Synopsis: Out of everyone on campus, Zayne Li was the one you least expected to run into in an underground pub on a Friday night, beer in hand and dressed nothing like how soon-to-be doctor Zayne Li dresses on a daily attending classes. Were your eyes deceiving you, or was there a side of Zayne no one was aware of, especially you?
Content warnings: College AU, Med-Student Zayne with a side flavor of Metalhead, he has tattoos & piercings in this one (+his sexy mullet), Lots of flirting, Heavy sexual tension, Smoking, Shotgunning, Alcohol consumption, Zayne can handle some alcohol in this AU, Ass grabbing & leaving marks, Neck kissing & hickeys, Dirty talk, Caleb is a side-character in this. (cw will be updated with each ch; next one is explicit)
Word count: 9.5k
Author’s note: ladies and gentlemen, i present you, my newest obsession. Metalhead!Zayne will grace our lives bcs i saw this art from our wonderful talented raoni & i couldn't think about anything else since... it has consumed my mind and soul
sooo, this was supposed to be a one-shot buuut... haha like you don't know me already, who's lex if she doesn't make it slowburn & build the sexual tension for at least a few thousand words.......right
enjoyyy guys<3 comments & reposts are VERY welcomed & appreciated (pls yap with me about this im losing my damn mind)
Making your way through the stifling crowd was a true challenge tonight, despite your best efforts to keep up with Simone and Tara who were farther away in front of you, clinging with one another and giggling, barely audible over the loud music of the pub.
You weren’t faring better yourself, clinging to Simone’s palm and trying to avoid sweaty bodies bumping you left and right. You had one-too-many drinks tonight already, because this wasn’t really in plan, to go out. You were supposed to have a girls’ night at the dorm, so you invited Simone and another two girls from her class to your shared dorm with Tara, since midterms were over and you took your last exam Wednesday, you all wanted to just get loose, have some fun.
They came with two bottles of alcohol, which you mixed with what you already had in your worn fridge in the dorm, because you didn’t trust Tara to make the cocktails. You remember last time you put your faith in her, naive as you were, and ended up half-naked in the middle of the night, swimming in the campus’ indoor pool, giggling like two idiots.
You were not about to have a repeat of that tonight, so you made them. Still, that didn’t mean you were safe from her shenanigans, because about eight rounds into truth or dare, you already had a cocktail and three shots into your system, enough alcohol to make your vision blurry at the edges and put a filter over the rational part of your brain.
Three shots turned into five, and another cocktail was half-emptied when you dragged your skirt up your legs, wobbling a little in front of the mirror where your reflection was staring back at you, hair messy and cheeks pink from all the laughing. As you struggled to change into some clothes worthy of being into a club full of drunk college students, Simone was already calling for a cab while the other girls were still rolling on the floor, giggling and drinking from their plastic cups.
You didn’t have half a mind to refuse going out, even if you knew there was a possibility for things to take a turn for the worst tonight, knowing Tara and Simone and the version of themselves clouded by so much alcohol. You took your purse from the couch in a hurry and followed them to the cab, stumbling a little on your poor choice of shoes. Just because you were tipsy, that didn’t mean you weren’t gonna dress for the occasion.
You stop in front of the bar now, Simone already leaning over the counter with a smile on her face, boobs peeking out from the cut of her blouse, chest pressing into the wood with the movement. She says something to the bartender, which you guess must be something flirty because he gives her a small laugh and turns to pour some transparent liquid into five small glasses.
The music is super loud, especially near the bar, but you still hear them clearly as they chant “Shots! Shots! Shots!”, so you all take your glass and clink them together before your head dips back and the strong liquid swirls down your neck, burning. You wince, coughing a little as you set the glass down on the counter, giggling at Simone and Tara’s faces, which aren’t that different from yours.
“Woo! That was much better than whatever we had at the dorm!” Tara grins, sliding her arm around your neck.
“Yeah, and a lot more expensive, too!” you huff, smiling at her because it is indeed better.
You spend the next half an hour or so by the bar, sharing a few more drinks, and you settle for a cocktail this time, something easier that takes longer to finish. Your mind is already fuzzy, everything funnier than it should be, so you know you’re not just tipsy anymore. You got to do some damage control, so you avoid any more shots, even when Tara pouts at you to try to convince you to have one more round with her.
The other two girls found their way to the other side of the pub where it is a lot more crowded, bodies clinging to one another while dancing, and Simone is deep in conversation with the bartender, which you suspect is nothing casual because his eyes keep drifting down to Simone’s chest every now and again, and she doesn’t seem to mind.
You laugh to yourself and turn your attention to Tara, then scan the rest of the pub. Since this is close to campus, you wonder if you’ll find any familiar faces here tonight. You frequent the pubs around campus often, especially when you’ve gotten all your focus on your studies and feel burned out. Being in a place with loud music and full of students such as yourself, who chase the same feeling of letting go of anxieties and stress, even if just for a few hours, makes you feel like there’s more out there than just your studies.
Tara is leaning against the counter beside you, her chin propped lazily in her palm as she scrolls through something on her phone, the screen casting a faint blue glow across her cheekbones. You take the opening to slip a hand into your purse and fish out the soft pack of cigarettes you’d shoved in there earlier, the cardboard a little crumpled from being pressed up against your lipstick and your keys. You nudge her shoulder with yours, leaning in close so you don’t have to shout over the music that’s still thrumming through the floor and up into the soles of your feet, the bass making your chest vibrate in a way that almost feels pleasant by now, almost familiar after this long.
“Smoke break?” you angle the pack so she can see it, drawing her gaze up from her phone. “I’m dying.”
She gives a small hum of agreement, slipping her phone into the back pocket of her jeans before sliding off the stool with a slight wobble that mirrors your own. You loop your arm through hers because you can already feel the buzz pooling warm and heavy in the bowl of your stomach, that liquid sort of heaviness that makes your steps feel a fraction too long, a fraction too generous with how much space they take. Tara is just steady enough to anchor you while you weave back through the crush of bodies, and you keep your free hand splayed out a little for balance as you slip between people, your shoulder catching now and again on someone’s arm, someone’s drink.
This place is one of those underground spots that doesn’t quite have rules, or doesn’t quite bother enforcing the ones it has, and there’s a stretch of corridor just off the main floor where people pour out from the different bars that share the space, leaning along the bricked wall with cigarettes pinched lazily between their fingers, the air heavy with smoke and the scent of perfume that bleeds into sweat and spilled liquor and turns into something almost intoxicating in its own right.
The music drops to a muffled pulse the second you step out from the doorway, and the relief of it hits you somewhere behind the ribs, your shoulders coming down a fraction as you tap the pack against your palm and slide a cigarette between your lips, the filter catching slightly on the tackiness of your gloss.
Tara is already drifting a few steps off, shouting at a girl she barely knows from her psych elective, so you let her go and lean your shoulder blades against the cool stretch of brick while you cup your hand around the flame of your lighter. It flickers twice before catching, and the first drag is warm and grounding in a way you didn’t realize you needed tonight, your eyes slipping half-closed as you tilt your head back and let the smoke curl slow up past your lashes.
You picked up smoking as a bad habit, second year in Uni. The pressure was too much, combined with the emotional wreckage your ex put you through, so you turned to something unhealthy instead of crying yourself to sleep every night. You tried to quit, but bad habits die hard, so you give yourself some grace on nights like this, blaming it on letting lose, telling yourself it’s just for tonight, just as a social thing and not something you still need to ease off the heaviness in your chest you still occasionally get.
You drag your eyes to the left, and it takes you a full minute to realize who is standing at the far end of the corridor. Caleb. Of course he would be here tonight, it doesn’t even come as a surprise to you that he’s out partying with his friends. You met Caleb your second year, too, in this exact same spot. You were a mess back then, makeup smudged and eyes puffy from crying, because you were really going through it at the time, and the loud music, the alcohol and seeing everyone around you have fun while you were still not over your ex—everything made you fall down the rabbit hole even faster. You were down to your last two cigarettes which you were desperate to inhale and just try to shut off your brain, but luck wasn’t on your side.
You lost your lighter somewhere in the crowd that night, and this stranger saw you were about to have a full mental breakdown as you desperately rummaged through your purse, huffing and puffing, annoyed. Caleb offered you his lighter with a casual smile, easy and charming enough to erase some of the frown between your eyebrows, and you took it from his fingers, giving a small smile.
You spent the rest of that miserable night talking and smoking in a corner, and the miserable night turned out not to be that miserable after all. He shared his own pack of cigarettes, shared some funny stories of himself, all in an attempt to make you laugh, which you did. The satisfaction swam from his face in waves, grinning at you like he won a prize, which only made you roll your eyes at him. But you were grateful, more than you wanted to voice, because his presence made it easier, stopped your from spiraling like you did many night before, in that same spot, doing the exact same thing, only being much more dejected and alone.
Caleb is the kind of person who occupies the air around him whether he means to or not, all loose shoulders and that easy slouch he does against any available surface, head thrown back laughing at something with the line of his throat catching under the cheap yellow string lights running along the corridor. He’s in that worn navy crew-neck he wears half the week, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, hair looking like someone (probably him) has been pulling at it for hours.
And right beside him, half a step back with a beer bottle dangling loose between his fingers and his other hand shoved deep into the pocket of his black jeans, is Zayne.
That makes your fingers go still around the cigarette, the smoke curling thin and untouched past your face as you take a beat to actually process what you’re looking at, because Zayne is not the kind of person you expect to find in an underground pub on a Friday night, leaning against a brick wall and listening with that faint half-smile he gets when he’s tolerating something more than enjoying it.
You’ve never quite been able to figure him out, in the loosely overlapping way that you know him, mostly through Caleb, mostly across the table in that one shared seminar where he sits two rows up and answers questions in that low, even way that always sounds like he’s already considered three counterarguments before opening his mouth. You’ve been on group projects with him a couple of times too, polite and easy to work with every single time. He’s a mistery to you, and you would lie to yourself if you didn’t admit he is quite an interesting person.
He’s brilliant, of course. Everyone on campus knows just how smart Zayne Li is, never one to be underestimated, never one to pass his study sessions in favor of hanging out or going out to have fun or just do things that don’t require a textbook and a laptop. He’s soon-to-be doctor, of course he is the type of person prioritizing his studies. Paired with the way he looks, you have to admit to yourself, he would make quite a handsome doctor.
Knowing all this about Zayne, it does take you by surprise actually seeing him here tonight. With a bottle of beer in his hand, no less. It makes your eyes squint despite yourself, a small smirk of curiosity more than anything pulling at the corner of your lips. Him and Caleb are as much opposites as people with different life ideals and future plans are, yet you couldn’t help but notice of how well they fit together as friends in the time you got to meet them and interact with them. Even so, from getting along well to this… well, it’s safe to say it’s got you all curious how Caleb even managed to drag Zayne out here, and even more so, how he convinced the guy to drink beer with him.
He looks different out here. Or maybe he just looks like himself in a setting where you weren’t expecting to see him. The contrast is what’s catching you off guard, because the dim corridor light cuts shadows down the line of his jaw in a way that makes you swallow before you’ve decided to. He’s even dressed so differently than he usually is on campus, with fitted black jeans and a black tee under his leather jacket. You would blame it on the amount of alcohol you had tonight and the thick layer of smoke haunting the corridor, but fuck it if he doesn’t look sexy as hell dressed in that. You bite your lip, eyes dragging up and down his body, quietly glad he doesn’t seem to notice he’s being checked out.
Caleb spots you first, his face splitting into the grin that’s probably gotten him out of more parking tickets than he’ll ever admit to.
“No fucking way!” He’s already pushing off the wall, crossing the corridor in a few easy strides. “Tell me you guys didn’t actually come here on purpose.”
“Sorry for barging on your domain, Xia.” You smirk at him when he’s close enough to see it. Tara is abandoning her psych girl and their conversation to throw her arms around his neck because Tara has known Caleb almost as long as you have, and the two of them dissolve into the loud, hugging, half-shouting reunion that they always seem to do whenever they collide somewhere unplanned.
Which leaves Zayne leaning against the wall with the bottle hanging loose in his hand, watching the spectacle with that mild expression that doesn’t quite commit to anything.
Watching, you realise after another second, you.
The cigarette burns down a millimeter while you hold his gaze, and you don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the bass still thumping faintly through the wall behind you or the fact that you weren’t expecting him here, but you can feel the heat climbing in a slow crawl up the side of your neck that you can’t quite reason away. You lift the cigarette in a small salute across the gap between you, then bring it back to your lips and pull a deliberate drag with your eyes still on him.
“Didn’t have you pegged for the underground type, Zayne.” you finally call, loud enough to carry over the loudness around you, soft enough that it isn’t really for anyone but him.
His head tilts a fraction, and he pushes off the wall to come closer. “Didn’t have you pegged for a smoker.”
He takes his time crossing to you, the bottle still loose in his hand, and you catch the way his eyes flick down the length of your dress and back up in the kind of split-second pass that wouldn’t be obvious to anyone who wasn’t looking for it. You were looking for it, which is why it is hard to bite back the small smirk painting your lips.
“I guess I’m just full of surprises,” you say, shrugging one shoulder against the brick, unbothered.
“So I’m gathering.”
He stops in front of you, closer than acquaintances usually stand. The corridor is loud but not loud enough that you wouldn’t hear him if he wasn’t staying so close. He doesn’t really need to stand in your personal space, but it still feels like a decision, one he made somewhere around three strides back. You tilt your chin up to keep his gaze, and the brick is cool through the thin fabric of your dress where your shoulder blades are pressing into it.
“Caleb dragged you out, didn’t he?” you smile at him, eyes flicking back over his shoulder where Caleb is laughing with Tara and another girl a few steps back, and then flick back at him.
You’re aiming for casual, but it comes out a little lower than you meant it to, smoke-slow almost. His mouth does a small twitch at the corner, the not-quite-smirk that you’ve watched from across a seminar table more times than you’d like to admit to yourself in this exact moment. It makes heat crawl up your spine, grip your cigarette a little tighter.
“Something like that,” he hums, tilting his head.
“He’s persuasive.”
“He’s something.”
The laugh that comes out of you is real and surprised, the alcohol warming it from the inside, and Zayne watches you laugh with an expression you can’t entirely place, except for the part of it that you can. You hold the cigarette up between you, the smoke curling thin and pale through the space between his face and yours.
“You smoke, Zayne?” You already know the answer to that, like you knew the answer to him drinking, yet here he is in an underground pub with a bottle of cheap beer in his hand. So really, do you know the answer?
“Not usually, I don’t.” There’s a small pause, the corner of his mouth twitching again. “I do on special occasions, though.”
You tilt your head, eyes narrowing in surprise. “Social smoker?”
“Something like that.” Your eyes follow as he lifts the bottle to his lips, head tilting slightly as he takes a sip of the beer. It’s probably gotten too warm, judging by the smallest narrowing of his eyes at the taste.
You drag another smoke into your lungs, even if only to distract yourself from staring without any regards at him. His throat bobs slowly with it, and you can’t help but trace it with your eyes.
You’re not as subtle as you usually would be. Granted, you’ve got a little too much alcohol in your system to care for subtlety, but you’re at least aware of Zayne watching you closely too. That alone makes you shiver slightly, a small tremor up your spine, which you could always blame on the coldness of the wall behind you. It would be a lie, anyway.
“Sorry if I’m having a hard time believing that, Zayne—you? A social smoker?” you puff out the smoke, letting it curl in the space between you that has gotten an inch smaller since you’ve started talking, “What, you’re a social drinker, too? And here I thought you lost a bet to Caleb or something.” You gesture to the bottle in his hand with a cheeky smile.
Zayne only hums, something you can’t actually hear because of all the noise, but you do inch a tad bit closer to him.
“There’s quite a lot you don’t know about me.” He tilts his head down, hazel eyes focused on you, and the subtle move has your heart picking up the pace a little. He only lingers on your face for a few seconds before looking around casually. “Is it that hard to believe I’m here out of my own free will?”
You puff a small laugh, because yeah, it is quite hard to believe Zayne Li would choose this as his preferred Friday night activity. He doesn’t seem that out of place as you would have thought he would, if someone were to come up to you and say they saw Zayne Li in an underground pub, surrounded by smokers and loud college students, drinking beer in a leather jacket and tight jeans.
“I feel like answering that would not make your impression of me improve.” You inhale again, pursing your lips around the cigarette. A small curve of his lips has your stomach doing a flip, because of many reasons, really. One would be that you never expected Zayne to be so easy to talk to, and another one would be how good that smirk looks on his lips.
You lick your own unconsciously.
He shuffles closer to you, and you shift on your heels to make some space for him. Leaning with his shoulder on the wall, he brings the bottle to his lips again, so you break eye contact to rummage through your purse again, looking for another cigarette since the one you had in your hand burned all the way through.
From the corner of your eye, you see Tara and Caleb laugh at something, then Tara looks your way and silently gestures toward the bar at the end of the corridor. You immediately get what she’s saying, the two of them already making their way there, Caleb’s hand around her shoulders to stabilize her. You roll your eyes and smile, turning back to Zayne who’s silent beside you, eyes looking in the same direction.
You’re almost out of cigarettes, which would be just your luck, but at least you’ve got enough to stay out here for a while longer. Not that you really need an excuse to hang out here, but hanging out with Zayne in this enviorment which is far from academic, makes you feel a new type of nervousness.
You light your cigarette with a flick of the lighter, the small flame catching the corner of your mouth for half a second before it disappears, and you tilt your body in Zayne’s direction, hip cocked against the brick, smoke curling slow up between you.
“Fair enough. Then you won’t mind me asking why you’ve picked up smoking?”
He lifts a brow at you, something curious in his expression, something almost probing, like he’s already three steps ahead of whatever answer you’re about to give him. He waits patiently for your response, head tilted a fraction, and you find yourself shrugging a shoulder before the silence has the chance to stretch into something heavier than you want it to.
“Bad habit,” you offer, mouth curving in a playful gesture, something someone who hasn’t fully decided how much to share would do, tapping a little ash off the end of your cigarette. “Seems like I stumble into bad decisions lately.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, the smallest thing, but enough that you catch it and feel the warmth of it settle somewhere low and pleased under your sternum. You like that. You like that you can pull that out of him without seeming to try very hard at all. He brings the bottle back up to his mouth then and tips the rest of the beer into his throat in one slow swallow, the line of it working under the dim corridor light. When he’s done he leans sideways and sets the empty bottle on the narrow ledge running off the brick, where someone has already left two crushed caps and a folded matchbook.
“Do you mind?” His chin lifts slightly toward the cigarette between your fingers, brows arched, easy with it.
You blink at him for half a second, an eyebrow flicking up in something that’s mostly confused and a little curious, and the smile that pulls at your mouth has a touch of cheekiness in it that you don’t quite bother smoothing over.
“By all means.”
You pass it to him slowly, the brush of your fingers landing in the handoff, and you watch with quiet curiosity as he lifts it to his mouth, the filter catching the light where your gloss has left a faint pink print along it. He pauses just before he draws, gaze flicking up over the line of his fingers to lock with yours, holding it there long enough that the air between you tightens around your ribs.
You lean in then, mouth drifting close to his ear because you tell yourself the corridor is loud, even though neither of you have been struggling to hear each other.
“Is this one of your special occasions, then?”
You linger only a breath longer than you need to before easing back, and the small smirk that curves slow over his mouth has your stomach turning once in a lazy roll.
“I have a feeling you wouldn’t mind if it was, would you?”
His voice is low, casual enough on the surface that it would be easy to miss what’s underneath it if you weren’t already listening for it. He drags a slow inhale from the cigarette, the ember flaring orange in the dim light, and tilts it back toward you between two fingers while exhaling the smoke off to the side of you, lips half-parted, gaze still settled steady on yours.
You raise an eyebrow at him.
He raises one back.
“Come closer, then.”
You take half a step in and tip your face up, but he doesn’t pass the cigarette to your fingers this time. He holds it for you, knuckles brushing the corner of your mouth as you wrap your lips around the filter and draw. Your free hand drifts up the front of his jacket, fingers walking slow over the leather, finding the lapel and curling there a beat before sliding higher to the collar. You tug him down without hurry, just enough that his head dips and his lips part on a quiet exhale that you can feel along your top lip.
You let the smoke leave your mouth in a slow, unhurried push, and he takes it from the gap between your lips in a soft inhale, his chest rising shallow with it, the line of his mouth coming so close to yours that you can feel the heat of him without quite touching. Inches between you. Neither one of you moving to close them.
His free hand finds your hip then, settles there with a quiet weight that’s deliberate in a way that makes your breath catch under your ribs. His eyes search yours for half a beat, something unspoken passing through them, a question low enough that he doesn’t need to voice it for you to feel it land. You tilt your head a fraction in answer, nose brushing slow against his, and the corner of his mouth twitches against the small drag of it.
You slip the cigarette from between his slender fingers, holding it up between you with a small, playful curl of your mouth, and bring it to his lips while trying to not be too aware of how close you’re standing. He smirks, eyes still on yours, and parts his lips around the filter as you hold it for him, the ember catching as he draws. His hand slides from your hip up along the line of your waist in the same breath, fingers spreading wide over your ribs through the thin material of your dress. The sudden firm grasp of it pulls a small gasp out of you before you’ve decided to make a sound, your back arching against the brick on instinct.
He uses it. He bends his face down into the small space your gasp has carved between you and exhales the smoke between your parted lips in a slow, deliberate stream, and you breathe him in without thinking, the heat of his breath, the bitter trace of the cigarette, all of it dragging down into your lungs while his thumb sweeps a slow circle against the side of your ribcage.
You hold the smoke a beat longer than you need to before letting it spill back out, curling pale up between your mouths. You see his gaze drop and stay this time, settling on your parted lips, a look so intense it has your tongue peek out to wet your lower lip.
“You’ve made a real mess of it, by the way.”
His voice has gone quieter, more of a low vibration in his chest than a proper sentence, and his thumb keeps up its slow tracing against the side of your waist, the easy patience of it almost worse than the kiss he isn’t giving you yet. You’re pretty sure that’s where this is going, and you don’t know what made you dizzier. The fact that his hand is on your waist, burning through the fabric, or that you’re close enough to smell his cologne mixed with the cigarette smoke.
You don’t quite follow at first, head still hazed from the smoke and the alcohol and the warmth of him pressed close.
He did it so casually, too. You knew Zayne to be confident in his academics, but didn’t quite expect him to flirt so smoothly. When you offered your cigarette to him, you thought he would either pass or just awkardly draw from it, aiming to indulge you. What you didn’t expect but are currently pleasantly surprised by was his little cocky act of doing shotguns with you.
“Of what?” You breathe against his lips, batting your eyelashes at him.
“Your lipstick.”
Your tongue traces the inside of your lower lip on instinct, and his gaze drops with the movement and snaps back up as if it hadn’t quite given itself permission to wander.
“Have I?”
“Half of it. Pretty thoroughly.”
The way he sets it down has a careful weight to it, an observation laid between you that he’s clearly waiting for you to do something with, and it takes you a beat longer than it should to catch the implication underneath. Smudged. Like someone else has already been at your mouth tonight before him. The slow grin tugs at the corner of yours before you bother to school it.
“And you’ve just been thinking about that this whole time, is that what you’re saying?”
His thumb hasn’t paused along your ribs, the slow circle of it almost distracted in its patience, grounding and indecent at once.
“Hard not to, when it’s right there.”
“Got a theory?” You stare right into his hazel gaze, voice a little defiant in its provocation.
His hand drifts slowly, sliding up the line of your side until his warm palm finds the curve of your throat and settles there, fingers spreading along the side of your jaw with a tenderness that doesn’t quite match the heat behind his eyes.
“A few.” His eyes trace a slow path from your eyes to your mouth and back up.
“Care to share?” you whisper, finger dragging slowly down his chest.
The pad of his thumb drags slow along the corner of your mouth, no accident in the angle, smearing the gloss further across the seam of your lips, and he doesn’t even bother to hide the small curl of satisfaction it pulls into one side of his own.
“Not particularly.”
You let him. You let him work the soft pad of his thumb across the ruined line of your mouth, eyes still tipped up to his, your own smirk tugging slow at the smudge he’s just made worse, and you can feel your heartbeat picking up under your collarbones in a way that’s almost ridiculous, given how little it takes to set it off. You laugh lowly, more of a hum in your chest than a proper sound, and his thumb pauses at the corner of your mouth at the feel of it before resuming, slower now, almost thoughtful.
“It was a shot glass,” you tell him, smiling sweet up at him through your lashes in a way you know is performative and a little unfair. “Disappointing answer, I know.”
His mouth twitches, the not-quite-smirk pulling at the corner.
“Hm. Less interesting than I had it.”
“And what did you have in mind?”
“Someone less careful than I would be.”
That lands low and warm in your stomach in a way the alcohol can’t take credit for, and the air between you thins by another fraction, your chest brushing his with the next breath you take in.
“You think you’d be careful with my mouth, then?” You raise your eyebrows at him, while he only tilts his head to the side.
“When I wanted to be.”
“And when you didn’t?”
His gaze drops to your mouth again and holds there, the smallest curl pulling slow at the corner of his, his thumb still warm at the smudge he made.
“You’d find out.”
You let the silence stretch a beat longer than it needs to, fingers still curled loose at the collar of his jacket, the cigarette burning quietly down between your knuckles, his palm still cradling the side of your face.
“Hm. Then perhaps I can just...”
You don’t wait on him this time. You tilt your face slow out of his hand, the drag of his palm trailing along your jaw as you go, and bring your mouth to the line of his instead, lips parting against the faint catch of stubble as you press a soft kiss just below the corner of his jaw. His exhale stutters audibly through his nose, and you feel the small tightening of his fingers along your jaw before they slip down to settle warm at the side of your throat.
You drag your mouth lower, unhurried, brushing along the line of his jaw and dipping into the soft warm hollow under it, where his pulse is hammering a good deal faster than the rest of his face has bothered to let on.
“Looks like I’m finding a way to smudge it on my own,” you murmur against his skin, the words landing in soft drags of your mouth as you say them. “Hope you don’t mind.”
You feel his hand slip from your throat, his arm winding loose around your waist as it goes, palm trailing the line of your spine in one long, slow stroke before it dips lower still and finds the curve of your ass. There’s no hesitation in the way his hand settles there. He cups you with the same easy certainty he used to find your hip earlier, except this time he uses it to pull you flush against the front of his body in one quiet, deliberate haul. It takes you off guard, the gasp that comes out of you is small and entirely involuntary, breaking soft against the side of his neck where your mouth had been working a kiss in.
You let it land. You let yourself breathe through the sudden warm press of his body against the line of your hips, the heat of him through denim, before you tilt your face up to drag your lips along the shell of his ear.
“Keep that hand right there, Zayne,” your voice has gone smoke-low, almost lazy with it, the dirty curl in it sliding under the playfulness, “and you’re going to ruin a lot more than my lipstick tonight.”
You could care less that you’re surrounded by people, and Zayne doesn’t seem to mind either, so you resume your kisses down his neck. There’s nothing to see, anyway. If anyone glances your way they would only see two drunk college students making out against a wall, in a dirty underground corridor connecting multiple pubs.
He huffs a soft sound through his nose, something close to a laugh but not quite committing, the warm gust of it stirring the hair at your temple. His hand tightens a fraction at the curve of your ass before easing back into a more measured grip, like he’s reminding himself of the line he’s already crossed. His other hand has come up to your face at some point you can’t pinpoint, and you find his palm warm along the side of your throat with his thumb resting at the line of your jaw.
“Is that the alcohol talking?”
The words land close to your temple in that low tone you remember from across a seminar table, except they’re pressed up against the side of your face now and carrying a heat behind them you’ve never heard him use in a classroom. Your hand has its own ideas about the silence, sliding slow up from the lapel of his jacket along the line of his throat, fingertips dragging through the soft warmth at the side of his neck before settling there. You watch the way his throat works in response, the small swallow he doesn’t quite manage to hide.
“Are you blaming my advances on how much I had to drink?” you pull back from his neck, lashes fluttering.
“Shouldn’t I?” His thumb traces your jaw, gaze flicking over the color sitting high in your cheeks like he wants you to know he’s noticed. “You’re flushed all over and clinging to me.”
Your fingers curl at the back of his neck where the hair tapers short as you laugh softly at his words, giving a small tug at the strands there, just enough to angle his face down a fraction lower toward yours. The flicker of surprise that crosses his eyes is gone almost as fast as it shows.
“Don’t girls cling to you without being tipsy, Zayne?” Your gaze drifts lazy up at him through your lashes, slurring your words just enough. “I doubt it.”
You watch as his gaze drops slow over your face, considering what you’re implying. His hand at your throat slides a fraction higher, his palm now cupping the underside of your jaw, and that has your pulse picking up under his fingers. The silence stretches loaded enough that you shift your hips an inch against the front of him just for the warmth of him through your dress, and the corner of his mouth twitches, catching it.
It’s not that you really think girls just throw themselves at Zayne on a daily basis. He is smart, funny, and considerate, yet he doesn’t strike you as the type to just have women at his side. That would be Caleb, with all his positive energy and charisma, a true heartbreaker with women hanging around him all day in hopes of keeping his attention on them.
Zayne is the opposite. Or at least, the Zayne you knew before tonight. Quiet Zayne, who girls occasionally gather enough courage to go up to and ask to hang out under the pretense of studying together. But this Zayne is different. Or maybe it’s just another side of him you didn’t know existed, yet somehow managed to capture your attention and keep it.
You’re intrigued, that’s what this is. Intrigued of just how he’ll behave if you push him just a bit more.
He plucks the cigarette from where it’s burned down between your knuckles between two of his own fingers, gentle about the handoff, and lifts it back up between your faces.
“Finish your cigarette.”
You arch a brow at him, the smile pulling slow at one side of your mouth and a little defiant.
“Finish it for me.”
His mouth twitches deeper this time. He lifts the cigarette to your lips without ceremony, holding it for you the way he did before, and you let him, drawing slow with your eyes still up on his while the ember flares. When you pull back, he brings the filter to his own mouth and pulls the last of it down to almost nothing in one long, easy inhale, the line of his jaw working under the dim corridor light in a way that has heat curling low in your stomach for what feels like the tenth time tonight. He drops the spent end to the floor and grinds it out under the heel of his boot.
You don’t wait for him to take the lead this time. Your right hand that has been rsting on his chest simply moves, fitting along the line of his jaw with a grip that’s firmer than is strictly polite, thumb sliding under his chin to tilt his face down toward yours. The small flicker of surprise that flares behind his eyes is barely a breath long before it folds back into the half-lidded heat that’s been settling there for the last several minutes.
“Won’t you kiss me?” the words curl between your mouths like smoke, soft and tempting.
You don’t bother making it sound like anything other than what it is, just a soft, easy question, your mouth already drifting up toward his on instinct. As you move to close the distance, his hand moves to your face, thumb pressing firm against the soft underside of your chin to keep you a careful half-inch shy of getting there.
It catches you off guard. You’d half-expected him to dip into it the second you angled up. You feel the wall of him before you feel the resistance, but he doesn’t move into your hand and doesn’t move out of it either. He just stays like that, with his head tilted slightly, the little smile playing slow at the corner of his tempting mouth.
“Is that all it takes?”
Your brain runs a beat slower than it should, the smoke and the alcohol and the warm pressure of his palm cupping your ass adding up to something you can’t quite manage at speed, so you blink up at him in something soft and confused before the question lands properly.
“Hm?”
“Batting your eyelashes at a guy and sweet-talking him in order to kiss you breathless?”
The word breathless lands somewhere behind your sternum in a way that doesn’t help the current situation where you can only think about how much you want to close that inch between you. Your lashes do a small, slow drag down his face, entirely accidental this time, and you watch his gaze flick down to catch it. Your fingers shift along his jaw, thumb pressing a little harder under the line of his chin like you’re trying to hold him in place by sheer reminder of who started this.
“They usually fold at that.” you smirk up at him, looking as confident as you can be.
He mirrors your smirk, hazel eyes sparkling in what you guess is amusement and wonder.
“I’m sure they do.” His thumb leaves your chin to trace a slow line along the seam of your bottom lip, dragging the smudge of lipstick a fraction further across your mouth. “But you don’t have to do all that with me.”
You blink up at him properly this time, something almost wary threading through the heat, because that wasn’t quite the response you’d braced for. The hand still cupped firm around your ass tells you he isn’t pulling away. The hand at your face tells you the same. So what he’s actually saying takes a moment to settle.
“All what?”
He leans in, close enough that the warmth of his breath skims along your top lip, close enough that for one suspended second you think you’ve actually won, but his voice when it comes is barely more than a vibration in his chest.
“Beg.”
Your breath stops in your throat. The breathy tone he used, dancing across your mouth while his eyes stare you down, it all makes your thighs tense.
“As much as I’d love to get you begging, I tend to reserve that for activities a little more befitting than kissing.”
That one sentence does something to you that you weren’t prepared for, and your whole body responds before your brain has a chance to catch up. The heat climbs hot up the column of your throat, your thighs press together on instinct against the wall and the front of him, and the laugh that tries to come up at the back of your throat dies somewhere before it makes it to your mouth, because you suddenly have no idea what to say back to that.
You decide, somewhere fast and unspoken, that you don’t necessarily enjoy not knowing what to say.
So you do something with your hands instead.
The fingers curled at the back of his neck tighten down hard, the hand at his jaw drops to fist in the front of his jacket, and you push off the wall behind you with one decisive step that brings him with you, his weight following your pull in a way that suggests he had maybe half a second to brace and chose not to. You spin your bodies slowly until you are the one with facing the wall now, and his back finds the brick where yours had been pressed up against it a heartbeat ago.
He goes easily. He goes so easy you don’t entirely trust it, because the corner of his mouth lifts in something that isn’t a smile so much as an acknowledgement, like he’s noting the move down somewhere for later reference.
You take it anyway. You pin him there with the flat of your palm pressed against the front of his jacket, your other hand sliding from his jaw down to grip the side of his throat with a hold that’s firm and just slightly bossy, your thumb resting against the soft hollow under his ear. His hands settle at your waist, both of them now, his cool palms warm again through your dress. His grip is still rather loose, casual even, no attempt to flip you back, just standing pinned with his hands at your sides like he’s letting you have this and intends to enjoy every second of it.
You let go of his jacket to slide your hand down and curl your fingers along the dip of his waist, gripping there. You pull his hips snug against yours in one slow controlled drag, while you slide your hand back up from his throat to cup the side of his jaw, fingers fitting along the line of bone there with a hold that is firm and unmistakably for-keeping, tilting his face down toward yours another small fraction.
He lets the silence sit for a few beats. Lets it work on you. His thumb has started a slow, lazy drag along the dip of your waist again, like he is in no particular hurry about anything despite the position he’s currently in.
“Besides,” he tilts his head a fraction lower, mouth grazing along the line of your cheekbone now, the brush of his stubble pulling another small involuntary shiver through you, “you’re beautiful even when you’re sexually frustrated.”
Your breath catches audibly. You can’t help it. The grip you have along his jaw tightens, your fingertips pressing into the soft skin at the side of his face hard enough to leave a faint imprint, the other hand sliding up his waist to fist loose at the side of his jacket and drag him in another small fraction.
You hold his gaze. You don’t bat your lashes like before, you only lift your lashes very slowly from his mouth to his piercing eyes, licking your lips. Every sensual second of it pointed straight up at him with no question left about what it’s asking for.
“Kiss me, Zayne.”
He leans down to kiss your cheek instead, the brush of his mouth too soft to count, the smirk you can feel against your skin doing the rest of the work. You catch the faint warmth of his breath before he pulls back just enough to watch you suffer through it.
“You’re just teasing me at this point!” The huff comes out half laugh, half complaint, and your body betrays you anyway, leaning harder into the line of him, hips finding the firm shape of his thigh through his jeans. You grind once, slow, mostly to see what he does with it.
What he does is press his thigh up a fraction to meet you, casual as anything, like he hasn’t just made your dress ride higher up the back of your leg. His free hand settles on your waist, thumb pushing under the hem to find bare skin, and you forget, for a second, that you’re standing in a corridor at all.
“You asked me to kiss you,” he murmurs, low enough that you have to tilt your face up to catch it, and there’s a quiet laugh threaded through it that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.
You blink up at him, lashes heavy, mouth parted around the obvious answer he’s pretending he didn’t hear. The little crease at the corner of his eye gives him away. He’s enjoying this. He’s enjoying you, scrambling.
“Obviously I meant my lips.” You jab a finger lightly into his chest, the gesture losing all its bite when your palm just stays there, flat against the warmth of his shirt, feeling the slow steady thump of his heart under it.
He glances down at your hand. Then back up at you. The smirk pulls a fraction higher on one side, like he’s clocked the way your fingers have curled into the fabric without permission, and he is going to make you live with the evidence of it.
“Should have been more specific.” It comes out almost lazy, dropped right against the bridge of your nose, and you have approximately half a second to register the unfairness of it before he moves.
He smirks and leans down, rotating you so your back is against the wall again, brick cool through the thin fabric of your dress. His mouth brushes yours, a graze, barely a promise, and his hands come up to cup your face, tilting it the way he wants it with that easy confidence that should not be legal on a college campus.
You close your eyes. You wait for it. You actually part your lips for it. And then his mouth slides down past yours, jaw to throat, lips closing soft and sucking against the skin under your ear.
“Why don’t you—oh fuck…mmm.” Your voice flatlines mid-sentence, the rest of whatever clever thing you were going to say abandoned somewhere you don’t care about. The frustration that had been building under your skin tips, slides, becomes something heavier and lower and a lot less articulate. Your fingers, still flat against his chest, curl until you’re holding fistfuls of his shirt.
That has your arms wrapping around his neck, palm sliding up into the back of his hair where it’s soft and a little damp from the heat of the place. One of his hands leaves your jaw and finds your ass through your dress, gripping firm enough that you feel it in your teeth, pulling you flush against him. He moves slow over your throat, mouth open, sucking kisses in a careful line like he’s mapping for something specific. When he finds it, just under the angle of your jaw, you make a sound straight into his ear that you would not have made sober. He hums against your skin, satisfied, and stays there to suck more marks.
The corridor is loud. There’s music thumping muffled through the wall behind you, somebody shouting somebody else’s name from the bar end, the wet smack of a bottle going over and a chorus of laughter rolling after it. You hear all of it from somewhere far away. The actual noise in your head is the rush behind your ears and the soft, obscene sounds his mouth is making at your throat, and the way your body keeps trying to climb him by half-inches.
You’re thinking about his apartment. You don’t even know where his apartment is, or if he lives in a dorm. You’re thinking about it anyway, in the vague, drunk way of somewhere with a door that closes, and you’re imagining how fast you could get there if he picked you up off this wall right now and asked.
“Babe?”
Simone’s voice cuts through it like somebody pulling a needle off a record. You feel Zayne smile against your throat before he lifts his head slowly, taking his sweet time about it. His thumb strokes once over the line of your jaw before his hand drops.
You turn your head against the brick. Simone is two steps out of the pub door, one hand braced on the frame to keep herself vertical, the other holding what looks like somebody else’s drink, because she’s not the type to drink that questionable-looking liquid. Her eyes have done the math on Zayne’s mouth and your throat and the gap that is approximately nonexistent between your bodies, and instead of saying anything about it she just goes wide-eyed and breaks into a slow, delighted giggle behind her hand.
“Oh my god,” she shouts-whispers, which is louder than her speaking voice, “okay, okay, I didn’t see anything! I’m looking for Tara. Have you seen Tara? Hi, Zayne.”
“Hi, Simone,” Zayne says, perfectly even, like his hand isn’t still resting on the back of your thigh.
You open your mouth to answer her and don’t get the chance, because that’s when Tara rounds the corner from the bar with Caleb half-draped across her shoulders and a small herd of people you only half-recognise from someone’s seminar trailing in their wake. Tara takes one look at you against the wall, one look at Zayne, one look at Simone giggling into her own wrist, and her face does something complicated and triumphant that you’re going to have to answer for tomorrow.
“Round two!” Caleb announces to the entire corridor, lifting an arm. “Music’s fucking unreal in there, we’re going back in. Li. Bring your girl.”
Your girl. You feel that one land somewhere under your ribs. Zayne’s thumb does a small, deliberate stroke against the back of your thigh where nobody can see it, and you don’t trust your face at all.
“We’re good,” Zayne says easily, already pushing off the wall enough to give you space without giving you up. “You guys go.”
“Booo. Boring.” Caleb grins at him with no real heat. “Suit yourself, man. Text me.”
Tara’s eyes flick from Zayne to you and back, and she doesn’t say a single thing, which from Tara is loud. She just hooks her arm tighter around Caleb’s waist and lets the herd pull them toward the door, Simone falling in beside her with one last giggly look thrown over her shoulder.
The door swallows them. The bass kicks back up muffled. You’re aware, suddenly and very clearly, that you are still flushed from your collarbones up, that your dress is twisted slightly at the hip, that you can feel the wet print of his mouth cooling under your jaw, and that your head has started doing the slow soft pitch that means another drink would absolutely be a bad idea.
You should go in with them. The smarter version of you, the one who isn’t several drinks deep with her thighs still pressed together against a brick wall, knows that. The version of you currently operating is mostly running on the question of whether Zayne is going to put his hand back on your face or not.
He doesn’t. He steps in close again, but only to lean down to your ear, one hand braced on the wall above your shoulder, and his mouth ghosts over the same spot under your jaw that he claimed two minutes ago.
“If I kiss you properly right now,” his voice has gone quiet enough to be just for you, “you’re not making it home alone. So.” he pauses slightly, the barest scrape of his teeth against your skin. “Be specific next time, hm?”
He kisses your cheek. The same chaste, smirking press as before, in exactly the same place, and you feel it like a verdict.
When he pulls back his eyes are doing that mild thing again, the one that doesn’t commit to anything, except now you know better. He pushes off the wall, fishes his phone out of his back pocket, fires off something quick that you assume is the promised text to Caleb, and tilts his head toward the stairs at the corridor’s end.
You follow him with your throat still buzzing and your head full of all the versions of tonight that just got taken off the table, and you are absolutely going to think about the one where you’d been more specific the entire way home.
.ᐟ✧ translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites ARE NOT permitted. please do not ask. do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own. thank you!
Please understand that first and foremost, this is MY opinion. Everyone is entitled to their own and if you don't agree with me, that's alright. No need to come at me just cuz you think otherwise(:
1. SnowCrow (Zayne x Sylus) as Flashlight
Aaron!Sylus x Yujin!Zayne gives me literal chills. Posessive top x bratty bottom is their dynamic.
2. SnowApple (Zayne x Caleb) as Nerd Project
Luke!Caleb x Andrew!Zayne is CalebZayne personified. Happy go-lucky Luke is just Caleb in a different font and the quiet nerd obsessed with him is Zayne's blueprint.
3. StarSnow (Zayne x Xavier) as the Pizza Delivery Man and the Gold Palace
Woowon!Xavier x SeoAn!Zayne even if I can't see Zayne bottoming just like SeoAn never saw it.
4. SnowFish (Zayne x Rafayel) as Romance, but not Romantic
Jinha!Rafayel who is a recessive omega and has a stalker only feels calm in the presence of his boss Hyeonjun!Zayne's pheromones? Spectacular. Gimme ten of them right now.
3. StarCrow (Xavier x Sylus) as Love Jinx (not Jinx, LOVE Jinx)
Haekyung!Xavi x Woojin!Sylus. Younger bottom obsessed with his hyung who he'd burn down a mountain (holding his family gravesite) for??? SYLUSXAVI. Xavi's the hyung and the bottom here, sorry I don't make the rules.
6. StarFish (Xavier x Rafayel) as Sketch
It's pretty self-explanatory tbh. Shy top Yikyung!Xavier x Bratty bottom Joobin!Rafayel
7. StarApple (Xavier x Caleb) as Punch Drunk Love
The clueless office worker Sunwoo!Xavier obsessed with his boss Taemoon!Caleb who just can't get him off his back.
4. CrowApple (Sylus x Caleb) as Codename:Anastasia (minus all the red flags)
Something about Taekjoo!Caleb x Zhenya!Sylus just scratches my brain right.
8. AppleFish (Caleb x Rafayel) as Cozy Obsession
Huimin!Rafayel x Iheon!Caleb is so spot on because Huimin is such a loveable cutie and Iheon is all kinds of depraved which is spot on for Caleb.
10. CrowFish (Sylus x Rafayel) as Melting Point
Eunsan!Rafayel x Ian!Sylus. I will not be elaborating. It is simply too peak.
Let me know in the comments if there's any you agree with or if you have different pairing ideas, I'd love to hear them! I'm also open to recommendations<3
why does every single one of your faves has to have a monster cock. some of them are packing peanuts and that's okay, just goes to show you a lot of you equate big penises with a better sexual performance. alas, we move on
୨୧ choso’s just about as pathetic as a man can get. ୨୧
this realization comes to you after gojo begs you to give his friend a chance.
“please,” gojo says, and you scowl at him. “he’s nice. and i’m pretty sure he has a massive thing for you.”
“me?” you ask, incredulous. “i’ve never talked to him in my life.”
gojo sighs, flopping back onto your couch. “if i ever, like, loosely mention you in conversation, i swear he blushes.”
that’s how you end up in the living room of the frat friday night. loud, warm, the air slightly hazy.
choso right beside you on the couch, barely looking at you at first, all hunched shoulders and quiet glances, dark hair brushing his neck, dermal piercing catching the light every time he nervously shifts.
yeah, you think, he’s cute.
you end up sharing a joint, and that’s when you notice how he freezes every time your fingers brush his, how his breath hitches. it’s not subtle. not even a little. and when you lean a bit closer, knee nudging his, he almost drops it. across the room, gojo and the others are already smirking like they know exactly how this is going to go.
they don’t even try to hide it when they leave. gojo claps choso on the shoulder, says something low that makes his ears turn red, and suddenly it’s just the two of you on that worn-out couch, the music muffled now, the air heavier.
choso apologizes. for his friends, for himself.
you remember thinking how easy it is to get a reaction out of him. how all it takes is a hand on his chest, a soft question, and he’s unraveling right in front of you.
he nods at everything, says yes too quickly like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind if he hesitates. when he slips and said “please,” you know you have him.
“d’you like me, cho?” you murmur with glassy eyes, hand sliding up his collar and pressing against his nape, fingers deftly threading through inky hair.
“g—yes. yes, so much,” he exhales, voice shaking slightly as you pull him closer to you.
“wanna fuck?” you whisper, straddling yourself on his lap and relishing in the small, broken sound he makes when your glossed lips suckle at the junction of his neck.
“here? now?” his eyes bugger wide, hands squeezing your waist as your lips trail up, and up, and up, until you’re sliding your tongue in his mouth, bracketing your lips against his, swallowing his needy little moans.
he pants into your mouth as your hands pull at his hoodie and he shrugs it off wordlessly, cheeks flushed as your eyes trail down the milky expanse of his chest.
“pretty,” you murmur, and he whines, hands frozen at his sides when you slip your shorts off and toss them to the side.
“as much as i wanna feel your mouth on me,” you breathe, pupils blown, “i need to feel you in me. now. yeah?”
“y—yeah,” he shudders, hands fisting the couch beside him nervously as you tug his jeans and boxers down mid-thigh, his cock beading precum as it aches towards his stomach.
“i—ohmygod,” he slurs, whimper being pulled from his throat as you sink down on him in one shot. “please—”
“haven’t even done anything,” you say, hands locking onto his shoulders as you lift your hips slowly before dropping them back down, the motion making choso buck up desperately and moan into your neck.
“m not gonna last,” he whines pathetically, and you sneer, telling him to be good for you or you’ll stop.
you think it’s 30 seconds before he’s cumming, head falling back against the couch with a strangled sound.
he whimpers when you ask him which direction his bedroom’s in.
Satoru Gojo has been obsessed with Suguru's older sister - you - since he was old enough to even remember, and it's only gotten worse since he's grown up. Yet you still see him as 'little toru' when nothing on Satoru Gojo is 'little'. Now you're coming off a terrible breakup with your long term boyfriend Hiromi, and visiting Suguru's family for spring break. What better time to try to make you feel better by having you squirt all over his fingers!? But can you really ever fuck your brother's best friend?
pairings - Fratboy! gojo x Sugu's big sis! reader
warnings -reader is 28, he's 22, your ex is Hiromi hehe, masturbation ( m and f) yandere Gojo, fingering, squirting, oral sex (m receiving) tons of tension, a teeny bit cracked out, Toru is shameless - no one in Sugu's fam is safe from this man
wc-6.4k - NGL it's prob gonna have a pt 2 and maybe 3 lol
art creds here!
Satoru Gojo has been obsessed with you for as long as he can remember – his best friend Suguru’s older sister, watching you right now as you’re by the side of the pool. Suguru hops in and splashes you, making you jump up, your pretty tits bouncing as if to fucking torture him even further.
You’re sweet – achingly sweet, but you don’t look at him that way. You smile all cute like he’s a kid when he’s six-foot-four and you have to look up at him, since you’re six years older than Suguru and him, that’s just how you see him. Satoru thought when he graduated college surely you’d notice he’s a man now, but you treat him the same as ever.
“Little Toru!”
What the fuck on Gojo was little!?
His cock throbs underneath his swim trunks as those drops of water slip down your pretty tits, the sun glimmering off your skin. You came back to visit for the summer with your family, even though you’re twenty-eight you still come to spend time with the family, and Satoru makes sure he’s there too.
You had a nasty break up with your boyfriend, this damn lawyer you used to bring around at Christmas and Thanksgiving, Satoru cheered right in the middle of fisting his cock when he got your text. You all were close after all, he loved to make you feel better in any way he can, put a smile on your pretty face, though he’d love much more to make you fucking drool.
“You got all my sunblock off!” You huff and Suguru sticks his tongue out, your parents are in there with him along with all your annoying little cousins that visit, you’re so cute with them he can’t help but wonder how good of a mom you’d be.
Well, he’d make you one some day.
“I got you sweets,” Satoru walks over and you smile at him, trying your best not to eye fuck your little brother’s best friend – but fuck were his shoulders broader, was he more cut, what the fuck was he eating? He’s impossibly tall these fucking days like he got another inch.
Ovulating around twenty two year old Satoru after a breakup with Hiromi was fucking horrible. You clear your throat and hand him the bottle, you can ignore how his blue eyes flicker across your tits in your bikini, can’t you? Satoru had some cute crush on you, you weren’t immune to it, but he’s too fucking young for you.
“Thanks little Toru,” he laughs softly, sitting behind you and squeezing the sunblock into his palm, gliding it down your back slowly, watching the white lotion meld into your skin, wishing it was something else entirely.
“Little Toru huh,” his voice is soft behind you as his huge hands work across your skin, fingers drifting across your skin and making your lashes flutter shut for a moment, you lean right into the touch as his lips brush near your ear. “What on me is little?”
“I um…” Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your parents and Suguru and children are in the damn pool and you’re over here pressing your thighs together, feeling your cunt throb and ache.
“You always called me that,” he chuckles a bit, huge body pressing up against you, casting a shadow as his fingers work the lotion into your shoulders thoroughly, his touch sinfully good. “Do you need more on you?”
“Y-yes please,” you damn near arch with him on your lounge chair, his thighs spread wide, gliding it down your arms.
“You didn’t answer me,” his huge hands take over your arms as they glide them all down your skin. “What’s little?”
You look back at Satoru, biting your lower lip. How fucking mad would Suguru be if you fucked his best friend!?
You can’t go fucking doing that.
Right?
No!?!?
Just because Hiromi hurt you doesn’t mean you can suddenly go and act on impulse, thinking with your pussy rather than any sort of brain cells. It’s simply that you’re comfortable with him, that he’s gorgeous, that for the past few years the way he looks at you makes you feel so pretty – how he talks to you all low and soft, teasing with his big smile.
It’s just that, and the fact that his body is hard, that his skin is hot – his perfect form is present right behind you. You’re fine, just remember it’s friendly, he’s just teasing you like he does. You can’t look at ‘little toru’ who just so happens to be six-foot-four and getting thicker in the chest every time you see him – how does he keep getting more fucking muscles?
Was football really doing all of this?
“I um… just call you that,” you murmur softly, breath caught in your chest, heart hammering so quickly you’re dizzy, especially with the heat radiating down against your skin, his hands brushing more lotion, pausing at your mid back.
“Move your hair to the side, it’s drippin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs lazily, you bite your lip so hard it leaves little teeth marks, pulling your hair to the side and smiling over your shoulder at him.
“There,” you murmur, eyes locked with his.
Fuck you’re pretty.
God he wants to drag you right on his goddamn lap, slide his cock to the hilt – he bets you’re so fucking tight, but he also bets you’re so wet you could just take him. When his hands slide up the curve of your spine, you can hardly stop your cunt from dripping down the damn lounge chair, his hands rubbing all that cream into your skin ever so thoroughly.
“Then why do you call me that, huh sweetheart?” He asks now, you sigh, glaring back at him just a bit. “I’m way fucking bigger than I was when you met me.”
“Well yeah, you were like a kid, Toru.”
“Now I’m way bigger than you, hmm?” His tone echoes in your ears – way bigger… you already know the sheer size of Satoru Gojo, but to think of just how big he is makes your cunt pulse.
“Ahem…” You clear your throat now, rushing up and laughing nervously, ignoring the evident bulge in his light blue swim trunks. “I’m gonna get in!”
“With your sunblock on?” He teases, you can’t answer him – can’t even look at him, no you hop right into the cold chill of the pool, trying to cool your ovulating ovaries the fuck down.
*****
It’s hard to be around you.
Literally hard.
Satoru finds himself heading into the house while you and the family are still splashing around in the pool – he certainly can’t just palm his cock when the whole family is around. He had to rush off into the damn bathroom, shutting the door behind himself, leaking so much pre he’s sticking to his trunks.
"Mnh," Satoru can’t help but tug at his drawstring, those trunks still dripping wet with the faint scent of chlorine clinging to them, he shoves the waistband down, cock springing free, slapping his flat belly button. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”
Was there a better word for what you do to him? Satoru’s barely biting back a moan, wrapping his hand around that thick base of his shaft, sucking in a breath, he usually has a little more fucking self control but he doesn’t right now. Not when he got to smooth that white cream against your skin and watch it melt into it, fuck imagining rubbing his cum all over your body instead has him pulsing.
Imagine every inch of you covered in him – he’s gone truly psychotic, wanting to fucking mark you like you’re his, he was tired of seeing you with that dumb fucking lawyer. What did you need him for when you could have Satoru? What, because he’s in his thirties, Satoru Gojo was fucking filthy rich, and he’d make sure you never had to lift a pretty little finger.
“I’ll take care of you – hah, b-baby,” he’s whining out, eyelashes fluttering shut, picturing you vividly.
The way those water droplets were glistening on your skin, how your pretty tits bounced when you hopped up and Suguru splashed you. How the little bikini showed beauty marks on your tummy, a couple lines on your hips where they’ve spread just a bit since you were his age – all to spread to have his baby, he’s so sure of it.
Breedable fucking hips that he’d love to hold in his big hands, arching your back for him all pretty like a good girl – he could practically hear the moans that you’d give, they’d be much louder than the soft little sounds you made when he touched your back earlier. He can’t help but want to hear it, hear how fucking loud you get, would your sounds get all muffled as he pressed your head into the mattress?
He’s been jerking it to you since he found out what his cock even did, back when it was honestly terrible to do so, but he has no sense of guilt when it comes to you. Watching you, stealing those panties, practicing just what he’ll say as he fucks his fist devotedly to any picture he’s snuck of you, fuck he took photos from your goddamn family album he was so pathetic.
“Stop teasin’ me sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his cock, slowly at first to just savor the feeling of his precum smearing his reddened tip – all drooly already. He spits right down on his cock, a long trail of gossamer saliva swirling down, using it as lube while picturing how wet you’d get.
He bets you were wet with his hands running across your skin, he could feel heat that couldn’t just be from the sun, surely it was not the rays shining and warming you, it was Satoru’s nearness. He ached to taste the sun right off your skin, your cunt tasted so good on your panties, surely it would taste even better right from the source.
He starts to stroke his cock faster, fucking desperately, imagining your much smaller hand instead of his. You probably couldn’t even wrap those fingers around his girth, you’d have trouble taking him, tummy would just bulge as he moves in and out of your hole. He whimpers at that vision, imagining you looking at him with need, with hearts in your eyes.
Anything but that fucking sweet ‘big sis’ affection.
"Little Toru," he mumbles under his breath, a little laugh escaping him as he strokes his nine inches that would ruin your cunt for anyone else. “Fuck, sweetheart, you really have no idea, do you?"
Satoru’s strokes became more erratic as he imagined lifting your pretty ass up, bending you over the poolside, pulling that bikini aside and finally showing you exactly how ‘little’ he was. Fuck would you scream out Toru when he busted his load inside? When he filled you with all those creampies you deserved and he fingered it inside so it took?
It starts to feel too good, he’s so sensitive he’s leaning against the bathroom counter, groaning out, right about to cum when he hears it.
Someone jiggling the handle.
“I’m… hah, in here,” he manages to bite out, freezing when he hears your voice on the other side of the door.
“Toru I really am freezing, can I just come in real fast to grab a towel? I won’t look or anything,” you’re shivering, water dripping on your parents floor. “All the other bathrooms are taken by the kids and Suguru even stole the one in my old bedroom.”
“Oh… ah…” Your voice is making him pulse, he’s stroking faster, laughing just a bit.
“Are you laughing!? I’m freezing you little brat!”
“Brat, hah – you’re the brat baby,” you blush on the other side of the door, jiggling the handle again. “So eager to see my dick?”
“Oh you’re ridiculous – like I haven’t seen all you have before.”
“That was years ago, I’ve changed,” he murmurs, biting back a whimper unsuccessfully. “Not little Toru anymore.”
“Will you hurry up then? I am so fucking cold, ugh,” you’re shivering in your soaked towel – all the splashing got it so bad it’s fucking useless. “Satoru Gojo!”
“Fuck, fuck just… one sec, you’re impatient,” he strokes his thick cock one more time, whimpering out when his white ropes start spilling on the sink, his eyelashes fluttering, cheeks all flushed in his reflection.
“What the fuck are you doing in there? Did you hurt yourself or something!?”
“Hah… no…” He’s moaning now, the relief felt from his balls not being so goddamn tight and full of cum, he quickly starts wiping down the marble counters littered with his milky strings. “Hold on, okay? Fuck…”
“Fine,” you cross your arms, trembling like crazy, Satoru hastily opens the door after he tugs his swim trunks on, opening it and forcing you to look up at him, so damn tall you’re right there with his chest.
Little Toru indeed.
He’s a giant now.
“Finally,” you mumble, he leans one of those long ass arms over and grabs a dry towel, wrapping it around you and taking the wet one, hanging it up. “Oh thank you.”
“Made ya wait that long, can at least dry you up,” he murmurs, wrapping you even tighter, hands massaging the terry cloth covered arms that are covered in goosebumps. Your breath catches, looking up at him, far too close, you can feel that heat just radiating off his skin. “There, any better?”
“Um yeah, I’m sorry I was so impatient,” you mumble nervously, looking down and seeing the way his abs tense as he breathes, further down to the slutty little happy trail he has.
That’s when you pause.
Is that… is that… cum!? On his fucking belly button!? Is that his tip peaking-
“Satoru!” He blinks curiously as you push at him, his hands still firm on your shoulders.
“What, are you on your period? Acting all moody one minute, sweet the next.”
“You can’t ask me that!? Were you…” You lean close, whispering. “Jerking off, really?”
He smirks.
“I had to freeze so you could finish? Couldn’t you wait till you’re back in the room to do that?”
“Aw, did you wanna watch, sweetheart?” He asks, tilting your chin up, his lids getting lazy over those curved up blue eyes of his. You swallow then, your throat dry from his fingers caressing your jaw. “I would have let you if I knew.”
“Of course I didn’t…” You can’t even speak, not when you’re looking at his abs again, he leans back and laughs a bit.
“Ah, didn’t tug them up enough,” he hides what looks like a pretty blush tip, smiling like he’s fucking embarassed, he is flushed but it’s for an entirely different reason. “Is that better, sweetheart?”
“It’s… on you, god,” it’s your turn to blush, he hums a bit, stepping back lazily to drag his fingers across his own cum, putting them to his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he sucks his own release off them.
Oh fuck.
You swallow nervously, the sight of it is utterly filthy, his hum as if he tastes so sweet, fluffy lashes fluttering. “Mmm, I guess I missed a spot when I cleaned up. My bad.”
“Your bad!? You’re such a…” you trail off now, you’re aching and he looks too fucking good, psychotic ass blue eyes all lit up as they study you. You can't even finish the sentence, your face burning with a blush that has nothing to do with the sun you took in.
"I'm such a what?" he presses closer to you, until your back is against the door, it closes behind you, leaving the two of you alone in the little guest bathroom.
“Such a…” you clear your throat, feeling him against you, you should pinch his ear or smack him in the back of the head like you did when he was younger – but you can’t even move.
He's all warm against you, the sticky remnants of his own release splayed across that pale skin, a hand on the wall beside you. The way he’s looking at you and his sheer proximity are doing things to you that you absolutely refuse to acknowledge.
“Such a pervert,” you glare and he chuckles, cupping your face with a hand now – that’s not how a twenty two year old frat boy should look down at you, should act, with his arm fucking raised and the little thatch of hair still damp underneath them. His silky locks are falling in slick little strands across his brow. “A total pervert.”
“Me? No, sweetheart,” he smirks down at you like the little shit he is. "I’m just taking care of a problem you caused."
"I caused it!?" you squeak out the words almost embarassing, pushing at his chest half heartedly – he’s so built and muscular it’s like pushing against a brick wall, his heart thudding under your palm. You barely manage a glare. "How is any of this ridiculous behavior my fault?"
He catches your wrists in one of his big hands, thumb brushing over the delicate network of veins, right over your frantic pulse. “How is it your fault?”
“Yes, you psycho.”
“You exist," his words confuse the fuck out of you then, breaths faster until your tits are rising and falling in the top just a bit too small, his gaze drops to it when your towel hopelessly falls. He exhales and traces his hand over the curve of your tit, leaving goosebumps everywhere he touches. “That’s how it’s your fault.”
‘B-because I exist?” You whisper, shaking your head now. “You’re just fucking with me, what does that even mean?”
"You wore that bikini,” he murmurs, a thigh coming between yours, instead of tugging away you shamelessly arch your hips, earning his soft little exhale. “You let me put sunscreen on you, didn’t you? Let me touch your skin, while you’re fucking looking like that." His eyes – those impossibly fucking bright blue eyes – drag down your body, like he’s touching you
“That makes no sense, you’ve always seen me in swimsuits, Satoru. You may have had some little crush when you were younger, but you’re an adult.”
“And so the fuck are you, a whole woman, hmm?” He whispers, you hate how good it makes you feel. “Fuck you must be ovulating, swear I can smell it.”
“You cannot freak!?” You shove again, but your hips move, heat emanating even from your soaked bikini bottoms, the scent of chlorine mixing with the sweetness of his breath, the musk of that slight sweat underneath his arms.
“Bet your body wants a baby in her,” he smirks, his hips dragging you down on his thigh, a trail of slick glittering on it. You whine out, biting your lip and shaking your head. "What did you expect to happen, you lookin’ like that, after that man was dumb enough to leave you?"
"I expected you to act like a normal person, even if y-you somehow think I’m hot or something, you can’t just… act like this, all psychotic. What do you mean babies inside me!?”
“Oh you don’t wanna be bred?” You almost whimper goddamn this little brat.
“You’re a little fratboy.”
“A little fratboy?” He repeats, you bite down on your lower lip and nod. “You want me to act normal, huh?”
“Y-yes go back too… whatever it was um… before. Go fuck your little frat girls at your parties, girls your age," your voice is weak, breathless and fucking pathetic – you hate whatever the hell was happening, the fact that you’re aching for him to do just that – pump cum right inside you.
"Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs softly, leaning in and letting his lips hover until they’re almost touching yours. "I haven't been normal about you since I was twelve years old."
“That’s insane,” you hiss, shaking your head again, his thigh pressing up and you feel your body respond, his hands tugging at your waist, thumbs right underneath the swells of your breasts.
"You really have no fucking clue, do you?"
Your heart is hammering in your chest as you drink him in, half naked and still glimmering with the pool water.
This is Satoru.
Annoying, bratty, little Toru – who used to follow you around like a lost puppy, then grew to just annoy the ever loving shit out of you. Suguru’s best friend who has spent more time with your parents than you have in the past ten years – he’s ‘Toru’ and that’s that.
Right?
He can’t be the man who sucks cum off his fingers.
You should push him away – walk out and lock yourself in your room for the entirety of the rest of your stay, you should do anything but let his lips brush the corner of your lips, do anything but whimper. Anything but moan softly when he tugs down your top, groaning at the sight of one of your pretty tits bare, with the faint lines the sun left on your skin.
“Oh my fuck,” he whispers, he didn’t know you’d be that fucking beautiful, he had snuck so many glimpses but to see that pretty nipple in person? “Look at you.”
“I… we… even if you’re not Suguru’s best friend, even if you weren’t six years younger – I literally just broke up with-”
“A dumb fuck?” You glare at him. “He’s stupid to ever leave you.
“You don’t know him, and… even if we um… did something-”
“What!?”
You sigh, shaking your head. “Satoru-”
“You wanna do something!? With me!?” You snort a bit at how suddenly cute he is, before he gathers himself, hand trailing down your tummy, it trembles underneath the surprising roughness of his fingertips. “Want me to make you cum, pretty?”
“Fuck,” where’d he learn to talk like this!? Hiromi could eat pussy – and that man could fuck, but something about Satoru’s utter desperation and devotion had you gushing and pulsing around nothing. “I… you can… can you…”
“Can I make you cum?” He chuckles, finding your elastic, slipping his fingers underneath so his finger grazes your clit, your hips buck at it, whining out weakly. “Yeah, sweetheart, I can make you cum until you’re squirting right on this fucking floor.”
“J-just… fuck, just…” You should push him off – but instead, you find yourself shoving his hand down further, eyes fluttering shut, your head back ever so slightly against the door. “There, my clit, please… please, fuck…”
It’s happening.
Satoru’s dreamt of this moment since he even knew somewhat was a pussy was, and yours was soaking goddamn wet, so messy it’s loud, echoing in the bathroom, he swirls it in little circles as you rock your hips, still straddling one of his thighs. He pulls it back and picks you up, making you gasp, sitting you right on the sink and tugging your bottoms to the side.
“Toru, I…”
“Fuck yes, god call me that,” if he hadn’t already jerked off – he’d be cummin’ again just eyeing your needy, puffy cunt. “Fuckin’ perfect lil cunt, god, just look at you, soaked.”
Your lashes flutter shut, expecting a finger and then shocked when you feel a glob of saliva right on your needy clit. “Ah!”
“Mmm,” he’s humming, spreading his own spit around, smirking at the sight of his bubbly, gossamer saliva coating your cunt. “Perfect just like that… Do you need them inside? Bet yours couldn’t hit.”
“Shut it, Toru,” you’re yanking on his wrist, making him moan with how you take over, he’s used to girls just a little too shy, not that it was a bad thing – but you knew what you wanted, grabbing his fingers and sucking them.
“Oh my… f-fuckk…” He almost does cum watching your cheeks hollow, seeing you suck him down to the knuckle, your pretty pussy just drippin’ right down the counter as you arch your hips more.
“Hurry b-before they notice,” you whisper desperately now, guiding his hand down to your needy hole, whining out softly. “Two, put two in, please.”
“Sure you can take it?” You just nod eagerly, he swirls them and then buries them to the fucking hilt inside, you have to smack a hand on your mouth, drool spilling across your palm as he starts easing them in and out. “Fuck, took em s’good just f’me, huh? Just like that, needy lil cunt wants me.”
“Sh-shh,” is all you manage to mumble, lifting your hand and yanking him down, hand entangled in his silky hair. “Once, just once and… we can’t…”
Hah, as if Satoru would just touch you once, when he’s rocking his fingers up and down, making a squelching fucking mess, your eyes roll back in your skull as he works them faster, until the clicking is just echoing obscenely. “Once, huh?”
“You finger me, I’ll s-suck you.”
“Slutty girl,” you can’t stand how he says that, how his long digits press on your puffy lil cervix, barely able to formulate a fucking thought as he works you so much you’re desperately trying to get a breath. “That’s it, gonna cum that easy? Just f’me, hmm? All me?”
You can’t answer, so you drag him down for a kiss – and that’s when you lose it, kissing Satoru wasn’t normal – not the way he moans like a little slut, desperately taking over your mouth. His hands dragging every bit of slick from your cunt as impossibly more comes down his thick fucking fingers.
“God,” he whispers, hardly able to catch his breath. “You’re so tight, fuck…”
“Mnh,” you can hardly manage to speak, think of anything but how good it feels, his fingers going even faster now. “So much… too much I…”
“You can take them baby,” he whispers – in a way ‘little toru’ sure the fuck shouldn’t, his eyes black with their blown out pupils, kissing down the side of your jaw and curving his fingers right up against that soft spot on your front wall. “Look, you’re doin’ s’good already.”
“Ngh,” you’re so goddamn close, your head falling back for him to work you quicker. “Gonna cum… gonna…”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Fuck,” you hiss the words, but Satoru doesn’t pull his fingers back, he moves them slower, to edge you, to torture you.
Isn’t it what you’ve done all these years?
“Act normal,” he murmurs, lips brushing your earlobe, sharp teeth nicking it as he eases his fingers out, rubbing your clit back and forth so quickly you’re about to scream out loud. “If you wanna cum, you’ll just act like I’m not here.”
“H-hey, yes?” You barely manage to squeak out, Satoru smiles against your neck, pinching your clit and making you bite down hard on his bare shoulder, leaving glittery teeth marks.
“Sis, we’re about to grill out – I can’t find Satoru,” you found him all right – he’s tugging your hair at the roots so you look at him as he’s about to make you squirt all over. “Have you seen him?”
“Hah I d-did,” fuck, he’s rocking them faster, smirking cruelly at your plight. “I saw him um… upstairs dancing to some t swift.”
“You brat,” he hisses in your ear, Suguru chuckles.
“Yeah, sounds like him.”
It’s not even!?
Satoru shoves his fingers in against that cervix and makes you whine out, grinning all evil as you glare at him. “What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing, Sugu! Um… I’m getting freshened up, then I’ll meet you guys outside, okay?” You bite back a moan when Satoru’s kissing your neck, tongue lapping up a little vein underneath your skin he traces, free hand plucking your nipple and twisting it. The dual stimulation is too fucking much.
“No worries, sis, I’ll throw some chicken breast on there for you,” now you feel guilty – great!
“Thanks Sugu, you’re the best,” you murmur, he’s walking away now, leaving this psycho who’s fingering you faster. “I’m gonna… cum, fuck, fuck…”
“Aww you’re easy f’me,” he whispers, eyeing you as you’re about to fall apart, fingers shoved right back inside your needy hole. “I’ll make you forget him, forget anyone but me.”
“Psycho, what!? Just… ah!” He slams a big hand over your mouth, chuckling dark and fucking sadistic as he makes you squirt all over, it’s spraying against his hand and even hits his tummy, making him moan.
“God, look at that,” he’s pulling those fingers out of your pulsing walls in wonder, peering at the mess you made. “You’ve got me covered, sweetheart, you’ve got such a slutty lil pussy.”
“Fuck…” You’re so weak, when you hop off and shove him against the wall, kneeling and tugging at his waist band.
“Oh my god…” THIS IS HAPPENING.
The girl of his dreams is on her knees, her squirt all on his fingers, he’s sucking it off them as he grips your hair, letting out a desperate whine when you kitten lick his drooly tip.
“You’re already hard again for me?” Your whisper is diabolical, he barely manages a fucking word – all his braincells gone when you stroke his cock, sucking his tip and swirling the flat of your tongue.
Oh you’re a pro at sucking cock – and he’s mad about it.
“Wish you never had one but mine in your m-mouth,” he’s huffing, pressing on the back of your neck so you take impossibly more of him in your mouth, fucking into your throat needy and desperate. “Do you have n-no gag reflex!?”
“Hmm,” you’d smile if your throat wasn’t blissfully full of his pretty cock – you’d feel bad about that later, not right now, when your fingers are pumping inside your quivering hole, still sensitive from him. When his fingers tighten in your hair, bucking his hips and whimpering out
“Can you take all of it, huh? Doubt you can – oh my f-fuckkk.” You suck him deeper before he can think, your nose brushing against the soft white hairs nestled at his base as you look right up at him. “Oh my… fuck your throat it’s so goddamn slutty… mnh…”
Satoru’s supposed to make you whimper, not the other way around, but how can he do anything other than stutter, bucking them so that he slips his tip right past your uvula, you have tears in your eyes, sniffling a bit, but aside from that you’re bobbing your damn head. He can’t even imagine that lawyer got this, got you sucking him so deep and choking on his cock and left that shit.
Your eyes are so pretty he’s stunned, he dreamt of them looking up at him like this but really nothing could prepare him for what it’s like to have the girl he’s jerked off to forever taking him in between her lips.
"Fuck, your mouth... god, your mouth is better than I ever..." he trails off into a strangled little slutty moan, those pink lips parted as you pull back.
You have strings of saliva and drool just dissolving, he can hear your messy little pussy as you shamelessly overstimulate it, sucking him till he’s dizzy. “Mmm, you like it, huh? You’re so wet for me, Toru.”
“Oh fuck you,” you giggle and he almost laughs – but it turns into a choked little moan, you’re swirling your tongue around the sensitive ridge of his tip, tonguing that slit where all his pearly cum is slipping. “God, your fucking mouth.”
“Mhm,” you murmur, before plunging down again, slurping him the fuck down as you look up at him through your lashes.
The sight almost makes him lose it right there, busting from less than two minutes of your pretty lips stretched around him, the sight of your pretty tears at the corner of your eyes the only tell that it took effort stuffing his cock in your throat. Tight, needy throat that reflexively swallows around him as he cups your face to hold it in place, fucking your face harder.
“Gotta finger your cunt again? Needy, messy lil slut – all f’me, isn’t it?” You can’t help but whine out around him – yes, it’s all for him, and he knows it. Even as he’s whining out he’s dominating you, fucking your throat raw – you won’t even be able to talk tomorrow. “I can’t wait to drink that pretty pussy, f-fuck… god, when i pump you full of cum I’ll lick it right out.”
Satoru Gojo is absolutely fucking insane.
And you’re about to cum again just sucking him and fucking your own pussy with your much smaller fingers.
His hips are already jerking off rhythm now, meaner with it as he’s fucking himself back into your willing mouth. "Such a fucking tease for years... ah, shit, don't stop, b-baby please – m’gonna-”
One moment fucking your throat so hard you’re choking, the next murmuring your praises – pretty girl, needy slut, fuckin’ tease, my sweetheart – he’s a babbling mess, and you can’t help but feel so sexy doing it. Hollowing your cheeks and sucking hard as you pull back, feeling his hands tremble as they tug at your hair.
“Gonna swallow all of me? Hah – god just wait, I’ll fill all your fucking holes,” well that just fucking sends you, when he’s not gentle and he’s slamming his cock mean in your throat, heavy balls smacking your chin as you drool down them.
He murmurs your name when you feel him pulse and thicken, before he does just that – fills your throat with all that sweet, salty mix of his cum, hitting the back of your throat. You swallow it all, every last drop fucking greedy as you cum again, spasming and gushing down your own fingers.
You don’t stop licking him – not even after you’ve sucked his milky seed in your throat, you’re sucking his sensitive cock after, until he's whimpering your name.
"Jesus Christ," he whispers, finally letting go of your hair to gently stroke your cheek, you pull back with a messy pop and he struggles to even find a word for what just happened. “You’re so…”
“Good at it?” you tease, standing with his help and giggling, but it’s all shut off when he tilts your chin, kissing your swollen lips and lapping his own cum off with the tip of his tongue.
“Mmm, was gonna say beautiful,” your eyes locked.
Oh fuck.
It’s not just ovulation – you know it then and there.
Before you can have an entire mental breakdown, oh and a quarter life fucking crisis, you both hear everyone laughing outside. “Shit we…”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, fucked out and spent by you.
Satoru wasn’t innocent – but with you he felt like it – there’s never been anything like what you just did, fucking up his goddamn mind.
You rush out to the cookout after getting dressed like nothing happened – acting all unaffected and infuriating him to no end.
But it was just that, an act.
One he calls your ass out when Suguru is flipping burgers on the grill, and he’s handing you a beer with a little curve of his lips. “Oh, thanks ‘little toru’.”
“Hah,” he chuckles a bit, tilting his head. “Your sore throat tells me there’s nothing little about me anymore, hmm?”
“Shh!?” you look around wildly, as if someone could hear. “It was… just… I was…”
“Aching for my cock in your throat?” He leans low now, where no one in your family can hear him. “I’m a gentleman, sweetheart, I prefer to eat my meals first.”
“Eat your…” you blush now. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” he sighs, aching to brush your hair back, but knowing at that moment how many people were around. “Gonna let me return your favor?”
Before you can answer, your mother's voice – all fucking bright and peppy – cuts through the relaxed atmosphere of the pool party, making everyone look over at her curiously. Oh, except Satoru – he’s stuck looking at you underneath his fluffy damn lashes.
"Look who's here! Hiromi, darling, over here!"
Fuck.
Hiromi!?
You turn and there he is. Your ex who broke your damn heart – Hiromi Higuruma, looking all handsome in a dark linen shirt and shorts, his hair just a little bit of a disaster as it always was. He has this polite, almost apologetic smile on his handsome face, the one you used to ride until he drowned in you.
You almost could forget how bad he hurt you until he was right here.
He's holding a bottle of wine and awkwardly greeting your father, who is clapping him on the back all friendly, steering him directly toward you.
"Hiromi, so glad you could make it!" You wanna die. Satoru’s tense as fuck right next to you.
He wants to kill this man.
He would kill anyone that’s ever even touched you, truly, if he could really get away with it.
Your mother is right behind Hiromi, smiling at you and making you scowl. "I just told Hiromi we were so surprised you two happened to be in town at the same time! It's a sign, don't you think, to reconnect? Even as… friends to the family, right?"
Oh, god.
Your fucking parents.
Higuruma's dark brown eyes find yours, and you feel all that pain all over again, mixing with the drink in your system, the pleasure from Suguru’s best friend – and the heat of the sun. Dizzy, you barely feel Satoru’s warmth against you.
It was not just sucking dick – and that terrifies you – but now, Hiromi is here and confusing the ever loving shit out of you. You thought you’d never see him again.
"Hey," he says softly to you, peering over at Satoru for a moment, before his gaze is back on yours. "Your parents invited me here, I didn’t want to be rude but also… didn’t want…”
He sighs then.
“I just really wanted to see you again.”
Satoru’s pretty blue eyes narrow – there’s no fucking way he’s letting anyone touch the girl that just deep throated his cock, the girl who he’s about to put babies inside. No, he’s not sharing – and Hiromi needs to fucking go – he has a girl he needs to make his.
hehe do we wanna pt 2 bc I can't help myselfff - </333 I was actually inspired when i read @revolvingsaturn's fic about Sugu's mom, ngghhh go check it
Note; this isnt proofread/ messy but it was an idea that came to my mind
The late-night city lights smeared across the windshield like watercolors as Zayne’s car idled in the unmoving line of traffic. The clock on the dashboard had long ceased to be a comfort, each minute bleeding into the next, but Zayne didn’t seem to mind. His hand rested loosely on the gear shift, his other arm draped over the back of your seat, fingertips grazing your shoulder every so often as if to remind himself you were there.
You, however, were less patient. Your stomach gave a low, dramatic growl, and you turned to him with a pout. “Zayne… just park near that restaurant. We should grab something to eat.”
He glanced at you, the corner of his mouth lifting in that quiet, knowing smile he always wore when you were being endearing. “You know I don’t mind traffic when you’re around.” His voice was low, warm, like the last sip of coffee on a cold morning. “But yes. Let’s get something to eat.” He nodded toward the bistro ahead, its amber lights spilling onto the sidewalk. “I heard their steak is tender. Just right.”
Within minutes, he had found a spot and killed the engine. The sudden silence between the hum of traffic and the quiet of the night felt intimate. Before he could unfasten his seatbelt, you cupped his face in both hands and pressed a trail of soft, hurried kisses across his cheeks, his nose, the corner of his lips.
“I missed you, my love,” you whispered, forehead against his. “I’m sorry. We’re not getting enough of each other.”
Zayne’s cheeks flushed faintly. He covered one of your hands with his own and gave a gentle nod. “We should have more time together,” he agreed softly. “For instance… we’ll have dinner now, and you’ll tell me about your day.”
The restaurant was cozy, all low lighting and the murmur of other late-night diners. You slid into a booth near the window, and Zayne picked up the menu with quiet anticipation. But when the server arrived with an apologetic smile, the news landed like a small disappointment, the tender steak was sold out for the night.
Zayne’s brow furrowed just slightly, but you reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “It’s okay. How about the pasta? The one couples usually share?”
He agreed easily enough, and the dish arrived steaming, twirled beautifully on a single plate with two forks tucked at the side. What neither of you realized, was that the creamy sauce was finished with a generous splash of white wine. And Zayne, who doesn't drink and never expected it in his dinner, ate more than his share.
It started subtly. A loosening of his posture. A longer, softer blink. Then his gaze found yours across the table, growing heavier and warmer.
“You’re looking so pretty tonight,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that you could feel his breath on your shoulder. He pressed a kiss there, unhurried and tender, and then another.
Your eyes widened. “Zayne… are you—?”
“I’m fine,” he said, though his voice had gone syrupy and slow. His hand found yours again, but this time his thumb traced lazy circles over your palm. “i... I'm not drunk.”
By the time you paid the bill, he was leaning into you as you walked, his arm looped loosely around your waist, his lips brushing your temple unprompted. “You smell nice,” he whispered, as if it were a secret.
You helped him into the passenger seat and circled around to the driver’s side. But before you could even turn the key, Zayne had shifted in his seat, loosening his tie with a clumsy tug.
“Ah…” He exhaled, eyes half-lidded as they found you. “Look at you. You’re so adorable.”
And then he was leaning across the console, not quite steady, not quite careful, and he fell against you, helpless and in need. His face buried in your neck, his arms wrapped around your waist, and you felt the tension he’d been carrying all day melt into you all at once.
You held him tight. “Zayne…”
“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he admitted, voice muffled against your skin. “Every meeting. Every red light. Just… you.”
Your heart ached and raced in the same breath. This wasn’t the controlled, composed Zayne you usually saw. This was the man underneath, the one who missed you just as much, who wanted just as deeply, who simply didn’t always know how to say it.
The car was parked in a quiet corner of the lot, the windows tinted dark enough that the world outside became a blur of shadows and distant headlights. Still, your cheeks burned when he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands began to move with a tenderness that made your breath catch.
Softened by wine and longing, Zayne's fingers traced your jaw, your collarbone, the edge of your sleeve. When he kissed you, it was slow and deep, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth all over again.
Zayne's hands found your waist, his gaze was needy, filled with greed and want. He only wanted you for himself.
"Let me look at you," he murmured, voice still thick from the wine.
You sat back just enough to give him room, and his eyes traveled over you like he was seeing you for the first time. The low glow of the streetlamp cut across your collarbone, the slope of your shoulders, the way your shirt had slipped just slightly off one side. Zayne exhaled slowly.
"You're beautiful," he said, almost to himself. His fingertips traced the line of your jaw, featherlight, then drifted down your throat, following the pulse he could feel skipping there. "You always find a new way to take my breath away.. Come sit on my lap" zayne patted.
"Zayne but you're drunk.." you looked concerned but sat on his lap anyway. "I missed you. So much in fact." you cupped his face as both of your legs were on the side of his hips feeling his hardness against you.
"Just trust me.." He pushed your shirt up, his hands stilled on your back. He watched your chest rise and fall with each quick breath, watched the way your body leaned into his touch like it was starving for it. A quiet sound escaped him, something between a sigh and a groan.
"You respond so easily to me," he observed, his hand moving underneath your bra towards your breasts, thumb brushing against your nipples. You gasped, arching into him, and his lips curved. "There. Just like that..." His face flushed with need.
His lips map a path from your collarbone to the valley between your breasts while his hands start to undress you. Then when your folds were wet and ready, he entered you with one slow, deep thrust, and your words dissolved into a gasp. "Zayne~!"
He fills you perfectly, stretching you in a way that borders on too much and exactly enough all at once. Your back arches for him. He pauses for a moment, his forehead pressed to yours, and you can feel him trembling.
He begins to move, and the rhythm is slow at first, deep and deliberate, each thrust pressing him against that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. Your fingers tangle his hair, pulling with every stroke, grounding yourself in the silk of it. He groans, his hips stutter, his rhythm faltering as your grip tightens.
"Like that," you breathe, pulling again. "I love it when you fall apart for me. When you stop holding back. When I can feel you losing control because of how much I want you."
He makes a sound, something between a groan and a whimper, while his composure finally shatters.
His hips snap forward harder, faster, his rhythm losing its measured precision. His hands grip your hips so tightly you know there will be bruises tomorrow, and you welcome them. His mouth finds your neck, teeth scraping against your pulse point, and you pull on his hair again, tilting his head back so you can see his face. Zayne's lips parted and the sight of him lost in pleasure was the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.
His hand slips between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, and the combination of his thrusts and his touch sends you at edge.
Your grip tightens in his hair as his thumb circles you with relentless precision, even as his hips lose their rhythm, even as his breath comes in ragged gasps against your throat.
Everywhere he touched, you burned. His palms skimming your hips made you shiver. His mouth pressing to your shoulder made you whimper.
"You're so sensitive," he whispered, watching your face as he moved against you. The way your eyes fluttered shut. The way your fingers curled into his shirt. The way your breath hitched when he shifted his hips, his teasing words, "I love knowing exactly what you need."
And when you finally broke apart above him, biting your lip to stay quiet, he held you through it, whispering your name like it was the only word he had left.
He watches you through half-lidded eyes, his own control fracturing at the sight of you falling apart beneath him. His thumb keeps moving, drawing out every wave, until you're trembling and oversensitive, clutching at his shoulders.
Only then does he let himself go.
His hips slam forward once, twice, three more times, each thrust deeper than the last, and then he buries himself inside you with a groan that sounds almost pained. You feel his pulse, feel the warmth of his release.
His head fell back against the seat, and he watched you with an expression caught somewhere between adoration and mischief. Outside, the faint silhouette of a passerby crossed the edge of the window, and Zayne’s lips curved.
“Look at these people,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, thumb brushing on the bottom of your lip, “How shameless.”
You buried your face against his shoulder, half-laughing, half-melting. “You’re one to talk.”
He only hummed in response, his hands sliding up your back, then down again. “You’re so adorable,” he said again. “All mine.”
And in the quiet dark of the car, with the city moving on around you and the last traces of wine still warm in his veins, he meant it more than he’d ever known how to say.
You stayed like that for a long time afterward and when you finally pulled away, Zayne reached for your hand and brought it to his lips.
When you ask Zayne that question, he lifts his view from his laptop, directly looking at you and your barely showing belly.
“I don't mind either.” He responds. But it's not enough for you.
“You must have a preference, Zaynie! Don't tell me you haven't pictured our babies. All girls, all boys, mix, just one, two...”
He chuckles, finding your curiosity adorable. Besides, he had pictured your children together “I have pictured them, yes.” He then comes closer to you, stroking your cheek and looking deeply into your eyes as his free hand rests on your swollen belly “I imagine their eyes shining when they smile like you. I imagine them having a melodious laughter, just like you. I want them to have your beautiful hair, your radiant smile, your bravery, your kind heart, I want them to look at the world the way you do. I want our children to be the very testament of our love. Does that answer your question?”
He says this with such emotion, your eyes water and your lips wobble. You knew he loved you, but the way he just said it when describing your children together makes you love him more. You quietly sob in his arms, feeling so, so loved by this man.
“C-can they at least have your eyes?”
He chuckles against you, hugging you tightly “I'll see what I can do.”
an: this made me sob and dad!zayne is my fav zayne, oh my god, please let me have your babies sir... enjoy this little thing i whipped up last minute!
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