor when he bumps into someone and knocks the coffee they held from their hand. Perhaps this should make you feel better, but it doesn’t. You inhale a deep breath.

“You take and take and take. There is no give with you— no—” you pause, eyes flitting over to Satoru but not lingering long enough to examine his expression before they drift back to the sunset. “I have nothing left to offer. You have wrung me dry.”

You don’t expect an immediate response. After all, when have you ever rejected his advances? When have you before had the courage to sever those threads trapping you both together? He may have a silver-tongue, but that does not mean he cannot falter.

“Okay.”

…okay?

Furrowing your eyebrows, you drag your attention to the man kneeling before you.

“Okay,” he repeats. “You want me to give or you leave.”

His tone is blunt, no trace of a question to be found where it should be. He’s got it wrong—as though reading the lines of your reaction backwards. Has Satoru ever tried to understand you?

“It’s not an ultimatum,” you say tiredly. “We’re done.”

We’re done.

You’ve never referred to what was going on between you and Satoru as we, and even as it rolls off your tongue, it feels strange; like an ill-fitting sheet with its seams stretched beyond repair just so that it may barely clutch onto the mattress. It feels fraudulent. But the words have been spoken and you cannot swallow them back.

“I can give.” Satoru implores, his large hands rest on his thighs, painting the very picture of composure.

“I don’t want what you offer.”

I want your submission.

You can’t say it, even now. Even with this goodbye between you forming the perfect stage for one last hurrah—an act he won’t forget. That he may even care about.

It won’t matter, you remind yourself.

The silence branches between you, pushing you further and further and further from Satoru with each passing second.

He won’t reply.

You have been his fool, through and through—played the part well enough one might think you’d been bred for such a role. Perhaps you do not want him to reply, because if he speaks, if he pushes, you don’t know what you will do—for better or worse. So, bringing your hands to the sofa underneath your thighs, you tense and begin to push yourself to stand—to leave—when Satoru moves all at once. Clumsy and disorganised in a way you’ve never seen from him before. Urgent in a way he never is. You pause.

Satoru shuffles forward on his knees, closer and closer, until he’s a hair’s breadth from your crossed legs. The peculiar twist of his mouth has your gut swooping, a foreboding feeling rising within you at the serious expression. The distrust must be plain across your face, but when you open your mouth to protest, he leans forward. Cautious, like the possibility of you striking him is a real one—like he wouldn’t just block you with his Limitless—and gently, he places his chin on your crossed knee.

You freeze, and the breath you were inhaling lodges in your throat.

A long, slender finger hooks under one side of his blindfold and lifts the corner up to reveal a wide, beseeching eye staring up at you. Your own widen in response. You’ve never seen him look like this before. He looks…

Harmless. Almost innocent. 

And then, as if you’re not preoccupied worrying over whether in the time you were looking out the window, Satoru had been somehow possessed, he speaks.

“This is what you want, right?” His voice is so soft. “You want control.”

He’s demented. There’s no other explanation. Not as to why he’s kneeling in front of you like an entirely different person. Not as to why his tone and his stupidly big eyes have heat rushing to meet you like it never left. How does he know? All this time you believed him to be oblivious, he’s—

You have underestimated him. Again. He knew.

“You want me to beg,” he continues, his eye glued to yours. “To ask to touch you. To come.”

The leather sofa creaks underneath your fingers, where they curl nervously into the material.

“I…” you trail off, unsure as to what you’re even trying to say—what you even want to say.

The heat from his chin is leaching through your trousers, penetrating the layer of fabric and you fear it may scald your skin, marring it permanently. You can smell his cologne. He doesn’t let you breathe before uprooting your entire world—destroying the threads woven through you both that have kept you safe, that have kept him happy. 

“Please,” he breathes. Breathes, not whines, because if Satoru Gojo just propped his chin on your knee, looked up at you with his pleading, blue eyes, and whined, you really would be convinced he’d been possessed.

The wave of heat that washes over you is so filthy you barely have the forethought to worry if Satoru can feel it radiating from you as you screw your eyes shut against it. Against his exposed eye and its analysing stare.

“Please.”

You choke on a sound at the back of your throat, scrabbling to keep it inside you. To not allow him to stoke the burgeoning fire threatening to engulf you. The smoke is thick and blinding. Why it has taken you near leaving for him to play along with a desire he’s clearly known about for god only knows how long baffles you.

You can’t think straight.

It’s like any semblance of logical, rational thought has fled you to safer grounds, abandoning you to deal with the consequences of your desires alone as though it’s what you deserve. Perhaps you do. Wanting to grind Satoru, a man who holds Six Eyes and the most powerful sorcerer the Earth has ever encountered, into mere dust beneath your heel cannot possibly be normal.

Gradually, as unassuming as the approaching tide, a sick curiosity calls out: would he let you? The urge to answer that question commandeers your mind, screaming and hollering for attention that you can’t help but grant it because… what if he does? Months of yearning for this very scenario are ploughing through your defences like they are no more than reeds swaying in a breeze. Is Satoru offering you a chance for the control you have been desperate for? What if this is it? Your one and only opportunity. A test.

Take the leap or never know.

Perhaps by permitting yourself to finally release the perverted desire—that which has simmered higher and higher each time you slept together—you may develop an addiction with no prospect of your next fix. But the screaming is reaching its peak—loud and distracting and you can’t think around the blaring curiosity to taste it regardless; to ruin your palette once and for all; to at least know. So you open your eyes again and unclench one of your fists from the leather sofa, raising it slowly, cautiously, to cup the side of his face and stroke your thumb over his cheekbone. Only then do you look into his eye.

“Okay,” you say, voice soft. Re-emboldened, you test the boundaries again. “Are you going to behave?”

Satoru leans his weight into your hand, so lightly you may not have noticed if your world hadn’t narrowed down to the sorcerer before you. He swallows before he speaks.

“Yes,” he breathes, shifting on his knees and pulling his bottom lip between his teeth before he lets it pop back out, slick and shiny with his spit. You can feel your heart thundering like a brewing storm in your chest. “I’ll behave for you.”

A switch has flipped. Satory hasn’t been this agreeable in any of the long years you’ve suffered his acquaintance, and you feel lightheaded knowing you may be the first person to see him like this. You nod, trying to disguise the way you shiver at the realisation.

“Hands behind your back.”

The blindfold slips back over his eye when he lets go of it, and you would mourn the loss of eye contact if not for how he immediately obeys. The pliancy sends you reeling. You want to see. Are his hands clenched? Relaxed? Fidgeting? But you stay. The novelty of your situation isn’t lost on you—the things you want to do to him are so great in number that it’s overwhelming. You’ve had practice, however; you’ve imagined Satoru like this enough times you may well have thought through every possibility as to how this night could go. You don’t hesitate.

“Good.”

He swallows.

Feeling suspicious would probably be a smart idea, one that would prepare you for the rug he may pull out from under your feet. Because the possibility that his actions are a means to an end or a new opportunity to laugh in your face before he flips you over and ploughs into you—like his submission was a mere hallucination—is real. But you can’t quite bring yourself to commit to the feeling for more than a few seconds before there’s an itch under your skin telling you to touch. Your other hand joins to cup his face, and you tilt his head away from your knee until his throat is entirely bared. His blindfolded eyes study the drab ceiling above you both.

“So pretty,” you mumble, eyes tracing the long line of his pale neck.

You want to lean forward and bite, but the night is young. There will be time. You do not have to rush something so precious. You must savour this like a woman on death row with her final meal.

Satoru’s mouth drops open slightly, baring his teeth, and you can see his chest rising and falling fast. Intrigued to test a hypothesis you’ve held close to your heart for months, you dip your thumbs down below his jaw and dig them into the soft skin there. He releases a breathy sort of ‘hah’ at the sensation, shifting again on his knees. You press harder, the skin turning white beneath your thumbs. His pulse is pounding, but it’s not enough—you want to hear him. Releasing the pressure, you study the irritated pink that frames two deep nail marks on either edge of his jaw.

Ever so slowly, your palms cup his nape and you drag your thumb nails down either side of his windpipe, hard enough to leave two trailing scratch marks. Satoru muffles a surprised noise that tapers off when your thumbs come to rest at the base of his throat, your hands collaring him.

Squeezing your hands against the base of his throat, you listen to how his breath chokes off at the pressure. The tip of his ears begin to redden as you hold his breath between two states. His mouth drops open further, desperate. You let go and listen to how he heaves in a deep breath before releasing it, controlled in an attempt to level his breathing. To keep the spots dotting his vision at bay. You can see the tears clumping at his lash line—a response no one can control in the face of being choked—but fuck, the power rush you feel as you study the tears threatening to spill over is hedonistic.

Slipping your fingers back up the sides of his neck, his jaw, his cheeks, you hook your thumbs underneath his blindfold and tug it off, dropping it on the ground by your feet. He doesn’t protest, eyes fluttering open. Leaning back in your chair, you sever the contact between you. After a few seconds, he drops his head down and looks at you, making a confused sound in the back of his throat.

“Why’d you stop?” he asks. 

Is his voice hoarse, or is that your imagination?

No.

His voice is hoarse—rough with a desire you’ve instilled into him.

You quirk an eyebrow and Satoru flushes in response, eyes darting around where you sit. Wordlessly, you uncross your legs, stretching one out until your foot rests against his thigh.

“You don’t want something…” You drag the toe of your shoe up the inseam of his slacks, voice low. “More?”

“I…” Satoru swallows. “Yes.”

Lifting your foot, you press the point of your heel into the meat of his thigh, hard enough you’re sure the pressure must be uncomfortable. He doesn’t do more than clench his jaw. Your lips purse and you nod silently, content to wait.

The lull stretches between you, thick and sticky like sap gathering at the wound of a tree.

“Uhm,” he starts warily, “please?”

The corner of your lip twitches.

“Can you touch me?” he asks, voice firmer now at your reaction. “Please?”

Satoru sighs in relief when you remove your heel from his thigh, but the calm is quickly shattered when your leg extends further, the ball of your heeled-foot coming to rest on his cock as you press gently against it.

“Ow,” he gasps, but he doesn’t sound very pained at all. In fact, the red flush creeping across his nose bridge is all-too incriminating. You smile.

Running your fingers through your hair, you push it back from your face before straightening your barely-wrinkled clothes, steadfastly focusing your attention on anything but the man in front of you. It doesn’t take long for Satoru to squirm, and you only increase the pressure of your foot in response. He makes a strangled noise through his clenched jaw.

“I don’t know what you’re waiting for,” you say, tapping your nails on your thigh impatiently.

Satoru’s bright eyes flick between your own curiously. When you don’t say anything further, he lifts his hips into your foot slowly, watching you. A breath escapes him at the pressure. His eyebrows scrunch up in concentration and he reaches out a big hand to wrap around the back of your calf, forcing your foot forward as he begins to gently roll his hips. You let him—the effort is not yours to expend.

“Surely you can do better than this?” you ask when he continues his cautious, slow thrusts, voice bored.

He huffs, eyes flitting up to meet yours before focusing back on where the bright lacquer of your heel meets his dark slacks, and the arousal slowly bleeding through. The hand clutching your calf is uncomfortably warm, yet the tightening fingers and low moans on every thrust command your attention.

“To think that I’ve let you fuck me,” you say through a sigh. 

Satoru bristles beneath you but the stutter of his hips gives him away. These cruel words you spill are a means of catharsis, months of bitterness rotted down to pure acidity—never would you have guessed he’d enjoy the taste. 

“This is as humiliating for you as it is for me, Satoru.” 

You’re lying—of course you’re lying. You would wear Satoru’s humiliation like a second skin if such a scientific feat were possible; something so intrinsically tied to your body it may never be taken from you. Satoru huffs a strained laugh, feigning indifference as though it could fool you.

“I’d hope— it is—” he says between pants.

Leaning further back on the chair, you spread your other leg, tracking how Satoru’s other hand is curled tight into a fist atop his thigh. Blood pools in his cheeks, infecting his face like a virus he can’t fight. 

“Bearer of the Six Eyes,” you drawl, letting the words hang in the air between his pants before you continue, “humping my foot like a dog.”

“Haah— shut— up—” he spits between each sticky press of his crotch against your shoe, fingers digging into your calf painfully in punishment.

It’s filthy—the way his thighs strain in his slacks as he moves; the way his baby hairs stick to his forehead; the way Satoru bites his lip to contain his noises.

“Why have you resisted this for so long?”

Satoru doesn’t answer, doesn’t even seem to acknowledge that you’ve asked him a question and your ego bruises. He’s too caught up in the chase of his high to bear you a second thought. You dig your foot into his cock cruelly.

Ignore me now.

“Oh fuck—” he gasps, his movements stuttering underneath you. “Ah— you’re— mean—”

You take in his reaction, humming. A moment passes before you deign to reply.

“I’m being mean?” you pout. “You seem to be enjoying it, though.”

Satoru moans aloud, harsh and tortured. You dig your foot in again just to hear his voice catch in his throat. The pace of his hips is frantic now, and he uncurls his fist, splaying it out on the wooden floor behind him so that he can roll into your foot faster, harder. Satoru’s head tips back at the new angle and he pants, open-mouthed, into the air. Barely-there moans escape on every exhale. You watch with fascination.

“You’re close, huh?” you tease, all-too pleased when Satoru nods his head rapidly.

“Yes— ah— yes.” His voice is thin and torn. Glassy eyes watch you carefully when he tips his head back down and you hum in recognition.

“I want you to say ‘thank you’ when you come.”

Satoru’s eyes flare wide, but he doesn’t protest. If anything, the roll of his hips grows unforgiving, his pace quick and punishing as he drives himself to the edge he’s so desperate for—the one that you’ve granted him. Enraptured, you increase the pressure on his cock, trapping it harder against his pelvis. Satoru groans as he ruts against your foot. The trembling wracking his body worsens, and he squeezes his eyes shut when his back bows towards you.

“Thank you,” he keens, mouth dropping open as he comes, hips still quietly rolling against your foot as he rides it out. “Thank you, thank you, haah— thank you, oh— thank—”

Leaning forward, you press your finger into his open mouth and pet it across his tongue to quiet him. His eyes flutter open to take in your dangerous grin. 

Satoru is finally human like this. Mortal, even. Skin flushed and damp. Breaths coming short and fast. At last, you can reach him. Hooking your finger into his cheek, you drag him closer before he has a chance to calm, until you can feel the warmth of his feverish-panting on your chin.

“You’re welcome, Satoru.”

thank you for reading, reblogs are always super appreciated if you enjoyed! <3

✦ masterlist ✦ ao3 ✦

© deltamel '25 — do not plagiarise, modify, translate, or repost my work onto any platform.

[liasdivinity]

this just what i needed omg

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

Nanami and his pocket pussy that he only got because he was always too busy for relationships and after he meets you he's always fingering it with lube and rubbing the fake clit as he fucks it so that he can properly imagine taking care of you the way you deserve

[mintmatcha]

kita would walk into the arranged marriage expecting nothing but a slight change in his routine. he'd be polite, wake up even earlier than usual to fix something to eat, stay a little longer when you casually mention it'd be nice to have breakfast together instead. then he becomes observant. he likes the way you interact with his friends and always thank osamu for the meals he sets aside for you. he likes that you offer to help him in the fields and soon enough his routine becomes your routine and his house glows as it welcomes you both in the evening. he knows he's in love when someone at the market points out that you both make a wonderful couple and just as he glances over to you, politely refusing some extra peaches an old lady insists on offering, he finds himself agreeing. you're the best thing that's ever happened to him and he is simply dying to tell you, or rather, show you

For the first time, kita is running late. osamu tries to stay unaffected, but he keeps glancing towards the door. a regular customer jokes about something and it takes Osamu a beat before he laughs.

The sun is low in the sky by the times Kita makes it to the shop. The truck windows are down and music is playing a bit too loudly. You're half asleep in the passenger seat, mouthing along to the words, as kita brings in the supply.

"I was worried about you."

"Ah, sorry." Kita smiles in a way the means he's very much unapologetic. the tips of his ears at pink, cheeks flushed. "We got distracted."

Osamu can't bring himself to actually be mad. He puts his hands on his hips and sighs, trying to bit back a grin, before making kita's order: one umeboshi, two 'surprises'.

"This girl's a bad influence on you, Shinsuke."

"I know." Kita looks back over his shoulder. "Isn't it nice?"

[mewnbuns]

Men who cradle you after you cum, bringing you down from the haze of your own arousal with their thumb stroking your cheek and sweet kisses pressed between praises along your features. Soothing you like they’re not using their free hand to line up their cock for the next round 💗

[princess-okkotsu2]

cherry thrill | okkotsu yuuta x reader

ftm trans!yuuta. reader is afab, no pronouns used for reader. nipple play, oral sex, subtop yuuta. first time (for yuuta). reader is very forward. The relationship is recently established; at the beginning of the fic, reader doesn't know yuuta is trans. it's all good tho. Banner by @/cafekitsune. Length: 2.8K. Just barely made it in time for TDOV yay! ♥ listening to... ▷ cherry thrill - movements

“Do you trust me?”

Yuuta can’t seem to be able to tear his eyes off of the poster on the wall behind you. He’s nervous, nervous as hell. And locking eyes with Joan Jett plastered on your wall across from this couch seems to help distract him some. At least it’s better than looking into the eyes of a tiger (that means you, by the way.

Because that is entirely how you’re looking at him right now.)

Yuuta chews his bottom lip and nods.

“I know you told me you haven’t done anything like this before.” Yuuta nods idly. Joan’s reassuring smile sparkles behind your head. “But if you want it—I’ll be good to you.”

His lips perk up some. “I know.”

Your gaze, which was fixed on his face, trails down, sweeping over the pale column of his neck. He wears an oversized flannel over an oversized shirt paired with oversized jeans, his bony body drowning in fabric. Despite dating for weeks, you’ve never been graced with anything more than a glance at his collarbones, or a few presses of your lips to his own. He’d confessed to you early on that he was extremely inexperienced. But that’s okay; you’d be more than willing to be his first, a strange sort of satisfaction brewing in your tummy at the thought.

In comparison to his usual chastity, today seems like an anomaly. What was a “come over and watch a movie with me” date has turned into… well… this. Not that you’re complaining.

You’re straddling his lap, grinding yourself down against him as you shove your tongue down his throat. Your shirt had been peeled off and tossed onto the floor at some point during your heavy make out session, in an act to push Yuuta just a little harder than usual. You admittedly want more than just a few kisses tonight. And Yuuta’s eager hands cupping and groping your breasts as you bite at his lips tells you that he must feel the same way.

When you tell him sweetly that you’ll be good to him, his skin feels hot. Your fingers cup around his nape and tug at the roots, pulling him up to look at you. You kiss him, making a show of moaning against his lips as you grind against his pelvis. The signs are all there: he kisses you back, sucking on your tongue; his hands grope your chest, your thighs, squeeze at the meat of your ass.

So why isn’t he hard?

You pull away from the kiss, a web of saliva netting between your lips. Yuuta’s dazed when he looks at you—you imagine little hearts floating around his face, like a lovestruck fool out of a comic strip.

“Yuuta…” you use the hand you have at his nape, and turn it just slightly, so that you brush your thumb against his spit-soaked bottom lip. He parts his lips just enough for you to thumb over his Cupid’s bow. His lips are such a lovely shade of pink—so so pretty, so kissable.

Before you find yourself sucking on his tongue once more you pry your gaze away from it, and search his eyes pointedly. “I want to have sex with you. Badly. Would that be okay with you?”

Yuuta’s whole body reaction is charming. The soft breaths that washed over your thumb stop; his eyes grow wide, like a cornered animal, as his face blooms pink. He blinks. And blinks. And blinks.

“Um.. I—I want to too,” he stutters once his brain seems to come back online. He stops you when you lean forward to kiss him again, clearly hesitant over something. “I have a, um… confession to make.”

“Confession?” Your brows thread together in confusion and he keeps you away from his lips.

“I don’t have… um…” words seem to fail him at that moment, his lips mouthing something but no sound comes out. When you look into his eyes they’re glassy, on the brink of tears. Is he forcing himself to do this with you? Your heart sinks at the thought.

“Yuuta, if you don’t want this, don’t force yourself, it’s oka—”

You feel his grip on your sides tighten. “It’s not that,” He takes the hand that you’ve placed on his face and brings it down to between your bodies, pressing it against his crotch. You feel nothing there—not even a bulge. When you don’t say anything, he looks away, his grip on your hand going limp.

It takes a few seconds, as you clear the hazy lust clouding your mind, for this all to click in your mind.

And then it does.

“Oh.”

He panics, then. “I should have told you earlier, I’m sorry—”

“Baby,” you hush him, palms to his cheeks. “Did you think that would upset me?”

He resorts back to blinking, a little dumbfounded, and nods. “I don’t know—maybe,”

“I love you,” you tell him for the first time. His ears feel hot as the words reach them. “Exactly as you are.”

Yuuta’s overwhelmed with emotions at the relief that comes with admitting this to you—and for a while, you stay like this, letting him wrap himself around you and sob into the crook of your neck as you pat his hair and soothe him, reassuring him that you’d never be upset with him for something like this. Hell, as his crying subsides, you give him just a little grief, in the form of “Did you really expect me to reject you?”.

To which he shyly admits that he didn’t; but his anxiety won out every time it came up, avoiding breaching the topic until now. You don’t blame him at all, of course.

And he doesn’t know if he can love you any harder than he does in the moment when you kiss his damp eyelids, thumb at his cheeks, and tell him, “this doesn’t change a thing. 'kay?”

The hesitancy Yuuta felt before vanishes completely when you kiss him again. This time he lets you sneak your hands under his shirt, lets your hands roam over the soft skin of his tummy, and even raises his arms for you when you motion to peel off his shirt. He’s wearing a binder beneath his shirt, solid black with a zipper down its center. When your thumb and index finger wrap around the zipper, you feel him stop breathing again, so you pause.

“It’s okay,” he nods—it’s the first time anyone’s done this with him, and you feel a sort of responsibility, to make him feel loved with every touch. You’re slow and delicate when you tug, maintaining eye contact with him, looking for any sign that you should stop what you’re doing. But he gives you no such signal.

When you tug the zipper all the way down, the black fabric comes apart with a snap. Suddenly his breasts spill out, sizable enough to droop like a pretty pair of pears… after pushing off the binder, you take the left one into your hand and thumb softly over his nipple. A cute little whine slips out of his lips.

“Would you rather I not touch them?” You ask him, afraid of overstepping. Your stomach churns with desire when his face deepens a shade of pink.

“It—it feels good,” he says as your hand gently squeezes a handful of his chest, pinching the nipple. “I like it—as long as it’s you.”

You can’t help but kiss him again, delighted at his words, at how much faith he’s put in you. As your lips meld against his own you squeeze his breasts, pinching, rolling, massaging—and he squeaks, hums, and moans in delight with every touch. If you weren’t so busy eating up every single way his body responds to you, you’d be upset with him for holding back from this for so long. How much more can you get out of him?

But you can’t help but wonder if you’ve already pushed him enough for today, seeing just how much kissing and groping has flustered him already, and hesitate, pulling away to ask, “do you want to keep going?”

Yuuta surprises you, then. He flips you off his lap and lays you down onto the couch, slotting himself between your thighs. His expression is still flustered but his gaze is something else; darker, determined. “Yes, I want to…”

"Then, fuck me," you smirk at him, pawing up at his jeans. "I'll teach you how."

As you hurriedly peel off each other's pants, Yuuta is grateful that you have a bit more experience than he does. He likes that you guide him, with a mix of eagerness and respect for his inexperience. You don't say much until you're both down to your panties, both of you squeezing at whatever parts of each other's bodies you can grab.

Yuuta sits on his knees between your thighs as you sit up off the couch and rub your fingers over his clothed pussy; the fabric is soaked through.

"Can I take this off?" You murmur, looking up at him. He nods, and your gaze slowly flits down to where you touch him; it feels like it burns his skin as it trails down his lips, then chest, then down the dark hair on his tummy that cuts off at the cloth of his panties, like a promise of something more beneath. With hands at both sides you peel the cotton down, pushing it to his knees—any further down and he would have to move his legs, but right now he can do no such thing, because you lean in, face-to-face with his pussy, and place kisses along his pelvis, his vulva... to say he's embarrassed is an understatement. A glance up at him reveals he's covering his mouth with the back of his hand, ears and cheeks a pointed red.

"Is this embarrassing for you?" you ask him. "You can tell me to stop whenever, sweetheart."

He shakes his head side to side wordlessly. Doesn't protest when you pry his sticky lips apart with your thumbs, showing you his puffy little cock. It's reddened compared to the rest of him; you blow on it, and he shivers, which makes you start to giggle.

"So sensitive, Yuuta. Have you been touching yourself a lot?"

"The medicine, it um, makes me really..."

"Horny?"

"Mmmh,"

Admittedly, Yuuta is someone who's incredibly fun to tease. You've learned this over the few weeks you've been dating, and the urge to tease him about this bubbles up inside you. His reactions are what drive you, always so incredibly cute and innocent.

So you tease him.

"Do you touch yourself like this?" You ask as you thumb over his dick. He starts to squirm, acknowledging your question with a hum. "Or do you prefer fingers inside you?"

You start to rub his cock in a circular motion with your thumb and he all but keels over. "Like that—please,"

You replace your thumb with your lips, wrapping them around his dick. Yuuta's never felt the warmth of someone's mouth there before, nor has he ever felt the sensation he feels when you start to flick your tongue over him, and he nearly chokes on a sob when you start to suck.

"Fuuuuuck," he sighs. It's the first time you've even heard him curse like that. It's delightful. So you hold his lips apart with your thumbs and lavish attention on his cock, sucking and teasing with your tongue until Yuuta's holding you to him with a firm hand, practically grinding himself on your face. He sounds wretched when he cums on your mouth, and you moan in time with him, making him undoubtedly hornier than he thought possible.

"Please," he pants, chest rising and falling as you pull off his cock. "Please let me make you feel good too."

Your lips glisten with his wetness, and when you lean back Yuuta kisses you, tasting himself on them. He doesn't know what to make of the tangy sweetness but he decides he doesnt hate it.

You pull your own panties off as he stares. Practically starts to drool as you hold your lips apart with your index and middle fingers.

“Wanna make me feel good?” He watches with bated breath as you stick your middle finger inside, past your entrance, and pull it back out. It comes out with a sticky sheen. “Then put your cock inside me, Yuuta.”

Ohhhhhhh God, he’s thinking, watching you push your finger back inside yourself. Is this even fair?

Yuuta believes he is entirely unqualified to have someone like you; he doesn't even know what to do with himself when you hook your arms under your knees, pulling your legs back and spreading open for him. He has zero experience with this, marveling at your drooling pussy, unsure about where his body parts should go.

He swallows. "Put it," clears his throat, "Put it in?"

You smile, a bit like a Cheshire Cat. "Yes, darling."

It's cute, the way he shyly shuffles up, shucks both your panties off the couch and onto the ground, and places his thighs right up against you. He's flustered, pink from his ears to his collarbones, as you rest your thighs on his, beckoning him closer with fingers wrapped around his arms.

"Don't think about it too much," you assure him. "Do what feels good."

His intuition and his experience (read: the many nights he's spent humping his pillow, thinking about you) tell him to peel apart the sticky folds of his pussy, to press his dick right against your wanting hole. He shyly grinds himself against you, soaking in the little moans that leave your lips when his dick slides against your clit.

"More," you hum, to his excitement. "Like that."

When he gets a sense of what you like, he pushes your knees back to your chest, earning a gleeful squeal from your lips. He smiles when you do.

"Good boy," you coo, as he continues to grind himself against your pussy. You don't mind how hard he grips the back of your thighs as he leans over you, enjoying the friction between your bodies. In fact, he grips the fat of your thighs even harder upon hearing the words 'good boy'. Discovering just how much he loves praise was not your prerogative tonight, but wow will this information be useful for later...

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of his low, strained groan as his cock catches on your hole. It's so sticky; when he pulls away even the smallest distance, a thin web of slick connects you both. You reach down to your clit, tracing circles over it as he fucks into you with his dick.

Your orgasm builds slowly, between you touching your clit and Yuuta grinding himself against your pussy. After a few moments, he adjusts your legs, shuffles a little closer, and grinds himself right against your clit, a position that is incredibly good for the both of you. Your bodies lewdly rub against each other, pushing you both closer and closer to your peak.

"Just like that, Yuuta," you gasp, watching as his pussy rubs against yours, "Fuck,"

Yuuta's immensely satisfied to see you like this: squirming against the couch, eyes lidded and full of lust because of him. He didn't even think he could have this effect on you, especially due to his, well, lack of a certain body part. But it seems, to his relief, that it couldn't be further from the truth; because suddenly he's drenched as you cum, gushing from when your bodies are grinding against each other. Your voice warbles with a broken moan, and your chest heaves. What a pretty sight... Yuuta had no idea that when he was avoiding intimacy with you, that he was missing out on this. He suddenly feels entirely like an idiot.

"Was that good?" Yuuta asks between pants, his shoulders rising and falling dramatically with every breath. He's shy again when you meet his gaze, like your orgasm wasn't enough of an indication that you enjoyed it. Silly boy.

"Come 'ere," he pull him forward, letting him topple onto you. Immediately you wrap your legs around his torso, and kiss the doubt off his lips. "I should be asking you that, your first time and all."

You kiss at the blush on his cheeks and ask, "Was this okay for you?"

He nods, wordlessly dipping down low enough to take one of your nipples into his mouth. You shoot him a curious glance.

"I wanna make you do that again," he says before sucking at your chest.

"You really like making me go off?" You ask with a giggle. He nods without releasing your tit. "Then how about we try something else."

He releases your breast with a pop. "Hm?"

"Have you ever thought about using a strap-on?"

It seems Yuuta still has a lot to learn from you yet..

[liasdivinity]

i dream of t!yuuta because it’s what i deserve

[cherrystonefemme]

An offering to lesbian tumblr. Now stop reblogging that creepy ai to my dash

[zomgcaleb]

NSFW — caleb would loatheeee you trying to be quiet. he’s waited so long to have you this way after all the daydreams and fantasies that would distract him. the ones that would make him reread his source articles in academy because the image of your collarbones in that v neck from your hangout blurred the lines, the ones that would make him improvise in conversation with friends because he was too busy thinking about kissin up your spine to hear what they said. and after all that you want to hide away from him. uh uh.

he’d finally have you sprawled out on his huge comfy California king, pressed under the weight of his body in a nasty prone bone. his shoulders and sculpted biceps would be caging you in and his forehead would rest gently in the crook of your neck, suffocating in the smell of your sweat mixing with the perfume you always wear that drives him insane. you were completely trapped and it was delicious.

but here you were, shoving your face into the pillow and squeezing your eyes shut in hopes to find the strength to stop being so loud. your were embarrassed at how primal he could make you sound like your noises were being ripped from your chest at the feeling of him.

he’d hear the hitch of struggle in your voice once and his eyes shoot open and his brows pinch together. he lifts his head to look at you through droopy eyes. ‘w’ya doin’?‘ he slurs firmly. ‘stop it.’ he shifts to lean on his forearm and uses his other hand to grip your jaw and tilt your head up.

you let out a gasp into the thick sticky atmosphere but you still don’t seem to ease up and he whines in something close to agony at your muffled noises. ‘nooo please baby sing for me gimme ‘ur pretty voice.’

he’d get so impatient that he hooks his thumb into your mouth and pries it open, moaning at the drool that trickles down his wrist. he starts to fuck you as if he’s trying to thrust through you and you can’t help but cry out in bliss, right into his ear, as he rams right into that sweet spot that’s just for him.

it was like a mountain was just lifted off of his shoulders and the relief coursed through him like euphoria. ‘my pretty girl. nothin’ t’be scared of stop hidin fr’me. let caleb hear you, let him hear baby’ he’d coo absentmindedly. he has to try like never before not to cum in you right then.