“oh my god, i’m so scared” you held yourself above his abdomen, gripping onto his broad shoulders.
you don’t remember which one of you recommended it.
but now you were here, bracing yourself to be met with your boyfriends big ass tongue he has on his stomach. the mouth smirked, opening up to stick out his tongue.
“kuna!” you whined when he licked a stripe of your shaking cunt.
“what’s wrong? don’t like it?” he grinned, watching you struggle. his extra set of arms helped you lower down on him, completely sitting on the drooling tongue.
your back immediately arched, trying to lift yourself up again before he slammed you down.
“stay.” sukuna ordered, heavy hands still on your hips to still you.
“its weird!”
“just shut up and ride me, fuck.” he slid you back and forward, flattening the tongue down to fully cover your pussy. “good fucking girl.”
your arms wrapped themselves around his neck, hiding your face in his chest, allowing yourself to move. yourode him just as if you were to ride his face.
“ngh.. oh my fuck! can’t-“ your eyes closed shut when he forced his tongue up in you, if that was even possible.
“tastes so sweet.” he murmured, thrusting the tongue in and out. he pulls out just to nip at your clit with his tongue, hurting you in a way that was both painful and pleasing.
“babe!”
“sorry doll face.” the snicker he let out told you that he was in fact, not sorry.
his hand reached to grope your ass, encouraging you to ride him harder. faster.
you whimpers filled the room, face flushing red from how full you were. his tongue hit every spot bringing you closer to hitting your orgasm, and he knew it.
“cmon, cum in my mouth. give me a nice meal..” he grunted, flicking the tongue at your clit.
your nails dug into his neck, bracing yourself for your peak.
“you seem a bit leaner lately. been skipping meals?”
his words took a few seconds to fully register. even then, your brain stalled helplessly under the hazy after-effects of many an orgasm. typical suguru to ask this sort of question. your lover who was so fiercely protective, always watching over those closest to him with an observant, gentle eye. (if only he spared a fraction of that care for himself, instead of constantly putting his own well-being last.)
“h-huh? no, i’ve been eating,”
“is that so?”
he cooed, mauve eyes glittering with jest. before you could even try to defend your appetite, a pleasantly deep thrust buried him to the hilt, making your toes curl. tears born of overstimulation and adoration pooled at the corners of your eyes. a stray strand of his raven bangs tickled your cheek as he leaned over you, his thumb sweeping to catch the bead of moisture.
“because i was wondering why the shape right here...” his palm slid down to press on the newfound swell of your lower belly—the protrusion providing proof that he was stretching you out from the inside— “looks so beautifully obvious.”
choso just needs a little help ୨୧ choso kamo x fem!reader ୨୧ i need him to mark me
you wake up to slobbery tits and a whimpering boy beside you. choso rubs his bulge against your hips while he whines against your nipple. he doesn't realize you're awake till you tangle your fingers in his hair.
he pulls off of you quickly, looking down in shame.
"it's okay, cho." you comfort him, pulling his face back down onto your nipple. "keep going."
his lips latch onto your nipple quickly, sucking and licking while rubbing his bulge harder on your hips. whines escape his throat as he uses you to fix his little problem.
he releases your nipple from his mouth and gives a harsh suck on the side of your boob. you let out a whimper, smiling at the whiny boy.
he starts to mark every part of your chest till you're covered in purple marks.
his bulge ruts sloppily against your hips. you reach down, pushing past his waistband and grabbing his cock. it's hot and hard. your thumb meets the tip, wet with precum.
choso whines. throwing his head into your neck and whining some more. "please—h-help."
you smile, teasing his leaking tip with your thumb. he twitches, whimpering about how good you feel.
"wanna be inside." he mumbles. you shake your head. "not yet, cho."
he whines and you swipe your thumb on his tip with a bit of pressure. he immediately lets out a pathetic moan, curling into your side and using your hand to get off.
he cums quickly, sighing and whimpering in your ear. you keep your hand around his heavy cock, waiting for him to come down his high so you can do it again.
“sukunaa get off of me—it’s way too hot out here for you to be doing this.”
he had his four arms wrapped around your waist with all his weight laid on top of you, flopped over like a dead fish. and he had the nerve to look up at you and pout.
“too comfortable.” is all he grunts out before faceplanting himself onto your chest, nuzzling into you and you swore for a second you could hear him purr.
“ryoo…it’s boiling you’re gonna kill me.” you shor back, trying your best to claw at his head so he’d finally get off of you. but he stayed right on top of you like dead weight—like moving away would ruin everything, his face still nuzzling your chest while his arms grip around you only tightened.
“for a king you sure as hell can be a brat.”
all you got was a deep hum in response—soft kisses trailing down your skin while he gripped you like a vice.
and you just had to face it. your husband was just an overgrown house-cat.
“i adore you too, my petal.”
“if you did, you get off of me you beast!” you hit him a couple times on his back, pouting while fumes practically came out your ears.
and before you could continue yelling, his lips were planted on yours, softly kissing you—his tongue sliding into your mouth, moving away, barely giving you a second to breathe before his lips crashed onto yours again.
“sweet.”
“you’re a bully.”
my overgrown meow meow.
all works belong to @lilithkleia, do NOT copy, translate or feed to AI. lest you wish upon toji’s worm to crawl up your ass.
[𝝑𝑒] :: clinging to true form!sukuna ‘til he gets sick of it :: tags. concubine!reader. fluff. size diff. reader gets called ‘girl, brat’
“y’re annoying me, girl,” sukuna grumbles as he walks to the courtyard. you had magically appeared behind him the moment he stepped out of his room to get some fresh air.
you flash him an apologetic smile, “i’m sorry, my lord.”
you’re not actually sorry, sukuna knows, though he doesn’t comment on it. it’s been like this ever since a week or two ago. he can’t recall why you’re suddenly so much more affectionate.
he doesn’t wait for you, however, and takes big strides towards the courtyard. if your little legs can’t keep up, that isn’t his problem.
you frown and take on the challenge. you increase your pace and nearly start rushing after him. you lift your kimono to make sure you won’t trip over the fabric.
sukuna can’t believe that a human like you dares to even be in his presence for so long. he didn’t call for you, so why are you adamant on staying with him?
he concludes that something must be up, “what’d you want from me?”
there hangs a silence between you two afterwards. sukuna’s slow yet heavy footsteps reverberate through the hallway, followed by your quick and light ones.
you pout as you notice that the king of curses isn’t even sparing you a glance, “nothing at all. i just like to be with you.”
you add the latter as an afterthought. you don’t expect sukuna to react to that, so you continue to trail behind him into the courtyard.
“tch,” you hear him scoff in annoyance. you’re sure he doesn’t mean any actual harm by that, so you don’t take it personally.
sukuna eventually sits down on the engawa, where the servants have placed the comfy zabuton cushions. there’s always one for you as well—right next to sukuna’s. it’s become a habit for the maids to include you in sukuna’s daily routines, because you’re always with him.
you eye your own cushion, though don’t make an effort to actually sit down on it. sukuna stares ahead, not bothered to notice you at the moment. you look down at his lap, recalling just how perfectly you can fit on it.
you don’t waste any more time and plop down on his thick thighs, your back against his chest. sukuna’s brow twitches at the sudden contact. his bottom pair of eyes look down at you whilst the upper ones keep looking ahead aimlessly.
“get off me,” the king of curses commands through a low tone.
sukuna doesn’t push you off, however. that alone tells you enough; he’s tolerating your behaviour. as per usual. or perhaps he secretly likes your proximity.
you shall never know which of the two it actually is.
“nooooooo,” you exaggerate with a whine. you don’t want to.
you wrap both of your arms around one of sukuna’s—clinging onto him like your life depends on it. he simply responds by sighing.
you know sukuna’s able to grab you by the collar and force you to sit down on the cushion beside him, but he doesn’t. your heart flutters every time he shows tolerance to your clingy behavior. it means that maybe—just maybe—he’s opening up to the idea of being more affectionate with you.
“such a fuckin’ brat,” sukuna puts one hand on your waist, the others supporting his weight on the engawa. he grumbles, but there are clear signs of him relaxing with you in his presence.
you chuckle at the realisation and swing your legs in excitement. sukuna unexpectedly bites your ear in response to your increased activity on his lap, “stay still or i’ll kick you off.”
you let out a small whimper as you feel his fangs gently sick into your earlobe. you jolt back and rub the skin with your hand, looking up at sukuna with a playful frown before teasing him back.
you roll your eyes and answer him with a firm yet mocking, “sir yes, sir!”
sukuna clicks his tongue at your tease. you answer him like he’s some general in the military. that’s not the kind of relationship he has with you—it’s more than that. even though he knows you’re joking, he dislikes it when you call him anything other than ‘my lord’, ‘my king’, or just his name.
he finds great satisfaction in the way you refer to him as such. you’re the only one who can make sukuna grin each time you remind him of his status and the power he has over you.
the power dynamic; it’s addictive.
he needs more of it.
sukuna reaches out to grab your face with one hand, but you’re quick to pull your head back the moment you see that intimidatingly big hand coming down onto your vision.
you clear your throat and apologise, “i mean—yes, my lord.”
the king of curses hums in content. that title is exactly what he had been looking for.
he retracts his hand and settles it back down on your waist, patting your sides twice to show his satisfaction with your obedience.
you stop squirming around in his lap and simply lay back down in his arms. you close your eyes and nearly fall asleep because of the comfortable atmosphere. the slight breeze against your face is relaxing and perfectly compliments the warmth from sukuna’s body.
choso has developed a very specific grudge against your vibrator.
it started when he found it by accident—tucked in the drawer beside your bed, pink and unassuming, looking about as threatening as a tube of lip balm. he picked it up, turned it over in his hands, pressed the button once. it buzzed to life with a cheerful little hum, and he just… stared at it. like it had personally offended him.
now he watches it. when you’re not home, when you’re in the shower, when you’re asleep beside him. he doesn’t touch it again, but he thinks about it. a lot.
"it’s not fair," he says one night, lying on his back with his arm behind his head. you’re scrolling on your phone, half-listening.
"what isn’t fair, cho?"
"that thing. it makes you cum in two minutes. i counted."
you pause, lowering your phone. "you counted?"
"yeah." he sounds genuinely upset about it. "i timed it. two minutes and fourteen seconds. i take twelve. minimum."
you bite your lip to keep from laughing. "choso, are you jealous of my vibrator?"
he doesn’t answer right away, staring at the ceiling like it holds the secrets of the universe. "…maybe."
the next time you’re in bed together, he’s different. focused. like he’s studying for an exam and your body is the textbook. his fingers are careful, tender , mapping every spot that makes you twitch. "tell me when it feels good," he murmurs, watching your face. "like, exactly when."
you’re already breathless, your hips rolling into his hand. "fuck— cho…! r-right there—"
"okay. don’t move." he stays right where you told him, his fingers working in tight, precise circles, and when you cum, it’s with your hand fisted in his hair and his name on your lips.
he looks up at you after, his expression unreadable. "how long was that?"
you blink, still dazed. "i don’t know. five minutes?"
his brow furrows. "better. but not enough." he’s already reaching for the drawer. "can i see it again?"
you sit up. "choso, what are you—" he pulls out the vibrator, examining it like it’s a cursed object he needs to understand.
"i want to watch how it works. on you. so i can learn."
you stare at him. "you want to… study my vibrator. while it’s on me."
"please?" he says it so earnestly you almost can’t say no.
"…fine. but if this gets weird, i’m taking it back."
it doesn’t get weird. it gets filthy.
he has you on your back, legs spread, the vibrator pressed to your clit while he watches with rapt attention. every time your hips jerk, he notes it. every time you moan, he adjusts the angle. "there," he says, almost to himself. "that spot. you like it here, baby?"
you’re gripping the sheets, your thighs shaking. "ch-choso! i’m gonna—"
"not yet." he pulls the toy away, earning a whine from your kiss-swollen lips. "i’m learning," he explains, almost apologetic. "i need to see how long it takes. how your body changes. what happens right before you finish." he does it three more times—brings you to the edge, pulls back, studying your reactions like he’s dissecting a curse. by the fourth time, you’re sobbing, your voice hoarse, your mind fuzzy.
"choso, please, i can’t—"
"okay," he says softly, finally pressing the vibrator back where you need it. "you can cum now. i’ve got you, there’s my pretty girl. doing so well for me."
you cum so hard your vision whites out. when you come back to yourself, he’s lying beside you, the vibrator turned off and resting on his chest like a trophy. "seven minutes!” he says, sounding pleased with himself. "i beat it."
you laugh, weak and breathless. "you’re insane." he turns his head to look at you, his expression soft. "i just want to be good for you. better than that thing."
you roll onto your side, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "you already are."
he’s quiet for a moment. then, "can i keep it? for research."
you groan, burying your face in the pillow. "you’re never living this down." he just smiles, small and proud, already planning his next experiment.
“you seem a bit leaner lately. been skipping meals?”
his words took a few seconds to fully register. even then, your brain stalled helplessly under the hazy after-effects of many an orgasm. typical suguru to ask this sort of question. your lover who was so fiercely protective, always watching over those closest to him with an observant, gentle eye. (if only he spared a fraction of that care for himself, instead of constantly putting his own well-being last.)
“h-huh? no, i’ve been eating,”
“is that so?”
he cooed, mauve eyes glittering with jest. before you could even try to defend your appetite, a pleasantly deep thrust buried him to the hilt, making your toes curl. tears born of overstimulation and adoration pooled at the corners of your eyes. a stray strand of his raven bangs tickled your cheek as he leaned over you, his thumb sweeping to catch the bead of moisture.
“because i was wondering why the shape right here...” his palm slid down to press on the newfound swell of your lower belly—the protrusion providing proof that he was stretching you out from the inside— “looks so beautifully obvious.”
˚. ྀིྀི୧❤︎୨ ྀིྀི.˚ mdni. after getting stuck on the receiving end of yet another one of their stupid jokes, you decide to get back at the morons you have the misfortune of calling best friends. who would have thought revenge is a dish best served...by having gojo and geto bitch and moan over which one of them you like better?
"i hate them."
"what did they do this time?" shoko snickered, perching an lit cigarette between her teeth as you scowled at the sky.
"they totally ruined up any chance i had with sukuna," you complained, jaw tense as you replayed last night's disaster of a party.
all you wanted was to have sloppy sex with their hot friend. it wasn't like you were looking for anything serious. just having a few drinks and hooking up with a a man who definitely knew how to make you cum.
"i think they might've done you a favor," she shrugged, and you threw her an irritated glare.
"they told everyone we were in a polyamorous relationship," you added, already grinding your molars thinking back to the way satoru had draped his arm over your shoulders while suguru's fingers possessively dug into your hips all because they saw you speaking to him. "and that i get the cuck chair."
"that's ridiculous," she muttered, blowing out a puff of smoke while she tried to hide her hint of a smile. "we all know it would be satoru."
apparently not.
because two seconds later, sukuna had walked away, and you had gone home last night un-laid.
but how the hell were you supposed to do anything to dumb and dumber? what could you do that would wipe those stupid smirks off of their faces?
they were so self-absorbed, they-
"sho," you hummed her name in a completely new tone, a little scheme of your own starting to take shape as you smiled. "i have an idea."
"i bet it's a bad one."
she might've been right.
but it didn't stop her from taking part in your plan an hour later, sitting in front of you in your dorm as you both listened for the approaching footsteps.
any minute, the two dickheads from the night before would be dropping in just in time to catch a conversation they wouldn't know was pre-planned.
you heard them first, the familiar low hum of suguru's laugh, satoru's voice ringing out.
action.
"promise you won't judge me, sho," you whined, just loud enough that they would certainly be able to hear but not so much they'd stop to think anything of it.
"you already know i will," she recited her line, scrolling on her phone while you did your best to continue without cracking a smile.
"i think i do have feelings for him."
all the sounds had stopped outside.
abrupt silence in the place of footsteps and chatter.
"is this a joke?" she deadpanned, much like you imagined she would if you ever did wake up one day and confess you were in love with idiot number one or two.
"no," you defensively huffed back, biting back a giggle as you heard a tiny creak, like someone was putting pressure on the door to eavesdrop. "last night, when he was acting like we were together, and y'know, touching me, it just-"
"don't be gross," shoko grimaced, interrupting right on time before you could give away any identifying details.
"should i tell him?" you innocently asked, really trying to sell it.
"definitely not," shoko shook her head, her hand reaching up to cover her mouth a stifle a yawn. "you already know you're better off as friends."
"yeah, you're right," you hummed, feigning disappointment. "i think he's gonna be here soon."
"i'm leaving then," she announced, bending over to pick up her bag and starting towards the door, ready to catch the two imbeciles listening in. her hand hovering over the doorknob as she delivered her final line, "please don't fuck-"
you were pretty sure you'd never seen anyone move as fast as them the second she swung open the door, stumbling backwards with sweat sticking to their brows and panicked expressions plastered across their faces.
"idiots," she muttered, stepping past them and leaving the door open without another word.
they were both staring at you though, mouths stuck half-open like they couldn't even manage to string a coherent sentence together.
"hi, satoru," you softly greeted, your stare shifting slowly from one to the other. "hi, suguru. you're a little earlier than i expected."
pretending to be totally oblivious to what they just overheard.
"hey," suguru finally forced himself to speak first, clearing his throat as he just stood out there and blinked at you.
“do you guys wanna come in?” you asked, clearing the textbooks you hadn’t been studying to start with off your bed.
"uh, well, i mean-”
you glanced down at the floor as satoru started to talk, doing your best impression of a girl desperately trying to disguise a crush.
“i actually forgot, um, something,” satoru gulped, grabbing onto suguru’s forearm and physically pulling him back into the hall.
he shut the door before you could question his stupid excuse.
fine by you.
your room probably couldn’t fit both their inflated egos in it anyway.
they’d be at each other’s throats by the end of the night.
˚. ྀིྀི୧❤︎୨ ྀིྀི.˚
“obviously, she likes me.”
“you’re literally delusional,” suguru muttered, scowling at him with crossed arms as satoru spun uselessly around in the chair at his desk.
“you think she likes you?” satoru gawked, grabbing a pencil off the cluttered surface and throwing it at his best friend.
“do i have to remind you which one of us is more popular with women?” he wryly retorted, mouth curling up in a smirk.
“which is exactly why she’d want me instead of a man whore like you,” satoru snapped.
a strange twinge of discomfort settled into suguru’s stomach at the idea of you crushing over satoru instead of him.
what the hell did he have that suguru didn’t?
“yeah?” he challenged, arching up an eyebrow. pride pierced by the disgusting feeling threatening to drown his better judgment. “you wanna bet?”
satoru scoffed, chest puffing out he just declared war over who your heart belonged to.
“let the best man win.”
or the best moron.
a/n: this was inspired by that one episode of himym lmfao :3 anywayyy imagine while they’re so busy bickering reader just goes and starts dating sukuna anyway
sakusa doesn't like the beach. he hates how the sand gets into every crevice, how the wind messes up his hair, and how the humidity of the salty air sticks to him. for a place known to be a popular vacation destination possessing incredible views, it sure is uncomfortable. yet here he is at the beach with you.
once you guys get set up at a fairly vacant spot on the coast, he's content to lounge in the folding chair under the shade of the attached umbrella.
"don't you wanna dip your toes in?" you ask sakusa, holding up your sundress to prevent it from getting wet as the water laps at your feet.
"no, it's okay," he replies. "i'll stay here and look after our stuff."
you shrug as if to say suit yourself and wade further into the ocean.
sakusa watches as you stroll along the shore. though he isn't too keen on the idea of traipsing through the water, he has to admit that listening to the ocean is very calming. his eyelids begin to feel heavy as the hushing sound of the waves lull him to sleep.
a while later, he's awoken by a gentle hand shaking his shoulder.
"i found us matching shells," you report with a smile. sakusa's somewhat groggy eyes travel to your palm, which held two small conch shells. he then looks up at you.
the golden rays cast a glowing sheen on your face. whether your skin shimmers from sunscreen, sweat, or your secret ability to sparkle, he couldn't care less. you look stunning.
"thank you," he expresses, picking up one of the shells and carefully wrapping his fingers around it to keep it safe. sakusa takes your other hand and presses a soft kiss on your knuckles, to which your smile widens. he swears it's brighter than the setting sun.
“why on earth are you wearing my laundry on your face?”
“why do you have to make it sound so creepy?” he chirped, a self-congratulatory lilt in his otherwise innocent tone.
your husband didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed—not that you expected a shred of modesty after three years of marriage and a lifetime spent navigating the childish whims of satoru gojo. leaning against the vanity with the leggy poise of an off-duty supermodel, he cut a striking figure in a minimalist (no doubt designer) shirt that clung to the athletic taper of his shoulders. black floral lace was stretched taut over his brow, the sheer fabric obscuring those mesmerising eyes.
“because it is. those are my stockings, satoru. i wore them for like ten hours yesterday. you are genuinely revolting.”
(yet, the most damning part was the complete lack of incongruity; the black lace complemented the monochrome of his attire so flawlessly he looked editorial.)
“revolting? puh-lease. i believe the word you’re searching for is ‘resourceful.’” his large hands slid from his lap to your hips, fingers splaying wide as he guided you into the notch between his long legs. he tilted your chin upward with a lazy finger, that signature smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
“oh! but they’re doing a fantastic job of keeping me comfy,” he beamed, tapping his temple. “plus, they smell exactly like you! consider them borrowed indefinitely.”
reaching up, you hooked a thumb beneath the delicate lace to hitch it upward, liberating a single, crystalline blue eye. it shimmered with a mix of mischief and adoration, the silver-white sweep of his lashes fluttering against the stolen hosiery.
“but, since you’re getting your pantyhose in a twist... i’m prepared to offer a very generous settlement.”
you arched an eyebrow in a flimsy attempt to preserve some semblance of resolve, already well aware of where this was heading. “oh? and what does the great satoru gojo consider a fair trade?”
he leaned in, the tip of his nose grazing yours in silent provocation, the proximity rendering you both a bit cross-eyed.
“i’m a high-end guy; i don’t deal in cash. however, i’m more than happy to settle the debt through manual labor. i’m thinking... an all-night session. very hands-on. i’ll even let you keep the blindfold on me if it helps you focus. my good looks are notoriously distracting—”
“sex as payment for pilfering my dirty laundry?” you deadpanned, though the cynicism couldn’t quite stifle the sudden heat blooming across your cheeks. “that is literally just you getting what you want twice.”
“touché. now, do we have a deal?” he murmured, the exposed cerulean eye dancing with challenge as his fingers found the top button of his collar.
the question was a mere formality, a rhetorical flourish as he commenced a playful striptease. each undone button surrendered more of the sculpted landscape beneath. and what a fucking cliché it is, but satoru truly possessed the anatomical sublimity of a marble sculpture. the ambient light caught the deep grooves of his adonis belt; a sharp chevron that vanished tantalisingly beneath the narrow waistband of his slacks.
suddenly, large hands hooked under your knees, hoisting your legs onto his shoulders. the sight was truly absurd—the strongest sorcerer, the honored one throughout heaven and earth, with black lace still knotted around his head like a makeshift headband, unruly white spikes jutting out over the floral pattern. he began to wiggle his hips, a playful, feline shimmy of anticipation that might have been cute if not for the fact that he was violently hard, a blatant bulge straining against his fly.
“satoru, stop being a dork and just fu–”
the demand died in an undignified yelp as satoru dipped his head between your thighs. his palms slid under your glutes, tilting your pelvis to a more precarious, accessible angle as he began to taste you with gluttonous enthusiasm. broad, greedy strokes followed, devouring you with the fervour of someone savoring a long-awaited ice-cream cone on a sweltering day.
“mghm... yum,” he purred against your skin when your fingers dove into his hair, nails inadvertently catching at the lace of your own hosiery.
with that, his tongue slid into your searing core, and your world fractured and reconstructed. he curled within, reaching deeper than you had anticipated, the vibration of his low hum sending sparks straight to your centre. you squeaked, arching off the mattress in a way that opened you even further. dexterous fingers stretched you open, his thumb establishing a rhythm against your clit while his tongue swirled deep within. instinctive attempts to close your thighs were thwarted by the breadth of his shoulders—a barrier that left you utterly defenseless for his whims and worship.
satoru then pulled back a mere fraction to peer up at you through those absurdly long lashes, those cerulean eyes practically manic with ardor. with a impish smirk, he dropped his register into a performative sexy rasp—one he knew you possessed a guilty weakness for.
“you like that, don’t cha?” the vibration of his voice was palpable against your skin. “dirty girl. wearing these all day just to drive me crazy.”
“i wore them to work, s’toru! you’re the one wh—oh!”
he had taken your nub into his mouth, the suction so fierce it made your vision white out. there was an endearing goofiness to his kinetic excitement, an inability to keep his body still that was betrayed by the shaking mattress. your second orgasm arrived in a violent rush, leaving your limbs feeling like lead and your mind a pleasantly hazy void.
when satoru finally withdrew, strings of pearlescent fluid bridged the gap between you. he looked arguably more wrecked than you—flushed and panting, wearing a manic grin. rising to his haunches to rid himself of the remaining fabric, he presented a silhouette that made your throat go dry. he was nothing short of angelic, yet your focus remained pinned on the turgid length of him. decorated on the tip was a shiny bead of pre-cum. he looked down at your spent, trembling form with unadulterated hunger, his cock twitching against his lower abdomen before he wrapped his hand around the base to give it a couple of pro forma pumps.
“just get here,” you pleaded, reaching downward modestly toward his crotch.
“greedy,” he chided softly, but did exactly as you desired. still sporting your black lace hosiery around his neck like a silk scarf, satoru positioned himself, the fat tip teasing your heat. his hips did that excited, restless little wiggle again as he lined himself up, his blue eyes locked onto yours with terrifying intensity. he slid in an inch, then two, tracking your expression as he relished the tight, desperate squeeze of your walls. “..but i guess i can’t blame ya.”
he surged forward, burying his entire length in one heavy, soul-destroying thrust. the air left your lungs in a silent scream as he bottomed out, his thick girth stretching you to your limit. he stayed there for a long moment, buried deep within you, his forehead resting against yours as he let out a jagged breath.
“yeah,” he groaned, his hips beginning to rear back in preparation for fucking you in earnest. “i think i’m gonna milk myself dry tonight.”
︵ ೀ mdni. satoru is undoubtedly attractive but you still see him as the annoying little kid you babysat every weekend to earn some extra money during high school. little do you know that he wants to rail you bad ( pervert!satoru / reverse age-gap / dubcon )
satoru gojo used to be the annoying little kid you babysat every weekend to make extra money during high school.
he was your neighbor’s son—loud, spoiled, with those striking blue eyes that always followed you around the house like you hung the stars. you’d tuck him in, read him stories, and laugh when he threw tantrums about bedtime. “you’re like my big sister,” he used to say, clinging to your leg. you found it cute back then.
now he’s nineteen, tall, ridiculously handsome, and somehow even more trouble.
you still live next door, working part-time while finishing your degree. satoru has grown into something dangerous. six-foot-three of muscle, messy white hair, and that infuriating smirk that makes girls on campus lose their minds. but to you, he’s still little satoru. the kid you used to scold for eating too much sugar.
he wishes you’d stop seeing him that way. because every night when he’s alone in his room, it’s your face he sees. your soft smile, the way your hips sway when you walk, the curve of your breasts under those old t-shirts you wear when you come over to help his mom. he wraps his hand around his cock and strokes himself slow and desperate, imagining bending you over the same couch you used to read him stories on.
he cums hard every time, biting his lip to stay quiet.
seeing you now drives him insane.
you’re in his kitchen again, helping his mom with groceries like you always do. satoru leans against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you laugh at something his mother says. you’re wearing shorts that hug your thighs and a loose top that slips off one shoulder. he wants to rail you so badly it hurts. wants to push you against the counter, shove those shorts down, and fuck you until you finally see him as a man.
“hey,” he says, voice low and smooth as he walks in. he’s learned how to turn on the charm. “you look good today. new shorts?”
you glance down, then smile like he’s still ten years old. “these old things? thanks, satoru. you’re sweet.”
sweet. the word burns.
he steps closer, towering over you now. “i’m not a kid anymore, you know.”
you laugh softly, patting his arm like you used to when he threw tantrums. “of course you’re not. you’re all grown up. my little troublemaker became a heartthrob, huh?”
satoru’s jaw tightens. he wants to grab you, pin you to the wall, and show you exactly how grown up he is. instead he flashes that signature gojo grin, leaning in so his breath brushes your ear.
“you should let me take you out sometime. dinner. drinks. whatever you want.”
you blink, tilting your head with that innocent confusion that drives him crazy. “aww, that’s so nice of you! are you practicing your lines for the girls at school? you’re gonna break so many hearts.”
he nearly groans. “i’m not practicing. i mean it. i want to take you out. just us.”
you wave him off with a smile, completely missing the heat in his eyes. “you’re adorable. but i’m way too old for you, satoru. focus on college girls your age.”
adorable.
the word makes something snap inside him. he’s imagined you on your knees, lips wrapped around his cock. imagined folding you in half and pounding you until you scream his name. imagined filling you up while you moan about how big he is.
and you still call him adorable.
he steps even closer, backing you against the counter. his height makes it impossible for you to ignore how much he’s grown. “i’m not a little kid anymore,” he says, voice dropping. “i know what i want. and i want you.”
you laugh again, reaching up to ruffle his hair like you did when he was eight. “you’re so funny. always teasing your old babysitter.”
satoru catches your wrist gently but firmly, holding it against his chest so you can feel how fast his heart is racing. his blue eyes burn into yours.
“i’m not teasing.”
for a second you pause. but then you smile again. “you’ll find a nice girl soon. i promise.”
he lets you go, watching you walk away to help his mom again. his cock is half-hard in his pants just from being close to you. the frustration is driving him insane.
every time you treat him like the child he used to be, it only makes him want to ruin you more. to prove how much of a man he is by fucking you so deep you forget you ever saw him as anything but yours.
satoru leans against the counter, eyes dark and hungry as he watches you move around the kitchen. he stays there until he can’t take it anymore, then pushes off the counter and heads upstairs to his room without a word.
the second his door clicks shut, he’s already palming himself through his pants. he frees his aching cock and starts stroking, hoping that you’ll take the garden path home like you usually do so you’ll walk right past his window and hear the wet sound of his hand pumping his cock and the moans he doesn’t even try to hide because he wants you to know. he wants you to hear exactly what you do to him.
a few days later, satoru comes back from a late training session when he cuts through the side yard like he always does. your bedroom curtain is pulled mostly closed, but there’s a gap—just enough, and he stops dead. through the narrow opening he sees you.
you’re on top, completely naked, riding your stupid boyfriend with slow rolls of your hips. your head is tilted back, lips parted, hands braced on his chest. the moonlight catches the curve of your breasts, the way they bounce every time you sink down. your boyfriend’s hands are on your waist, guiding you, but his thrusts look lazy.
satoru’s mouth goes dry.
he should look away. he knows he should. but he can’t. his cock hardens instantly, straining against his pants as he watches you move. you look so pretty like this—flushed, glowing, lost in pleasure. but something ugly twists in his chest because it’s not him underneath you. he wants to be him so fucking bad.
before he can think, satoru slips behind the bushes, hidden in the shadows. his hand shoves into his pants, wrapping around his aching cock. he strokes himself in time with your movements, eyes locked on the way your body rises and falls. every soft moan that drifts through the cracked window makes him leak.
“fuck… you should be riding me,” he whispers. his fist moves faster, thumb swiping over the head as he imagines it’s your tight, wet heat instead. he pictures grabbing your hips, slamming you down on his much bigger cock, making you scream his name instead of whatever soft sounds you’re making now.
he cums hard, biting his lip to stay quiet, painting his hand while watching you chase your own pleasure. the sight of you cumming—back arching, mouth open in a silent cry—pushes him over the edge again. he milks himself through it, thick, messy spurts flooding into his boxers and soaking through his pants. after the orgasm fades and reality came back he stares down at the dark wet patch on the front of his sweatpants.
later that night he lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, still half-hard while his damp pants he cleaned in a hurry so his mom wouldn’t notice, dry on the back of his chair in his room. that loser didn’t even make you cum properly. satoru could tell.
your moans were pretty, but not desperate enough. your body moved like you were doing most of the work. he knows he would be so much better for you. he would flip you over, pin you down, and fuck you so deep and so good you’d forget any other man existed. he’d make you cum until you cried, until your legs shook, until you begged him to fill you up. he’d treat you like the goddess you are instead of some half-assed ride.
the jealousy burns hotter than the lust now. you still see him as the little kid you babysat. you have a boyfriend who can’t even make you cum right, and you smile at satoru like he’s harmless.
it makes him insane.
the next afternoon he sees you working in the garden.
you’re kneeling in the flowerbed next door, wearing those same old shorts that ride up your thighs and a loose tank top, hair tied back messily as you dig around the roses. the sun makes your skin glow. satoru leans against the wooden fence that separates your yards, arms crossed over his chest, watching you in silence for a long moment. his eyes trace the curve of your back, the way your shorts cling when you shift, the soft bounce of your breasts every time you reach forward.
his cock twitches at the memory of last night—you riding that loser, the way your body moved, the sounds you made. he still feels a little ashamed about cumming in his pants like a desperate pervert, but the hunger is stronger.
finally he speaks, voice casual but laced with something darker.
“had a good night?”
you look up, brushing dirt off your hands, and give him that same bright, innocent smile you always do. “oh, hey satoru. yeah, it was alright. why do you ask?”
he shrugs, but his blue eyes are intense behind his sunglasses. “just curious. you seemed… busy.”
you laugh softly, standing up and stretching. the hem of your tank top rides up, showing a sliver of skin, and satoru’s gaze drops there instantly.
“nothing special,” you say. “just hung out with my boyfriend. watched a movie, you know how it is.”
satoru’s jaw tightens. he wants to tell you that “hung out” clearly wasn’t enough if you weren’t even satisfied. instead he flashes his usual grin and leans further over the fence.
“movie, huh? sounds boring. you deserve better than boring.”
you tilt your head, amused. “are you offering to entertain me now, little satoru?”
there it is again. little satoru.
the nickname stings worse than usual after what he saw last night. he wants to vault over the fence, push you down into the dirt, and fuck you right there in the garden until you scream his name instead of calling him little anything.
“i could entertain you way better than a movie,” he says. “just say the word.”
you chuckle and wave him off, going back to your flowers like he’s still the kid you used to babysit. “you’re such a flirt these days. go find a girl your own age.”
satoru stays leaning against the fence, watching you work, heart pounding and cock half-hard again. the frustration coils tighter in his chest. one day you’ll stop seeing him as the little boy next door. one day he’ll make you see exactly how much he’s grown—preferably while he’s buried nine inches deep inside you.
as you lean down deeper to reach a stubborn weed, your loose tank top slips forward. satoru catches a clear view of your tits—soft, full, and perfect, nipples just barely hidden by the thin fabric. the sight hits him like a punch to the gut.
his cock instantly swells, painfully hard again in seconds.
he can’t tear his eyes away. he imagines pulling your top down completely, watching those pretty tits spill out into his hands. he wants to grope them, squeeze them, bury his face between them while he fucks you. he wants to suck on your nipples until they’re swollen and sensitive, until you’re whimpering and arching into his mouth.
the urge to take a picture is so strong it almost hurts. he wants to save this view forever—the way your tits hang and sway as you work, the soft curve of them, the way they move when you shift. his fingers twitch at his side, desperate to grab his phone, but he forces himself to stay still.
he can’t. not without risking everything.
instead, he just stares, breathing hard through his nose, cock throbbing angrily in his pants as fantasies flood his mind. he wants to cover them in his cum. he wants to watch them bounce while you ride him. he wants to mark them as his.
he can’t take it anymore. muttering a quick excuse, he turns and practically runs inside his house. he doesn’t even make it up the stairs to his bedroom this time. the second he’s inside the downstairs bathroom, he locks the door, yanks his pants down, and wraps his hand around his throbbing cock.
he strokes himself furiously, leaning against the sink, replaying the image of your tits spilling out of your top and the memory of you riding your boyfriend. it only takes him a minute before he cums hard again, biting his arm to stay quiet as thick ropes paint the sink.
panting, flushed, and still half-hard, satoru stares at his reflection. he knows he’s completely fucked. but he also knows he won’t stop until you finally see him the way he sees you. lucky him, it didn’t take long for the next opportunity to arise.
the next time you come over, it’s to help with groceries like always.
satoru’s mom is out running errands, leaving the two of you alone in the kitchen. you’re putting things away, humming softly, completely unaware of the way satoru is watching you. he’s done playing nice. the images from the garden and that night through the window have been burning in his brain for days. he’s tired of being “cute little satoru.”
you reach for the top shelf, standing on your tiptoes, trying to slide a heavy bag of rice into place and your shorts pull tight across your ass.
“here, let me help,” satoru says.
he steps right behind you before you can protest. his tall frame cages you against the counter, one arm reaching easily over your head to push the bag into place. but he doesn’t step back. instead, he presses forward, letting you feel every inch of his hard cock against your ass through his sweatpants.
you freeze. “satoru…?”
he doesn’t move away. if anything, he presses closer, rolling his hips just enough for you to feel how thick and heavy he is. his breath is hot against your ear.
“you feel that?” he murmurs. “that’s what you do to me. every time i see you. every time you smile at me like i’m still that little kid.”
his hands slide down to grip your waist, holding you in place as he grinds slowly against you. the hard line of his cock nestles perfectly between your cheeks, and he lets out a shaky breath.
“i’m not a kid anymore,” he continues, lips brushing your ear. “i’ve been jerking off to you for months. thinking about bending you over this counter and fucking you. thinking about how much better i’d be than that useless boyfriend of yours.”
you try to turn around, but he keeps you pinned, chest pressed to your back.
“satoru, this isn’t funny—”
“i’m not joking.” his voice drops even lower, more aggressive. one hand slides up your side, thumb brushing the underside of your breast. “i saw you riding him the other night. through your window. he couldn’t even make you cum properly, could he? i would. i’d fuck you so good.”
he rolls his hips again, letting you feel how hard he is, how big. his cock twitches against you, desperate and leaking.
“tell me to stop and i will,” he whispers, even as his grip tightens possessively. “but i think you feel it too. how much i want you. how much better i can make you feel.”
you’re breathing faster now, trapped between the counter and his tall, muscular body. satoru leans down, lips grazing your neck. “let me show you. just once. i’ll make you cum so many times you’ll be begging for more.”
you’re breathing faster now, trapped between the counter and his tall, muscular body. satoru doesn’t wait for a clear answer. he rolls his hips forward again, slower this time, deliberately dragging the thick ridge of his cock against your ass through your thin shorts.
a shaky breath escapes you and he feels it—the way your body tenses then softens just a little. encouraged, he does it again, pressing harder, grinding his clothed cock between your cheeks in slow rolls. the friction is maddening. even through two layers of fabric, you can feel how hot and heavy he is, how big.
“satoru…” your voice comes out breathless.
“shh,” he murmurs against your ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin. “just feel me.”
his hands tighten on your waist, holding you still as he starts dry humping you properly. long, deliberate thrusts that slide his hard length up and down between your ass cheeks. every roll makes your shorts ride up further, the fabric catching and pulling against your pussy. you can feel yourself getting wet, your body reacting even though your mind is still spinning.
satoru groans softly, forehead pressed to the back of your head. “fuck… you feel so good. been dreaming about this for so long.”
he picks up the pace a little, hips snapping forward with more urgency. the kitchen is quiet except for your shared heavy breathing and the faint rustle of clothes. you grip the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white, trying to steady yourself as heat pools low in your belly.
“you’re getting wet, aren’t you?” he whispers. one of his hands slides down your stomach, stopping just above the waistband of your shorts. “i can feel how warm you are. your body knows i’d be better.”
you bite your lip, a soft, involuntary whimper slipping out as he grinds particularly hard against you. the pressure on your clit through the fabric is driving you crazy. your breathing is turning faster, chest rising and falling quickly.
satoru notices immediately. a pleased sound rumbles in his chest.
“that’s it… getting breathless for me already?” he teases, but his voice is strained. he rolls his hips in a slow circle, pressing his cock right against your clothed entrance. “good girl. let me hear those pretty sounds.”
he keeps grinding harder, faster, like he’s trying to fuck you through your clothes. every thrust makes your tits bounce slightly and pulls another shaky breath from your lips. you’re starting to push back against him without thinking, chasing the friction.
satoru’s hand finally slips under your tank top, palm hot against your bare stomach.
“tell me to stop,” he rasps, lips against your neck, “or tell me to keep going. because if you don’t… i’m not gonna be able to hold back much longer.”
you’re panting now, head spinning, body burning under his aggressive touch. satoru keeps grinding against you like he’s possessed, cock throbbing against your ass, waiting for you to decide how far this is going to go.
“satoru… we can’t.” your fingers dig harder into the counter, knees feeling weak. “this is wrong… you’re—you’re basically still my—”
“we can,” he cuts you off. “we definitely can. and we’re going to.”
before you can protest again, his hand leaves your waist. you hear the metallic clink of his belt buckle, the sound of his zipper being dragged down. your heart hammers wildly as he frees his cock. it’s heavy and hot as it springs out, slapping against your ass cheek. he’s so hard it looks painful, the tip already leaking.
“feel what you do to me,” he murmurs, pressing the thick length against you again, this time with nothing but your thin shorts and panties between you.
his fingers hook into the side of your shorts and panties, tugging them just enough to the side. cool air hits your soaked pussy for a second before he slides his bare cock along your drenched folds. the hot, velvety length glides up and down your slick lips, parting them slightly with every slow stroke but never pushing inside.
you let out a broken whimper, forehead dropping against the cabinet door.
“fuck… you’re soaked,” satoru groans. he rocks his hips, sliding his cock repeatedly between your folds, coating himself in your wetness. the head catches on your clit with every pass, sending sparks shooting through you. “all this for me? and you still tried to say we can’t?”
he keeps the teasing motion going—long, deliberate slides from your entrance up to your clit and back down. every time the thick head nudges against your hole, you clench around nothing, aching to be filled. your breathing is ragged, little gasps and moans slipping out despite yourself.
satoru’s free hand comes back to your hip, holding you steady as he grinds his bare cock against your dripping pussy.
“see? we can. and it feels so fucking good, doesn’t it? just imagine how much better it’ll feel when i finally slide inside you.”
he presses forward a little harder, the head of his cock dipping just slightly against your entrance before sliding back up, teasing mercilessly. you’re trembling, breathless, torn between pushing him away and pushing back for more.
“tell me to stop… or tell me you want it. because i’m this close to bending you over and fucking you right here on the counter.”
finally, you break.
“…just the tip,” you whisper. “okay? just the tip, satoru. and don’t come inside me.”
the words barely leave your mouth before satoru groans like he’s been granted heaven. “fuck, yes. just the tip, baby. i promise.”
he lines himself up, the fat head of his cock pressing against your dripping entrance. he pushes forward slowly, and the stretch is immediate. only the tip slips inside you—just the swollen head breaching your tight walls. it’s enough to make both of you lose your minds.
“oh my god…” you gasp, fingers scrabbling against the counter. the feeling of him inside you, even just that little bit, is overwhelming. he’s so thick.
satoru’s forehead drops to your shoulder. “fuck… you’re so tight. so fucking warm. just the tip feels this good?”
he rocks his hips in tiny, shallow movements, fucking just the head in and out of you. every shallow thrust makes wet, obscene sounds echo in the quiet kitchen. he doesn’t push any deeper, but the way he’s teasing your entrance is driving you insane. the constant stretch and release has your walls fluttering around his tip, trying to pull him in further.
“satoru…” you whimper, pushing back against him despite yourself.
“i know, i know,” he pants. “just the tip. i’m being good. but fuck, baby… you’re sucking me in. your pussy wants more, doesn’t it?”
he keeps it like this—shallow little thrusts that only give you the head, never more. it’s torture. for both of you. satoru’s hands grip your hips so tightly you know you’ll have bruises. his breathing is harsh against your neck as he fights every instinct to slam all the way in.
“you feel so perfect,” he groans, circling his hips so the head rubs against that sensitive spot inside you. “i could cum just like this.”
you’re moaning softly now, completely breathless, knees shaking. the denial is making everything more intense. every shallow thrust sends sparks through your body, but it’s not enough. you need more, but you’re scared to ask.
satoru’s control is hanging by a thread. his cock twitches inside you, leaking precum, and he has to bite back a whine. then his hands slide up under your tank top, pushing it up until your breasts spill free. he immediately gropes them, one large hand squeezing and kneading your soft tits while his thumbs flick over your hardened nipples.
“mmh— satoru…” you moan, pushing back against him desperately.
he chuckles against your neck, pinching your nipples hard enough to make you gasp. “what’s wrong, baby? your loser boyfriend doesn’t play with these pretty tits like this? doesn’t know how sensitive you are here?” he rolls your nipples between his fingers, tugging them while still fucking you with only the tip of his cock. every shallow thrust makes you clench greedily around his head, but it’s never enough.
“bet he doesn’t even make you wet like this,” satoru says, voice dripping with arrogance as he squeezes your breasts harder. “bet he fucks you like a pathetic little boy and still can’t make you cum. that’s why you’re dripping down my cock right now, isn’t it?”
you whimper helplessly, forehead pressed against the cabinet, hips trying to push back to take more of him. but satoru keeps perfect control—only giving you the tip, no matter how much you beg with your body.
“say it,” he murmurs, biting your shoulder lightly while still playing with your tits. “tell me his dick isn’t enough for you. tell me you need mine.”
he punctuates his words with another shallow thrust, the head of his cock catching perfectly against that spot right at your entrance. your moan comes out broken and needy.
“satoru… please—”
“please what? please fuck you properly? or please keep teasing this desperate little pussy until you’re crying for me?” then, just to torture you more, satoru pushes in a little deeper—only an extra inch, but it’s enough.
you cry out sharply, the sudden stretch pulling a broken, needy sound from your throat. your body reacts on instinct, pushing back against him desperately, trying to take more of his thick cock.
“greedy girl… you said just the tip, but look at you pushing back like you want me to ruin you.”
he gives you another shallow thrust, still not going all the way in, but deeper than before. you whimper pathetically, hips rocking back against him again, chasing the feeling. your pussy clenches hard around him, dripping down his length.
“fuck, you really want it, don’t you?” he laughs breathlessly against your ear “you want your former babysitting kid to fuck you stupid—”
the front door suddenly swings open.
“satoru? i’m back early—”
his mom’s voice cuts through the air like ice water.
you both freeze.
satoru reacts instantly, pulling out of you and yanking your tank top back down to cover your chest. he quickly tucks himself back into his pants, heart hammering. you’re still pressed against the counter, legs shaking, face burning with embarrassment as you try to fix your shorts.
his mom stands in the doorway only seconds later, holding grocery bags, blinking at the two of you.
satoru clears his throat, somehow managing to sound almost normal. “hey mom. we were just… putting the groceries away.”
you nod quickly, too mortified to speak, cheeks flaming red. your thighs are still trembling, pussy aching from being left empty and dripping.
his mom narrows her eyes slightly, suspicious. “hm. well, don’t make a mess in here.”
she sets the bags down and walks further into the kitchen, completely unaware of how close she came to catching her son balls-deep inside you.
satoru glances at you, eyes still dark. he leans in close while his mom’s back is turned, whispering hotly against your ear: “this isn’t over. next time i’m not stopping until you’re creaming all over my cock.”
you shiver, pressing your thighs together as you try to calm your racing heart.
your boyfriend has been feeling insecure these past days regarding his braces. he had just started wearing bands and they hurt like shit. “toru?” you walked into his dorm, seeing him laid out on the bed in a starfish pose. “baby what’s wrong?”
satoru groaned, feeling a sharp pain erupt in his mouth. he pointed at his lips in indication that it was braces that were hurting him.
it’s been a while since he’s properly kissed you as well. not like it’d be enjoyable with the way his lips kept getting chapped every other minute. he was already a geek but his braces didn’t help his nerdy appearance.
“aw,” you coo’ed, gently cupping his cheeks in your hands. “they’re hurting?”
the white haired boy nodded, desperately wanting to smash his mouth against yours. whenever he even tried pouting out for a peck, the pain would begin again.
“wanna kiss you..”
“yeah?” his eyes flickered down your plump lips. god, he missed them. “let me do all the work then.” you offered.
you leaned down to press a gentle kiss at the corner of his lips, causing him to whine. “more..” he begged.
“don’t be greedy.”
your tongue darted out to lick away at the dryness before kissing him right in the middle. “does it hurt?”
satoru shook his head, gripping your waist tightly as he chased after your once you pulled away. “thank you love.”
you hummed, caressing his lips with your thumb. “brought you some ice cream. hopefully that’ll numb down the pain.”
suna rintarou x gn!reader
1.4k words / best friends to lovers
idek man. but @saezzi (thank yew for reading it over) said it was ok so @.@ anyways first hq piece yay
you like suna rintarou a little too much at 1:19am in bed, with his hand on your back, drawing odd patterns over your (his) t-shirt. his other hand is holding his phone, youtube on, playing a video of deep sea diving and swimming with sharks.
you're sleepy and the atmosphere is perfect, and he looks like a dream when he's painted by the soft glow of your bedside mood lamp. pink and purple hues blur the line between friendship and something more.
you roll over into his arms, slotting your face into the crook of his neck.
"going to sleep?" he asks. you hum an affirmative sound, eyes already closed. he echoes it back.
he doesn't get off his phone, and the soft blue light emanating from the device keeps you in the limbo between consciousness and sleep for just a while longer.
long enough to feel him shuffle—minimal movement but it's easy to tell when you're all pressed up like this—angling his face toward you, then the softness of his lips when they kiss your forehead.
but suna is soft and he is warm, his hand is back to stroking your skin, and you're too far gone to know if it was real or a figment of the fondness you nurture for him.
you like suna rintarou a little too much at 3:29pm on the crowded train home, but you've found two empty seats to yourselves at the very end. you're by the window, dizzy with your eyes closed and your head on his shoulder because the lady across the aisle has enough perfume to suffocate the entire carriage.
the train ride is mostly quiet but the sun is loud and has no regard for your peace. it blares down on you even through the thin curtain that separates you and the glass window, like miya atsumu when he's been deprived of attention for a while.
your eyelids twitch, then a shadow befall your face. when you peek an eye open, suna's got his big hand over your head like it's all just so casual. you tilt your head to look at him, but he only coaxes you back on his shoulder. you're not sure if he notices the heat of color on your cheeks, but he doesn't comment either way.
"go to sleep," he says, completely unfazed by the solar assault on his own eyes. "i’ll wake you when we get there."
you like suna rintarou a little too much at 8:18pm in the third set of a match that has dragged on for way longer than anyone expected. he moves like a blur on the court, and you're the always the first person to jump from your seat whenever he blocks a spike or lands a clean hit.
"sunarin!" you would yell, holding up a sign with his name in bold glittery letters, loud enough to drown out some of the miya fangirls.
suna would find you no matter where you are in the stands. he looks to you first every time, because catching that bright grin of yours is always better than raucous cheers from his teammates.
it's easy to categorize the neutral expression on his face as indifference, but you know him better than most. know that the slight quirk of his lips communicates something only you two can understand.
it's warm, so fuzzy that you don't notice the way the rest of the team follows suna's line of sight, nor the teasing and knowing smiles when their gazes land on you.
"i'm your first supporter, rin," you had said once upon a time, back when you were just children, your hands bandaging his scraped up knees after volleyball with the other neighborhood kids. "i'm your biggest supporter!"
years later and you're still watching him from the bleachers, still wearing that smile so bright it could rival the sun.
the match resumes, he goes back into position but his eyes remain on you for a second longer.
you like suna rintarou a little too much at 12:22am on a midnight snack run with the miyas, even though half your attention is divided on atsumu who keeps throwing pointed chuckles at suna because the convenience store cashier is not subtle at all.
maybe she doesn't need to care about subtlety when she's that pretty. every brush of her fingers against suna's as he hands her your shared items seems deliberate. you're standing right here—probably looking like chopped liver to a woman on a mission—and you don't know if suna notices her flirty smiles or if he just doesn't care, but that spark of irritation flares up inside you anyhow.
when he pulls out his wallet, you're still huffing internally, already picturing how this next minute could play out. she'd bat her eyelashes, put on a devastatingly beautiful smile and suna would cave because he's still just a man after all.
someone gasps—atsumu, likely—and you snap out of it just fast enough to catch the cashier slump slightly. she glances at you, and you're looking over suna's shoulders to find him fishing out some bills, but he's holding the wallet open for longer than you think is necessary. in the transparent photo slot is something you thought you lost a while back, a polaroid of you making a silly face at the camera. he's there too, barely visible peeking out from behind, but he was looking at you.
suna thanks the cashier politely and grabs the plastic bag from the counter. when he leads you out the door by your hand, you don't even need to look back to know it's atsumu who's squealing into his palm.
you even like suna rintarou at 7:12am on a cloudy sunday morning, maybe a little less than usual when he's pounding on your door like he's about to kick it down any second now.
"what the fuck?" you snarl when you catch him on the other side of the threshold. "i was sleeping!"
he's out of breath, his hair's all wind blown, that lanky figure of his leaning against your doorframe as if he’s about to pass out. even half-asleep, you know that he's not supposed to be here. no, he's supposed to be on a stuffy bus with the rest of his teammates on the way to a tournament in another city.
three hours away for three weeks. you already said your goodbyes last night, already sent him off with a handmade bracelet for good luck.
"i just…" he starts, but it comes out ragged because there's still not enough air in his lungs. he steps forward regardless, uncaring of your disheveled appearance—messy bedhead and your sleep shirt hanging off one shoulder—and pulls you all up into his personal space.
there's a sheen of perspiration on his forehead that you spot from this close. you hear the incessant buzzing of his phone in his pocket, but suna doesn't seem bothered so you don't ask. one of his hands finds the nape of your neck, not unfamiliar, but still quite foreign in this context that you haven't yet deciphered.
"i need to do something," he says, his voice much more even now. and you would ask question what on earth could he possibly need to do at the ass crack of a sunday morning, but his other hand finds the small of your back and you feel the butterflies again, rampant and insane.
"rin…"
then he's leaning in until there's no space between you at all. his lips on yours, tasting faintly of mint and the mango gummies you gave him in case he got carsick. the sky is still cloudy, but you're kissing him back and suddenly you don't mind at all that he almost broke down your door and disrupted your much needed day off.
you're dumbstruck when he pulls back with cheeks rosy and lips shiny, and his gaze is fixed on your mouth. sharp eyes now softened, pupils all dilated. you don't reckon you look any better.
what the fuck.
maybe the thought actually comes out in a dazed mumble because your best friend is laughing lightly, his hands still holding you close. "you're not coming with us this time," he says. "i'm gonna miss you."
and it's on a gloomy sunday morning in the threshold of your home that you realize, belatedly, despite all the signs and blurry lines and knowing grins from the miyas, that suna rintarou likes you too.
