Summary: You’ve been in love with Satoru Gojo for years. Five of them as his wife, and three of them you spent with your beautiful daughter Lately though, you’ve been suffering from baby fever. When you finally admit your desire for another child, Satoru wastes no time sweeping you off to the bedroom. More than eager to make it happen.
Content Warnings: porn w/no plot, cowgirl, mating press, missionary, dom!gojo, sub!reader, HEAVY breeding kink, dirty talk, unprotected sex (p in v,) multiple creampies, multiple rounds, toru js loves u sooo much
18+
The soft hum of the dishwasher filled the kitchen as you wiped down the counters. The scent of lemon cleaner mixed with the faint aroma of your daughter Kyoko's storybooks still lingered in the air. Speaking of which the three-year-old was finally asleep upstairs. Her little chest rose and fell under the glow of her nightlight.
Life felt perfect. Satoru Gojo, your husband of five years, the man who could still make your heart race with a single grin, and your beautiful baby girl who made everything whole.
Lately, though, a quiet ache had settled in your chest. Baby fever. It crept in after endless streams of adorable videos online, after wandering through store aisles overflowing with tiny, irresistible clothes, after moments spent watching Kyoko play on her own. You found yourself wanting another child, someone for her to laugh with, to grow up beside.
But Satoru had said it so many times. The three of you were his world, perfect just the way you were. And every time you thought about bringing it up, your stomach twisted at the thought.
What if he thought you were ungrateful?
You heard his footsteps before you saw him, that familiar lazy stride. Satoru leaned against the doorframe. His white hair was tousled from a long day. Those piercing blue eyes softened as they landed on you. He was still in his work shirt. Sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms. He looked every bit the handsome man you've fallen for. "All done?" he asked. His voice was warm like honey.
You nodded, drying your hands on a towel. Your heart pounded. "Yeah. Kyoko's out cold." You hesitated, folding the towel neatly. You gave yourself an out. "Satoru. Can we talk? About something?"
He pushed off the frame, closing the distance in two steps. His large hand cupped your cheek. "Anything, sweetheart. What's on your mind?" His thumb brushed your skin, gentle and patient.
You swallowed, eyes dropping to the floor. "I love our life. You, Kyoko. It's everything I dreamed of. But. I've been thinking. About another baby." The words tumbled out soft and tentative. You glanced up, searching his face.
You were ready for any sign of reluctance. "I know you've said we're perfect like this, just us three. If you don't want to have any more kids, I understand...it's just baby fever I suppose. Despite how difficult it was, I loved taking care of Kyoko, and I'd really love to have another baby with you Toru. Plus think of how Kyoko would feel getting a sibling to play with when she grows up."
He was still silent. You couldn't help the small frown curling at your lips. "I know you're busy sweetheart, it must be difficult with your duties, but I truly think we could make it work"
Satoru's eyes gleamed. A grin splitting his face wider than you'd seen in ages. He let out a laugh, pure joy bubbled out as he pulled you into his arms. Knowing damn well he couldn't feign being unamused any longer. He lifted you off the ground in a spin. "Another kid with you? Hell yeah I want another!" He set you down but didn't let go. His forehead pressed to yours. "I didn't say anything because I didn't want to push. Thought you'd think I was greedy for more when you've given me the best family in the world. But damn, I've wanted this. Wanted to see you swollen with our kid again. Build this family bigger. I love you so much, you have no idea. You're my everything."
Relief flooded you. Tears pricking your eyes as you laughed. You surged up to kiss him. His lips met yours hungrily. Hands slid down to grip your hips. He pulled your body flush against his. The kiss deepened. Tongues tangling. A spark ignited the air between you. You broke apart gasping. Both smiling like idiots. "You're not mad? Y-You want this?" You had managed to stutter out.
"Mad? I'm fucking thrilled." His voice dropped low. Eyes darkened with that familiar heat. "God, I've waited too long to breed you properly baby. I love you sooo much. Love how perfect you are for me. Wanna knock you up so bad baby. Fill you with my cum until you're dripping with it. Watch your belly grow with our baby."
Heat pooled between your legs at his filthy words. The raw promise in them making your heart race. You tugged him toward the living room. You shed clothes along the way. Your shirt first, then his. Revealing the hard planes of his chest. By the time you reached the mattress of your bed, you were in just your panties. Him in boxers straining against his growing erection. Satoru sat back. He pulled you onto his lap. His cock was thick and hard. It pressed up against your thigh.
"C’mon, ride me," he growled. He freed himself and guided your hand to stroke the veined cock. "Show me how bad you want my babies. I love you, gorgeous. So eager for me. Gonna fuck a baby into ya tonight."
You didn't need telling twice. Straddling him, you sank down slowly. His cock stretched your pussy wide. It filled you inch by inch until you were seated fully. Walls clenched around him. A moan escaped you. Hands on his shoulders for leverage. Satoru gripped your ass. He kneaded the flesh as you started to move. You rolled your hips in a teasing rhythm.
"Faster," he urged. He thrust up to meet you. "Bounce on m’cock like you mean it baby….Milk me dry. Shit!…love this tight pussy. Love how it grips me so fucking good. I'm gonna flood you with cum. Pump you full until you're pregnant. You want that, pretty girl? My baby growing inside you?"
You obeyed, lifting and slamming down. The wet slap of skin echoed in the room. His cock hit deep with every drop. It brushed that spot inside that made stars burst behind your eyelids. Satoru's hands roamed. One pinched your nipple. The other slapped your ass lightly. It urged you on. You rode him mercilessly. Pussy gripped him tight. You chased the building pressure. "Satoru! Feels so good," you panted. Your head thrown back.
He groaned. Hips bucked wildly. "That's it, take it all. Gonna fill this cunt up. Make sure it takes yeah?..nnngh…love ya so fucking much. Love breeding you like this. Pussy so perfect…gave me everything, fuck it’s made for m’cock huh…Made to carry my kids." His words sent you over the edge. Orgasm crashed through you as you clenched around him. You cried out. Satoru followed seconds later. Cock pulsed as he came. Hot spurts of cum flooded your pussy. He held you down. He ground deep to push every drop inside. "First load, not done yet baby. Keep it in there."
You collapsed against him, breathless. But he wasn't finished. With a wicked smile, he flipped you onto your back on the bed. Hooking your legs over his shoulders in a mating press. The position folded you in half, leaving you completely exposed. His cum already leaked from your stretched hole, but Satoru didn’t like that. Instead, he lined his cock right up. Quickly slamming it back in with one rough thrust. The angle let him pound even deeper.
"Fuck, look at you," he rasped. He set a brutal pace. Hips snapped forward relentlessly. "Pussy's sucking me in. Begging for more….Ya want me to knock you up pretty mama?…Breed your tight little womb?…Love ya, sweetheart….Love how depraved ya make me feel….Wanna just ruin you with my cum. Stuff you so full you can't walk straight. Watch you swell up pregnant because of me."
"Oh yes!" you gasped. Nails dug into his arms as he railed you. Cock dragged against your gummy walls with every vicious plunge. The pressure built fast. His dirty talk fueled the fire. "Gonna pump you full….G’na watch my cum take….swell your belly with our baby. You're mine to fill….mmmh…mine to fuck pregnant. I love every inch of you. Love claiming you like this."
His thrusts grew erratic. Balls slapping against your ass. The mattress creaked under the force. You came again, harder this time. Vision blurred as your pussy spasmed around him. Satoru buried himself to the hilt. He roared as he unloaded. Cum gushed deep inside. It overflowed and dripped down your thighs. He stayed locked in place. He rocked gently to coat your cervix. "There we go. Second one yeah?Keep it in….Let me breed you….Fuck, I love you. Can't get enough of filling you up my sweet girl…”
Satoru’s panting as he eased out slowly. But only to reposition. Gently now, he laid you flat. He slid between your legs for missionary. His body covered yours, intimate and close. He pushed back in with a slow, deep thrust. This time, it was unhurried. Each slide measured to savor the connection. His forehead rested against yours. Blue eyes locked on your face. Full of love and lust.
"Fuck…love ya baby," he murmured. He rolled his hips in a steady rhythm. Cock ground deep. "Love ya soo much…. Gonna give you everything. Another baby, our family. Fuck…wanna knock you up so dirty baby…. Flood your pussy with load after load. Make you mine forever. How’s that sound sweetheart hmm? Wanna be my baby momma again?"
You wrapped your legs around his waist. You pulled him closer. The slow drag built a sweet ache. "Love you too. So much Toru!…I wanna be your….mmmh!" Your hands tangled in his hair. Bodies moved in sync. The intimacy heightened every sensation. He kissed you softly between thrusts and whispered praises.
The pace stayed languid. But the depth had you trembling. Pleasure coiled tight. Your walls fluttered as you cane again. Satoru was groaning into your neck. Thrusting deep one last time as he finished. Cum spilling hot and thick as it mixed with the previous loads. Leaving your poor pussy a creamy mess of your orgasms and his own.
Afterward, he held you. Not pulling out right away. He was content to stay buried as you both caught your breath. "Think that did it," he teased. He kissed your nose. "But if not, you’re still perfect baby. Love to keep trying….Every night if we gotta…I love you more than anything. Can't wait to be a dad again."
You giggled softly, tracing his jaw. Happiness bloomed warm in your chest. With Satoru, your family, whatever it grew to, would always be perfect.
Satoru shifted slightly, still inside you, his cock softening but not fully retreating. He nuzzled your neck, planting soft kisses along your collarbone. "You feel that? All my cum deep in you. It's gonna make a baby. Our second little one. Kyoko's gonna be the best big sister." His voice was husky, laced with satisfaction and that unending affection. You could feel the warmth of his releases pooling within, a sticky reminder of his claim.
You shivered at the thought, your body still sensitive from the intensity. "I hope so Toru." Your fingers traced patterns on his back, feeling the muscles flex under your touch.
"My pretty girl," he whispered, “Can’t wait for you to get exactly what you want my love. You're gonna look so hot. Belly all round with my baby. Tits full and leaking. All fucking mine, yeah?”
His words which were filthy yet laced with so much love, left you dizzy. Your heart racing just as much as your body had been. You swatted his shoulder lightly, a soft laugh escaping as you curled into his chest. The ache of baby fever faded, replaced by a deep, quiet contentment that only Satoru could give. With him beside you, everything felt possible, every dream within reach. Your family was about to grow, and you found yourself smiling at the thought, already unable to wait.
anywayyssss wanted to practice my smut writing
unfortunately I have 0 experience in this matter but I wanted to make it as detailed as possible maybe to improve my usual smuts
fuck I reread it why is the dialogue so bad wtfff
also I’m not sure if this is js me but I breeding kinks sound so hot on paper but I’m scared of the thought irl.
Synopsis. Turns out, rent can be paid in much more than one way.
Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, landlord! Nanami (kinda), oraI (male + fem), cúmplay, reader’s a tease, unprotected, creampíe, down bad FERAL Nanami, spítting, bréeding, messing up his glasses, pantý-stealing, he’s sweet but fúcks so MEAN, mentions of Higuruma, pet names, swearing.
Word count. 5.8k (wild)
A/N. Decided it was high time I feed my Nanami girlies hehe.
“Just get the money and go.” Nanami deadpans, like a mantra. Giving a rapt knock on your apartment door, “I swear m’making him buy me lunch for this.”
Now, it wasn’t that Nanami was exactly upset about taking over Higuruma’s landlord duties for the day - no, in fact, he was the first one at his friend’s door with a bag of prescription medicine for the other man’s fever and the suggestion to take the day off.
But it was the thought of finally coming face-to-face with you - that mysterious new tenant that’d just moved into his building. The one that had Nanami wondering whether you were really as “sugary sweet n’ irresistible” as Higuruma raved you were.
Though, he can’t imagine you’d be particularly happy about being woken up at 10am on a Sunday for overdue rent - he certainly wasn’t.
Seriously, he had no idea how Higuruma managed to do this every-
Click!
“Higu- you’re not Higuruma.”
Oh, and suddenly, Nanami gets it.
If he got to see this view, too, then he might just become the landlord himself.
It’s as if you knew you’d be playing with his sanity as soon as you opened that door, dressed in a fitted t-shirt that did absolutely everything to show off every bit of skin he shouldn’t be looking at. Your lips curving into a sinful little smirk when you notice his eyes dancing off that excuse of fabric you call “shorts”.
“Um…” you hum, after a few moments of silence. Leaning against your wooden door frame to give the tall man an appreciative one-over, “Nanami, right? You’re Higuruma’s friend?”
It’s as if the sound of his own name jolts Nanami right back into his senses, clearing his throat as he readjusts his glasses. “Y-yes. Nanami Kento.” And he winces, fuck he’s never stuttered like this. Never, even in the toughest of board meetings. Yet, here he was - making a fool out of himself.
Knowing he’s completely fucked when your delicious grin only widens, he bows politely, “Apologies for barging in like this, ma’am. But Higuruma’s sick n’ m’here to collect the rent in his place.”
You wave off his formality, introducing yourself. “Ah, of course. I’ve seen you around, always been too nervous to come up and say hello, though.”
And, suddenly, Nanami’s glad you never came up to him to talk out of your own volition, he thinks he’s rather put off embarrassing himself for later. Coughing softly, “I apologize, s’my fault. It was rude of me to not introduce myself first.”
“Well, better late than never, right?” you continue in your smooth tone. Before your eyes catch down his broad shoulders, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the clipboard held between his long, long fingers. “Right- the overdue rent. I swear, Higuruma’s always such a sweetheart, he doesn’t bother to remind me.” Opening your door wider to give Nanami a good look inside your cozy apartment - something forbidden. “Come in come in, I seem to have lost my wallet somewhere in here though, maybe you can help me find it.”
Oh?
And Nanami knows this is dangerous. He knows this is much more than his simple plan earlier of just “get the money and go”. He knows that little glint in your eye certainly does not bode well for him as soon as he steps through that door.
Yet, he answers anyway, “Of course, lead the way.”
Every bit of small talk in your sultry voice has Nanami gulping, loosening his favorite yellow tie while he follows you inside. Averting his eyes from the curve of your shorts, he takes in the neat state of your apartment.
That is, until-
“Here we are.” you lead him to a towering pile of clothes piled unceremoniously on your tv room couch. Gesturing airily at the mess, “I’m sure I left my wallet in one of my pants, so you can just sit here until I-”
“I’ll do it.” Nanami’s quick answer stuns the both of you momentarily. But before you can resist, he’s shrugging off his jacket, ignoring the heat of your gaze when he bunches up his sleeves to reveal strong, veined forearms. “It’s only fair, since m’bothering you so early.”
You chuckle, “Oh? What a gentleman, we can do it together then, handsome.”
So here he was - sat on your cramped couch, your thighs flush against his, tackling your laundry. This was definitely a far cry from getting the rent and leaving - but, alas, Nanami can’t find it in himself to complain when he neatly folds up your clothes.
Whereas you were hastily throwing them god-knows-where, hissing, “Where- is it-”
“Patience.” he’s humming, placing another t-shirt on your coffee table. “Higuruma’s in no hurry, he can barely get out of bed right now.”
You click your tongue in frustration, “But you, Nanami-”
“-are perfectly fine helping you out.” Nanami cuts in, flashing you a gentle smile. Your eyes widen at the sight of a soft dimple at the corner of it. Which makes him tear his gaze from that pretty pout on your lips to turn back to his dwindling half of the pile, “Besides, it would be a shame if such a nice apartment was messed up by- by-”
Fuck.
Was that what he thought it was?
His fingers tremble, looking so fucking big wrapped around that those tiny strings of hot pink. Sinful. Obscene. Shit, if he tried he could just rip it to pieces with his bare hands right now - even if you’d been wearing it.
“Hm?” you’re gasping at the sight of the man before you, body stiff, ears a guilty red, gaze hardening at where he was holding onto one of your panties. Oh, shit. You pluck the offending piece of material from his hands, “Oh- whoops. Um- that can’t really be folded.” Throwing a wink at the flustered man - and the lingerie right back at him. “Evidently.”
It was all too much for Nanami, and he’s bringing a hand up to cover his blush - before ripping it off like it burned when he realized it was the same hand he held your panties with.
Somehow, he manages to choke out, “Maybe- maybe we should try looking somewhere else.”
And it was true - the few messy clothes now leftover (and…Nanami couldn’t forget, your underwear) didn’t show any signs of hiding your wallet.
“If you say so~” you muse, getting up from your seat - only to get down on your knees. Right in front of Nanami’s manspread legs.
“Wh-what are you-”
“Under the couch.” you interrupt, enjoying this way too fucking much for the poor man’s sanity as you flash him a cheeky grin. And he smacks himself mentally for letting his imagination be toyed by your teasing whims. “I might’ve dropped it under the couch, so won’t you be a dear and help lift it while I look?”
He couldn’t get up fast enough, almost stumbling over his long legs to crouch down beside you - just anywhere away from this scandalous position. “Ready?” Nanami rasps, biceps bulging tight against his button-up when he easily tilts over your couch.
“More than.” you take a second longer to admire him before going back to your mission.
Which - whatever’s left of the rational part of Nanami’s brain really thinks might just be to drive him insane instead finding that fucking- what was it- wallet?
“Hmmm seems it’s not here either, right, Ken?” He doesn’t know what he’s reeling at more - the fact that you used his first fucking name or the way you were arched so teasingly like that. On your knees, spine curving into a delicious little bend that has the crotch of his pants growing just a bit tighter. And- shit he was wrong. So, so wrong. Because those weren’t a sinful pair of shorts like he’d initially thought after all, instead, they were more like underwear. Flimsy and thin, bunching up perfectly at the crease of your hips.
You were captivating.
At his heavy silence, you bat your lashes so deceivingly innocently, “Oh? Was it the name? Sorry, Nanami, you’ve just helped me so much that it ah- slipped out. I won’t do it again.”
“No.” he grits out, the both of you surprised by the ragged hitch in his answer. Already so disgustingly missing the sound of his first name rolling off your tongue. “I’d like it if you called me that- ‘Ken’ that is, if you want.”
“Well then, Ken.” you brush up unnecessarily against his sculpted body as you move to get up and dust yourself down. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my wallet’s not down there.”
Shit, he thinks, looking down at the empty spot of carpeted floor for the first time. You little tease, you knew what you were doing.
Grinning unabashedly as you tug on his arm, “Come on! There’s one more place to look.”
As you pulled him along to the kitchen, Nanami had held out the hope that maybe - just maybe - this would be an actual attempt at finally paying off your overdue rent. Maybe he could walk out of this unscathed and holding onto whatever’s left of his dignity (and lacking the raging boner that was threatening against his slacks right now).
But every feeble hope of that was thrown out the window the moment you instructed him to hold the rickety, certainly unsafe chair propped up in front of your counter steady.
“I swear I must’ve left it somewhere up there.” you grumble. Not wasting a moment before climbing onto it and rifling on top of your high cabinets. “No harm in trying, right?”
He gulps, palms getting sweaty on the wooden back of the chair with the effort to keep it still. “Are you sure you left it on top of there?”
“Huh? Yes yes, of course.” you answer absentmindedly. Your shirt snagging on your arms as you raise them even higher, “Think you can see something from down there?”
If Nanami could see the top of your shelves, then he didn’t want to find out - not when one glance upwards blessed him with a forbidden glimpse right up your t-shirt. All it took was a flash of skin before he was hit with the realization that you weren’t wearing a bra.
“Ken~”
“Fuck!” he breathes, when he looks up involuntarily at the sound of his name. Face burning when you raise a brow, “U-um, m’not sure.”
Yeah, he sure could see something - hell, he wanted to see more.
He urgently swipes at the sweat slowly beading at his forehead, immediately regretting his actions when the chair tips ever-so-slightly. “Shit, I apologize, n’ I also apologize for what I’m about to do-” He gasps over your soft yelp, before wrapping two warm hands around the small of your waist. Searing. Soft. Planting you softly on the firm floor like some lil’ ragdoll, “-but I can’t let you put yourself in danger this way.”
Before you know it, you’re back in the safety of the ground. Stood right in front of a determined Nanami as he cranes his head up in your stuffy kitchen, backed up against the counter as he takes over looking for your wallet.
“Let me, instead.” he grunts.
But oh even with how genius he thought it was to look instead - even with how he stopped himself from looking at that sinful little slice of heaven - Nanami Kento had another problem.
A problem that presented itself in the way that your body was pressed flush against his muscled chest, two of your thighs straddling his thick ones. Caged perfectly against him, exactly in the way he shouldn’t have been imagining - but did, anyway. And shit if he angled his body just right he could feel the heat of your core - the way your eager front was drawing in closer.
“Ah-” he grunts when your soft palm glides lightly across his pecs. Jaw clenching while he tries to blink his hazy eyes back into the glaringly empty top of your cabinets, “My apologies, seems uh- your wallet isn’t- here-”
Each word is wrenching out of his pretty, worry-bitten lips, a ragged gasp with every accidental brush of the pads of your fingers at the hem of his tight pants.
“It isn’t there, hm?” you purr, a low honeyed tone that has all the blood in Nanami’s body rushing to his fat cock. “Well what do you suppose we do about that, Ken? Since I can’t pay the rent?”
Nanami doesn’t know whether you’re talking about the rent or that massive tent in his pants he really couldn’t explain away. Instead, he spits, “You knew what you were hah- doing, didn’t you, you lil’ minx? You don’t have your fuckin’ wallet here.”
And the air is so thick, so heady that he can only bring himself to pull away mere millimeters from where he was hovering near your face.
But even that was too much - and in a split-second, you have your deft fingers wrapped tightly around his speckled tie. “And if I did?” Pulling close enough to ghost your lips against his, “You’re smart, Ken. So m’asking once again, what do you suppose we do about that?”
As if to draw out the answer from him, you’re giving a long, hard drag of your hot cunt along the outline of his swollen cock. You could almost feel every throb and nudge of his veins along the side, and it made you salivate.
“I suppose…” he answers, guttural, like some dark, primal part of himself is peaking its head out with each hot breath fanning your face. A large hand coming up to squish your cheeks into a pretty pout, pursing your lips perfectly for him. “That you hit me if you don’t like this, darling.”
And fuck for all how much of a gentleman Nanami acted - he kissed the exact opposite. All but ruining your lips in such a messy clash of teeth and tongue and him. Devouring you.
“Fuck- shoulda known.” he’s letting out a humorless laugh, swiping his tongue across your glossy lower lips. “Should’ve known when you invited me in. Such a tease.” Drinking in your breathless moans, sucking on your tongue, “Such a- ngh- horny lil’ thing. This what you wanted all along?”
You hum into the kiss so drunk, “Maybe.” Dancing your hands all across where his toned muscles were fighting against the restraints of his shirt, “But you really can’t blame me.”
And maybe it was true - maybe this was inevitable. Either way, Nanami didn’t know, nor did he really care - not when you were letting out such sweet gasps when he bites down on your bottom lip - just a little punishment. Kissing his way down your heated skin, giving a languid lick at where he suspected that secret sensitive spot on your neck would be.
“Oh! Ken.” you moan. Bingo.
He’s unbuttoned his shirt now - or maybe it was you. Fuck, either way you couldn’t tear your eyes off of his pretty washboard abs. Curving and dipping like he was sculpted meticulously.
And that’s all it takes for your already-dripping cunt to grow impossibly wetter, and he could feel it leaking through those flimsy cotton shorts of yours. Forming a messy sheen right at that damp spot of precum on his pants.
“You’re so fuckin’ wet, my love.” Nanami murmurs, swiping a thumb down that sopping wet slit of yours through your shorts. Just marveling at the way that simple touch makes another wave of your sweet sweet juices bead through the fabric. “Hah, absolutely dripping. This all f’me?”
At your half-delirious nod, he flashes you a smile so handsome that it only makes you squirm more impatiently. “How sweet.” Giving your nose a chaste peck, “So good to me. So needy.”
“You’re the same, though.” you accuse, hotly.
And it’s true - Nanami couldn’t deny the aching need of his cock, the way he all but moans in response, “Then tell me- hngh tell me what you want. I’ll give you- anything-” Managing to get out through hot, sloppy kisses planted right on your wobbly lips, “-anything.”
But, ah, you always did manage to surprise him. And instead of an answer, you’re getting right down on your knees in front of him like you did not too long ago - though, this time, you’re reaching up to fumble with his belt.
“Wan’ taste you.” you huff when his expensive notches prove too stubborn. “Wan’ feel you in my mouth so bad, Ken.”
“Oh yeah?” he chuckles darkly, easily loosening his belt and his pants along with it. Rock-hard cock sensitive and just smearing a pool of precum where his fat head springs up to hit your lips. Such a pretty shade of gloss. Nanami laces his hand on your scalp to guide you forwards, slowly, “Then take it. Take it f’me, pretty.”
He was so pretty that you possibly couldn’t not - a delicate blushing red at his very tip, glistening and absolutely soaked in precum down the long path to his creamy base, his heavy balls. So girthy that it made your cunt clench in anticipation.
And then there’s no more talking. Hell, you barely get enough time to admire Nanami’s massive cock before he’s bullying it between your lips. Wetting his thick, angry tip with your saliva, just enough to eye down at the way your lips bulge so prettily around him.
“Gonna hafta open w-wider if you wanna take me, pretty. Open hah- yeah jus’ like that.” He’s reeling your head back, all the way till you were just kissing at his thick, angry tip. “Now spit on it, my love.”
Despite being the one to say it, Nanami’s mouth drops into a fucked-out little oh! of disbelief when you’re readily decorating his swollen length with a steady stream of spit. Your soft palms smearing the saliva along his length.
You’re slurring, “After all, I still haven’t found my wallet, right?”
And oh he doesn’t even have to ask for what comes next - doesn’t even have to make a noise.
Immediately, you take him in inch by fucking inch. The deliciously salty twang taking over your senses, and he’s so hot and heavy over your tongue. Veins pulsing in a dizzyingly throb! throb! throb! against the roof of your mouth.
“Are you- are you sure you can-” You shut up his doubts by rubbing your hot tongue along every sensitive ridge you could reach. Bobbing your head at a quick, ruthless little pace to milk his pretty cock for all he’s worth.
Nanami’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Was this what heaven felt like?
“F-fuuuck, oh you-” his words are catching in his throat with each flick of the tip of your tongue against his sensitive slit. Just the way he liked it. “-ngh guess that sharp mouth of yours wasn’t just hah- good for teasing, huh?”
He’s running his mouth a mile a minute - the complete opposite of the reserved man that’d come knocking on your door. Hips grinding up into your warm tongue mindlessly, slow. Languid - like he didn’t even realize what he was doing. “Oh you feel so heavenly- so fuckin’ good it should be illegal.”
You can’t help but bat your teary eyes up at him in response, blinking away the lustful haze to drink in that utterly obscene sight above you. Nanami’s neat, blond hair uncharacteristically disheveled, stray strands sticking to his furrowed brow. Only deepening with each wrecked sigh that leaves his plump lips every time his abs flex with the movement of his fat head hitting the gummy back of your throat.
He looks so pretty it makes you moan.
Those electric vibrations going all the way down that wet divot on the tip of Nanami’s painfully hard cock to his heavy balls.
“Oh shit- shit shit shit feels too good.” his words are slurring together, drunk off the way you gag around him. “Don’t do that don’t-” This only makes you drag your sloppy mouth down him deeper, syrupy moans sticking to
him all the while.
“Fuck!” Nanami shudders. And he’s pulling you down - hard - barely letting you get a feverish little breath out until your nose is hitting the neat patch of blond at his base. Rubbing up against his toned pelvis.
Still moving in deep, relentless thrusts inside your gummy cavern. “S’real fuckin’ hard to treat you as nice as I want when you act like that, my love.”
And, of course, the only response he gets are your pathetic, wet gurgles as you take him in faster. Cheeks hollowing to massaging his every sweet spot. Your jaw grinding against his twitching balls with each smack of his hypnotized hips against your mouth, fucking into you the way he wished he could do with your cunt. Frenzied. Sloppy.
Yeah, this was heaven alright - but you were the fuckin’ devil.
Of course, you wanted him to treat you like such a slut - so he does.
Just dragging your stubborn mouth off of his twitching cock, Nanami only reaches down to place an accomplished peck on the pout of your mouth before hoisting you onto the counter. “What? You think I’d really ngh- cum before my darling girl?”
He’s groaning into your mouth, licking at the seam of your candied lips as two strong arms of his spread your legs so far apart it burned. “F-fuck, Ken-”
“Aw look. You’ve got another slutty pair, huh?” he gestures down at the drenched scrap of fabric you so proudly called “panties.” Sliding a thumb underneath to glide it underneath your puffy pussy lips. He’s echoing your sentiment from before, “Said you can’t find your hah- wallet, right?” Well, ya better start makin’ up for that now.”
In all of two seconds, Nanami’s hooking two fingers over your underwear - pulling - ripping. He was right - Nanami takes a moment to admire your dripping cunt, glistening and needy for him - he could rip those panties right off of you.
With just one hand pinning you to the cool marble of your counter, the other thumbing open your puffy folds, he’s giving all of your pussy a hot, open-mouthed kiss.
“Mmm fuck-” he spits into your sloppy hole. Once. Twice. Letting it form a saturated little pool of your juices, before surging back nose-deep with a pained grunt. Again. And again. And again and again- “Jus’ as sweet- as sugary sweet ngh-”
Nanami didn’t think Higuruma knew about this little treasure trove when describing you - though, if he did, then he was well and fully intent on tongue-fucking every little thought out of him right now.
“Hngh! Shit-” you’re keening when his greedy tongue laps up every bit of your syrupy sweet slick. Alternating - methodically, indecisively - between rolling over your throbbing clit and just dipping into your awaiting entrance. “It feels so- so good, Ken.”
“Yeah that’s right.” he gasps, wrapping those pretty pink lips of his to suck on your clit. Harsh. “Say my name- no, louder. Louder.”
It’s all you can do to not just scream out his name without your neighbors filing a noise complaint. Dragging your sopping pussy all over his mouth - glistening and obscene right down the bottom half of his face all the way up to smear against his clear glasses.
Such obscene squelches ring through your kitchen as Nanami keeps making out so messily with your sensitive nub. Ringing in your fucked-out brain, so obscene, so addictive that you barely even register the thick fingers dipping their way around your hole.
You jolt when the cool metal of his glasses kiss your skin, “O-oh Ken what-”
“Shhh shhh, darling.” he soothes. The tip of his manicured index circling around your elastic muscle. Hypnotic. “M’gonna take care of you. Gonna take such good-” With this, he’s bullying his fingers inside, “-care of you.”
Tears crinkle at the corners of your eyes at the sheer stimulation. Because for how sweet Nanami was talking you through this, he was absolutely ruthless on your cunt. Not half the man he was this morning - animalistic. Feral, even.
His sharp jaw grinding against your skin, fingers almost a blur with how depraved they were pumping in and out of you. Massaging every hidden corner of your plushy walls, yet you get the feeling that they were calculated. Nanami’s darkened eyes drinking in every whimper and twitch of your body over the glasses inching dangerously downwards. Searching, waiting for that one-
“Ngh!” You worry you’d have fallen off the counter if it wasn’t for Nanami holding you down. Body jolting at sudden electricity running through your veins, “Oh- fuck fuck fuck. Oh my god Ken, there. Right there–”
But before the sentence has even left your heavy lips, he’s hitting your g-spot once more. Easily finding the bullseye that has you bucking and arching into his mouth like such a slut.
And this time - Nanami lets you use his mouth all you want. The fingers splayed out to pin you down moves to toy with your puffy clit. Rolling between his fingers while he hisses out syrupy sweet praises, “Shit, never liked m’name that much- ngh- but it sounds so pretty on your lips. So sweet. So- oh-”
The sight of your cunt just beading with need has him kissing it once more. All over your sensitive nub, your ravaged hole, hell, even down to the mess of slick dripping down at your thighs. Faster. Sloppier. No rhythm or rhyme anymore.
“M’so close.” you whine, weaving your fingers through his blond hair to help ride his face easier. Jolting with each purposeful flick of his tongue. “Gonna cum, Ken.”
“Cum then.” he answers, simply, grinning a guiltily glossy grin, “You’ve got a lot to make up for, right?”
And then you do - stars behind your eyes and that little nickname you’d made Nanami in your mouth. Over and over while he tonguefucks you through your high.
“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck–” you whine, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks eat time he swiped at your sensitive spots, dragging it out longer. Until your soft whimpers were drowning out the squelches from below. Until you were blinking your spotty vision back. Until you were squirming your hips higher up the counter to pull away from Nanami’s unforgiving tactics. “M’too sensitive- Nana-”
He tuts, interrupting your orgasm-drunk babbles, “Tha’s not what you call me.” Pulling away just enough to hum, “All I did was eat this pretty cunt out, darling n’ you already forgot my name?”
You shiver - both at his mean little tone and the absolutely sinful sight between your shaky thighs. Nanami’s lips plump and irritated, eyes foggy - glasses even more so with all the sloppy dredges of spit and your slick.
Shit, you think he’s never looked prettier.
“Is that so?”
It’s all you hear before you’re hit with his glasses being gently placed onto your nose bridge - followed shortly by the realization that oh, you said that out loud. But Nanami basks in your sudden shyness, giving your lips a chaste, lingering peck. “You dirtied my glasses, y’know. Now you have to make up for that on top of the rent.”
And by the feeling of his thick tip kissing at your pussy lips, you had a very good idea about how you’d be making up for it. Making a mess. Sliding the curve of his head up and down. Up and down up and down up and-
“B-but don’t forget.” you manage to grit out by the time he’s nudging his divot against your clit. “You have to make- hah- make up for-”
In a fluid motion, you’re reaching your fingers to dig into the irresistible tan skin at his hips, all hard muscle and the thick fabric of where he’d pulled his pants down just enough. You press down on his bulging back pocket, smirk growing at the familiar flash of hot pink you could spy, “-my panties.”
The moment the obscene little accusation leaves your lips, you give a soft tug forwards. Nanami’s towering body being pulled easily to push his weeping tip past your puffy folds.
“F-fuck.” he’s throwing his head back at the feeling. “You hngh- saw, huh?”
Oh, if he hadn’t been imagining this the moment he’d stepped inside your apartment then Nanami thinks he might’ve just passed out right then and there.
Because you were so warm, so addictive wrapped around his cock - even when he’s barely even in. That he just has to keep going - after all, it’s for the rent, right?
It’s what he likes to think.
It’s what he whispers - over and over into your open mouth as he bullies his thick cock past your gummy entrance. Letting your plush walls suck the ever-loving soul out of him with each lazy, lingering grind just to fit himself inside.
“O-oh! Shit-” your nails leave jagged red marks down Nanami’s broad shoulders when he stuffs you full. Desperate. “Y-you’re so big, Ken–”
At this, you feel Nanami’s girth grow even wider, stretching your walls until it felt like he was molding your poor pussy to the shape. Just reaching into your lungs. You squeal, “Wait- you got bigger- what-”
“I know I know, You got it, my love.” he’s soothing your cries with sugary kisses at the corners of your mouth. Drawing slow, methodical circles on your clit in time with his experimental thrusts. “You got it. You can take it. Shhh shh-” He’s drinking in your cute mewls, cupping your pretty face with his free hand, “You’ll take it right? All of it, like my good girl? You’ve gotta make up for it, right?” At your delirious nod, “Words, pretty.”
“Yes, please.” You buck your hips in a sultry tandem matching his, the cool frame of his glasses still kissing at your skin. “M’gonna take it all like your good girl, Ken.”
Shit, he can feel himself growing even bigger just halfway into you, “Then-” Angling your teary face down to watch the mess down below. The way your greedy cunt was trying to milk each and every inch of him like it was delicious. “-look.”
You can’t tear your eyes away as he delves into you so filthy.
Not waiting for your pathetic whines about him being “too big” - no, Nanami’s only pulling you back from escaping like some sextoy - his favorite one. Still toying sweetly with your clit while he pushes against that feeble ring of resistance. Once. Twice. Thrice.
“Ken!” you’re yelping out when he finally bottoms out. Your swollen folds meeting his drenched hilt, blond tufts of hair brushing up against your pelvis. Sighing, ”Finally.”
“Finally?” he’s dragging out his words with an already-crooked, pussydrunk grin. Eyes wild - bewildered almost at how well you were taking him. “S-seriously? Did you say ngh- ‘finally’, my girl?” Each word has him tapping more strength behind those thrusts, faster. Harder. Spitting out so contendly, “Finally- hah. Such a slut f’me, hm?”
He’s plunging into you like such an animal right now, so harsh that it was almost difficult to pull back. To dare subject himself to not be buried inside your dripping cunt for even a split-second.
In response, you lick a long stripe up the sensitive area of his neck, splaying out a hand to squeeze Nanami’s pec - and the rapid heartbeat you felt beneath it. “You’re not- ngh- any better.”
“I know.” Nanami leers, unabashedly kneading at your sore tits now. Fucking you harder and harder into the counter. Connecting his sweaty forehead with yours to look you right in the eyes as he gruffs, “I’ve been thinking about fucking this pretty cunt as soon as you opened that door, y’know.”
You feel his cock twitch wildly at the confession, dragging against your gummy walls with his tip. Hitting - oh-so-expertly - that one sensitive honeypot of nerves. Which makes Nanami’s mouth fall slack with what a treasure you were.
“Y-you’re such a-” you’re moans are syrupy and slurring together now. Holding onto the larger man for dear life, “such a pervert, Ken.”
Shit, you were squeezing around him so hard that it was almost impossible to pull out. Abs straining to keep up the loud staccato of skin-against-skin, and Nanami’s long, jagged rams inside your wet heaven.
Nanami’s nosing down your pulse, letting his hot tongue loll out to catch the salty drops of your tears, “Mhm, only for hngh- you. Because you’re my girl now, aren’t ya?”
So easy for him to trawl out those addictive moans with each drag of the upwards curve of his fat cock. Thick tip hitting your g-spot, your cervix - as if he was branding his name into your pretty pussy from the inside. Sloppy.
Leaving a bruising little Kento. With his erratic fingers pinching and rolling your clit at the same feverish tempo of his cock bullying inside your cunt - Kento. With his heavy balls smacking against your ass, sending jolts of white-hot pleasure all the way up to his sensitive slit, rubbing up against your succubus walls - Kento. With the way your heels were now digging into those dimples at the bottom of his spine, sure to leave marks with the way you were pulling him impossibly closer. So needy - Kento.
Only getting sloppier. The only thing in your mind right now - Kento Kento Kento-
So, really, it makes sense when that’s the only thing you’re capable of getting out once you cum. It sneaks up on you at first, and then all at once - and before you know it, you’re cumming so desperately all over Nanami’s relentless cock.
Over and over.
Your thighs spasming, such a slutty ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth with each wave of pleasure he’s forcing out of you by targeting your ravaged g-spot. Only a few more of those sloppy, mean thrusts left in the man himself before Nanami’s spilling into your greedy cunt.
Painting your gummy walls white with each painful squeeze of his balls, he’s still thrusting - as if on instinct. Shoving his seed deeper and deeper down your cum-filled hole until he’s sure it’s overfilled.
By god were you a vision, he’s thinking deliriously. Tears pooling at your eyes, drool dripping down the corner of your mouth, throat to shoot to do anything but whimper when he keeps going in and out in and out in and-
And if he angled his head just right, he could see the hot globs of cum that take to trickling out from your puffy folds, pooling at a mouthwateringly creamy base around his hilt.
“Ah,” Nanami wastes no time squeezing his index into your already-bulging entrance, pumping the cum slobbering out back in. “Better- hah- better not waste any-” He could barely speak right now, cumming harder than he has in his whole life - in fact, his overworked cock was still shooting out wispy spurts of his seed. Like he couldn’t stop. “-after all, y’haven’t made up for all the overdue rent yet, my love.”
A/N. Concept inspired by this NSFW audio by IchigekiVA that my friend sent me <3
No warning. No explanation. One moment Jason is alone and the next, there’s a kid sitting on his motorcycle, calling him Dad like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The child knows his name, knows the family, knows things they shouldn’t be able to know.
Worse, they have proof.
the child isn’t scared. They aren’t confused. They’re soft, trusting, affectionate, utterly certain they belong here. Certain Jason is their father. Certain this is home.
Jason doesn’t know when this child is from.
Or how they arrived.
Or what kind of future could produce something like this.
All he knows is that every instinct in him says this shouldn’t exist.
The night patrol passed like any other. Nothing out of the ordinary—if anything, it was almost peaceful. The shift was nearly over, and they gathered briefly before splitting up, each heading their separate ways.
Jason had only stepped away from his bike for five minutes—five goddamn minutes—to grab intel from one of his contacts in Crime Alley. When he returned, ready to head back to his safehouse, he froze.
There was a kid sitting on his motorcycle.
Not near it. Not looking at it. On it. Perched on the seat like they owned the damn thing, legs swinging casually, completely unbothered by the fact that this was Red Hood's bike in one of Gotham's worst neighborhoods at night.
"Kid," Jason called out, his voice edged with warning as he approached. His hand instinctively moved toward his holster before he stopped himself, it was just a kid, probably no older than six or seven. "What the hell are you doing on someone else's ride?"
The child looked up at him with an expression that was far too calm for the situation. No fear. No surprise. Just... mild annoyance?
Jason glanced around the empty street, his instincts screaming that something was off.
No parents in sight. No one running after a lost kid. The area was deserted except for the distant sound of sirens.
"Where are your parents?" he asked, studying the kid more carefully now.
This wasn't some street kid. Their clothes were too clean, too well-fitted, a nice jacket, good shoes, and a shirt that probably cost more than what most families in this neighborhood made in a week. The kid was well-fed, well-groomed, clearly cared for.
So what were they doing here? Alone? On his bike?
The kid's expression shifted from annoyed to offended, their small face scrunching up in a way that was almost... familiar.
"Dad! What's wrong with you?!"
Jason's brain screeched to a halt. "What?"
"I said," the kid repeated, crossing their arms with the kind of attitude that would've made Damian proud, "what's wrong with you? Why are you acting like you don't know me?"
Jason's brain stuttered to a halt. 'Huh? What? Dad? Me? A father?' His confusion only deepened as he tried to process what he'd just heard.
“Yes! You’re my dad!” The child held up the locket, hands trembling with excitement.
The photograph inside captured Jason as he had never seen himself—older, grayer, faint wrinkles at his eyes, smiling with a warmth he didn’t recognize as his own.
In his arms was the child, barely five years old, tucked close, gazing up at him like the world had already decided where it belonged.
"Wait, let me see that..." Jason took the locket necklace to examine it more closely. The photo looked recent, almost too recent.
But what really caught his attention was the small tracker embedded in the back of the locket, technology that was unmistakably from the Batcomputer. Who is this kid?
He looked back at the child. "How old are you?"
“Seven!” the kid said brightly, then held up all ten fingers. Jason exhaled through his teeth. “Seven,” the kid corrected quickly. “I think.”
'Ten or seven?' Jason mentally noted the discrepancy. "How did you get out here by yourself?"
“And how did you get out here?” Jason asked, voice low now.
The kid laughed, small and nervous, eyes flicking away. “Don’t be mad, okay? I just… I found a hole in the wall.”
Footsteps sounded behind Jason before he could respond. He turned just as Red Robin came into view, already mid-sentence, then stopping short. Tim’s gaze slid past Jason, straight to the kid sitting on the motorcycle.
“Jason, Bruce is looking for—” Tim cut himself off. “Why there is a child on your bike?”
The kid grinned, bright and unbothered, like this was exactly how things were supposed to go. “Hiiiii, Uncle Tim!!”
Tim froze. The surprise wasn’t just the kid, it was the name. “...What?” he breathed, the shock sharp and immediate, because no one was supposed to know who he was.
Silence settled thick and immediate.
Tim stared, then crouched slightly, eyes catching on the necklace, the backpack slung over the kid’s shoulder. A Robin keychain hung from the zipper, and when Tim looked closer, he saw the subtle stitching that hid yet another tracker.
They checked everything. The necklace. The bag. The clothes. Wayne Enterprises labels appeared again and again, neat and undeniable, enough to suggest coincidence—if not for the photo, the tech, the way the child said dad and uncle without hesitation or doubt. there is no way that's a lie.
_____________________________________
Tim and Jason exchanged a look.
The trackers, the photo, the Wayne branding, none of it fit cleanly into clear explanation Tim could pull from his head. Whatever this was, it wasn’t something they could leave standing on an empty street.
A moment later, Dick arrived, slowing as soon as he took in the scene. His gaze moved from Jason, Tim and.. the child perched too comfortably on Jason’s bike, "what is going on here?"
Jason let out a breath through his nose. “I don’t even know where to start.”
Dick didn’t press. He glanced down the street instead, the quiet, the cold, the faint hint of dawn already settling in, before looking back at the kid. “We should move,” he said quietly. “This isn’t a conversation for the middle of the city.”
They formed a loose circle around the child, close enough to contain him without crowding. Dick crossed his arms. “Kid,” he called, “you’re coming back to the manor with us.”
“Okay!” the kid answered instantly, bright and easy.
“We’ll take the Batmobile,” Dick added.
The kid hesitated, then stepped closer to Jason instead, fingers reaching out to clutch the edge of his jacket. “…I don’t want to,” they muttered, grip tightening. “I want to go with Dad. On the bike.”
Jason frowned. “The bike’s cold, and I’m not even going to the manor,” he said, trying to peel the kid’s fingers away. The effort only made the child cling harder.
“I’m going with Dad!” the kid insisted, voice rising. Tim opened his mouth, then closed it again before finally sighing. “…Fine. Jason can ride in the Batmobile too.”
“No,” Jason said immediately. “That’s not happening. Who’s taking my bike, then? you?” He tried again to ease the child’s fingers loose. “Come on. Let go.”
The child’s lower lip trembled. “I want to go with Dad,” they said, voice wobbling, cracking as tears spilled over. “Dad, you’re being mean… you don’t want me anymore..”
Jason froze mid-motion, a cold thread of dread crawling up his spine.
Dick immediately elbowed Jason in the ribs, giving him a pointed look. "Just give in for a bit, man. Come on, it's almost morning. Poor kid's exhausted."
Their attention shifted back to the child—tear-streaked, fingers still tangled in Jason’s jacket, knuckles white with the effort of holding on.
Jason looked down at the small figure clinging to him like he was the only solid thing left, and hated how natural it looked, how wrong it felt that the child seemed to belong there anyway.
Jason groaned, running a hand down his face as the child sobbed into his jacket, tiny shoulders shaking. 'This is emotional blackmail. Why is it working?'
"Fine! Fine!" Jason threw his hands up. "Stop crying, okay? We'll take the bike."
The child was still crying softly, tears clinging to their lashes as they looked up at Jason. Big, watery eyes searched his face. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” Jason muttered, shooting a glare at Dick, who was very clearly fighting back a grin. “But you hold on the entire time. If you let go even once, we’re switching to the Batmobile. Got it?”
“Yes, Dad,” the child answered softly, voice hoarse and tired from crying. They wiped at their face with the back of their sleeve, eyelids drooping even as they nodded. “I’ll… I’ll hold on tight. Really tight.”
Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jason, you know Bruce is going to—”
“Bruce can deal with it,” Jason cut in, already turning toward his motorcycle. “You two take the Batmobile. We’ll meet you there.”
Dick finally let his smile show. “You’re such a softie.”
“Shut up, Grayson,” Jason muttered. He reached up and gently wiped the tears from the child’s cheeks before shrugging off his jacket and draping it around their shoulders. “Here. Put this on.” He adjusted it properly, tugging it closer. “And stop crying already. What’s your name, kid?”
The child sniffled, rubbing at their eyes with the sleeve that was far too long. “I’m… Reader,” they said weakly, voice still thick from crying. After a beat, they added with quiet indignation, “Dad’s mean. Why would you ask what is my name.. hiks”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jason sighed. “Sorry.”
“Dad’s mean,” Dick teasing lightly, grinning as he picked up the kid’s bag.
The child giggled despite themself, small and tired, and Dick’s grin only widened.
Jason reached his bike and pulled the spare helmet from the storage compartment. It was far too big for a seven-year-old, the padding loose and imperfect, but it was all he had.
He crouched and settled it carefully over the child’s head, fingers lingering as he adjusted the straps, slower and more cautious than usual.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “Rules. Hold onto me. Don’t let go. Don’t move around too much. Okay?”
“Mm,” the child answered softly, nodding instead of speaking, exhaustion weighing down their movements.
Jason swung his leg over the bike, and the child climbed up behind him with help, arms wrapping around his waist without urgency, more for balance than excitement. The hold was tight but unsteady, like they were afraid of slipping rather than clinging on purpose.
“Not too tight,” Jason muttered. “I need to breathe.”
The child loosened their grip a fraction, forehead resting briefly against his back.
“Sorry..” they whispered, voice small.
A few steps away, Dick and Tim were still watching. Dick tilted his head slightly, eyes lingering on the child. “They’re too small to be sitting back there,” he said quietly. “If they slip, Jason might not even feel it.”
“And that helmet’s barely holding,” Tim added, his gaze fixed on the loose strap.
Jason let out a slow breath. “So what?”
Tim stepped closer. “Reader—hey,” he said gently. “Just for a second, okay?” He lifted the child with careful hands, supporting their weight as he shifted them forward and settled them in front of Jason instead.
The child didn’t resist. They only leaned back against Jason’s chest, shoulders slack, exhaustion still heavy in their body.
Jason shot Tim an irritated look. “Seriously?”
“It’s safer,” Tim replied evenly. “At least you’ll know where the kid is the entire ride.”
Jason adjusted his arms, steadying the small body in front of him—and hated how natural the motion felt.
Dick headed toward the Batmobile, still grinning. “See you at the Manor, Dad.”
“I swear to God, Dick—”
“Bye, uncles,” the child murmured weakly, lifting a small hand in a lazy wave as the Batmobile pulled away.
Tim shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his mouth as he followed Dick. “Try not to traumatize the kid with your driving, Jason.”
“My driving is fine,” Jason called back as he started the engine, the familiar rumble cutting through the quiet street.
He pulled onto the road at a measured pace—slower than he ever rode, slower than felt natural. With a small body pressed against him, he wasn’t taking chances.
Gotham’s streets were nearly empty, washed in pale blue as dawn began to creep in. Somewhere between intersections, Jason felt the child’s weight shift, their body relaxing fully against his chest, breaths evening out into a soft, steady rhythm.
'…Great. The kid’s falling asleep on a moving motorcycle.'
Jason didn’t speed up. Didn’t take sharp turns. He just kept the ride smooth and steady, carrying the quiet weight with him all the way to the Manor.
_____________________________________
They reached the Batcave just as dawn began to bleed faintly into the sky above.
Jason killed the engine, and before he could say anything, the child slid off the bike with practiced ease, landing lightly on their feet like they'd done it a hundred times before.
They didn't wait for him, didn't pause to take in their surroundings—just walked forward with casual familiarity, as if the cavernous space was nothing more than another room they knew by heart.
Straight toward the Batcomputer.
Where Bruce was sitting with Damian.
Both of them looked up at the sound of the motorcycle, their gazes landing first on the kid, then shifting to Jason with identical expressions of confusion and suspicion.
Bruce stood slowly, his imposing frame casting a long shadow in the dim light of the cave. "Why did you bring a child here?" His voice was measured, controlled, but there was an edge beneath it. "Who is this?"
The hesitation vanished in an instant. The kid's face lit up like someone had flipped a switch. "Oh! I'm Reader, Grandpa! How could you forget?!" They rushed forward without a shred of fear and wrapped their arms around Bruce's leg in an enthusiastic hug.
Bruce stiffened, clearly not expecting the contact.
Reader pulled back just enough to hold up the locket, flipping it open to show the photo inside. "See? Grandpa looks just like Dad!" they said brightly, pointing between the older Jason in the photo and Bruce's face.
Damian and Bruce both leaned in to examine the locket—the photo of the kid standing beside an older, more weathered version of Jason.
Then their eyes moved to Reader, and finally to Jason standing several feet behind, his arms crossed and his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and resignation.
Damian's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Todd, what is the meaning—"
"We're just as confused as you are," Tim cut in, stepping into the cave with Dick close behind. "But I don't think the kid is lying."
He held up the small Robin keychain, turning it so the embedded tracker caught the light. "Everything Reader has on them—clothes, accessories, this tracker—it's all Wayne tech. High-grade stuff. And this," he tapped the keychain, "is directly connected to the Batcomputer. Same encryption we use."
Bruce's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. His gaze dropped back down to Reader, who had released his leg and was now bouncing slightly on their heels, looking up at him with wide, expectant eyes.
"Grandpa! Grandpa, pick me up!" Reader lifted both arms overhead, hands opening and closing in the universal gesture of a child wanting to be held.
No one moved.
The Batcave fell into a thick, uncomfortable silence. All eyes lingered on Reader—a small child who shared no physical resemblance with Bruce, with Jason, or with anyone else in the Cave. Their features were unmistakably their own, belonging to no one present, and yet they stood there as if the space had always been theirs.
Bruce didn’t pick the child up. Instead, he crouched, lowering himself to eye level, the habit automatic as his mind began sorting through variables and improbabilities. “Reader,” he said carefully, his voice gentler now but still precise, “who are your parents? Your mother—who is she?”
Reader tilted their head, confusion crossing their face as if the question itself didn’t quite register. “My Dad is your son, JJason Peter Toddd,” they said, pointing at him as if clarifying something obvious.
Then they shrugged, entirely unbothered. “But Dad says I don’t have a mom. He said I was born from a tree,” they added, thoughtful for a beat. “Like Timun Mas or Princess Kaguya.”
“Must’ve read too much fairy tale,” Damian muttered under his breath.
“Sssstttt,” Bruce said quietly, without looking away from the child.
I mean, what do you tell a child who’s too young to understand, when even you don’t know the truth about where they come from?
_____________________________________
second person point of view
Bruce doesn’t press the question after that. Instead, he let you a little closer, one arm steady at your back as you shift and settle into his lap on your own, like you’ve quietly decided this is the safest place to be.
You lean against his chest, smaller and quieter now, the earlier certainty finally worn down by fatigue.
The Cave slips into a waiting hush. Bruce stays where he is, gaze distant as his thoughts move silently, while the others linger nearby, careful not to crowd.
You remain still in his arms, fingers loosely curled into the fabric of his suit, blinking slowly as the long night catches up with you.
One by one, the rest of the family arrives.
Cass appears first, silent as ever, her eyes finding you immediately and lingering with that unsettling focus she uses for things she hasn’t figured out yet. Stephanie follows not long after, drawn in by Tim’s vague message that apparently just said you need to see this.
Soon, the Batcave’s main workspace feels crowded in a way it rarely does. Everyone stands a little too stiff, a little too deliberate, their attention drawn again and again to the small, drowsy figure curled against Bruce’s chest.
You blink slowly, fighting sleep, cheek resting against him as questions hang heavy and unspoken in the air.
“Is that… a new kid?” someone whispers, barely audible.
“No,” another voice murmurs back. “That’s Jason’s.”
“…What?”
The word echoes softly, unfinished, as several heads turn, toward you, then Jason, like no one is quite sure what they’ve just heard.
You shift slightly on Bruce’s lap and yawn, your head tipping against his shoulder before you straighten again, fighting sleep more out of habit than need. Bruce adjusts his hold without thinking—steady, stills, as if suddenly aware of how many eyes are on the two of you.
The Cave feels tighter all at once. Conversations taper off, movements slow, and the attention in the room sharpens—not on Bruce, but on you.
“We need to talk for a moment,” Bruce says at last, his gaze sweeping over the group gathered in the Batcave—Alfred, Tim, Dick, Jason, Cass, and Stephanie.
You’re still on his lap as he speaks, your eyes drifting now and then to Damian with awkward uncertainty, while Damian returns the look with his usual flat, unreadable stare.
Bruce gently lifted you and set you onto a nearby chair. “Reader, stay here for a bit, alright?” he said softly. “With Damian.”
“Why me?” Damian asked at once, displeasure plain in his tone.
Your eyes widened and you shook your head immediately. “I wanna stay with Grandpa,” you said, casting Damian a wary glance. “I don’t wanna be near him.”
“I don’t want to be near a spoiled brat either,” Damian shot back.
“Damian,” Bruce said quietly, in that tone that wasn’t quite a request. “Just for a few minutes.”
The others moved off toward the far side of the Cave, voices dropping as they began a private discussion, leaving you and Damian near the Batcomputer. The silence that followed stretched thin and uncomfortable.
You fidget with the hem of your jacket, sneaking glances at him before finally working up the courage to speak. “Are you really Uncle Damian?”
“Uncle?” Damian repeats, one eyebrow twitching.
You tilt your head, studying him with quiet seriousness. “Well… your name is Damian, and you’re short,” you pause . “You’re totally different from my Uncle Damian. But your attitude’s the same, super grumpy. Not fun at all.”
Damian’s jaw tightened. After a beat, he held out his hand. “Let me see your locket.”
“Okay.” You slipped the necklace over your head and handed it to him.
Damian examined it carefully, eyes sharp as he opened the locket. His expression shifted, just slightly. “Tt. Todd looks ancient here.”
“Well, yeah,” you shrug. “Dad is old. Even now his hair’s already going gray.” You glanced toward the group murmuring in the distance, then back at Damian. “It’s weird though. Grandpa’s older than Dad, but Dad’s the one with gray hair. He’s such an old man.”
“Hmph. Old man,” Damian muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself.
“You’re a tiny kid,” you shot back.
“Excuse me?” Damian snapped. “I’m older than you, you kindergarten baby.”
You went quiet for a moment, face scrunching as you thought hard—then brightened. “Well… you’re short.”
Damian’s eye twitched.
“Short and grumpy,” you added, clearly pleased.
“I am not short, I am still growing, you insolent—”
“Shooort,” you sing-songed, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.
Across the Cave, Stephanie leaned closer to Tim, whispering, “Are they… actually getting along?”
“That’s what you call getting along?” Tim asked, incredulous.
Dick grinned. “For Damian? Yeah. That’s basically a heartfelt bonding moment.”
Alfred observed the exchange with faint amusement. “It would seem Master Damian has acquired a… peer,” he said. “How… refreshing.”
Near the Batcomputer, the bonding continued.
_____________________________________
A few hours later, when the sun is already bright aboveground, you wake up somewhere unfamiliar. Not the Batcave—but a quiet, empty room, clean and orderly, like it’s waiting to be decided what it’s meant for.
Alfred is there not long after, gentle and unhurried as he helps you get ready for the day, treating the whole thing as if it’s perfectly normal.
There’s nothing special planned. No grand welcome, no explanations you can understand yet—just an effort to ease you into the space, to make the hours pass comfortably while they figure out what’s actually going on. Or, more precisely, who you really are.
It takes longer than they expect.
They ask you questions often. Not all at once, never pressing too hard—just small things woven into the spaces between conversations. What do you like to eat. Do you go to school. What games you play.
They listen closely, like every answer matters more than it should, and you talk easily, swinging your legs where you sit, unaware of the weight your words carry.
Sometimes you talk about your family back there—especially your dad. About how he was already old, even when you were still a baby.
You repeat it the way Grandpa once said it, because that’s how it stayed in your head. “Dad’s stubborn,” you explain seriously. “A real rock-headed guy.” You nod to yourself, certain. “Grandpa said that’s why he only had a kid when he was already old.”
“So,” Dick says casually, “you two close?”
You brighten at once. “Uh-huh. I’m close with everyone!” Then you add, just as easily, “Dad says I’m his favorite.”
Jason freezes.
Later, when the questions drift elsewhere and the room relaxes just a little, you lean back where you’re sitting, utterly comfortable. Safe. Loved. You don’t see the way they watch you now—not with suspicion, not exactly, but with something heavier.
“I never expect there a child like this to become a Wayne,” Stephanie says quietly, arms folded as she watches you from across the Cave. Her voice isn’t unkind—just baffled. “Especially Jason’s.”
Jason shoots her a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s not an insult,” Tim cuts in quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just… statistically improbable.” He glances at you again, thoughtful. “Jason doesn’t exactly scream domestic future with a kid who’s this… comfortable. happy (??)”
“Yeah,” Dick adds under his breath, lips twitching despite himself. “I was expecting brooding. Trauma. Maybe a tiny crowbar collection.” He pauses. “Not… this.”
You choose that moment to swing your legs and hum softly, perfectly at ease.
Cass tilts her head, eyes tracking you with quiet focus. “Happy,” she says simply.
Bruce looks at her, then back at you. You’re leaning forward now, talking animatedly to Alfred about snacks, your earlier confidence fully returned. Whatever confusion lingers in the room, none of it seems to reach you.
“Maybe once in a thousand years,” Damian mutters, arms crossed. His tone is flat, but his eyes don’t leave you. “And even then, unlikely.”
“And yet,” Alfred says gently, stepping closer with a tray you hadn’t noticed before, “here we are.”
Jason watches the exchange in silence, jaw set. The idea still sits wrong in his chest—not rejection, not exactly, but something closer to disorientation.
A child like you feels too sudden, too soft, like a future dropped into his hands without warning.
You, meanwhile, remain utterly unaware of the weight of it all. You move through the room with an ease born of safety, untouched by the sharp edges of the life they know so well. Comfortable. Trusting. Loved—without ever having learned that love can be conditional.
_____________________________________
“Why are you sleeping in my room?” Jason asks a few days in, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, confusion edged with irritation.
You blink up at him. “I’ve never slept alone before,” you say softly. After a small pause, “I usually sleep with my dad.” Not a dad. Your dad—the older Jason in the locket, the one with gray in his hair and a tired smile who always knew where you were at night.
Jason exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “Whatever,” he mutters. “Do what you want. I’m too tired for this.”
The words aren’t cruel, but they land heavy anyway.
You remain standing in front of his door long after he’s turned away, uncertainty creeping in where certainty used to live.
The dad you know would’ve sighed too—but he would’ve pulled the blanket up around you afterward. This Jason feels… different. Louder. Sharper. Like a stranger wearing a familiar face.
A hand lands on your shoulder. You glance back, unsure, and see Damian behind you.
“Why are you just standing there?” Damian’s voice cuts in, sudden. He’s behind you, having noticed your stillness. “Did you forget which room you were using earlier?”
You shake your head slowly. “No.” You hesitate, then lower your gaze. “I’m just… not used to sleeping alone. I usually sleep with my dad.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“You don’t have your own room there?” Damian asks, there—wherever it is you came from.
“I did,” you say quietly. “Grandpa had it ready for me.” Your fingers curl into the fabric of your sleeve. “But the night before I was supposed to sleep there, someone broke in. A thief.” You swallow. “They destroyed everything in the room.”
Damian’s eyes flick, briefly, to Jason’s door.
“So after that,” you continue, voice small, “I kept sleeping with Dad.”
Damian stares at the door a second longer than necessary. A thief, he thinks flatly. Right.
He looks back at you—small, tired, standing outside Jason’s room like it’s the last safe place you remember. And the thought settles in his chest, uncomfortable and sharp:
If you sleep near this Jason, you’ll probably have more nightmares than comfort.
“So you’re just not used to sleeping alone,” Damian says, after a moment. “You’ll have to get used to it. Slowly.”
He clears his throat. “Come on,” he adds, curt but not unkind. “I’ll walk you back.”
You nod, a flicker of relief crossing your face as you follow him down the hall—leaving Jason’s door closed behind you, and a future that still doesn’t quite know where to place you.
'dad.. i want to go home..'
_____________________________________
In the dining room
You climb onto the chair right beside Jason and even scoot it closer, knees bumping his leg. “Dad, I’m eating too!” you announce, tugging lightly at his han, an unspoken signal you’ve used a hundred times before.
“Go ahead,” Jason says, eyes still on his plate, tone flat like he’s talking to himself more than to you.
You pause. “Dad usually… feeds me.” you say softly, not demanding—just stating something that he always do.
He stiffens. “You can eat on your own,” he says after a beat. “You should try.” He doesn’t look at you, and the space between you suddenly feels wider than the table itself. It’s awkward—new for both of you. You’re a child from nowhere, and he’s a father by accident.
You slowly loosen your grip, your hand retreating back to your lap. “…Okay,” you mumble, the word small and heavy, like you’re not sure where to put it once it leaves your mouth.
“Reader.”
You look up to find Tim sitting across the table, an empty chair between him and Duke. He taps the seat lightly, then hesitates, like he’s reconsidering the words even as he says them.
“Over here,” he offers, voice careful. “Do you… want Uncle to feed you?” The word uncle sounds unfamiliar to him, tested cautiously.
Your face brightens at once. “Yes!” You slide off your chair and hurry over, ducking under the table to get to him faster, impatience outweighing any sense of dignity.
By the time you climb onto the seat beside him, you’re already smiling, relief settling in easily.
“Hey, Uncle,” Stephanie cuts in from the side, leaning forward with a teasing grin. “I want some too.”
Tim groans, dropping his head briefly into his hand. “Don’t start.”
“Uncle,” she repeats, clearly enjoying it.
You giggle, already settled and content at Tim’s side, attention fully claimed by the promise of food. Across the table, Jason watches with his fork paused mid-air, unsure why the sight of it all lands heavier in his chest than it should.
_____________________________________
It’s been several days now since you’ve been… stuck here.
“They eat only when someone feeds them, sleep curled up against whoever’s closest, won’t stay alone,” Damian says quietly, eyes fixed on you. “Are they really your kid, Todd?”
Jason snorts under his breath. “That’s what I’ve been asking myself. How did I end up spoiling a kid this badly?”
Tim exhales, rubbing the back of his neck as he watches you. “Age, maybe,” he says after a moment. “Or… timing.” His voice drops. “Honestly, I never thought you’d have a kid at all. Let alone one like this.”
Their voices fade as their attention drifts to the couch.
You’re asleep there now, small and slack with trust, curled up against someone without hesitation. Jason watches longer than he means to, something uneasy tightening in his chest. “It’s kind of a miracle,” he mutters, then scoffs quietly. “Or maybe a nightmare.”
Dick glances at him sharply. “Don’t talk like that about your kid,” he says, low and firm. “They’re still little.”
Jason doesn’t reply. His gaze stays on you, fixed and unblinking, he’s bracing himself for the moment he looks away and finds the couch empty.
_____________________________________
You tell them another story, the way you always do—like it’s nothing important, just something that happened.
“Back then, when I woke up in the middle of the night,” you say, voice soft, “I’d go down to the Batcave to look for someone. Anyone.” You pause, remembering. “But if it was really crowded, and you had friends over, You'd tell me to go back to my room.”
A few glances are exchanged.
“You know,” you add helpfully, “some of your friend i am not sure what's their name buat there are the loud ones. The ones with capes. Sometimes the red one. Sometimes the fast one. so many”
That earns a quiet reaction—someone clearing their throat, someone else going very still.
“But sometimes,” you continue, brightening, “when I walk back alone, there’s this really pretty green light.” You trace a lazy line in the air with your finger. “It guides me all the way back to my room.”
“…Green light?” Bruce murmurs.
“Lantern,” another voice mutters under their breath.
You nod, satisfied. “Yeah. That one I guess.”
Bruce studies you carefully. “Did you ever talk to them?” he asks.
You shake your head. “No.” After a beat, you add, “If they ever got close or even just looked at me, usually Uncle Damian or Uncle Tim would pick me up right away.” You lift your arms to demonstrate, like it’s a familiar routine. “They always say, don’t get close to weird people.”
The room goes quiet.
Weird people.
Someone exhales slowly. Because by every standard they live by—masks, secrets, double lives—everyone here is strange.
And yet, somehow, you had been kept apart from it all.
_____________________________________
ending.
It’s been a few weeks since you ended up here, and the feeling has finally settled in. Not fear. Not confusion. Just a quiet, persistent ache. You miss home. You miss the family you know. More than anything, you miss your dad.
You and Damian are sitting in the living room. Everyone else is gone—patrols, errands, the kind of adult business that makes the house feel too big and too empty. Only Alfred remains somewhere deeper in the Manor, footsteps distant and soft, and Damian, who has been firmly volunteered to keep you company.
The silence stretches between you. Not sharp, not tense—just heavy. You curl your knees up to your chest on the oversized armchair, swallowed by cushions, feeling smaller than usual in the wide, quiet room.
“You know, Uncle Damian,” you say at last, breaking the quiet. Your voice is softer now, stripped of its usual brightness. “Back home, whenever Dad goes away for a few days… I always wait in the living room in the afternoon.”
You stare at nothing in particular as you speak. “So when I hear his motorcycle, I can run straight to the door. That way, the moment he opens it, I’m already there.” Your fingers tighten around your sleeves. “I hug him right away.”
Damian glances at you from the opposite couch, posture rigid, hands folded neatly like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “…You miss your father,” he says, more statement than question.
You look at him then, eyes glossy, tears trembling but not falling yet. You nod. “I want my dad…”
Damian stands abruptly, the movement sharp and too loud in the quiet room. “I’ll call Todd—” he says, defaulting to action, solutions, something he knows how to do.
“No!” The word tears out of you before you can stop it. You lunge forward, fingers catching his sleeve, clutching it. You shake your head hard, until your vision blurs and the room tilts.
He freezes completely, caught mid-step. “But you just said—”
“Not him,” you whisper, your grip loosening as you pull your hand back, swiping at your face with the back of your wrist.
Your voice breaks, splintering under the weight you’ve been holding in for weeks. “Not this him.” You swallow, breath hitching. “I want my dad. The one I know. I want to go home.”
For a moment, Damian looks utterly lost, caught between logic and something he was never trained to handle.
Then, slowly, he sits back down. Not across from you this time, but beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost touch. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t try to fix it.
He just stays.
And for now, that’s all you have.
_____________________________________
Meanwhile, in your original timeline, Gotham was in chaos.
The Bats hadn't stopped searching, not for a single moment. Day bled into night and back into day again in an endless cycle of desperate hunting.
Oracle's systems ran hot, every camera, every satellite, every piece of surveillance equipment in Gotham turned toward one purpose: find Reader.
The city felt it.
Crime spiked, then vanished entirely in some districts, thugs too afraid to move, others reckless enough to test their luck. Rooftops were never empty. Shadows moved constantly. Gotham knew something was wrong, even if it didn’t know what.
Tim hadn’t left the Batcomputer in over thirty hours. His eyes were bloodshot, fingers flying across the keys with manic precision as he ran algorithm after algorithm, refusing to accept the results.
Barbara worked beside him, her own exhaustion visible in the tightness of her jaw, but neither of them slowed.
“I’m running every scan we have,” Barbara said, voice hoarse. “Every pattern, every anomaly. If there’s a trace—anything—we’ll find it.”
But it was Jason who turned the streets into something else entirely.
He tore through Gotham like a storm with nowhere to break. Every alley, every warehouse, every forgotten corner of the city was searched, then searched again.
Informants talked not because they were paid, but because they were afraid. Doors opened when he knocked. Walls came down when they didn’t.
Because a child was missing.
Jason’s child was missing.
A Wayne was missing.
And every hour without answers fed the worst kind of imagination—the kind that fills the silence with things no one wanted to name.
Were you hurt. Were you scared. Were you calling for him somewhere he couldn’t hear.
No. They couldn’t think like that. Wouldn’t.
"Oracle, talk to me," Jason's voice crackled over the comms, rough and desperate. "Anything. Please."
Barbara's hands stilled over the keyboard for just a moment, her jaw clenching. "Jason, I'm trying. I'm—we're doing everything we can."
"It's not enough!" The sound of something shattering came through the comm, Jason's fist through a wall, maybe, or something worse. "It's been hours and we have nothing. No body, no ransom, no trace—where the hell is my kid?!"
"We'll find them," Dick's voice cut in, firm despite the strain underneath. "Jason, we will find them. But you need to—"
"Don't tell me what I need to do, Grayson. Don't you dare." Jason's breathing was ragged. "That's my kid out there. Mine. And I—I should have been there. I should have—"
"Jason—"
The comm cut off abruptly.
Back in the Batcave, Tim's eyes burned as he stared at the screens, at the maps with their shrinking search radius, at the temporal analysis that made less and less sense the more he looked at it.
"Come on," he whispered to himself, to the universe, to whatever force had taken you. "Just... give us something. One answer. Please. Are they alive? Are they safe? Just—please—"
The Batcomputer beeped. Another dead end.
Tim's fist slammed down on the console.
And somewhere in the Manor above, Bruce stood in Your empty bedroom, holding a small stuffed animal that had been left on the bed, and allowed himself one moment—just one—to close his eyes and pray.
Batfamily x Neglected! Moon Knight's Sidekick! Reader
(CHAPTER IV)
Chapter V
Summary: After a group of students kill you due to hate, you get resurrected by a godly and somewhat childish entity that wishes to use you as a host due to your impressive abilities. Moon Knight, following the orders of Khonshu decides to train you but develops an attachment towards you. Unbeknownst to your family who you begin to slowly ignore due to their neglect and your nighttime activities. THIS IS A CROSSOVER FIC
Warnings: Major character death, Major harm, Neglect, bullying, hateful themes, Reader coming to terms with being neglected, violence, jumping from high buildings, Suicidal Ideation(You matter. There are people who care. If you need someone to talk to I'm always here.)
Author's Note: NO THIS AIN'T THE SURPRISE.
The traffic down below did nothing to quell the constant voices plaguing your mind.
You took a step towards the ledge of building.
You were getting sick of it.
You were getting sick of feeling everything. The texture of all the matter and energy around you. The materials of everything. The liquid in the air. You felt it all. You couldn't do it anymore. It was all too much. Then there was feeling people's emotions. Knowing when they felt fear, when they lost hope, when they felt utterly helpless. These powers were a curse.
You looked down the ledge.
You wondered if you would be resurrected again after doing this. You hoped you wouldn't. You wanted this to be permanent. You were descending into madness. You're no hero. You're not some avatar for a goddess. Heck— maybe you didn't even die. Maybe you just tricked yourself into doing all this to prove something. You're a fraud. One that nobody would miss no matter what you do. Astraea was probably your mind's weird way of coping with your miserable life.
Just wait for the traffic to end and then-
“What are you doing?” A voice interrupted your thoughts.
“Nothing, Moonie. Just looking at traffic.” You stepped of the ledge and walked to his side.
“What's interesting about traffic?” He asked.
“Nothing much. Anyways why are we here and where's Hunter's moon?” You changed the subject.
“He's busy. This is one of your first major missions. Complete it and you get the cape.” He explained as he fiddled with a dart.
You nodded as you reached to take the dart only to be surprised when he retracted the weapon.
“What gives?”
“You use your powers for this one, kid. No weapons. I want to see what you can do.” He continued. “You can't run from them forever.”
You glared at him before gazing down.
This mission is to stop a drug trafficking operation. All the training you've done will help you now.
“Are you sitting out?” You asked him.
“No, never. I will be right beside you but you will be taking the lead. Don't die and do your best. If you need help, I will intervene.” He patted your back and jumped down. You knew he was going to be hidden for the rest of the night.
You sighed and jumped before teleporting.
This was gonna be a long night.
—
Dante Eduordo, also known as Inferno, was one of the worst thugs New York had ever seen. He reminded you a lot of Black Mask because of how heavily involved he was with black market trades.
Moon Knight had you look into him and your faith in humanity decreased exponentially.
You know that he plans on smuggling 1873lb/850kg of cocaine through one of the ports. You also know that he's working with many different clients all over the world. This is the most tamest thing he's ever done. It almost makes you suspicious. Dante loved things like killer robots, techno-organic viruses, the occasional symbiote. This scheme felt weird.
It felt like you were right where you were meant to be. In the worst way possible.
You stopped for a moment.
A gunshot whizzed past you.
Yep. It was a trap.
You let out a grunt as you held up your hands. Very quickly more gunshots were fired. The world tipped as you threw herself backward, landing on the floor handsfirst before charging your legs up for a psychic blast aiming both feet at the source. Multiple shouts were heard. The force was concussive and you leapt back into standing position once you heard the undeniable thumps of mass and were sure that the gunmen were down.
It wouldn't kill them but they would probably be hospitalised for a long time. You felt guilty
“Wow– you're new.” A voice chuckled. You looked up to see the frame of a man. Inferno. “I see the Knight has finally gotten a Squire. Is that your name, little one? Moon Squire?”
You didn't know what to say to that. You didn't really have a name yet.
“That name's taken.”
“There can be two. There are like what? Six Robins?, two Marvel girls, three Batgirls-”
“Stalker much? Also it's a legacy thing. One needs to retire so that the next can take it… Moon Squire's still using his name. Unfortunately.”
“Gee. Bummer.”
“What's your game, Inferno?” You asked.
“Nothing. We're having a chat no? I'm feeling really educated now.”
You held your hands up as the sound of gunfire rose once again. The bullets hung in the air and dropped down
“Okay fine, you got me! The truth is… I've never had a meta or mutant or whatever you people call yourselves nowadays, and I've been watching you. You're way more powerful than you know. You should join me.”
You paused. You didn't believe him. Yet his mind showed no signs of dishonesty.
“You're going to prison, Inferno.”
—
You were barely awake in class and you hadn't heard from Astraea in ages. You can't even feel her. You had finally gotten a cape but at what cost. You kind of like being insanely tired because then you can't hear the voices that much.
“Heyy!” a voice chirped from beside you.
You jolted in shock and straightened your posture.
“It's me! Remember? The girl who tried to get you to join her band” She smiled at you. It was the girl who had the sunglasses and complimented your muscles.
“Oh yeah, I remember you…uhhh” you trailed off.
“Jubilation. Jubilation Lee. But you could call me Jubilee”
“Yes! Thank you! I'm-”
“Y/N Wayne! I know who you are! You're like the super private Wayne.”
Super private? More like super neglected. The only reason why you're ‘private’ is because your family discourages you from ever going out with them.
“So have you decided? Will you join our band?”
“I mean I'm pretty uhm busy.” You weren't lying. You were now practically a superhero and also what if she found out about your powers?
Yeah no.
“Oh please! Pretty please! You'd do great and we wouldn't be that devoted.”
You'll admit. She's pretty endearing, but then again you are tired as fuck.
“I'll join. You guys can come practice at my house after school if you're up for it. Don't worry about instruments— we probably already have them.”
“Oh my god! Are you serious right now?” She let out a squeal and hugged you from the side.
—
“So what bands do you listen to?” one of the girls asked you.
“Green day, Rammstein, Three days grace, Weezer, Radiohead, Queen, Nirvana and more— whatever feels right I guess.”
“That explains a lot.” Jubilee said.
“Does it?”
“Sure does.”
“Okay before we start, what's everyone's name?
“I'm Gwen and you know Jubilee.”
“Cool, now we aren’t strangers.” You grabbed your guitar and began to tune it. It's been a while since you've played her. Perhaps this band would be good for you. “What made you guys wanna start a band?” You asked while adjusting your neck strap.
“The talent show.”
“You think we stand a chance?”
“Now that we have you, we do! Gwen on drums, You on guitar, Darla on bass and me on keyboard!”
“Who's Darla? And also who's singing?”
“Well for singing we were kind of gonna see what happens as we get everyone together.” Gwen said.
“Who's Darla?”
“Our bassist, who suffers from chronic late syndrome”
“Let's wait for her then. Do you guys want snacks?”
“Yes please!”
–
“Alfred, what's all this for? The kids didn't tell me they had friends over.” Btuce asked in confusion.
“Miss Y/N has friends over. I wasn't told in advance either.” The butler answered while plating the macarons.
That unsettled Bruce. What is up with you lately? You barely talk to anyone. You don't even like being near them. You ignore them half the time. Alfred told him that you aren't even driving with them to school anymore.
He'd have to talk to you later- He paused. What would he even say? That you're minding your own business for once and not bothering his family? Sounds dumb.
He'll let it go.
—
You were at the dinner table.
Alfred pleaded that you come sit with the family for dinner. He thought that you needed it.
So here you were. Being ignored. As usual.
Until.
“Y/N if you're going to have friends over please tell us.”
“Alright.”
That was it. Nothing else. No questions. No rejections. Just ‘Alright’.
“And-”
You stared at him when he spoke.
“Who are those girls?”
“Uhm Gwen Stacy, Jubilation Lee and, Darla Aquista-”
“Darla!? What the hell Y/N!” Tim angrily asked.
“What?” You questioned.
“That's Tim's ex.” Cass responded as her eyes narrowed at you.
“Oh. Well you learn something new everyday.”
“What could you possibly have in common with Darla?”
You shrugged and took a bite of your food.
“Why the hell should I care?”
“Stop hanging out with her.”
“How about no. Darla's cool. I'm not gonna stop being her friend because you guys had some weakass relationship that probably couldn't outlive a loaf of bread.” You responded.
You stood up to walk away. You needed to patrol soon and honestly it's awkward sitting with them.
—
“I can't believe I nearly died for a cape.”
“You nearly died for justice.”
“Yeah alright, Moonie.” you muttered as you perched yourself on the ledge beside him. "Also I still need a name!"
a/n: this is my first post! i'm sorry my writing's crappy, it's my first time making a fic soooo im sorry if the paragraphs are long.
not proofread! sorry for mistakes
advice appreciated!
dividers: dollphoriax, icyporcelain and saradika-graphics (tell me if anything is missing)
next.
Bruce never had to worry about his daughter, Y/N Wayne.
You were mature and quiet, and you knew how busy they were. You had to! You were still young, and you had your siblings and Alfred around. All of Bruce’s kids were pretty close, so you’d never have a problem fitting in!
The city was dangerous. With the Joker at large, arsonists and killers lurking in the alleyways, it wasn’t time for Bruce to focus on anything other than saving the city!
Once he was able to make it a better place, he’d play all day with you! Bruce would make sure Gotham was a safe and peaceful place before focusing on you. You’d understand. You always did.
That was how Bruce Wayne felt, for years after you moved in, always rescheduling his bonding time to another day.
Alfred watched. Silently at first, and then started to suggest ideas to Bruce and you. Trying to make him interact. Unfortunately for you, Bruce kept pushing it away. More paperwork, more villains, more danger.
You slowly withered away. Pulled back. You stopped going to Bruce for advice and instead went to Alfred to rant about boy trouble. You didn’t try to catch Bruce in the hallway to ask him to come with you to the mall. It was a risk, after all.
He was quite popular; he couldn’t be spotted by the paparazzi with another child. Even if you knew him longer than other children in the Batfamily.
Slowly, you stopped interacting with Bruce. Bruce was okay with that. He didn’t need a distraction, he had too many papers to sign. Too much trouble with Damian. Bruce pushed away any other feelings he had about it, after all, you still had your other siblings!
Despite Bruce believing that was true, you couldn’t believe the same.
First was Dick, the eldest, who would be around really often, despite not living at the manor. He was the bright smile of the family. The golden boy. Dick was the one who kept the family together, kept relationships between the family strong. He was nice to everyone!
It’s too bad that his real smiles were reserved for the others, especially Damian. When you first came to the manor, he was the one who greeted you. He smiled brightly, walking you up the stairs to your room. After you found your room, he left shortly after.
All other interactions with him were mostly one-sided, with him giving a polite smile and a “Later, baby bird. I gotta take Damian out to training. Next time, yeah?”. You never really got a chance to talk to him after that.
The second oldest was Jason. You first met him when he was a happy person, with a cheerful aura. He was tolerable, and you could talk to him freely about school and your hobbies. When he died, you were heartbroken. Your only friend died, only shortly after you met him! You cried for him months afterwards. Once he came back, you tried to reconnect, explain how much you missed him, and show him how you’ve changed too - but he shot down those attempts, putting a wall between you both.
After many more tries at climbing and breaking down his fear and anger, you gave up. He wasn’t the well-mannered, happy person as before. All of his happiness was replaced with anger and coldness.
Following Jason, we have Tim. He was intelligent, using his detective skills to quickly solve cases with Bruce. When he first came, you tried to learn more about him, though he wasn’t really interested in you. He always had another case, like Bruce. More leads, more information - it was never-ending. He ran on coffee and cereal. You quickly realized he wouldn’t pay attention after you tried to talk to him about a movie you watched with Alfred.
Steph and Cass mostly ignored you. They had no real reason to interact with you. Steph was constantly caught up with her relationships with the other members of the Batfam, so she never had the time or thought to check in on you. Cass would only give a simple shake of the head, or, on bad days, she’d just walk past. You didn’t really know how Cass felt about you.
Finally, there was Damian, the youngest and the other blood child. When you went to greet him after learning he was another biological child, you were excited. You had something to connect with him! You quickly learned he wasn’t so happy about it when he pulled his sword out, aiming it toward you.
Damian considered you a rival, another opponent to being the strongest.
After he decided you were no real threat and really just a nuisance, he resorted to using Titus or his sword to scare you away, and if he couldn’t do that? He’d instead make comments under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear. You didn’t want to interact with him after that, instead avoiding him like the plague.
You tried to be cool, perfecting skills that you’d later give up on - you first tried singing and theatre, performing in plays and musicals in front of large audiences, and then there was painting! You learned to paint, joining competitions and contests before burning out. The final thing you tried was sports. You figured they would catch more attention, because it was something physical - but that belief was crushed after no one but Alfred came to your games.
Alfred was always there. You appreciated him. He saw you for who you were, not only your achievements and accomplishments. He was like a grandfather to you. He baked with you, asked you about school, and even sat and read with you when he finished cleaning. Alfred was always there. He always understood.
So when Alfred got sick of seeing how everyone ignored such a treasure, he decided he’d take it into his own hands to get you the love you need - even if you didn't know you deserved it.
Dick was having a pretty good day. He had a good patrol last night, with little to no problems at all! Some drunks were walking the streets last night, which was causing a bit of a nuisance, but they were easy to sort out.
And to make it better, after he finished patrol, he was able to grab a quick bite to eat from a fast food restaurant before going home and getting a good night's rest.
Despite all of this, and his wonderful day, he still felt... weirdly hollow. Like he was waiting for something. Dick wasn't quite sure what he was missing.
Today, he decided to swing by the Wayne Manor - which he did a lot - to see his family!
But, when he got inside, he felt... disappointed? Dick was confused. He had no reason to be - after all, he had dropped in on Tim and Bruce, said hi to Steph in the hallway, and even gave Cass a wave! It couldn't be Jason; he was still out on a mission for Tim. Dick sat at the long table in the dining room.
"Master Dick?" Alfred's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Is something wrong?" He continued.
Dick gave a dismissive grin, waving his hand in a playful shooing manner. "No, not at all. It was just... I feel like I'm forgetting something."
Alfred let out a humm, continuing to wash some dishes. "Well, Master Dick, I do have something that may connect to that."
Oh?
Dick leaned in, interested. "And that is?"
"It was the young master's birthday yesterday!" Alfred replied, gesturing to a nearby calendar.
"Who, Damian? Damian's birthday passed a while back-" Dick furrowed his brows, leaning back again.
Alfred shook his head, sighing. Alfred then spoke, simply saying your name.
Oh! Dick smiled in delight. A face had popped into his head, of his baby bird, you! He could still picture your cute young face and how, when you'd smile, you'd been missing teeth. (So what, if the picture in his head was blurry and dated?)
Dick gasped, a smile spreading across his once puzzled face.
"Oh, right! I knew that." He sprang up, going to search for you.
Dick most definitely did not know that. He hadn't even brought a present! But, luckily for him, he would just bring you out somewhere. You had once asked him to go with you to some Chinese restaurant, but he didn't have time - he was helping Damian! That's okay, he could repay you now.
After a while of wandering through the long halls, he decided to check upstairs, passing Damian.
Though Damian does say something to him, Dick is far too focused on his current task to listen. He runs up the stairs and continues to look in the rooms.
When you guys finally start talking again, he'll remember your room every single time, he promises! You are his baby bird after all.
Finally, he comes across a room that he doesn't recognise. This must be it!
Your room was big, but not as big as the others' rooms. You had every inch of it decorated, like you were trying to make it seem more lively. Most walls were covered in posters and drawings, or there were awards and trophies on the shelves. Each award had different things engraved on it. Singing, dancing, performing, you even did some art!
Oh, baby bird, you're so talented! Dick's eyes get wider each time he reads another trophy.
But you weren't inside! That's too bad. Maybe you went out since you weren't in any other room.
Dick looked closer at the walls, noticing photos taped messily above your bed.
And even though he scanned them, searching for all his might -
𝜗𝜚 maybe giving your hot best friend boner meds wasn’t very smart . . .
you thought you were doing him a favor.
“i’m just saying,” he’d slurred a few nights ago, drunk off three beers and half a shot, head in your lap as he whined about his “tragic dick situation.”
you were scrolling on your phone, half-listening, idly scratching your nails through his hair like you always did when he gets drunk and clingy. “what tragic dick situation?” you asked, barely looking up.
“i think i’m broken, dude.”
your thumb paused over the screen. “…what?”
“no for real,” he groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over his face like he couldn’t bear to speak the words out loud. “couldn’t even get it up the other night. she was hot, too.”
you blinked. “maybe you were nervous?”
he groaned louder. “no. it was limp. like a noodle. a sad, floppy—”
“please shut up.”
“it’s dead, y/n,” he mumbled, with the conviction of a man who just lost everything in the divorce. “i have a ghost dick.”
you had to shove him off your lap for that one, laughing too hard to even be gentle about it. he rolled onto the floor and just lay there, dramatically sprawled, staring at the ceiling with the emptiest expression known to man. you thought it was a joke. something stupid he’d say while drunk and overly theatrical. but later that night, when you’re in bed staring off into space, his words kept replaying in your head.
a ghost dick. a broken dick. gojo satoru… flaccid?
you couldn’t stop thinking about it.
not that you cared about his random hookup or worried for his ego. but because, objectively, there was absolutely no reason for a man like him to ever be soft unless he wanted to be. 6’3, gorgeous, cocky as hell. dumb pretty eyes and long fingers and abs for days. he once moaned in your ear during a horror movie when you jumped and accidentally sat on his lap— said it was your fault. another time he leaned over you to grab the remote and whispered “do i make you nervous?” because your breath hitched. and don’t even get started on the way he’d sometimes walk around your apartment like it was his, half-naked in those cursed grey sweatpants, scratching his toned stomach and yawning like he wasn’t already the center of your personal hell.
so yeah. it wasn’t fair. the universe couldn’t just throw a man like that into your life and then also curse him with a broken dick. it didn’t make sense. it bothered you.
and because your brain was absolutely not wired correctly, you decided to take matters into your own hands.
three— maybe four— little blue pills. the bottle said one, sure, but you wanted to be certain it would take effect. crushed, mixed, stirred into his gatorade before he got there for your usual saturday night hang. he drank it without a second thought, sitting on your couch with one leg folded under him, sipping like he always did while complaining about how hard it is being this hot and pretending not to watch you stretch across the floor in your tiny shorts.
you weren’t even planning on doing anything. not really. you just wanted to see if it worked. wanted proof that his dick still functioned, for scientific purposes or whatever. just a little experiment. harmless!
you did not expect to spend the next hour getting absolutely annihilated.
+
“what the fuck did you give me,” he pants, white strands sticking to his forehead, sweat dripping down his temples, dick still hard, still buried balls deep inside your swollen, aching pussy.
your whole body’s trembling. thighs twitching, arms weak, lungs barely catching breath between sobs. you’ve already cum— twice? no, three times. maybe four. you’re not even keeping track anymore. everything’s sticky, slick, drenched in sweat and spit and the mess between your legs, and your voice comes out wrecked when you finally manage to breathe:
“just… a lil viagra…”
he blinks, once. then laughs— sharp and breathless and slightly unhinged as he grips your hips again, fingertips digging so hard you know you’re gonna bruise. “a little?” he echoes, cock pulsing inside you. “baby, this isn’t a little. this is the fuckin’ olympics.”
you barely get chance to protest before he starts moving again, hips snapping up, driving into you with utmost force like he’s trying to touch your fucking lungs. you squeal, legs kicking uselessly, eyes rolling back as the stretch hits again— painful, dizzying, toe-curling. it doesn’t even feel like you’ve had a break. every inch of your cunt’s raw and sore and he’s still fucking you like he just started. you swear he’s gotten harder. thicker. the first time he pushed in you genuinely thought he was going to break you, and now, it’s just worse. it’s been hell. delicious, addicting, horrifying hell.
“you wanted to help?” he grits out, slamming up again, his voice low and mean, sharp enough to slice through the moan that slips out of you. the squelch from between your legs is embarrassing in volume and way too revealing. “wanted to fix me?”
“yes- i’m sorry, fuck, ‘toru, you’re so big- i didn’t know—!”
“nah,” he spits, pulling out just to ram himself back in all at once, making your entire body spasm. your mouth falls open in a silent cry, tears leaking down your cheeks as your pussy clenches around him, begging for mercy. “don’t apologize now. you did this. you wanted to see if my dick still worked?” he thrusts again, even deeper. “here you fuckin’ go.”
his pace is brutal. relentless. his stamina? inhuman. everytime you try to crawl away, squirm, or twist your hips and breathe, he clasps your thighs and drags you right back down onto him, using your body as his own personal toy. your cunt’s soaked, slippery, stretched out beyond imagination from the constant pressure and the punishing way he keeps fucking into you like he can’t stop— like the drug is pumping through his veins and turning him into a machine. his cock glides in and out with wet, messy sounds, the fat tip dragging across your abused walls, kissing your cervix with every stroke.
“gonna write a report on it?” he huffs against your neck, biting your shoulder hard enough to make you jolt. “‘viagra results: gojo satoru fucks like a demon.’ put that shit in a thesis.”
“shut up—!” you cry, slapping weakly at his arm, but it’s no use. your moans betray you anyway— breathy, high-pitched, stupid. your body’s giving up, your pussy’s giving in, clenching so tight around him it’s like your brain’s trying to melt out of your ears.
“make me,” he snarls, thrusting harder, faster, he’s so deep your vision goes white for a second.
you try. you really do. but he’s fucking you so hard now you can barely think, let alone speak. every word dies on your tongue, strangled by the way your breath stutters, whimpers tumbling out of your mouth like sobs. your moans get slurred, choked, punched out of you with every thrust. your eyes roll back and still, he doesn’t stop.
“fuck, listen to you,” he pants, staring down at the way your tits bounce wildly with every roll of his hips. “actin’ like a lil sex doll. my dumb, pretty fucktoy.” he leans closer, tongue dragging across the rim of your jaw. “you wanted me hard? wanted me desperate? look at what you did to me.”
you nod dumbly, overwhelmed to the point you could hardly remember your own name. the moment those words leave his mouth, your pussy squeezes like it’s trying to trap him in. he groans, deep and ragged, cock twitching violently inside you.
“toru, i can’t, i can’t anymore—” you sob, voice cracking completely.
“yes you can,” he growls, “you will. i’m not done testing.”
and then he flips you over, quick and brutal, your face shoved into the sheets before you even have time to react. you shriek when he yanks your hips up and slams back inside, no warning, no mercy, the angle curves his cock right into your g-spot with maddening precision. you scream into the pillow. scream again when he grabs your hair and pulls, arching your back for him, his hips pistoning into your ass with a sound so loud it’s practically pornographic.
you don’t even try to crawl anymore. it’s pointless. your body’s done. broken in. you just lay there and take it, crying into the sheets while he wrecks you from behind, drilling into you over and over and over. as one of his hands fists your hair, the other’s slapping your ass so hard it burns, the sting blooming across your skin in waves.
“so fuckin’ tight,” he moans, jaw clenched. “so wet. so mine. god, look at you. takin’ this monster cock like you were made for it.”
you can’t stop clenching. can’t stop cumming. he fucks you through another orgasm, and another, until your thighs seize up and your brain’s nothing but static. your drool seeps into the pillow. your moans have dissolved into nothing but mindless gasps and cracked cries. you’re babbling nonsense, stuttering, barely conscious.
and the most terrifying part?
he still isn’t done.
+
you wake up the next morning with your legs completely numb and gojo snuggled up beside you, soft snores puffing against your neck, his heavy arm draped across your waist like dead weight. your entire body aches. your thighs are sticky. your hips feel as if they’ve been dislocated. you try to move— just a little— and immediately regret it. your knees wobble at the mere thought of standing. your pussy’s still twitching, your sheets are ruined, and he’s still somehow half-hard against your ass.
you groan softly. try to sit up. fail instantly.
gojo stirs beside you, yawns into your skin, then peels himself away with a pitiful grunt. he blinks around the room like he has no idea where he is, squints down at his still-throbbing erection and mutters something about “fuckin’ viagra from hell” under his breath. then he limps off to the bathroom, still naked, cupping his dick like he’s protecting it from a sniper.
you’re barely awake when your phone buzzes on the nightstand. the screen lights up with a notification.
gojo (dumbass 🫶):
bro
this thing still won’t go down
can’t even piss
help 😭
idky i made this gng… i guess the thought of gojo having erectile dysfunction makes me giggle so
I just can't come in between them, they got their own thing or 6 times people thought they were dating + the 1 time it was actually true.
"So, you're dating?" the new camper looks between her and Percy after they gave him the tour around camp.
Ah, the long awaited question.
And the answer is always the same. "No, we're friends, why?"
Once again, the camper looks between her and Percy, who's standing just behind her with his arms wrapped around her shoulders, her head comfortably resting back on his chest. "Oh, nothing, I just thought—"
Yes. Everyone just thought. Everyone just thought they were together, and everyone was always shocked when it turned out they were merely friends.
Percy and her couldn't understand it at all, because it was totally normal for friends to act the way they acted with each other. Right?
ʚĭɞ the ponytail.
It is, obviously, totally normal for friends to want to help each other out before combat. So, of course Percy knows exactly how to tie her hair into a perfect ponytail. Doesn’t everyone know that?
Who can blame him if he knows his best friend so well that he can easily notice her discomfort with her hair falling on her face when she's sparring? And who can blame him if he wants to help? That's what best friends do.
So he didn’t see anything wrong when he stood behind her after they called for time out, his fingers gently carding through her hair, gathering it into a ponytail, twisting it with practiced fingers and securing it with the hair tie that he just happens to have on his wrist.
"Thanks, Perce." She says, as if it's nothing out of the ordinary.
"Dude, how do you even know how to make a ponytail to begin with?" Leo asks when he hangs back and she goes back to sparring.
"She hates when her hair falls on her face." He shrugs, as if that's enough explanation.
Leo doesn’t understand, he doesn’t try to, he simply shakes his head and says, "You do realize you're in love, right?"
But Percy isn't even hearing, his eyes fixed on her and his smile growing when he sees her more relaxed without her hair bothering her.
ʚĭɞ the necklace & hairtie
Yes, it is completely normal that she wears his best friend's initial around her neck. Totally normal.
It isn't even that noticeable, just a small, golden "P" that rests on her collar bone. Cute and meaningless. She just likes jewelry. This one she especially likes, since she wears it every day.
Clarisse has never noticed it before, but now that she stands in front of her as they drink water after training, the gold necklace manages to catch her attention, sparkling under the sun tauntingly.
Clarisse squints her eyes at it. "Is that... a 'P' in your necklace?"
She lowers her water bottle and smiles, and oh— Clarisse already knows what's coming just by the silly smile on her face. "Yes, for Percy."
"How is that-" Clarisse stops herself with a sigh. "Nevermind."
She's tired of questioning it.
And Percy? He adores the necklace, but he also loves the hair tie he always has on his wrist. Because friends should be prepared for when their best friend needs a hair tie, of course. There’s nothing else to it.
People don't realize at first, it's a simple black hair tie. But Percy fiddles a lot with it during meetings, snapping it against his skin when he's bored. And he doesn’t let anyone take it or borrow it from him, "anyone has an extra hair tie?" and he's silent because he's sure as hell not giving his.
Nobody really understands why until he ends up losing it and he's frantically looking around for it as if it's such a precious object he just lost and not a simple hair tie.
"Hey do you know if I left the hair tie in your cabin last afternoon?" He asks her when they sit together for breakfast.
"No, but you can have this one if you want." And it's that simple. He nods. And she takes it off her hair to give it to him.
This one is not even a black hair tie, but rather a lilac scrunchie that definitely clashes with his orange camp shirt. But Percy is grinning like a child opening christmas gifts, and you best believe he won't lose this one.
"Is that her scrunchie on his wrist?" Katie Gardner squints at him when he walks past her table.
"Yes, and he's wearing it like it's a promise ring."
ʚĭɞ the kiss on the cheek
And of course it's normal for her to greet him with a kiss on the cheek every time.
Hi? Kiss on the cheek. Bye? Kiss on the cheek. Training? Kiss on the cheek. Breakfast? Kiss on the cheek. Seeing him after capture the flag? Kiss on the cheek. It was simply her way of greeting. Him. Only him.
So when she was late for a cabin meeting and rushed past him with a distracted. "Morning, Perce!" without a kiss? Percy kind of froze. His eyes followed her as she walked away, looking like a kicked puppy, like a kid who's candy had just been stolen.
He proceeds to spend the rest of the day sulking. No sign of her around. No kiss on the cheek. By dinner, he's still weirdly quiet.
Grover asks first. "Dude, are you okay? you look like someone just stole your christmas gifts."
"She didn’t kiss my cheek today." He mumbles, more to himself than to his friends.
Piper almost looks like she wants to throw her fork to his head as she asks, "Is this whole thing just because she didn’t kiss your cheek?"
"Why didn’t she? Did I do something wrong?" And he's pouting, dramatically sad about it.
Grover raises an eyebrow at Annabeth, but before any of them can say anything else, she finally arrives, almost running to the table and taking her usual seat besides Percy.
"Sorry guys, had a busy day today." She excuses herself and then— like it's second nature, she leans to press a kiss against Percy's cheek. A greeting.
And every single one of his friends is able to witness the change in Percy's expression, the way his whole face just brightens. Long forgotten is the sadness and the sulking.
"How is this normal?" Annabeth shakes her head, going back to her food.
ʚĭɞ the wallet
Percy, as a good friend would, has memorized her usual order. "Chicken sandwich with no tomatoes and fries on the side, add honey mustard for those please."
"Does it change anything if I point out that you hesitated with your own order but not with hers?" Jason asks, looking at him as if he's simply ridiculous.
"That's what friends are for." Percy shrugs, taking out his wallet.
"So you know all your friends orders that way? I don't think-" Frank's words trail off when Percy opens his wallet. "What is that?"
Percy pulls out a few dollars before he realizes Frank is talking to him, his eyes fixed on the photo on his wallet. "Hm?" he looks down and he smiles at the photo. "Oh, that's y/n."
He proudly opens the wallet wider to allow both Jason and Frank to see the photo of little five year old y/n squinting at the camera with a wide grin, a bandaid on her nose. "Doesn’t she look cute?"
"I- uh- do you just carry it in your wallet?" Jason asks, genuinely taken by surprise. And he thought he could expect anything from those two.
"Well, yeah? she gave it to me ages ago." and he turns to pay.
Frank and Jason exchange looks and shake their heads in disbelief, meanwhile Percy is already busy. "Hey do you have those chocolate chip cookies with the colorful little sprinkles on top? She likes those."
ʚĭɞ the flowers and lipsticks
Friends get each other flowers, right? at least, Percy will if he casually spots flowers while shopping for groceries with her mom.
It's not his fault, they were just there.
A bouquet of pink lilies, her all time favorite flowers, right when he's walking past the flower stand. They are basically calling for him.
When Sally Jackson looks up from her cart and finds his son holding a bouquet in one hand and gummy worms in the other, she smiles to herself.
"Is there any special dates coming soon?" She teases, knowing exactly what this is about.
"Oh?" he looks down, as if he just realized he's holding flowers. "Oh these? they remind me of y/n, so I thought I might aswell get them for her."
Sally nods, she doesn't question it, she doesn't try to understand it. Because she already knows.
Except that sometimes it really is unbelievable that his son is so oblivious, Sally gets to realize this when she takes a lip balm from the racks by the cash register. "Maybe I should get y/n one of these, she likes them, doesn’t she?"
Percy hums, distracted by placing the groceries in the chekout belt. "Yep, but make sure to get the cherry-mint one, you know? the one in the little pot with the silver lid. She loves that one."
"Percy, how can you know how it tastes?"
Silence. For a second, Percy just stops mid-putting the bread down and realizes what he just did.
"I guessed." he replies simply.
Because he's not about to confess to his mother that he knows that's the lip balm she has been wearing since he kissed her for the first and only time when they were twelve. So what? they had just been friends who had never kissed anyone before. It just seemed fitting at the time that they should share their first kiss with each other.
And it was totally normal if maybe he simply made a mental note not to ever forget her favorite lip balm. Because he's a good friend.
"Perseus, you are unbelievable."
ʚĭɞ the date
Percy felt as if it was perfectly normal to be worried for his friend going on a date, worried to the point of sulking the entire day? completely normal.
Yes. She has a date. With some guy Percy didn’t even bother learning the name of. Percy had only focused on the sheer audacity of this guy to be charming enough to get her flowers— roses, seriously? and ask her out.
But it's normal for him to be a little protective over his best friend. That's all it is. He just doesn't want her getting hurt by some dude that didn’t even bother trying to know her favorite flowers.
That's the only explanation for the way he felt something inside him twisting when he saw her before she had to leave for the date, looking all pretty and smiling brightly to go out with some other guy.
That's why he doesn’t do much the whole day, he doesn’t train or joins his friends on their impromtu day at the lake. By the time the night falls, he has been on his cabin for hours, glaring at the ceiling for more time than he'd like to admit.
It's past lights out when there’s a soft knock coming from his door, and before he can even react, she opens the door and slips inside, still in that dress that looks like it's been made just for her, her heels clicking as she holds them in her hand.
Most of the times, she lingers on the door to wait for Percy to give her permission to step inside— as if he would ever tell her to leave. But not this time, this time she walks quickly and doesn’t even stop at the edge of the bed or sits like she always does.
No, this time she simply crawls into bed with him.
"Hey, how did-" He gets cut off when she suddenly wraps her arms around him, burying her face against his chest.
"Missed you." Her voice is muffled against his chest, but he's able to understand. "So much."
Percy wraps his arms around her waist almost instictively, pulling her closer to him. "You saw me this afternoon."
"Still missed you." She replies. "Especially after that date."
He chuckles softly, his fingers carding through her hair, her fingers curl slightly against his shirt, and he tightens his hold around her. And it feels right.
"Was it that bad?" He asks, keeping his tone light, as if he didn’t spend the whole day brooding.
"So bad." There’s no hesitance. "He talked about himself the whole night. Barely asked anything about me. And when he did, and I brought you up, he got all weird."
Percy's hands stopped on her hair for a second, his eyebrows raising slightly. "Weird?"
She shifted slightly, nuzzling her face against the crook of his neck. "He he told me that we should probably distance ourselves a little because people thought we were dating and he almost didn’t ask me out because of you."
"That's ridiculous." Percy laughs at that, but it even surprises him how forced it sounds, how his stomach twists again.
She pulls away now, barely really, just enough to look at him. "Yup, ridiculous, right?"
They both look at each other, her fingers still curled in his shirt, his arms still securely wrapped around her waist. And neither of them moves.
After a moment, he whispers, as if he couldn't allow himself to speak any louder because it might break the whole thing. "Have you ever thought that maybe... it isn't so ridiculous?"
His heart is pounding, his gaze glued to her, waiting for a response. "Yes, maybe it isn't ridiculous, maybe-"
Percy doesn’t let her finish her sentence, he can't. Because the moment she confirms what he has been thinking about, it's like his body moves instinctively, his lips suddenly crashing against hers.
Cherry-mint lips welcoming his like they've been waiting for this for a long time, his hand brushing over the delicate chain around her neck, fingers pausing just for a second on the tiny gold letter that hangs on it.
And it's exactly what it should be. Soft. Sure. Familiar. Comforting. And even better than that first time they kissed back when they were twelve year-old kids convinced that all they could ever be was friends.
ʚĭɞ the kiss.
The next morning, nobody notices the change— because there has not been any evident change in the way they act. Everyone just thinks that the clingyness, the kisses on the cheek, the hugs, are just part of the routine already.
Until they're getting ready for capture the flag and, as usual, Percy helps her with her ponytail. It isn't anything that people haven't seen already, No. So everyone just rolls their eyes at them, mumbling about how oblivious they are.
"How many more months do you think will take them to finally realize?" Clarisse mumbles, putting on her helmet.
"Who knows? It could be years, they-" Grover's words die on his mouth when Percy suddenly leans to kiss her.
Kiss her. Percy is kissing her. In front of everyone.
He doesn’t even realize that people have stopped to look at them, because as he pulls away, the only thing worth his attention is her smile as he says. "You'll do great out there, angel."
"I swear if you tell me you're only friends after that, Jackson." Leo tells him after she has ran off to go find her spear.
Percy chuckles, his smile bright, his eyes still fixed on her. "Friends? No, that's my girl."
SUMMARY — you were supposed to be studying for your data science retake. instead, you ended up riding the university’s biggest nerd until he came in his jeans and begged to stay inside. gojo satoru is a virgin, a computer science major, and apparently completely obsessed with you…and your pussy.
CONTENT — nerdjo! x f!reader, p in v, university au, exhibitionism, cunnilingus, overstimulation, sub gojo, virgin gojo, bimbo reader, academic corruption lol, first time (gojo), mean reader, cumming untouched, pussy-drunk gojo, filthy smut with little plot.
[WC 5.164]
gojo fanart credits to @/lemiruu on x
the library at 12:32 a.m is quiet. nevermind the fact that it’s summer, you happen to be one of the unlucky dwindling population of students staying behind during break. still, the dorms are nearly empty now, the halls so quiet you swear you could hear the building itself breathing with lights faintly buzzing overhead and that weird flicker of static in the walls.
this wasn’t how you imagined your summer. you were supposed to be in okinawa, sunkissed and full of grilled squid and mango shaved ice. but that fantasy had dissolved as fast as the email that tanked your plans. failed. you didn’t even clear the minimum requirement for your data science class.
and sure, maybe that was on you. you’d chosen your major on a whim, thinking “business” sounded safe. you figured you’d learn a thing or two about money and come out the other side with a degree and a vague sense of superiority. you hadn’t accounted for things like statistical modeling or working with python. you hadn’t even googled the course description, let alone the syllabus. you assumed, stupidly, that business school meant learning how to make money and definitely not how to interpret scatterplots and write shitty codes. you just signed up because it sounded useful. future-proof or…whatever.
it all came down to this: a midnight lecture from none other than gojo satoru himself.
stuck on campus. in the middle of july. retaking a class you hated.
he was… peculiar. he always sat behind you in class. always with those big, square glasses so out of style that sometimes you had to stop yourself from scoffing because—really, those glasses? is it some weird proclamation that he’s smart? and he is, to be fair, but it somehow annoys you to the bone. and always in the same kind of too-large hoodies (just in different colors), chewed raw at the hem. he’s so aggressively unfashionable you almost thought it was ironic. and he’s fidgety, you noticed. always had the time to raise his hand in class, only to stumble through answers in stutters and incoherent babble, pushing up his stupid glasses with one finger. and yet, he always got a nod of approval from the professor. smart, but weird.
weirder were the random instagram likes—one on a post from months ago, something you’d forgotten you even uploaded. and then, a few minutes later, it’d vanish. like he got caught and unliked it. like it was never supposed to be there in the first place.
by the last day of finals, an email from your data science professor landed in your inbox like a final nail in the coffin.
please meet me in my office. urgent regarding your final standing.
you already knew what it meant.
turns out, you were officially at risk of failing the class. and with it, your chance of graduating on time. the professor didn’t mince words. he offered you a single chance to retake the exam over the summer, provided you stayed on campus.
“but—i have plans!” you blurted, cheeks flushing hot as he raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
“well,” he said, voice flat, “that’s on you. and your priorities.”
and just like that, your summer was over before it began.
“to help with your review,” he added, already shuffling through papers, “i suggest reaching out to gojo satoru. i assume you know him. he’s a computer science major. i’ve already contacted him to ask if he’d be open to tutoring. so that much is settled.”
gojo satoru was your only shot.
when you first met up to study, he short-circuited.
“w-what? teach you? i mean—i could, yeah, but like—wow, i mean—not wow like that, i just—yeah.”
‘wow’? seriously?
now you were both here, slouched at the farthest end of the library under a dying desk lamp. the only other people still around in the same miserable predicament were just packing up their tote bags and heading out. it hadn’t even been ten minutes and you were already sighing like this was your last breath.
gojo froze, then turned slightly toward you, hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “sorry? am i boring you?”
you blinked. “no. i mean, yes. but it’s not you. it’s the material.” you jabbed your pen at his screen, frowning at the words bayesian inference like they personally insulted you.
“oh—yeah, i mean, totally fair,” he muttered, pushing up his glasses again. “but i’m trying to help you not get held back, so… maybe if you try to—”
you rolled your eyes. “what, you think i’m stupid?”
he sat bolt upright. “no! no, no, no! i just—you asked for help, and i’m just—”
you grinned suddenly, cutting him off. “i’m kidding. relax.”
he let out a strangled laugh, eyes darting to your mouth too quickly before looking away. the poor guy’s ears were turning red. that kind of red you only get when you’re really flustered or freshly slapped.
you leaned back in your seat. “can we take a break? my brain is going to ooze out through my nose.”
gojo hesitated, glancing down at his hands. he was still fidgeting with the drawstrings of his hoodie. “y-yeah. sure. you want coffee or… i have matcha pocky?”
“you brought snacks?” you raised an eyebrow. “you didn’t even bring a charger.”
“i thought sugar helps with cognitive performance,” he mumbled.
you bit back a smile. “you’re such a nerd.”
he opened his mouth to defend himself, but nothing came out.
you inched closer while you look at him struggle to open the box of matcha pocky like it might explode.
“you okay?” you ask
he nods quickly, “y-yeah, just it’s late.”
i raised an eyebrow, biting back a laugh, “am i making you nervous?”
“no.” he swallows. “i mean. maybe a little. but not from—i’m good.”
“mhmm.” you smirk, reaching forward and plucking a stick from the box. you let it hang lazily from your lips, watching him watch your mouth.
you snap it between your teeth.
“so,” he stammers, eyes flicking back to his screen, “when you look at the—”
you laugh. “you’re joking.”
he blinks. “what?”
“you were two seconds from spontaneously combusting and now you’re back with this coding shit?”
he shifts awkwardly in his chair. “i’m just… trying to focus.”
“hmm.” you cock your head, pretend to consider that.“you ever think about me when you’re alone?” the words slip out of your mouth before you even had time to fully register it, but with the look on his face right now, you don’t regret it.
he chokes on absolutely nothing. “what—what do you mean—”
“like… at night.” you lean forward just slightly, elbows on your knees. your voice drops into something almost bored. “you ever jerk off to my pictures?”
he goes rigid.
“i—what—no—i mean—i would never—”
“you would never?” you echo, raising an eyebrow, eyelash battling up so deliberately, “so you haven’t?”
“that bikini post? you liked it four times. you probably saved it. pretty sure i saw your username on my views list at two a.m.”
he opens his mouth, closes it, then mutters, “fuck.”
you lean in, just close enough to smell his skin; cheap detergent, matcha?
“you’re cute when you panic,” you murmur. “kinda makes me want to see how messy you get when you’re desperate.”
his whole body stiffens.
your hand moves, slowly resting on his thigh. not too high. not low enough to be innocent either.
“you want me to stop?” you ask
he doesn’t answer.
“gojo.”
his breath hitches. his eyes flick to your hand, then to your mouth, then back to your hand.
“no,” he says. it comes out rough.
“don’t stop.”
you squeeze, just a little.
he’s going to come in his jeans before i even kiss him.
his thigh twitches under your hand. tense, trembling. like he’s trying so fucking hard to stay still, to be good, to not grind up into your palm like a pathetic thing.
and he’s failing. you can feel the heat through his jeans and the he obvious ache he’s trying to hide.
“you seriously never touched yourself thinking about me?” you ask again, quieter this time.
he squeezes his eyes shut.
your thumb drags up the inside of his thigh, just shy of where he’s aching. you can practically see the pulse in his neck.
“don’t lie,” you murmur. “you seem like the type who’d come just from scrolling.”
he swallows. his adam’s apple bobs like he’s choking on the truth.
“i—i didn’t mean to,” he croaks. voice raw.
your lips curl.
“you accidentally came to my bikini photos?”
“fuck,” he whispers.
“how many times?” you press. “once? twice? how often do you stroke your pathetic little cock to pictures of me smiling with a cocktail?”
he looks like he’s going to die. or beg. maybe both.
“i don’t know,” he says. “a lot. too much. i can’t—fuck, i couldn’t help it.”
you climb into his lap slowy and he jolts.
his hands hover in the air like he doesn’t trust himself to touch. you roll your hips forward, drag your cunt over the hard line in his jeans, and the sound he makes is obscene.
“shit—wait, please—”
“you’re hard already?” you coo. “you came in your pants to my stories and now you can’t last two minutes with me on top of you?”
his hands finally land on your waist, gripping tight. too tight. like he’s holding on for dear life.
you grind down again. slower this time.
he gasps— actually gasps, like he’s drowning, his pupils dilates before he throws his head back.
“you gonna cum, satoru?” you whisper, licking into the corner of his mouth without kissing him. “you gonna soak your boxers like a good little virgin?”
he whines.
“fuck, fuck—please—”
“please what?”
“let me—i need to cum, i’m sorry, i can’t—”
“you’re humping me like a dog, baby.”
“not yet,” you murmured, tilting his chin up with a firm grip, fingers pressing into the soft give of his cheeks. “open your mouth.”
his breath caught. “wait—wait, what are you— I, ngh—”
despite the confused protest, he obeyed. flustered and still fucking obedient with his lips parted and tongue out.
then with a filthy ptfffhh—a thick, wet string landed square on his tongue, and the obsecenesound of it filled the space between you. his lips twitched like he didn’t know whether to close them or moan.
and when you kiss him all wet, deep, and filthy, he completely falls apart. his hips jerk up. his entire body shudders. and he cums. in his jeans. like a boy who’s never been touched properly and just had his favorite fantasy spit in his mouth and ride his thigh. because that did happen.
his mouth is open, eyes dazed, and his glasses are fogged now. wetness spreading between you.
you lick your lips.
“pathetic,” you whisper.
“i know,” he pants. “fuck—i’m sorry—”
“don’t be.”
you drag your fingers up his chest, to his neck. squeeze. not tight. just enough to make him stop rambling.
“you wanna make it up to me?” you ask, tilting your head.
he nods, instantly. desperate.
“get on your knees.”
-
yeah… you didn’t know how a study session turned into this, let alone with him. gojo satoru, the biggest nerd you knew. now he was on his knees, flushed to the tip of his ears, breath hot against your inner thigh, fingers twitching like he didn’t know whether to hold your hips or fold them into an apology.
“didn’t think you’d actually do it,” you muttered, fingers threading into the soft mess of white hair, tilting his head back just enough to see the desperate flicker in his eyes.
gojo swallows hard. his throat bobs under your grip like a silent apology, lips parted as if waiting for permission to breathe. he’s panting already, like just being this close to your cunt is doing something to him. knees planted to the cold tile, thighs trembling, pupils blown wide.
this is what he dreamt of, this is what he shamefully jerk off to. thinking of bending you over in class and ripping away every inch of your clothes— and now your dripping cunt is mere inches away from his face, its slick clinging to the thin fabric of your panties.
“I—I want to be good,” he says, voice low, breaking like a fault line. “please.”
the way he says it, you almost almost moan. fuck.
you shift forward in the chair, spread your knees just wider for him to see the wet line of your underwear, soaked through from grinding on his lap ten minutes ago. he stares like it’s proof that god is real. his eyes licker back up to yours frantically
tongue out, already panting, his hands trembling as they settle on your thighs like he’s trying not to squeeze too hard. his tongue drags up your slit through the soaked fabric and he moans, like you’re doing him a favor.
god, he’s starving. licking through cotton like he’s grateful just to have it in his mouth. you let him mouth at you like that, messy and soaking the fabric further, his nose pressed against your heat like he wants to drown in it.
“is this what you think about in your little dorm bed?” you ask, tone llazy. onehand settles in his hair. “this exact moment?”
he groans in response, and it vibrates against you in a way that makes your thighs twitch.
“i bet you do,” you whisper. “every night. jerk off with your hand wrapped tight, thinking about me sitting on your face.”
his hips jerk against the floor. pathetic.
he adjusts, and fuck, he learns fast. he licks you with slow, deliberate drags now. eye fluttering shut as he lets your taste melt into him. you grind against his face with purpose, shamelessly, slick dripping down his chin, and it’s obscene—he’s obscene. on his knees under you in a university library, face soaked, hands digging crescent moons into your thighs.
and he’s hard again. so hard it must hurt, his cock straining against jeans soaked in his own cum. He’s rutting against the floor now. fucking grinding like it’ll give him relief.
“you gonna come again just from eating me out?” you whisper, breath catching as your orgasm starts to bloom behind your ribs.
he nods frantically, moaning into your cunt like it’s a prayer.
“fucking loser,” you gasp when he hits the spot that makes you squirm. “you’re not even touching yourself.”
“i don’t— i don’t need to,” he pants, lips dragging over your clit in a clumsy, worshipful kiss. “you taste so good—fuck—I wanna stay here—please—”
of course, you obliged, and you pulled his head impossibly closer, grinding into his face harder.
“say it,” you gasp. “say you’re addicted.”
“I’m—fuck—I’m addicted,” he sobs. “I love your pussy—please—please come, I need it—need to taste it—”
and you do.
with a sharp cry, hips bucking into his mouth, thighs clamping around his head like you want to crush the air out of him.
and gojo comes untouched. again. soaking his pants all over again like a high school virgin who just discovered the word “thighs.”
“nghh—satoru—“ you gasped as he suddenly picks you up with such ease just to place you on the table. his hands are already on your thighs, spreading them open with a force that’s barely controlled before you could even catch your breath.
laid out across the library table, the edge cool beneath your hips, legs parted just enough to show him everything. your panties are caught halfway down your thighs, damp and useless, and your cunt’s already shining in the low, sterile light. his spit and your slick still wet on your skin. there’s a mess between your legs and it’s his fault. he knows it. you know it. the air smells like it.
satoru’s breathing like he just ran here.
his hoodie’s rucked halfway up, hair a wreck, glasses crooked on his nose. he’s standing between your thighs like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, fingers twitching at his sides, eyes locked on the place between your legs like it’s gravity.
“i’ve never—” he starts, but his voice breaks off into static. he swallows thickly, still staring, like he’s scared if he blinks you’ll disappear. “i mean, i’ve thought about it. with you. so many times i—fuck.”
you tilt your head, a slow smile pulling at your lips. “stop thinking then,” you murmur, breath warm. “do it.”
and he does.
his hands fumble at his waistband—nervous, fast, like he’s scared of waking up. and when he gets his jeans open and pushes them down, his breath catches. a sharp, startled sound. he drags his boxers lower, and—
oh.
his cock bounces free, flushed dark pink at the head, already leaking, the tip smeared wet with precum that’s dribbling down the length in slow, heavy beads. thick and aching. there’s a soft tuft of white hair at the base, and he’s so hard it curves slightly up toward his belly. his hand hovers near it, like he doesn’t even know whether he’s allowed to touch it now. like it doesn’t belong to him anymore. like it belongs to you.
you stare.
lips parting on instinct, breath caught in your throat. your thighs twitch open wider on reflex.
“…jesus christ,” you whisper. “how the fuck is that gonna fit?”
he blinks at you like he’s never heard you speak before. he follows your gaze and lets out a broken, whining sound, like he’s embarrassed to be seen like this, like being this hard in front of you is humiliating.
“i’m sorry,” he breathes. “i didn’t—i didn’t mean to be this—fuck, it won’t stop—”
you lick your lips slowly, “what? hard? leaking all over yourself?” you drag your gaze down, voice thick with heat. “your cock’s throbbing, satoru.”
he moans and grabs himself at the base with a shaky hand and nearly doubles over. ”f-fuck, don’t say that, i’ll—i’ll fucking cum,” the second his palm closes around his cock, his hips jerk forward like he couldn’t stop himself if he tried.
he groans and rubs his cock through your folds, just once, dragging the head against your soaked slit, back and forth, back and forth—and it punches a sound out of both of you at the same time.
holy shit,” he breathes. “you’re—fuck—you’re so wet it’s all over me—look at it—fuck, fuck, i’m gonna cum just from this.”
he keeps rutting through your slick like he’s lost his mind, his tip catching on your clit, making your hips jerk every time. you feel it smear between your thighs—sticky, hot, messy.
“you like that?” you whisper. “humping my pussy like it’s your pillow at home?”
his hand falters, and his hips stutter.
you laugh, breathless. “you do. you’ve done this before, huh? jerked off to pictures of me and pressed your dick between your sheets thinking it felt close enough.”
he whines—actually whines into your neck—and kisses you like he’s trying to crawl inside your mouth. his lips are hot and wet and frantic, teeth knocking into yours, tongue licking into you with the same rhythm his hips grind against your cunt.
he pulls back, dazed. pupils blown. cock still rubbing sloppily through your folds.
“can i—” he chokes on it, eyes wild. “can i put it in? please. i can’t—I need to—I have to—”
“beg,” you breathe, dizzy with it.
“please, please let me fuck you,” he gasps. “i’ll be good, i swear, i’ll—I’ll do anything—just let me feel it—fuck—please—”
you nod, slow. “do it.”
he grips your thighs like handles and pushes in.
just the tip.
your breath leaves your lungs in a moan so sharp it cuts the silence in half. he sinks into you inch by inch and it’s so hot, so tight, so wet—he starts to tremble.
“oh my god,” he gasps. “you’re gonna fucking ruin me—i can’t—i can’t—fuck, you’re clenching so hard, i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna—”
you lock your legs around his waist, drag him deeper.
“do it,” you whisper. “cum inside me like a loser.”
and he does.
you feel it, the stutter of his hips, the thick, hot spill of it flooding you, the way he groans so loud it echoes down the rows of bookshelves.
but he doesn’t stop.
he keeps going. cock twitching inside you, fucked dumb, mind blank, still grinding into your cunt like he’s chasing the next high.
oh my god.
oh my god.
he’s tucking into you again, cock buried deep, and he swears he’s never felt anything like this. never imagined anything could feel this good. you’re so warm. so wet. squeezing around him like you don’t want to let go. like your body wants him deeper, even when he’s already pressed as far in as he can go.
he groans, forehead pressed to your shoulder, hips rocking just to stay sane. you moan under him and it makes his knees buckle.
what the fuck are we doing.
this is crazy. this is so, so fucking crazy. you’re in the damn library. it’s open. it’s the middle of the night but not locked. anyone could walk in. some poor TA could be returning a textbook. someone could hear you. the soft slap of skin. the way the table creaks every time he ruts into you. you—breathless and high off it, telling him not to stop.
and he won’t. he can’t.
he’s losing it. actually losing it.
she let me fuck her. she’s letting me fuck her. i’m inside her. right now. my cock is inside her and she’s moaning for more—holy shit—
he bites his lip, trying not to cum again too fast. his glasses are fogged, probably crooked, and he doesn’t even care. all he knows is the tight slick heat of you pulsing around him and the way your nails dig into his back like you’re clinging for life.
“fuckfuckfuck—y/n, i can’t stop—i need to stay in you—feels so good—so fucking good—you’re mine now, right? you have to be—”
“mhhmm—“ you pulled him by the neck and clashes your lips onto his. you’ve broken him. you know it the second he gasps your name like a prayer, or a curse, and drags his cock through the mess he made inside you, still hard, still leaking, like he doesn’t understand what it means to be finished. his hips twitch, rhythm sloppy, hands gripping your thighs so tight it hurts. he’s not even trying to hold back anymore.
he’s still hard.
you feel it inside you, thick and flushed and too much already. twitching like it doesn’t know what just happened. and the way he moans—god—the way he moans, it’s almost unbearable. soft, choked, high in his throat, like he’s been split open by something he doesn’t have a name for yet.
“satoru—” you try, but your voice splinters around the edges. “you—fuck, you already—”
“i know,” he gasps. “i know—but i can’t stop, it feels so good, it’s too much—”
“i-i came,” he stammers, breathless. “i already—I came and i’m still—fuck, i can’t stop—”
he sounds guilty. confused. like he’s doing something wrong. like he thinks you’ll tell him to stop but he can’t make himself do it unless you say the words.
your only answer was the filthy sounds of AH! AH! AH! from your mouth and the way your tongue lols out.
and he keeps moving.
wet, slow thrusts, dragging the head of his cock through the thick mix of cum and slick that’s pooling between your thighs, and he whimpers at the sound of it.
SCHLAP! SCHLAP! SCHLAP!
“is it always like this?” he pants, voice wrecked. “this warm—this wet—it’s so—i-i can’t—fuck, it’s too good—”
his hips twitch, involuntary.
he’s still rutting into you like he doesn’t know any better. like instinct’s got him by the throat. like he thinks he’ll stop breathing if he pulls out. and maybe he would, the way he’s grabbing at your waist, palms pressing so hard into your skin they leave imprints.
“y/n, you’re so tight,” he gasps. “you’re sucking me in like you want more—like you want to keep me—do you? do you want me to stay inside?”
you clench, and he cries.
he actually lets out a sound, desperate and high, mouth falling open in shock, like he’s short-circuiting.
“holy—fuck—you’re doing it on purpose—oh my god—”
he’s rambling. babbling. you don’t think he even knows what he’s saying anymore.
and he just keeps going.
“i didn’t know,” he whispers. “i didn’t know it would feel like this. i didn’t think i’d get to have it—have you—you’re so soft—so hot—i can feel you everywhere—i’m gonna lose my fucking mind—”
he’s shaking now. trembling over you, mouth pressed against your jaw, like he’s trying to ground himself in your skin.
your legs twitch around his waist, overstimulation crackling along your spine, and he feels it.
“wait—are you—? oh my god,” he moans. “are you gonna come again?”
you nod, breath catching, and that’s it.
he breaks.
“fuck—fuck—do it, please—cum on me—use me—i don’t care what you do—just don’t stop—please—please let me make you feel good—”
his hips stutter again, frantic, and your body arches into his, hands scrabbling at his back as the pressure finally snaps inside you again—hot and sharp and clenching hard around him.
“satoru.” you moan out and his eyes rolled back at the way you say his name, “say it again.” he pulls back and pushes in harder.
“satoru.”
you cum.
loud.
clenching down on his cock, tighter than before, and he loses it.
you clench down around him. all tight, fluttering, spasming in waves, and that sets him off.
he gasps like he’s been punched in the chest. like his heart just stopped and kicked back to life. you feel the shift in his body, the way his hips jerk forward, no rhythm left, no restraint—just pure, frantic instinct.
“fuck—fuck—oh god—i’m gonna—i’m—”
he moans into your mouth, loud and cracked open. and then he’s cumming again, deep inside you, hips stuttering as he spills into you all over again, thick and hot and endless. you feel it flood you—heat pooling inside your cunt, filling you up all over again. it’s so much more than the first time. more desperate. more raw. he stays buried as it hits him, jaw slack, eyes squeezed shut, whispering things he probably doesn’t even realize he’s saying.
“so warm—fuck—fuckfuck, i’m sorry—it’s so much—i couldn’t stop—i couldn’t—”
his whole body’s trembling, fingers gripping your waist like he’s holding onto the edge of the world. and when the last twitch of his cock pulses inside you, he lets out a sound so soft, so wrecked, it makes your chest ache.
his forehead rests against yours. you’re both gasping for air. his lips find yours again, slow this time, dragging across your mouth like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you. it’s messy. wet. you both keep moaning into it like it’s the only way you know how to breathe now.
his hand brushes your cheek, trembling. “you okay?” he whispers, breath ragged.
you nod, still clinging to him. “so good.”
he kisses you again. deeper this time. slower. like a thank you he doesn’t know how to say out loud. his hips give a soft, involuntary roll forward, just enough to make both of you hiss at the oversensitivity. and he groans.
“…fuck. i should pull out.”
you nod, legs loose around him now, and he gives one last kiss—wet and sticky—before he slowly, carefully draws his cock back.
you both moan at the drag. it’s too warm, too sensitive, too full.
and when he slips free—soft and still twitching—you both stare.
his cum leaks out of you in thick, creamy strings, dripping from your swollen cunt down to the table. it’s obscene. wet. ruined. a mess of his first orgasm and his second spilling from your folds like you were made to be filled.
satoru sucks in a shaky breath.
“holy shit,” he whispers.
you look up at him through your lashes, dazed, lazy, spread open and dripping. your cunt clenches instinctively, twitching from the exposure.
“you’re leaking,” he says softly. and then, like something snaps in his mind: “fuck—wait—i can’t leave you like that, i made a mess, i have to—”
your chest is still rising in stutters. your thighs ache from how wide he spread you, still twitching from the aftershocks. your cunt’s messy, flooded—his cum dripping thick down your folds and pooling between your legs. everything around you is still: the quiet hum of the library lights, the flicker of a dying bulb overhead, the late hour heavy in the air.
you’re still laid out over the table.
used. ruined. wrecked.
and warm.
so fucking warm.
from the inside out.
you blink slowly, dazed, like you’re surfacing from water you didn’t know you were drowning in.
this wasn’t supposed to happen.
you didn’t mean for this to happen.
you were supposed to review a couple chapters, complain about your professor, maybe tease him a little if he blushed too much. not this. not grinding yourself raw on his cock until he came twice inside you. not the way your body feels now; sore and open, humming with overstimulation, and filled with something heavy you’re trying not to name.
“holy shit,” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper. your limbs feel loose. like you’ve melted into the table. “i just… we really…”
you trail off.
there’s cum on your thighs. on the inside of your calves. your panties are still rucked halfway down your legs and your bra’s shifted, barely covering anything.
you cover your face with one hand. not in even in an embarrassed way, just… stunned.
you feel him shift
and then he’s dropping to his knees between your legs.
“satoru—?”
“let me clean it,” he breathes, already nosing between your thighs. “please. let me.”
and then he licks.
long, slow, and filthy, his tongue dragging through your overstimulated, used cunt like it’s the best meal he’s ever tasted. and when he groans, deep and guttural, it vibrates against you.
“you taste like me,” he moans, tongue pushing deep inside, lapping at the mixture he spilled into you like he’s starving for it. “so fucking sweet—fuck—i made this mess—i have to get all of it—”
his tongue is everywhere. cleaning the slick from your folds, nudging your clit, slurping up the mix of your cum and his with noises so obscene your thighs twitch around his head.
“satoru—fuck—please—”
he keeps going. tongue soft and messy, mouth hot and wet, arms wrapped tight around your thighs like he’s never letting go. your back arches. hands scramble against the table edge, trying to ground yourself, but he wraps his arms around your thighs and holds you there. not rough. desperate. worshipful.
“gonna keep eating you until you stop leaking,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your cunt. “i’ll clean every drop. i’ll be so good. let me be good.”
he’s going to make a mess just to clean you up again.
Synopsis. Dearest gentle reader, tailor your best robes—for soon royal wedding bells shall toll! This season, the most charming of the land, his royal highness Prince Gojo Satoru, is to be wed to his betrothed - you. But keep your wits about, dear reader, court whispers tell me that the two royals are at complete odds! Could it be a marriage of dispute or…sparks?
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, prince!Gojo, Bridgerton AU, arranged marriage, enemies-to-Iovers, scandaI papers, gossip, the Ton, bickering, Lady Whistledown slowly losing faith in him, he’s actually down bad, oraI (fem rec.), pússydrúnk Gojo, first times (his), spítting, manhandIing, pínning you down, fíngering, Gojo with rings, making it fit, chokíng, riding, arguing during it, competitiveness, overstím, dúmbifícation, creampíes, cúmplay, getting together, weddings, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 10.3k
A/N. Y’ALL KNOW I HAD TO-
“Your royal highness, what a pleasure it is to finally make your acquaintance.”
“Not at all, the pleasure’s all mine, my—” And Prince Gojo Satoru could have spat out your formal title, he could have simply stated your name. But one look at his parents peeking in through the meeting room door, and he’s biting out a tight, “-my fiancée.’”
The room practically shakes with relief.
His parents, yours, council members and knights from both kingdoms pat themselves triumphantly on the backs - the first meeting between the two betrothed royals was a success! Seemingly. And they filter out with promises of the finest wine, and plans for the wedding decorations.
Leaving the future royal couple alone.
You and Gojo. Alone.
And the very instant that those tall, gilded double doors shut, your polite smiles drop.
Gojo kicks his boot-clad feet up on the table, and sticks his tongue out. Never one to be left behind, you throw up your middle finger.
“I am never marrying you.”
It echoes throughout each corner of the polished, mahogany room; from wall to intricately-painted wall, bouncing off of that pretentious portrait of Gojo slaying a dragon (which he had, most definitely, not done.) This was by far the most luxurious room of the Gojo Palace, and it was clear that you’d been escorted here on your visit before the wedding to be impressed.
To be wooed.
Gojo gasps, his golden crown shaking atop his head as he vibrates with indignity - this was him. Him.
And, sure, he might have been planning to spout out those exact same words to you, but how could you not want to marry him when most of the land would fight for a chance at his hand?
Spitting out in the most ungentlemanly way, “And I shall never marry you.”
“Must you parrot my every word?” You’re sighing, almost as if you were disappointed by his retort. “Is there really nothing between those ears but that crown?”
“I think you’ll find that my most handsome head of hair catches the eye.” He’s shuffling a hand through his pale ivory hair.
And, well- you can’t deny that Gojo Satoru did live up to all the whispers that spoke of his beauty. Unfortunately.
Almost otherworldly; with pretty pink lips that wouldn’t be amiss on a lady of the court, and his tall figure that draped over the chair as if he didn’t have a prouder frame than most knights, sapphire eyes twinkling any time you teased him.
And you noticed it always did - always narrowed whenever he spoke to you, like he was trying to make himself seem more intimidating.
Huffing out with an eyeroll, “Or, perhaps you’re blind to my comeliness after all. What a barren marriage we’ll have- not that I wanted to get married at all.”
Now, if only he didn’t open that mouth of his. Yet, it was true. You weren’t quite keen on the idea of marriage either, and that was what made you so disagreeable to the prince in the first place. “If we do have a barren marriage it’ll be solely because of you.”
“That’s if I even make an appearance at the altar.”
Gritting out, “That’s if I make an appearance after today.”
And even with all the thorny jabs thrown at each other, it still didn’t fail to make Gojo’s heart stutter just a little at the fact that you weren’t fawning over him as most people did. Honestly, what was the matter with you?
Out of all the ladies in the land, he was betrothed to the one princess that didn’t quite want him. Though, his parents certainly seemed to like you enough - enough to let the somewhat tense politics between your families hang in the balance of this marriage, apparently. Enough to set the wedding date for next week. “I’d be honored if you don’t.”
“You’d be honored if I did.”
“Wench.” His crisp poet’s shirt flutters as he points at you, emphasizing.
“Blunderbuss.”
He gasps, “Bob tail.”
“Your hair’s quite disagreeable with that shirt.”
“You take that back!”
“Is everything alright, your royal highnesses?” In a war of insults, Yaga’s rich, concerned tone sounded as if the clouds had opened up on a sunny sky, and so had the pearly gates of heaven.
The chief knight of the kingdom marches in with an ashen expression: he’d clearly heard some of those positively unroyal words being flung about as if it was nothing. And Gojo was only lucky that this was his most trusted knight, and not some member of the court that would spread rumors that would definitely affect his charming reputation.
His metallic armor clinks as he walks up, and Gojo wastes no time stabbing an accusing index at you. “She started-”
“He started it.” You bat your lashes at him, back into your façade of the perfect, polite princess. And Gojo knew that it was working by the way that Yaga swiftly glares at him with his bushy brows knotted.
The prince throws his hands up with a groan, “I am never getting married to you.”
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Dearest gentle reader,
A royal wedding is nigh! A royal wedding is nigh! Do forgive this author’s restless anticipation, for there remains only a week until the most coveted bachelor of the land - yes, you read that right, dear reader, not even of the season, of the land - is joined in matrimony.
For now, her highness, the princess, resides in the Gojo palace and shall be in the process of courtship with the prince. Oh, the Tons’ hearts must positively be aflutter at this royal romance—I can hear them already.
Yet, even louder than the quivering of hearts and giggles are the whispers. My sources from within the palace tell me that despite the swoon-worthy start of Prince Gojo’s future as a married man, the two royals are somewhat at odds. Court rumors allege a screaming match that took place upon their very first meeting.
However, do take these rumors with a grain of salt, dear reader. After all, have faith in our royal highness and his charms—we look forward to his wooing, and to the royal wedding!
Now until then, I shall be tailoring my best robes in hopes of an invite.
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
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The next day, the entire palace now knew that the first meeting didn’t go quite as well as hoped.
You would beg to differ, there were no blows exchanged nor any weddings called off - so considering the demeanour of your future husband, you suppose it could have gone as well as it ever conceivably could have. Even Lady Whistledown seemed to think so!
But your parents certainly didn’t seem to think so.
Which is why you were seated in-between them right now, a direct reflection of Gojo and his own parents opposite you. In front of you were heaps upon heaps of the most decadent dinner foods from all around the world that the palace could offer: consommés, dressed salmon, venison, an exotic cheese course, so many legs of lamb that you didn’t know which one to look at. And then there were the desserts, multi-colored creams, custards, and cakes that were colors you didn’t know were possible for anything edible to be.
And Gojo had his face planted firmly towards it - not out of hunger, as one might think. But rather because you’d been dolled-up in your best blue satin, and he most certainly didn’t want to look you in the eye for fear he might blurt out something insulting about it.
Or even worse, something complimentary.
Though his mother unsubtly nudges him just the same, and he manages to half-heartedly mutter. “You look…acceptable.” Without looking up.
“You look…close to acceptable.” Comes your reply, again, without looking up.
It was a dinner to get the betrothed couple to bond, and look past their differences from the initial meeting. At least, that was the aim - and it didn’t exactly seem to be going that way.
With an awkward cough, both sets of guardians start up an idle conversation. It was the sort that was made when one was ignoring an elephant in the room, so to say.
And right now, the elephant was the way that Gojo and you absolutely refused to look at one another, let alone speak. An unspeaking marriage, you wondered how that would fare.
Gojo grunts as his mother nudges him in the ribs once more, harder this time. “You look- more than acceptable. Almost.”
“Satoru!”
“Forgive me, mother. I must have had something lodged in my throat.” He’s trying to play off at her exasperated yelp, and hacks out a few coughs your way that sound pointedly like ‘wench.’
Your lip curls, how mature…and you do the same yourself.
“Blunderbuss.” Except you actually say it.
And an affronted Gojo gapes, “Oi, now I didn’t overtly say wench, I merely thought of it.”
“Oh? Did I actually say ‘blunderbuss’, blunderbuss?” Ignoring the panicked efforts of your parents to get you to quieten down, you’re steamrolling on. “My apologies, that was my mistake. I was distracted by the false weight you’ve stuffed in your jacket-”
“These royal pectorals are real and you know it.” He’s scowling, smushing those aforementioned royal pectorals, stretched ‘round the velvety layers over his chest.
Puffing out in anger, a flush rises high on his noble cheekbones. And he’s flipping his perfect hair from underneath the heavy weight of his crown. Grumbling, “Though, I can’t entirely fault your eyes for going astray there. Most men and women of the kingdom do swoon over my good looks-”
“A blunderbuss and delusional.” You stare at him pitifully, “I shudder at the very prospect of our potential children looking like you.”
And Gojo doesn’t know whether it’s at the notion of children…children with you, or at the implication that his (famously elegant) looks aren’t good enough for your children - but he finds himself sputtering like never before, red-faced. Furious at the insult, right? Right?
It doesn’t matter, because before he can stop himself, his fist clenches around the silver of his fork. Hard. Jolting.
Like a catapult, he’s (accidentally, completely accidentally, of course) swinging a large glob of mashed potato that splatters against the front of your dinner dress. He hears the gasp first - not yours, but of everyone around you; parents, knights, a few council members that were waltzing past the corridors for hours on end attempting to look like they weren’t eavesdropping.
It’s only then that Gojo’s looking at you - for the first time tonight.
And oh- his mouth gapes open. Just a little.
Your ladies-in-waiting certainly didn’t let you skimp out on attempting to make him speechless tonight. With your hair so gorgeous, peripherals glimmering, blue dress noticeably matched to his suit, his eyes, and your hands donned with gold matching the family signet on his finger. You almost looked like a married couple already.
Which was preposterous. Absolutely ridiculous - and that’s why he’s letting his mouth part stupidly, eyes slightly bulged.
No other reason.
But you find another reason- whilst the prince still reels from his sudden shockwave of you, you’re throwing a large chunk of the sweet vanilla custard right in his face. Getting mostly in his mouth, and on those handsome features he’s oh-so-proud of.
As the gooey mess drips down Gojo’s chin, he smacks his lips a few times to taste the dessert- before grabbing a handful of cherry tart and flinging it your way.
You waste no time; then comes the trout, then go the rolls.
The puff pastries. The jellies. The marzipan. The chocolate that was exported from oceans away that hurt Gojo to throw (he made sure to steal a bite first.)
Until the long dinner table was empty and every speck of dinner seemed to be on the two of your bodies- and your unfortunate parents, the council members who hadn’t managed to run in time, and, curiously enough, Yaga.
You’re standing at polar opposite ends, breathing heavily with nothing else to throw. Nothing else to do but stare and do your very best to hold onto that fury from before, but goodness was it difficult when the other looked like an abominable creature made of food.
Downturning your gaze as you try not to laugh, your eyes catch on a stray kikufuku mochi that had somehow escaped the chaos.
And Gojo already knows what’s running through your mind as you move to pick it up. Pointing a trembling finger, “Don’t you dare- oh.”
You’d lobbed it straight at his head - and it’d hit the exact target, too. He’d have felt more irritated had it not been his favorite food. Had it not been a throw that actually made him go, “Good- good aim…”
The dinner, expectedly, did not end in much of a settlement about the marriage.
But it did end with him realizing that you have scarily good aim. When you were aiming at him, of course.
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Dearest gentle reader,
As your connoisseur of whispers, you must be well aware that I am unabashed of dallying with a good rumor or two. However, a rumor has reached my ears through the vines of the royal court that leave even this author quite giddy.
After feverish anticipation, one can confirm that the inklings of friction between his royal highness, Prince Gojo, and his betrothed are true. Yet, fear not my fanciful romance-lovers! It seems that the royal families have taken this in stride, and recently arranged for a peaceful dinner between the two in hopes of kindling the first embers of a happy marriage.
And here is where my ears start to sting at the rumors, dear reader; it seems that what was meant to be a formal meeting eventually grew into more of a…passionate food fight.
The evidence was on my trusty source himself (covered head to toe in delicacies from around the world, oh it would make any good chef weep.)
One can’t help but wonder what manner of courtship his highness is choosing to take. Perhaps this was his plan? Perhaps a courtship on the more…messier side of things? Surely he knows how to woo the princess’s heart, right? And he can? Right?
The Ton is abuzz with excitement to see how this royal marriage shall develop. I, for one, still have faith in Prince Gojo - and in a future royal wedding.
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
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“I…apologize for my part in last night’s fiasco.”
“And I apologize, as well.”
In unison, the two of you snap your heads behind pointedly at the audience of elders that were tailing you through the gardens of the royal palace. Like an incessant shadow; they have the audacity to not even look away as you stare at them. Only raising a few wizened brows as if to ask—that’s it?
And you sigh, steering Gojo to simply keep walking forwards - away from the madness that was following you two.
Right, that was another thing.
Gojo’s parents had insisted that you take his arm as he guided you through the tall, maze-like hedges of the sprawling gardens. And while you did find the sheer size of it difficult to navigate at first, you certainly didn’t want to navigate it with your hand in the crook of his toned, firm arm.
“It seems Lady Whistledown has been quite taken with this affair.”
“Quite taken indeed.”
“Though, I fear she has greatly overestimated your courtship abilities-”
You hear a tut that means you should both clamp your mouths shut before another argument can break out.
His bicep rippling ever-so-slightly as he takes you out to where the garden opened up into a meadow, with a sparkling pond that looked as if a massive mirror embedded into the Earth, and yards of dazzling tulips. Bursting out from the soil like things hidden, surfacing, silently.
Gojo clears his throat, and his ears tint slightly pink as he scowls down at you. “And here we have the gazebo overlooking the pond. It’s quite uh-” He looks behind him, ghoulish at the elders who gesture at him to continue his memorized lines. “-romantic.”
“Goodness, no need to give me a tour anymore, you’ll give yourself a conniption.” You’re fretting, trying to hold back a smile at the way his snowy brows furrow as he says the world.
He grunts, “Being with you gives me a conniption.”
“At least hasten it till before the wedding then.”
“Oh- you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Why, I’d love that.”
“Are they fighting or courting? I can’t quite tell.” The palace healer - yes, both sides of your kingdom had agreed that it would be in good timing if they included a healer amongst your flock of guards and council - Shoko, whispers to Yaga.
And by the look on the dark-haired Woman’s face, you knew that it was purposefully said just loud enough that the two of you would hear and freeze up as a result of it.
Backs rigid. Faces facing the front.
As if you completely and absolutely did not hear what she’d just interjected, “A-anyways, what fine weather we’re having this morrow. Don’t you think so, your highness?”
“Yes yes, fine indeed.” Gojo’s nodding rapidly, almost like a puppet. “The perfect weather for a wedding- I mean uh-” Almost as if he’d been hit with a carriage, he didn’t know why that slipped out. Sure, threatening and insulting the wedding was one thing, but actually thinking of it?
Now, that was a step too far. And he’s desperately looking around the gardens for an excuse to finish off his sentence. “-for swimming.”
You raise a brow, “Swimming?”
He affirms, “Swimming.”
To which you can’t help but inexplicably crack a slight smile, eyeing down the incredible layers of silk that Gojo had adorned all over his body. His beauty certainly didn’t come at an easy price, and he liked to dress to impress. “Forgive me, I didn’t ponder the thought that you could swim?”
“Why- you offend me.” He gasps, and a few groans already emanate from the group behind you. Here you two go again…“I’ll have you know that I’m the best swimmer of the palace- I might as well verily be the best swimmer of all the land.”
Now, that might have been a white lie, but you didn’t need to know that.
“Oh?”
“Quite right- and I could most certainly beat all our knights at a lap around the pools.” He emphasizes, “And I have.”
“Oh?”
“Why, some might believe that I was borne of the water god himself. I certainly do have the godly good looks.”
You were nearing the shimmering pond now, and it catches your eye. “Is that so? How impressive.” Waiting until he beams, his smug smirk stretching wide across that handsome face. “Then you simply must give me a demonstration, your highness.”
Gojo’s smirk falls, and Shoko muffles a snicker.
So does Yaga.
The prince runs a hand through his ivory hair that falls into his face like strands of silver. And he’s looking away towards the elders for help, towards Shoko, towards Yaga - anyone but you, who was peering up at him with a probing smile. “Well?”
“Ah- ah, well, you see, princess.” One by one, each traitorous head of the council shakes their head. And they smile. “I-it seems that I am not in my appropriate attire for swimming, and I certainly wouldn’t want to startle you with-”
You tug on his gauzy shirt, now facing him. With his back turned to the edge of the pond, and you humming, “Oh, I certainly don’t mind. We’re future husband and wife, are we not?”
“The uh- I just partook in lunch-”
Stepping forwards. Cornering. “I fear that’s a myth, your highness.”
Forwards. “But- but the weather- the aerodynamics-”
“Are all perfect for swimming. You said it yourself, did you not?”
“I did.” He blanches, “I really, really did.”
And he’s as frail as a leaf - and falls just as slowly - once, with just a tiny poke into the middle of his chest, you’re making Gojo fall backwards into the pond. And he lets out the most girlish squeal as the cold, cold water envelopes him. Absolutely nothing of the famed swimmer that you’d been promised.
In fact, Gojo was more floundering like a beached fish- except in water. Keeping himself afloat, he still manages to stab a finger up in the air at you, “I should- should have you b-banished for treason! For- for conspiracy against the crown. I should have you-”
Then he stops.
Not because of the ice-cold water (though, that certainly wasn’t the most pleasant sensation) but rather because of the way that you were laughing.
Head thrown back, and your pretty voice ringing like a song in his ears.
Pretty? He blinks through the dewdrops clinging onto his long lashes, they seem to make his vision hazy. Almost like everything but the silhouette of you laughing down at him was blurred. Yeah, you were pretty.
More, in fact.
And he doesn’t know what takes over him, but he pretends to splash about in the pond more, so that every time you’d see him making a fool out of himself, you’d laugh just a little more. And more. And he’s straggling near where a few lilypads were floating, dipping down till the tops of his cheeks were hidden behind the blossoms.
All so you would laugh.
And so you wouldn’t see that blush.
He catches Yaga sharing secret grins.
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Dearest gentle reader,
While you have been swimming in a sea of whispers, it seems that our royal highness has been quite literally swimming.
No, not in the arms of his betrothed as one might have hoped - but rather, in the ponds of the royal gardens. Yes, this author hears from a firsthand witness that in an effort to seemingly impress the princess, Prince Gojo had taken a dive right in front of her!
Expectably, it wasn’t of much merit. As her royal highness was seen chuckling herself hoarse at the mere sight. At least one can appreciate that it wasn’t food this time.
Whether our charming prince has (quite literally) gone off the deep end or this is all part of his absolutely elaborate courtship plans- oh, I fear, I cannot continue, dear reader. Forgive me. For as much as I would like to believe in the royal marriage practices and Prince Gojo’s wooing abilities, by the integrity bestowed upon me as a journalist, I fear I cannot place false hope in my readers.
In the words of the youngsters these days it seems that our beloved royal highness truly is…maidenless. What a waste of those good looks! That height! Those words- though, one can’t help but wonder if it truly is that notorious mouth of the prince’s that leaves the princess wary of the wedding.
Now I don’t know about you, but I shall be cancelling my order of tailored robes. It seems to this author that royal wedding bells truly aren’t on the horizon soon…
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
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“-her eyes, oh.”
“Right.”
“-and that smile-”
“Right.”
“-and the way she laughs? Especially when it’s at me?” Gojo tries to pitch his voice over the magnificent orchestra in the distance, emphasizing. “Like that day at the pond? It’s so- so infuriatingly irresistible.”
“Right.”
Yaga wonders whether kings accept resignation letters- he’d be trying either way, though.
It was the night before your wedding; your engagement ball. One of the most grand ones of the season, and every debutante, escort, and guest gaped at the sheer glittering carnations that lined every corner of the royal ballroom. The chandeliers that looked as if they were made of gold, the yolky candlelights, and the gowns that rivalled the stars.
Especially yours - and Gojo couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. Unfortunately.
As you mingled with your friends from the aristocracy, Gojo huddled in the corner with a very reluctant Yaga. And at this point he didn’t know whether he was complaining or simply raving about you all night. Both sounded the same.
And both drove him wild.
You’re merely glancing his way and he’s thinking to hide behind Yaga’s glistening armor-
“Confound it, boy.” The older man grumbles, flashing his heavy blade. “I’ve never encountered a prince lacking the gusto to ask his betrothed for the first dance.”
Gojo whines, “But Yaga, how can a man even think of asking his wife to a dance?”
The deadpan stare he receives is almost enough to make the young royal wither- donned in the most decadent imperial suit, and yet, he was still acting like he was when Yaga still met him. A child. Though, he can’t lie to himself and say that it wasn’t rather endearing - in a sort of…infuriating way.
“Look at her highness.” He’s starting, making the white-haired man inevitably turn his eyes to you. “She’s been refusing every suitable young man that comes her way all night, hasn’t so much as looked at them. And have no doubt that it is certainly not for a lack of it. Why?”
He looks at Yaga, “Why?”
“Because she’s waiting for a pompous, no-good, hare-brained prince that’s why.”
Gojo gasps, pointing at himself, “But Yaga- I’m a pompous, no-good, hare-brained prince.”
“Exactly.”
And it’s with that - and a firm push from Shoko who’d silently sidled up beside the pair - that he’s making his way towards you. The crowd parts with reverent bows, like a maze with only one pathway. One that leads to you.
You’re holding your head high, and he does, too.
As if they’d just spotted the commotion, the orchestra starts up a slow, lovely ballad once Gojo reaches his dominant hand out with a bow. A mirthful smirk twisting his lips- one that certainly doesn’t last long when you take his hand.
Hand-in-hand.
His heart in his throat, you wade your way to the middle of the ballroom.
Swirling in time with the scrolly melody, he wants to send a smug raise of his brows at Yaga, Shoko, and a newly-arrived Utahime, one of the royal tutors- the latter two who were both making faces at you. Yet, he can’t move his eyes away. Even as he feels the stares, the whispers, the excitement that soon the diamond of the season shall be announced; right now, the only thing he can think about is you in his arms - and the way you’re stepping on his fucking feet.
Fuck! Gojo’s wincing, he’s sure that any member of royalty is forced to go through years of dance lessons before debuting. So he’s almost convinced that you’re doing this on purpose.
Completely convinced when you lean close to whisper in his reddened ear, close enough that your words send skitters running down his spine. Close enough that you step on his toes again. “Why, you certainly took your time, your highness.”
And he just about melts right then and there.
He really is a pompous, no-good, hare-brained prince.
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“Fuh-fuck!” Your breath leaves you in a sudden pant, exhaled through your lips as you’re pushed back against the closed door of Gojo’s royal chambers.
It hadn’t been too long since you were twirling across the gilded ballroom- not too long at all before you’d then strode as fast as possible in polite company up to Gojo’s bedroom. In the shadows of where the Ton couldn’t see you, and with his personal guards dismissed for the night.
He couldn’t get his greedy palms on you soon enough- wedging a thick thigh between your skirts. And grinding upwards so your gasps turn into pleasurable mewls, “Not quite the lady-like mouth you have there, your highness..”
Gojo tilts his head with a grin, looking at you through his white, wispy bangs.
And just as you’re opening your mouth to bite back, he’s crushing his meaty muscles further upwards. You’re so needy that by now he could almost feel you throbbing through your layers.
Hitch after hitch of your breath, with quietening profanities that he’s taking in with a sordid grin. Grunting, “Wouldn’t quite expect such words from a prin- fuck.”
And you were never one to fall behind - your clammy palm sticks to the front of his shapely trousers. Dragging down where his thickened erection was bulging through- and it makes him bang his forearm on the decorated wall above your head, caging you in. “Not quite the princely mouth you have there, do you?”
“I n-never said my mouth was princely.” Gojo groans, his pale lashes fluttering as he shuts his eyes. Face looming, and it looked like he was fighting to keep his head from falling back.
You’re raising a brow, cunt twitching at the way he seemed to just fall apart with your mere sultry touch. “S’that so?”
“Mhm—” And the way he answers nearly sounds like a moan. You were completely correct about him falling apart wherever your hands left- because just then Gojo starts sliding down the walls. Slowly, sensually, he’s dragging down your body until his capped knees strike the floor.
Down, down, down—with two dull thuds, he’s hovering his hot, agape mouth just over where the in-between of your legs were.
And you let off a startled yelp once he’s swinging one of your legs over his strong shoulder, holding you up. Pushing aside the numerous layers of your dress, “In fact. My mouth might just be the filthiest in the land.”
“T-to that I can attest.”
He grins, now with your skirts held up, and that last thin fabric of your panties being the only thing between him and your drippin’ wet cunt. “My princess, you haven’t been able to attest to anything just yet.”
That’s when he’s smearing aside the soft layer of your underwear juuuust enough to the side and spitting. A fat dollop of spit that trickles between your pussylips and gets smeared around by Gojo’s fat thumb.
He’s rubbing his crowned digit back n’ forth, just admiring how shiny you were with all your arousal. Your folds were swollen and needy, glittering with liquid in the dim light of his bedroom each time you pulsed.
You’re shivering, even more so when Gojo’s scorched breath wafts against your cunt once he utters—“Sooo fuckin’ wet, thank goodness I can swim.”
Just teasing. Just trickling saliva all over until you’re the hang of your impatience. Your fists clench in need, “I rather it seems your mouth is for nothing but s-spouting pompous, goading- ngh.”
It’s the last thing uttered before he’s delvin’ his long, slick tongue between your plump folds.
And the minute that the sweet, tangy taste of you hits his tastebuds, Gojo’s going wiiiild. He’s groaning straight into your puffy core, letting the zipping vibrations stimulate you. Holding back your lewd noises by gnawing on your lower lip-
The only thing you can do is to buck your hips up off the wall in an effort to somehow control your volume and not let the rest of the palace hear.
But Gojo certainly has other plans - one of his overlarge hands rests on the side of your hips to pin you down. Lavishing the front tip of his tongue back n’ forth from the slit of your cunt, “What was that?”
You look down at his question and see that his eyes are half-lidded. Drunk.
Just a few longing licks and he’s gone on your pussy, letting your sappy slick squelch out and puddle at the back of his throat. You gasp, “Didn’t- fuck.”
Opening his pretty mouth even wider so that the entirety of your cunt’s being enveloped by his slippery tastebuds, the perfect massage. He slips a few prolonged inches past the rim of your entrance, fuckin’ you in a frenzy.
In and out, in and out—Gojo’s swipin’ tip pushes against one of the tender spots on your walls and you cry out. “I m-must retract my words- your tongue is just so…”
“Long?” He’s finishing off for you with a mean-spirited chuckle, and the loudest wet gulp of syrup. You’re furiously nodding at his remark, and the fact that you agreed? With him?
It’s enough to make his hips rut, his eyelids fall shut. And your gushing pussy drips down a few more creamy dollops of slick, helpin’ him glue his puffy lips to your own. Kissing and kissing, hot, wet open-mouthed kisses that drive you fucking wild.
Your knees grow ever-weaker with each thrashing push of his tongue, and that makes him smile against the front of your cunt. “Mhm—where’s your spirit now, my princess? What, has it left in the face of my- heh, ‘long tongue’?”
“Oh- oh, you should wish so.” You’re puffing out, through clenched teeth. And he’s only surging his glistening muscle further at the snipe, “Perhaps it’s long but I believe you might be hck! compensating.”
To which Gojo doesn’t reply - not immediately.
Letting you grow a lil’ stupider on the soppy stripes he’s licking along your candied cunt. And just as his tongue plunges back into the orifice of your entrance, he’s bucking his hips as well.
Pressing the loooong, hard outline of his shaft against your calf- you can feel yourself gasp at the recognition of that sheer size. Oh, it may just be a bulge but you’re already left wondering how you’d fit it all.
Throat dryer than the Sahara, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Quite impatient you are, your highness.” He’s rolling his eyes from underneath- and you could barely even look at him right now.
He was just drenched all the way from his noble cheekbones to the pointed edge of his chin in all your sloppy, sweetened juices. With Gojo’s tongue pounding the poor, bruised circle of your hole, he could barely even find the time to speak—“Perhaps then it would be in good spirit of me to give you a teaser.”
You gurgle out, “Teaser?”
“A…teaser.” Two of his pale, slender fingers probe ‘round the rim of your pussy. Swirling and swirling; just feeling the way your hole quivers for him for a few seconds, they let off just the most saccharine squelches as he does so.
And then you’re really finding out what he means by a ‘teaser.’
Because his two doughy fingerpads pump steadily inside and scratch the clingy sides of your walls. Push after push that spearheads your cunt on his lengthy digits.
So loooong that he can push into hidden crannies.
You damn near scream as you feel the frigid shape of something metallic - his royal signet ring - carnally scrapin’ your mushy innards. It stretches you out like never before, and pushes into tiny crevices and geysering nooks that you didn’t even know existed. Bringing a hand up to your mouth, “F-f…ngh, oh my god, Gojo-”
“Satoru.” He looks up at you through his lashes and winks, “Call me Satoru- hah, especially when I’m knuckle-deep in this pussy, my princess.”
“Satoru- shit, it feels s-soooo–” Your legs are weak and Gojo’s other hand is attached to the side of your waist, just holding you up. Supporting you. Pinning you down so he can perfectly push his curvaceous crowns into your sweetest spots.
Again and again.
His digits cover slimily with a glaze of your glutinous slick, drenching all the way down to his wrist and creating the loudest sultry slurps as he thrusts inside. Mazing your pussy just so precisely, Gojo has his fingertips swab right near your g-spot and you gasp, “Right there- ngh, just a little closer.”
“I know-” Nose crinkling at the cuteness of your thighs shivering, “I can mmm, feel it- this cunt can’t help suck me up, your highness.”
“Fuck-”
Harder, “Can’t help but yearn for me.”
“Satoru-”
Until the skin of his knuckles were rubbin’ all red from the impact, and he’s striking your g-spot with a hard bang. You can pinpoint the exact circumference of his middle and ring fingers, signet cold- departing with a deafening squelch that bounces off all four corners of the royal chambers. “Hm, you’re far more honest from here.”
Your jaw drops, and you’re snarling back- “D-d’you kiss your mother with that mouth, your highness?”
“I know something I do kiss, your highness.” And as if to emphasize his point - as if to purposefully make your head spin - he’s pryin’ apart your bloated folds and placing an innocent peck on top of your neglected clit.
“Oh, quiet you.”
Without another word, you’re grabbing onto the clammy behind of his scalp. With a chunkful of soft, silver strands in your grasp you’re pushing Gojo straight back between legs and against your hot core.
Where his mouth is readily gaped wiiiide open to gash the ridged edges of his tastebuds all over your pussy. Fingering you, and yet he was still greedy for more.
Greedy to have you shoving him into your cunt like this, greedy for your sopping wet pussy to spray out all over his tongue. His aching, ravaged cock twitching furiously at the feeling of being moved around to your liking, to your satisfaction.
You’re feeling the jolting of his ruby-red head against your calf and gasp, “D-did you just-”
“I’m focusing.” He’s cutting you off, and you swear you can feel the skin where Gojo’s face smushes against your pussylips grow even hotter- blushing.
“Oh, you quite verily are filthy.”
Again and again, you’re dragging out such sloppy pushes of your hips against his mouth - his face. Ridin’ your sensitive cunt down the ridges of his pretty features, his straight nose pushes on the button of your clit and you mewl.
There’s an agonizing squeeeeelch whence another one of his fingers start squeezing into your orifice. All three digits scouring your glistening walls, pressing deeply into the spot of your nerves at a constant rhythm.
He’s hitting it with deadly accuracy, expecting you to falter your grindin’ hips - but you’re only going even harder. “Don’t tell me that’s- oh, that’s the sum of your effort? That’s all you’ve got?’”
“Not at all, my princess.” Biting down on your clit and stretching it slightly, like some cute piece of gum. “My effort is for naught if you don’t cum all over my face-” He’s staring dead-set into your hazed peripherals as he slurps you crazily, eating you out like he can’t stop himself. Doesn’t want to. “-right now.”
“W-well we can see your abilities in that- fuck!”
His steady hits were vicious, and his tongue was just ravenous. Lashing over every inch he could reach of you so sloppily, it’s like he didn’t know which part of you he wanted to taste the most. Simply addicted to all of you.
Simply wriggling his crowned muscle tip into the entrance of your pussy, then fishing back out- and then back in. Making you keen around the stretch, Gojo slaps the top of your clit next.
Not a single part of you was safe, and he’s rolling his tongue over n’ over the throbbing tip of your clit in a way that makes you see white. “Shit-” Your entire body trembles unsteadily, “Can’t- hngh-”
“Say it.”
“I staunchly refuse.”
To which he responds by only accelerating the cadence of his plummeting strikes, until it felt like the soft edge of your walls were being bruised by him. You’re starting to slide down the wall- but he doesn’t let you, still ruthlessly holding you up with one hand. “Say it, your highness. You know you’re-”
“C-close—” You’re sobbing out, slobbering out a few wads of slick that stick to his cheeks. Something that he’s wearing like a medallion as he slurps your syrupy pussy some more.
Letting his tongue flicker back n’ forth from your hole to your clit, “Mhmmmm, I know- your pussy- fuck! she’s so ardently holding on-” Rovering on top of your nub, licking at your favorite pace. “So why don’t you be honest with me? Be as honest as this pretty pussy~?”
Arching your back furiously off of the wall, “No- yes—” Your voice was damn near in fragments by now, “Please- Satoru, m’gonna c-cum.”
“Cum for me, my princess.”
You just can’t hold back, he’d practically goaded you into it. And now you could only let your body be washed over by the wave of your high, taking over as if every vein in your body had turned into a line of bliss.
You’re shaking once Gojo slurps up every droplet of your slick with long, lazy licks. He languidly buries himself nose-deep between your folds with a groan, “Mmm, just like that.” And his free hand clammily makes you buck yourself up into his mouth following the peaks of your high. “How perfect you are for me, my princess.”
“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck- can’t stop—” He’s dragging out your orgasm so lengthily, tickling your constantly throbbing clit. “How are you so g-good at this, ngh.”
“Oh? Had I forgotten to mention it’s my first time- was?” Fluttering his twinkling, dilated eyes up at you. And you could believe it - you don’t think you’ve ever seen a man that embodied the word ‘pussydrunk’ more than he was right now.
Mouth parting, “I-it seems you may have forgotten.”
Your high is nothing but a few tingles from between your legs by now, and Gojo still hasn’t pulled off of you yet.
Not until he’s planting a few more vulgar strokes, not until he’s done licking off every beaded ounce of slick that you were drivelling out. All neat n’ clean, he’s the messy one as he pulls off- feeling the honeyed layers of your juices that stick to him like adhesive. Soaked. Sopping.
Skin all red with flush n’ friction, Adam’s apple bobbing as he hums at the taste.
Licking them off with the edge of his tongue- “What a mess you’ve made, my fiancée-”
“Oh?” You cut him off, not with your words but rather with the tip of your foot. Snaking up his spread, meaty thighs and pressing down on where a splotch of dampness had started to seep into his trousers - where he’d creamed his pants just from eating you out. You smirk, “What a mess you’ve made, my fiancé.”
His rock-hard cock twitches again.
And then you’re finding yourself being manhandled to the bed- in a split-second, Gojo had shot up and clasped your jittery shoulders. It was oh-so-easy to move you with you being so limp after your Earth-shattering orgasm.
Easily throwing you onto the bed and prowling towards you.
You whimper at the visual; him closing in, eyes narrowed, mouth twisted devilishly. The bed dips as he’s hovering over you. Gojo looked like he was about to tear you apart.
And the next best thing he could do- tear off all your clothes. All the way down until you were in nothing but your drenched panties (that he most certainly does swipe and tug into his back pocket.) You’re not too far behind- helping him off his numerous medal-studded jackets and undershirts.
Finally being able to free the pale, toned front of his skin. It was so incredibly chiselled that you’re having a hard time looking away, gulping as you take in the way his washboard abs flex.
Even more so when you follow the sparse line of his white happy trail—down, down, down, to a few tufts that outline the base edge of his erection.
“I must say, you are quite impatient, your highness.” He marvels when you’re making quick work of his gilded belt, eager to get to that large, bulging erection that made you so shocked earlier.
“Well-” Tugging down his trousers, “-you can’t entirely blame me.”
And you really couldn’t be blamed.
Because past Gojo’s formal trousers and layers and all other princely coverings was the largest, hardest cock. Spanking the front of his abs with a wet splat! Such pulsing, fat pink and red veins. A sensitive slit. Heavy balls. He wasn’t just needy for you- he was ravenous, the angriest reddened tip, dripping down in torrents of precum that drenched his curly white hairs.
Splashes of it getting between his trembling thighs, and smearing where he was pressing his lower half into yours.
And he was just so big-
“I believe my lovely fiancée said I was compensating?” Gojo snaps you out of your slight daze, and he mockingly pouts. “What? Cat got your tongue, my princess? I’m jealous, if so-”
“Silence at once.”
The sprawling royal bed groans when you push on Gojo’s perfectly sculpted deltoids and pin him down to the mattress, flipping the two of you over.
His eyes widen for a second, before his breath catches. “Ah ah- not with such haste-”
And then he’s flipping you over, on top now.
You’re doing the same once more, barely even letting him start on reciprocating the motion before your hand comes up to Gojo’s throat. Feeling the way he gulps, feeling the slight moan that leaves him as you squeeze, “I-I believe my eyes were befogged– earlier.” You reference your earlier conversation about the ‘compensating.’
He wasn’t compensating. Not at all.
You’re clawing onto both sides of his broad shoulders, with your pried-apart pussylips stickily glissading down his length. Bumping on every ridge and vein, “I should do well to take a closer look.”
“I don’t remember looking requiring hands-” He’s puffing out a few breathy gasps, both hands now resting on your thighs.
Leaning over for a few moments, he’s spitting on your pussy. A droplet that glides between your swollen lips and leaves you even more ready to take all of him. Gojo smirks at the mess he’s just made, “Or…this.”
“Should you prefer I leave?”
“I’d rather die than have you leave.”
And he said it so seriously, too- like he meant every word, every syllable. You can’t help the tremor that runs down your body, making your sultry entrance absolutely impatient, clenching around nothing.
So you waste no more time lurching your hips off of his own, one hand slithering down to grasp Gojo’s thick hilt. Angling his curved, red tip to swipe between your folds. Soon enough, you’re sinking iiiiin—
“O-oh.” Gojo groans thickly, his dizzy head falling to the back of his pillows the moment he’s stuffing the first inch of your velvety cunt.
Toes curling, his delicate pink mouth falling agape- Gojo’s so thick that you’re clenching ‘round his plump mushroom tip, and even that’s nearly too much for you to take. He gasps like you’re sucking the damn life out of him, “Oh my god- oh heavens.”
“S-something the matter, Satoru?” You’re humming, as if your eyes weren’t watering as well.
And he responds- “I believe you- ngh, you said something right now, my princess, but forgive me-” Then he’s helping you sink down on his massively large cock with a semi-rut, scouring the deepest caverns of your cunt. “I can’t argue with you right now. It feels like heeeeaven.”
Right now, you didn’t know who was more pussydrunk - you or him.
You’re feeling his winding veins scrape your insides n’ slither inside, and it makes you arch your back even further. Slipping your hips down in sultry figure-eights just so you can fit inside, just so you can take him.
And the more solid inches he was pushin’ inside you, the more he finds himself drooling. His mouth babbling away seriously, “Oh- oh, who let you f-feel this good? Fuck!”
“Is this- is this your first-”
“Yes-” Gojo hiccups, and both his hands are clawing scrapes down the skin of your thighs, attempting to pull you even closer into his body. To lewdly edge the globed end of his shaft inside you, “S’my first time- and please, take me.” Gasping, groaning.
Just a few more inches out of his numerous ones ease inside your treacly cunt with the most lecherous squeeeelch. Slurping as if your clingy walls were sucking him up, and it was driving him primally crazy. “I beg of you- I beg of you, my princess.”
Gojo’s flared tip snags against the rim of your entrance and you whine, “T-trying to.” But it was just so difficult to fit him inside by yourself - he was just too big.
Too hard, that the only thing you can do is get pounding into stupidity by the honed edge of his cockhead. Just the cockhead, and yet he was stretchin’ out the hidden crevices inside your walls.
Again and again.
He could sense the way your thighs shivered, teeth nibbling into your lower lip as you struggle. And that makes him run his open palms up and down your spread thighs, “Aw, don’t tell me- is my princess in need of hah! assisstance?”
“No…”
Another half-thrust, “Is that with absolute certainty?”
“N-no!” Your jaw shuts with a click! as soon as you realize the way you’ve admitted your defeat- and it didn’t even take too much probing.
With Gojo’s glazed cock lodged inside your entrance, he’s tilting his head with a smile. And, fuck, he simply looked too attractive for his own good: a thin line of sweat trickling down the side of his temple, nose crinkled, murky eyes half-closed, beaming. “Well then, of course I shall help, my wife~”
Then, you’re seeing stars.
Then, he’s clasping onto your both sides of your legs- pinning them down to his long, toned torso that shifts with muscles once he then arches his hips and fucks upwards. Rapid, plunging half-thrusts that push his puckered cocktip up against your deepest spots.
He wasn’t even completely bottomed-out yet—hammering into you just to fit in. Just to feel more of your slippery wet walls clinging onto his walls.
You’re immediately getting addicted to the way his solid girth was molding your channel to him, stretching so wiiiide open that his zig-zagged veins are permanently mapped against your walls. “Fuck- ngh, oh my g- ngh…”
“How rivetting-” Gojo snickers from underneath you, peering up at you through his thick, tear-stained lashes. “What has gotten you so in- oh- indisposed that you must stutter, your highness?”
“What has gotten you so indisposed that you must drool?” You’re biting back.
Because, of course, Gojo was just as gone as you. Just as ruined. He’s fucking up into you like an animal- uncaring of whether his entire throbbing length would even fit, he’s just swiping his hot, pre-beading cockhead inside.
Just wanting to feel you.
He was so pussydrunk that a line of drool had started to formulate from the edge of his perked lips, one that he’s not even bothering to wipe away. Mouth ajar, “I believe I posed the question f-first-”
“And I believe it was ladies first-”
“And I believe you’re being fucked stupid nevertheless-”
At this point you’re both arguing, trying to reel the other one up the most. With your hand scrolling up to squeeze his plush pecs, and his hand snaking down to rub your cute clit. It was just too adorable how you kept on shakin’ with each stimulating graze of his soft fingerpads.
Again and again.
More n’ more.
You’re yelping at the rude way his edged fingers then start to lightly pinch your clit instead of simply rolling over them like he knew you wanted. “Well- well I ngh-”
“Fuck…” Breathing out maddeningly himself, “Actually I-”
Just then- at the very same second- you’re both being cut off by primal groans, tearing out unbidden from your lungs. Because Gojo Satoru had just bottomed-out.
From the glazed, strawberry-red tip of his shaft allllllllll the way down to his hilt, where those scruffy curls were being flooded with your glittery arousal.
Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head, and he has to fight to look down - where his bulky base was pushin’ apart your folds so widely open, a sheen of your juices leaving his hilt all shiny. And then up to your pretty face, “T-truce?”
You pant it out like a prayer, “Truce.”
Now that he had finally scraped the gooey bottom of your pussy, Gojo could fuck you all the way like a madman. Drilling into you harder, twofold, his springy swollen tip bounces against your cervix and renders you speechless.
“Shit- at the very least I can now admit that you feel so, mmm, good.” Saliva sizzles on top of your tastebuds, flooding out and drenching your chin.
And Gojo’s much the same, with his tear peripherals struggling to stay open each time your gummy walls clenched ‘round his slit. He was oh-so-sensitive there, seeing stars after every strike. “Oh yeah? And it seems you’ve made an- hah, honest man out of me, your highness.” Leaning in closer to whisper against your ear, “-because it feels so good for me, too.”
That wasn’t all; the more he’s burrowing his honed cock into you, the more pussydrunk he’s slowly growing.
Soft, sensual grunts leaving his parted lips and echoing straight into your eardrums, “Not only does it feel so good- it f-feels- too good.” Sculptured thighs shaking with pleasure, “Better than I may have every thought of even in my w-wildest dreams.”
“So you dream of me often, do you?” You’re probing, voice taking on a shrill tone.
“I fear you have absolutely no idea, my princess.” Gojo cascades an arm from your thighs and down against your waist, looping ‘round your body so he can stop your tiny arches n’ runs.
And you swear you feel his lecherous palm massage your body - all the way from your spine, to your hips, to the globes of your ass cheeks - as he’s driving into you mercilessly. Pumping the thick, vein-puffed length of his cock from tip to base, from the orifice of your cunt to thwack! your cervix wetly. “I positively detested it- detested the way it infuriated me so much in real life and my dreams.”
“N-ngh, fuck, Satoru…” Your mouth prattles haplessly. He was hitting you so hard now that you could feel the recoil on your cervix, the way he was hollowing out a proper girthy bruise there.
“And then when you smiled—when those dreams t-turned, ngh, into something else…” Whispering almost reverently, Gojo’s eyes narrow in focus.
And he’s ravenously but surely navigating his globed, split-ended tip through your plush walls like a maze. Easily finding that g-spot he looooved to peck at earlier, bashing it in until you can’t see clearly through your tears. “Oh.” He huffs and puffs. “I’ve craved to do that for so long.”
Craved. Aching.
He’s fucking up into you with the thirst of someone that’s been longing to do this for years rather than the one week.
That cherry divot at the end of his shaft lodges into your bundle of nerves constantly, a sloppy cadence that leaves you slobbering out lines of drool. “Fuh-fuck! M’gonna, ngh- m’not gonna last long, Satoru-”
“I can feel it, heh. Clinging onto me so tight, so loving.” The way you were squeezing him, the way you were sucking him dry. His lightning-like veins massaging your fragile spots, you can feel yourself being edged closer and closer to the edge.
Hips starting to shake at the languid gashes of his girth, you’re spitting out. “Mmm, and I can f-feel you…” Just bolting out splatters of pre from his flinching end.
Gojo pins you tight to his chest as you’re reaching your high, accelerating. Your spittle coming out like a waterfall to form a puddle on his pectorals. “Mhm, I’d hope you can feel me.” His swollen lips purse n’ pucker, chasing the taste of your own lips. “Kiss me.”
And then you do-
And then he’s cumming.
Just from the feeling of your lips on his, Gojo’s leaking divot explodes out in such sappy white dollops. Like a spray of cream, he’s coating your walls all slickly- fucking each wet wad inside until you feel filled to the brim.
“Fuck-” He hisses, slapping the round edge of his shaft into the roof of your cunt. Trickling into each sultry orifice with his ivory syrup, Gojo can’t help but sheath himself inside till he can feel his balls emptying. “Oh fuck, ngh…fuck fuck fuck–”
Till he can feel you overspilling.
Your orifice leaks out in both slick n’ his seed; and maybe it’s the feeling of being stuffed into spots you didn’t even know you had, or maybe it’s the feeling of him pumping up into you angrily.
Trying to pull that high out of you, trying to wrench it- oh-so-pathetically, he just needed you to cum. And you do- “Cum-ing…ngh, oh my god, Satoru.” Your eyelids crinkle, tears dripping down the edges.
Ones that his greedy tongue snakes up to lick off, the salty taste dissolving on his tastebuds.
It makes you shudder more than you already were, sparks exploding inside your muddled mind every time his shaft was pummeling upwards. Probing. It might just be the best orgasm you’ve experienced in your entire life- and it was all by a virgin, by Gojo.
A few of his winding veins press up against your g-spot and make you whimper, “Shit-” Clenching so much that dewdrops of his slimy cum dribble out of you.
Ones that he can’t stand to see being wasted- so what Gojo does is to meticulously gather up the webs of cum decorating the front of your cunt, even the ones that had started to layer like a sheen along the insides of your thighs.
Swirlin’ around, he’s pumping it back inside the orifice of your entrance. Push after push with his doughy fingerpads that lets you fill back up, plugged inside.
And it’s only elongating your own orgasm- perhaps even plunging you your third of the night. Something that makes Gojo smile so cockily, “Mmm, what’s that? ‘Nother high I feel? Oh, you really are honest, my wife.”
“And who’s the one calling- calling me his wife?” You somehow manage out.
“Me.”
Just so damn proud of it. He was fucking you sloppily now, like is ached him every second he wasn’t inside you. Not just with thrusts, but with the most sopping wet grinds at this point- he couldn’t make his sore body move with anything more.
And yet—
“You know, it was always a fervent b-belief of mine that the joys of bearing an heir were complete and utter nonsense.”
You’re blinking the kaleidoscope of your tears back, your buzzing brain trying to make sense of what Gojo was spouting off now. It sounded like pussydrunken drivel to you- but his darkened tone promised something so much more.
And before you know it, he’s taking off that infamously lecherous signet ring and sliding it down onto your finger - your ring finger, on your left hand. Continuing off as if he never even faltered, boring deep into your eyes. “Now, I do believe we’ll make so many heirs that there shall be some issues fighting for the throne.”
“Oh fuck.”
You’d be lucky if you could walk down the aisle tomorrow.
.
.
.
“I do.”
“I do.”
The cheers rise to a deafening pitch as Gojo leans down, gently brushing his thumb against the apples of your cheek before he kisses you. Lovingly. Oh-so-lovingly.
Soon, you shall have to make your first appearance on the royal balcony as a married couple. Later, would come your carriage ride through the kingdom. And even later, your honeymoon—more importantly, your wedding night.
By the way that Gojo smiles into the kiss, you could tell he was thinking the same.
And you’re smiling back.
.
.
.
Dearest gentle reader,
First and foremost, this author would like to share the most loving congratulations to our newest royal couple! Fair seasons and the most prosperous of marriage life ahead to thee!
And then there is the other matter: now, dear reader, you may be well aware by now that I consider myself quite the maestro of Ton rumors, the honorary monarch of scandals, if you shall. However, it has come to my attention that I have been completely incorrect in undermining his royal highness’s abilities in courtship.
For, on today’s wedding date, the royal couple was positively beaming. This author was quite blessed indeed to be personally hand-delivered an invitation from the palace (of course, that is entirely not the reason that I retract my aforementioned comments on the prince.)
Nonetheless, as the new husband and wife embark on their journey through the lands for their honeymoon (the Ton had to fan themselves at the sheer length of the journey—might we expect an heir or two once the couple returns?) my most trusted source sat down with me for an exclusive statement on the prince and princess.
It seems—and hold your fans and your hearts when I tell you this, dear readers—that the night before the wedding was an…eventful one. Not just in the engagement ball that was dazzling for the eyes to see, but in what happened where the light of the chandelier couldn’t reach.
Yes, court whispers claim that neither of the couple was present when her royal highness was crowned the diamond of the season, and that every knight stationed in the prince’s bedroom wing was dismissed for the night. So that they may enjoy the festivities…and so could the royal couple.
It seems that the most interesting noises and exclaims were heard in the corridors nearby by attendants that just-so-happened to pass. And this author can personally attest that multiple nobles fainted once his highness and the diamond returned to the ball for refreshments; namely at the lovebites and marks that littered his highness’s neck. And the princess, for a lack of more delicate wording, seemed unable to walk straight.
In unrelated news, an unnamed chief of knights is gravely considering resigning from his position.
What this may mean is anybody’s guess (my post is open to suggestions of baby names, the most favorable one shall be published in my next issue), and the Ton certainly is guessing!
Nevertheless, once more, this author sends her best wishes to the newlywed couple, as Prince Gojo most certainly isn’t maidenless now!
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
A/N. Lady Whistledown what would we do without you?
You and your fiance Satoru Gojo were so happy just a few months ago, before you both got devastating news - the baby boy you all thought were coming never did. A second miscarriage, a second devastation. you begin to push him away, afraid you'll drag him down with you, but he needs you and doesn't know how to approach it. The two of you drift apart, becoming strangers in your own home. Can you find your way back to each other?
pairings - Satoru Gojo x f! reader
warnings - heavy angst at the beginning, pregnancy loss, TW- miscarriage, a ton of hurt/comfort, estranged couple, distance, finding each other again. Explicit sex, pregnancy, breed kink, spitting, oral (f receiving) rough sex, cumplay, lactation kink lowkey, makeup sex, fluffy happy ending, dad gojo - oneshot - WC 10.5k
This was a commission for my very dear friend @strychnynegirl who I adore so very much! You are one of my closest friends angel. I hope you all love this story of finding each other again <3
You look at a photo of you and Satoru from last year, snuggled in a booth at a fancy restaurant, he’s grinning so bright and happy, and you’ve got your face buried against his chest, a big smile on your features you haven’t had in so long. You touch it lovingly, achingly, heart so full in that moment.
You remember being happy with him, so fucking happy, god the two of you love each other so much, from the moment you met, you’ve hardly spent time without him. A whirlwind of love that in the past three years before your loss was blossoming and so beautiful – Satoru was just your best friend in the world, and your love.
Now you look at him and you feel you don’t know him anymore, but when you look in that mirror? You don’t know yourself either.
It’s been three months.
Three months since you lost your baby in your tummy, a little boy – you’d both just found out, you’ve never seen your fiance Satoru so fucking happy, he proposed to you while you were pregnant, he kneeled and kissed your tummy. It was beautiful, you have a photo of it now face down, because it just hurts too fucking much to look at any more.
This wasn’t your first miscarriage, it was your second, but the first was so early on that you hadn’t processed that. No, it still hurt, but nothing like seeing your baby’s face on screen, nothing like knowing he would be here in just a couple months. Having friends and family so excited, already Satoru had set up a nursery for him, a beautiful one that was extravagant.
Now it collects dust, the little stuffie Satoru bought – a little white plush cat – sitting in the bassinet that your baby should. Satoru never goes into the room, he refuses to even let the cleaners dust it, and he refuses to change a damn thing. That door stays shut mostly, but sometimes you walk in there and just sit in the rocking chair that he bought you, holding the plush.
Satoru would see you like that, but instead of reaching out, he tended to hold back, taking a shaky breath, unsure of just how or what to say. What made it any better, any easier, that you lost two pregnancies when you wanted so badly to be a mom? You wanted to get pregnant, fuck he’d had so much fun trying with you, reading every baby book known to man to prepare.
Satoru pictured a whole life, basketball games with him, shooting hoops in the front yard, he’d already started baby proofing the house even, as excited and perfect as any man could be. Even now as he goes to grab something from one of the pearly white cabinets below, there’s a little plastic stopper.
Just that alone makes him hurt.
You didn’t cry at first, you were so in shock when they told you, you’re not sure what hurt more, knowing the baby wasn’t moving or seeing Satoru’s crestfallen face, feeling his pain right along with yours. You have always been an empath and now is not any different. You know he’s hurting right with you, that day tears filled his brilliant blue eyes.
He was there for you, holding you tightly as you cried after, he sat there in the shower with you, he was perfect comfort for a horrible, devastating time, and you tried to comfort him. Telling people the baby shower was cancelled, making announcements to friends and family, it was as if all that happiness went away within one sentence of a doctor in a sterile room.
You both got through it, he works running the Gojo corporation, and you have your own job running a small business, it helps you both cope to stay so busy. He told you to stop working, he’s rich after all, but the last thing you needed was to stay home alone . You didn’t even enjoy the hour before he walked through that door every day.
Then why were you all so lonely together?
Satoru sits down, staring at the intricate plate carefully, his eyes focused on the meal you plated. “Looks really good.”
“I hope you like it,” you murmur softly. His eyes lock on you then, seeing how fragile you’ve become in the months since you lost the baby, dark circles rampant, you’ve lost some of your color.
“I’ll like it.”
He barely eats, you barely eat.
“It’s good,” he murmurs, you smile just a little, but it doesn’t hit your eyes, it’s one of those fake ones you always give him now. “How was your day?”
“There’s a new girl at work,” you stab at something with your fork. “She seems to be nice.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah.”
You both just sit there in silence, avoiding each other’s gaze, making the most dumb fucking menial small talk known to man, as if you’re aquaintances rather than lovers.
It’s been this way.
Satoru goes to his office quietly, and you go to your room, diving into a book, into a world where things were lovely again, trying not to think of how he won’t come to bed tonight. How his clothes weren’t even in here any longer, fuck he used one of the bathrooms downstairs to shower.
You don’t go to him, he doesn’t come to you.
Tears fall even as you feel sleep tugging at you, aching to just go see him, but too terrified to actually get up out of bed, to ask him. And he sits down there alone, wallowing in the fact that he’s fucking up, that he’s not there for you – because he’s so scared, him Satoru Gojo, who used to not be scared of anything, is scared. Is he losing you forever?
*****
The two of you don’t even sleep in the same room, that glittering rock on your finger a reminder of a happier time, a time when he knew he was good for you, that he would provide and take care of you. A time where he saw a future with you, with the little boy on the way.
He loves you the same as he did then, if not more, loves you so deeply it hurts him at times, yet he doesn’t come to your bed, he doesn’t hold you anymore, he falls asleep in his office chair, or on the couch. He’s not unfaithful, he’s home with you, but it hurts too fucking much to lay next to you and not know what to do, not know if he can touch you, not know what will upset you.
You didn’t ask him to come to bed, either, not until about a week ago, he’d catch sight of you finally walking by his office, looking so small in one of his big shirts. He eyed your body hungrily, fuck he misses it so badly, misses making love to you and staring into your eyes, so in love with him even now that you’re broken.
“Satoru,” your voice breaks a little in the middle, your hand on the doorway. “It’s been a long time since you… um… held me?”
It’s quiet that night, the pain ripping through your chest, tears stinging, you haven’t gone near him any more than he has you. A fight would be a million times better than whatever the fuck this is. You see his drink on the desk next to his anti anxiety meds, his cocktail to pass out at night, it’s a tempting combo, yours is a glass of wine and a melatonin.
You both have your vices, your coping mechanisms, it hurts you both all the same to be this way – to have this distance between you, that’s ever expanding and growing. You just stand there as he leans back, bringing a crystal glass up to plump lips that used to kiss every inch of your body with devotion, that now leave a small press on your forehead at best.
You miss him.
“I know I haven’t been…”
Blue eyes flick up to yours, just a little red around the irises. “Say it, what you want to. Just say it.”
You look down, trembling, half of who you were, Satoru knows you’re fucking in there somewhere, but he’s too afraid to push, to hurt you more.
“You used to talk to me freely, you still can,” he takes another sip, huge hands wrapping the glass and making it seem so tiny. “Go ahead.”
Your teeth sink into your lower lip. “Could you come to bed tonight?”
“Come to bed?” You nod, shyly then. “So we can look in opposite directions, not hold each other? Not kiss?”
“Satoru…” You feel yourself getting so frustrated now, eyes narrowing.
“Is that what you want, sweetheart, me to lay next to you like we’re in our fucking coffins?”
“You know what, you’re being cruel,” he scoffs, shaking his head now, throwing back his drink. “It’s been months.”
“You wanted it like this, you told me to leave you alone.”
You hate that he’s right, there was a time you wanted to wallow, and you shoved him away, and now you see the damage you caused too written plainly on his pretty, perfect face. You take a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut as if to try to gain some courage, to steel yourself and try to express what you feel.
It’s always been hard for you, but Gojo used to just know you, without a word, but now he can’t read you anymore, can hardly feel you anymore.
“I don’t want that anymore,” he sighs now, leaning back a bit. “I know I hurt you when I pushed you away, but I had no other option, I didn’t want to make you suffer more by watching me.”
“I suffered being alone,” his voice breaks, and so does your heart, racing in your chest now, so much you feel lightheaded, you feel sick. “I know you hurt, and you wouldn’t let me even hold you, and I needed that.”
“Satoru I…” You blink tears, hot and heavy, realizing how he’s changed, stubble where he never had any before, his own brand of eye bags, a line between his brows that wasn’t there.
How have you two changed so much?
He says your name but you run off, acting like you don’t hear, leaving him alone in that office, as you lay in that bed, not able to sleep. At a certain point, the door opened, and you pretended, so afraid to acknowledge him, to accept the hurt and suffering rampant in both of your hearts. Afraid your relationship is ending, that you’ll lose him too.
He curses softly when he sees dried tears on your cheeks, leaning down and brushing his lips across one, resting his head on yours. You’re so delicate to him in this state, like a porcelain doll that can break at any given moment. He pulls back and clears his throat, the tears forming again.
Satoru never cried until that day.
“I fucking love you,” he whispers, you open your eyes then, adjusting in the dark, swirling with emotion. He gasps, realizing you’re up, sitting back a bit. “Pretending to be asleep?”
“I love you.” You whisper instead of answering, a hand holding his wrist and tugging it. “I love you still.”
“And I love you still,” he kisses you gently, lips humming, before he feels himself already throbbing from just that, so pathetic. He doesn’t know if or when you’ll want something physical and doesn’t want to scare you, so he backs off. “I can’t just kiss you, I wish I could.”
The intention is very clear, you get flustered, remembering how it felt when he touched you, making you long for it. “You get excited from kissing me still?”
Satoru’s eyes narrow. “What kind of question is that?”
“Sometimes I think you don’t want me now that I… now that I couldn’t…” You trail off, sensing him tensing against you.
“I’d never be like that! It’s like you don’t know me!?” You’re a mess now, leaning up on your elbows as he stands. “I wouldn’t care if you couldn’t give me any kids, we’d fucking adopt, or take in a bunch of animals, whatever we needed or wanted. I’d give you anything, and you think I don’t want you?”
“I think I failed you.”
Fuck.
Satoru’s jaw tenses. “I think I failed you.”
You look down, sniffling now, a hand on your stomach. “I want to give you a son, it’s why you asked me to marry you, and now I’ve failed twice-”
“I asked you because I’m in love with you! It was not just the baby!”
“No?” He turns, and you shout his name, sitting up in the bed, you watch the moonlight cast a glow on his back, the strong muscles there. “Come back, please.”
“It’s like you forgot who I am,” he says, by the door now, a tall and buff man who’s just a little smaller in that moment. “Yeah, I rushed it because of the baby, but I was always going to ask you to marry me, since the day I met you.”
He leaves then, the pain too much for him, leaning his body against the door, tears falling, as you curl up into your little ball, the huge bed empty like it always is. You don’t stop crying, and he hears you, fuck he wants to reach out – to touch you, hold you in his arms, but he can’t move from this spot, as if firmly affixed in this position, cursing himself as your tears die down.
You think he only wanted to marry you for the baby, you couldn’t be more wrong, but your insecurities are eating you up.
You just keep pushing him away when you need him the most.
*****
“How is dinner looking?” You ask, you always ask, smiling as you hand him his plate and sit across from him.
“Looks great.”
Same answer.
Another day, where Satoru would rather drink than eat anything, another day you both fucking pretend, at least last week you almost fought that night, at least the two of you shared something other than utter fucking silence. You look more fragile every passing day, like you’re losing more of that light, the beauty that makes you who you are, was it all because of him?
The thoughts eat him alive while the quiet drives him fucking insane, just looking at you, hoping you’ll say something, anything. Yet you sit there and pretend with a smile on your face, plastered on and sweet, when he knows it’s bullshit. He knows you’re hurt, you’re mad, you’re upset, but you show nothing but this fake smile to him.
Him.
The man who knew you, who loved you.
“What are we doing?” He asks suddenly, your breath catches.
“What?”
“This, the fuck are we doing again? Acting like we actually are a couple, a normal couple, when I can’t even talk to you.”
“You can!”
“When? When will you actually open up and not shut down?” You glare now, hand gripping your fork, jaw clenched.
“I’m trying to act normal, Satoru.”
“Fuck normal, I want real, I want you!” He throws down his handkerchief, the one you folded into some origami shape. “All perfect, huh? Fuck that suzy homemaker whatever, fuck this, I want the girl I met.”
“Well she’s changed forever!” Your words are broken and shaky, he halts, standing there across from this fucking table like it’s a barrier. “I’m not the girl you fell in love with now.”
“That’s not true, you are still her, you just won’t let yourself admit that you’re devastated, so am I. Fuck so am I.”
You break down into tears, hands over your face, and Satoru curses, shaking his head, hating your pain. “I don’t want to bring you down.”
“This brings us down, this bullshit act,” he comes close to you then, tilting your chin up to look at him, tears slip and fall. “I want the real you, the one you buried deep inside.”
“I don’t know if she’s in there anymore,” you admit softly, he cups your face and sighs, kissing your lips gently. “Mnh.”
His heart races in his chest, breath caught in that moment, god hearing your little whimper makes him remember so much about you, about how you react when he kisses every inch. Torn between wanting to kiss you, to get on his knees and worship you, and wanting to just cry over the loss of this relationship, he pauses, pulling back just a bit.
“Don’t make noises like that, god it’s so hard not to touch you,” he whispers, even closer. You look up then, blinking back tears. “I am scared that if I touch you… that you will just break.”
You’re aching for him, in your core, your body needs him as much as your heart does, but you know what he means then. You are so delicate he is afraid one wrong move will hurt you, one wrong phrase will make you cry all over again, he’s scared to even be himself, and you’re a part of that.
That makes you hurt worse.
“You think I’m so easy to break?” Your insinuation is clear in your shaky little words, Satoru steps closer, until he presses you against the table, thigh between yours.
“Sweetheart, have you forgotten how I fuck already?” His whisper makes you crave him, your nails pressing into his shoulders, thighs trembling on either side of his hard one.
“Do you still want to fuck me?” Your question has him pressing further against you, cupping your face.
“Stop asking it, you know I do.”
“I don’t know that!” Your lip trembles, he’s so furious then, shaking damn near in anger that you don’t know how beautiful you are to him.
“All I do is show it, all I ever have done is show you how much I need you, how much I want you. Question is, do you even want me?”
It’s your turn to scowl up at him. “Of course I do!”
“And when have you shown it?” You step away, breathless now, as his words sink in and deliver their blow.
You say nothing.
“Gonna shut down again, yeah?”
You’re quiet, he scoffs and walks to the kitchen, snatching up a bottle of whiskey. “Satoru, please, I will always want you. God how couldn’t I?”
“You don’t show it, maybe I fucking need reassurance too,” you walk over to him, but he’s already heading to the office. “Doubting me constantly, why the fuck are you still even with me?”
“Because I love you!”
Satoru wants to believe you, he wants to throw this bottle and just hold you, but instead he shuts the office door. You throw your napkin on the floor, perhaps the only mess in your whole house, all you even do is clean. You’re trembling when you grab the bottle of wine, not even bothering with a glass, just downing it.
The two of you drink alone.
The two of you don’t share a single word the next day, not even a fake fucking good morning, not a ‘have a good day’. None of your bullshit, just ignoring each other like neither of you are really there, like none of this even exists, just going through the motions. Roommates, rather than best friends, than lovers, all hurting alone, and sleeping alone.
What is this existence with each other? Were you both just so tired of the fucking pretense?
*****
Work was shit today, you can’t get the words out of your head, that he didn’t even think you wanted him, that he doesn’t recognize you. As you smile at everyone while at work, all cheerful on the exterior, when inside you’re dying, when internally your heart is shattering, thinking of the fact that Satoru’s hurting, and you’re doing nothing about it, just as you’re hurting.
How can it keep going like this?
You remember his kiss, touching your lips, your eyelashes fluttering with a sigh. You need to feel him next to you, on you, against you – but how? How to make that step, when the other night he shot it down? When he’s so full of anger, but you’re so very numb?
Satoru sits at his office, legs crossed on his desk, staring at a pretty picture of you on his phone. You’re so beautiful, so sweet and soft in every way, now you’re like a little crystal figure, that warmth isn’t there, but the beauty is. Tangible in the way he sees it, but terrified he’ll break it, break you.
Satoru at first didn’t even think of sex, but it was such a huge part of his love language, physical touch, yet he never wanted to pressure you, to do this before you were both ready. Yet to think of never having you again? When just a brush of your lips and a sigh were enough to make him cum?
To think of never pleasuring you again?
He’d go without it all if he could even hold you, but the days are blending, they’re exactly the same and nothing changes. What can make it better, what can he do to make it heal, or just to feel you again?
The day goes by as normal, he’s busy as fuck, he’s thrown into running his company, where he has less time to think of the cold, sad remnants of a home he’ll return to. No fall scented wax cubes or little decorations could ever make that house feel homey after not being near you for so fucking long.
On the outside, he seems all right, on the inside, a storm rages, with need, grief, anger and desire.
He’s dying inside.
*****
Dinner the next night is different, there’s a tension in the air that’s damn near fucking indescribable, you can’t even pinpoint it. You’re not throwing on your fake smile, you don’t ask him how dinner is, you didn’t even make his plate for once, just left the dinner on the stove.
He liked that, actually.
He likes you being you and not whatever perfect homemaker bullshit you’ve been pulling, as if overcompensating for losing the baby, for something out of your control.
You’re so scared to lose him you actively push him away.
“So this is what we do?” Satoru asks across the table, you tense then, biting your lip and looking down.
“You've been drinking, Toru?”
“Have I been drinking,” he laughs then, without humor, shaking his head. “Yeah, I had a drink.”
“You get like this when-”
“Like what!? Upset, have feelings, talk!? You never even talk to me!” He’s slammed his hands on the table, you tremble and your eyes fill with tears, making him curse softly. “I’m sorry, fuck.”
You get up from the dinner table, plate untouched, the one you keep making perfectly every day not to touch. He grips your wrist, pausing you, turning you toward him now, but you don’t meet his, how can you when you feel you’ve failed him? When you haven’t given him what he needs, what you need?
“Look at me,” he murmurs softly, tilting your chin. “Now.”
Your eyes hit his, the brilliant blue that swirls, the man you love so much you can’t take it, the one you’re hiding from when that’s what you don’t need, but you don’t want to drag him down with your pain. Satoru – once bright and happy – is miserable right now, and you don’t want to make it worse.
“Just talk to me,” he rests his forehead on yours. “Sweetheart, I know I’ve been drinking, I know I’ve been hiding in my fucking office, but it doesn’t mean there’s not one day I don’t love you.”
“Satoru…” You break down now, letting him cup your face. “I know I’m hiding too, from you, from it.”
“Don’t hide tonight,” he kisses you now, mouth moving over yours hot and heavy, lifting you up and sitting you on that table, you whine out. “God, I haven’t had you in months, I’m fucking dying.”
“Me too,” he shoves up your dress, plates clattering to the floor. “Toru…”
“Fuck them, fuck being perfect, just spread your goddamn legs,” you do just that, and he’s drunk off you already, dizzy with the alcohol warming his system and your body so pliant for him. “That’s it, my good girl.”
It’s been so long since he said that.
Your body reacts eagerly, soaking wet when he slips your panties to the side, tongue slipping into your mouth hot and heavy, the whiskey dancing across your own taste buds. It feels like coming home when he runs his thumb up and down your slit, groaning at how wet you are after so long, swirling in circles while it’s twitching against the pad of it.
“Still this wet for me?” His desperation is clear, you swallow down the guilt of not coming near him for so long.
“Satoru, I always want you, I was just…”
“No more.”
He cuts you off with two fingers shoved deep, his other hand yanking your dress down and letting your tit spill out, groaning. He sucks on your nipple, mouth wrapping desperately, your hands entangle in his hair, gasping. He’s devouring you, your nipple pressing up for more, back arching as your eyes flutter shut.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmurs against your skin, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that spot that makes your legs tremble. “Look at me when I’m filling you up.”
You force your eyes open that are already lidded from pleasure, meeting his intense gaze. His pupils are blown wide, the blue almost swallowed by black to where it’s like his eyes fucking are black they’re so dark. The raw need in them steals your breath, how could you be so blind to how much he wants you, needs you?
He’s not hidden under those layers while he’s moving his fingers and watching your head fall back, his lips parted with his lust, his snowy lashes trembling when he exhales. “That feel good?”
“F-feels perfect,” you answer instead, and he loses it, slamming his lips on yours, hot and messy. “Ngh!”
“That’s it, clench my fingers baby, f-fuck… you’re soaking them,” he’s fingering you in wonder at it, as everything starts to come back to you both, the touches, the kisses, the spots only he knows, working you so fucking good. “So wet, you miss my touch?”
“You know I have,” your tears are of pleasure but also of how much you missed this, how loved and beautiful he makes you even fucking you with his fingers. “Ah!”
“That’s it,” he’s scissoring them in and out of your tight entrance, your fingers hastily unbuttoning his dress shirt, yanking on his tie as you meet his lips, your own kisses messy, tongue meeting his. “There she is, my slutty girl, huh?”
“M’here,” you’re arching for more, hearing the lewd squelching. “Miss your touch, miss your kisses.”
“I miss you.”
He pulls back, brushing his thumbs across your cheeks and taking a breath, even as his fingers press up. “I’m here, I’m right here.”
He kisses you again, drinking your moans and claiming you with every swipe of his tongue, now his thumb is finding your clit, rubbing tight, relentless circles on the twitchy little bud again. The pressure builds fast, too fast after months without his touch, you haven’t been touched since before that night you found out it happened, and you’re so touch starved and aching.
“Needy girl, want me to have you cum on my fingers?” His words make you blush, it’s been so long since he’s spoken to you that way.
“Yes.”
Fuck, a firm answer, not some elusive little nod and a bite of your lips, no your hands are slipping across his shoulders, nails pressing in and making him hiss. Your hips buck against his hand, a soft whine elicited from your lips.
“Hmm, say please.”
There’s a smirk, for the first time in so long, the cocky and conceited Satoru showing up again. You bite your lower lip, so close, thighs trembling around his big hand. “Please.”
“Anything for you, baby girl,” he arches them up, pressing you down on that table, mouth making love you yours while he rolls his thumb just the way you like. “Cum for me.”
You’re falling apart like on command, head slamming back against the table, he quickly slips his hand underneath it to catch it, arching two fingertips on that spongy spot one more time, and watching you cum for him. You’re gushing down his fingers, whining out and pulsing around them, your pretty eyes rolled into your skull, and Satoru almost cums against his boxers from just that.
“You’re so beautiful,” you choke up a bit then, blinking tears from the release. He pulls his fingers free, slick and glistening, and you whine at the loss. But he’s already fumbling with his belt, the buckle clinking loud in the quiet room - the room that was too fucking quiet. “I need you baby, are you ready, or do you want to wait?”
“I’m so past ready, Satoru,” you help him tug it out, stroking it when his pretty cock springs free, thick and hard and throbbing, flushed dark rose at the tip that’s leaking so much pearly white pre. “Please, in me.”
“Fuck,” you don’t have to tell him twice, it was going to take everything to hold back. He lines himself up, the head pressing against your entrance, hot and insistent against a slippery mess you’ve been made into. “Cunt is so ready, isn’t she? Can you still take me?”
You cup his face then, thumb swiping his lower lip. “I want you to stretch me out,” Satoru whines out, you talking dirty after so fucking long, your lips against his ear. “Want you to fill me up.”
“God baby,” you hold your breath, bracing your hands on the table edge, spreading your thighs wider when he pushes in, one long, slow stroke that steals the air from your lungs. It burns a little, stretching you after so long, but it’s the good kind of burn, the fucking delicious one that has you spasming. “So tight, oh my… mnh…”
He rests his head for a moment, he can’t just bust in two seconds the first time he fucks his fiance in months, but you’re so tight it’s killing him. He pulls out, leaning back to spit right on your clit, rubbing it and looking up at you. “Mnh!”
“Loosen just a bit, please,” you nod quickly, relaxing your hips, and soon you take more and more, inches and inches. “That’s it, good girl.”
Good girl.
You’re almost cumming again, so sensitive when he fills you completely, bottoming out with a broken moan, against your ear, cock so deep you almost can’t take him, whispering his name over and over as he just pauses. He gives you a moment to adjust, hands on your hips now, looking down at you.
He just stays buried deep, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged and tasting like that whiskey and the sweetness of him. He’s trying to hold back, to not hurt you, despite wanting to fuck you so deep, so hard, restraining himself.
“You feel so good wrapping around me, sweetheart.”
“You f-feel s’good, Toru,” he exhales at the nickname, his hands slide under your ass, lifting you slightly, adjusting the angle and making you scream out as he presses on your cervix. “Ngh so deep!”
“Ready?” He asks softly, you nod eagerly - then he pulls back, almost all the way out aside from his leaky tip, leaving you achingly empty for a heartbeat before driving back in, hard.
You gasp out at the first brutal stroke, but your answer as he studies you is arching your hips for more, nails pressing into his biceps over a dress shirt half on.
“Oh my g-god… yes…”
That little gasp ends him, he starts fucking into you mean, cock bullying your gummy walls, slamming your back into that table, you're too full, he's in your stomach, he's everywhere.
Satoru is filling every one of your senses, his loud filthy smacks of skin mixing with your cries, his moans, the slurping sound of your cunt drinking him. His taste swirling on your tongue, his scent filling your nostrils.
Satoru’s muscles flex, a vein pressing out of his neck, those black fucking eyes with a ring of blue looking down at you, lost, your lashes flutter, fingers clenching those strong biceps, trying to keep him in sight.
“Look at me, right at me,” he whispers so commanding. “Let go for me, don’t hold anything back.”
“Nothing back,” you agree softly, and then he slams his lips right with his hips, a gasp drank by his mouth, as he starts fucking you faster, harder, stretching you out on him with his thick, veiny cock.
“All of you, give me all of you,” your jerky nod earns his whimper, he gets impossibly thicker as he brings you higher, that soft white hair tickling your clit and grinding when he bottoms out.
It’s not gentle any longer, your kisses or how he’s thrusting his length so hard into you over and over – and you’re not gentle, biting his lip, your nails scratching him, thighs clenching his hips. Filthy strings of words from his lips echoing as you’re closer and closer, whining out his name, head falling back for possessive kisses.
No, it’s raw, it’s necessary, a physical tearing down of every wall you both built up from each other for too long with every kiss, every movement, every slap of skin, falling into each other, so deeply nothing else exists.
His heavy balls smacking your ass, wanting to fill you. He groans as you’re fluttering, he can feel you’re ready to cum for him again.
He grips your hair and pulls, half out of your pretty bun that's now spread across your shoulders, tugging it and looking down at you, his snowy hair falling over his brow. “Gonna squirt for daddy, huh?”
God you haven’t heard that in so long, your body reacts to it, to his dominance, how he looks hovering over you, cock slamming. “Y-yes, daddy, for you.”
Satoru Gojo’s long fingers dig into your hips, bruises you’ll keep for days, ones you’ve been secretly craving, holding you steady as he fucks you like he’s trying to fill you up so full you won’t be able to walk. Fucking every frustration and every bit he’s missed you as you take it, clinging to him tighter, brows drawing together now as you feel your climax about to hit.
“That’s it, make me a fuckin’ mess, be slutty for me,” he huffs, sinking his teeth into your neck, and that’s when he feels you grip him so tight you milk him. “There you go, let go.”
You cum so hard you see stars this time, hoarse little cries of his name, eyes rolled back and seeing stars. It’s so much, too much, that pressure between your thighs, in your tummy, deep inside your cunt. Your inner walls clamp down on him, pulsing as your orgasm makes you soak him, dripping down heavy balls and the pretty, once pristine kitchen table.
“Milkin’ me for all this cum,” he whispers hoarsely, his rhythm faltering with just how good you feel. “Do you want it inside you?”
His question is heavy, it says so much, you’re so fucked out you can hardly take a breath, arms wrapping his neck. “I want you to fill me with all of your cum.”
Satoru’s done for.
His thrusts become erratic, desperate. “Fuck, yes, take it,” he groans out, his voice rough, breaking. “Take all of my cum so deep, yeah baby?”
“Please!” He buries himself to the hilt one last time, cunt gripping like a vise as he presses into your cervix, and you start feeling his hot streams of cum filling you, his body trembling against yours while he kisses you, pumping so much inside it’s already spilling.
“Oh my f-fuck,” he groans out, moving slower, pushing more and more of that cum inside your greedy little hole. “Wanna fucking put so many babies inside you.”
“Oh, Satoru…” you’re needing it, to hear it, even though he was so scared to say it. Your eyes meet his as he brushes back damp strands of your hair. “I want all of it too.”
The silence that follows after he collapses over you, breathless, is louder than any words. His big arms wrapping you, his lips planting kisses up your neck as your lips dance across his shoulder sweetly, both tasting the sheen of sweat dripping. You stroke his back, he strokes your cheek, just looking at each other.
“No more hiding,” he whispers, and you swallow, nodding. “And I won’t hide from you anymore.”
“Neither will I,” he pulls out with a hiss, you look down at his cock and flush furiously. “You came so much.”
“You came more.”
“Hmm,” you touch a bit of the sticky cum pouring from his tip, lapping it up, his lips part at the sexy little action. “Debatable.”
Satoru lifts you and you giggle, the sound melting him as he carries you up the stairs, like it’s nothing with his big ass arms, you feel so small compared to him, how he lifts you up so damn high, pressing you on the wall in the hallway just to kiss you. He sets you down to stand in the room he hasn’t slept it, slipping your dress and studying your body.
You hesitate then, you’d gotten stretch marks from the pregnancy, and your breasts got a little bigger, even though it wasn’t full term, your body changed – and he hasn’t seen it. He exhales, you go to cover up and he grips your wrists, pinning them over your head with just one hand, his fingers trailing down your body ever so slowly, across the couple lines left.
“You’re so beautiful,” he leans low now, lips pressing yours. “I can’t wait to fill you so full again. And again. And again.”
*****
You wake up in Satoru’s arms, naked and with his thigh between yours, sunlight filtering in through the blinds. The gentle breeze of the fan leaves goosebumps on your skin, slightly covered by a soft blanket.
It feels perfect in his embrace, it feels like home.
You turn to see him awake, smiling down at you, making you melt, tears filling your eyes. He frowns then in concern, as you break down.
Did he fuck up?
Did he hurt you!?
“Sweetheart,” he lets you turn and holds you close, as you cling to him, your arms wrapping his narrow waist. “What is it? Fuck are you okay?”
“I’m so happy,” you sniffle now, he swipes your tears off your cheek carefully, sniffling as your lips tremble. “I thought last night was a dream.”
He sees then, how badly he’s hurt you.
“It’s real, I’m real,” he murmurs, kissing you again, and again, tugging you so close and pressing you on his body. “I’ll never not sleep by your side in bed again, long as I live, okay?”
You nod, filled with tears, kissing him desperately, so wet when he flips you on your back it’s embarrassing. He’s stroking against you, your nails are slipping down his back, when he slides his cock into your sore little cunt again. You’re gasping out, head falling against the pillows, while he moves.
“Sore, huh? Tiny cunt hurts?” He taunts, a mix of sweet and sadistic, just the Satoru you craved, to live with, to be under.
“You’re too big,” he moans at that, thickening even more. “Want more.”
“More cum?” You nod, and he chuckles then, slamming his cock deep again. “Then I’ll give it all to you, greedy girl.”
Satoru’s busting deep in your hole again after you cum for him, hissing as he fingers that cum back deep in your hole. You’re whining out at how bad it hurts in the morning, with the sun glowing across both of your skin, the stupid alarm going off. You barely manage to sit up, but he shuts it off and throws it.
“Satoru!”
“I’m spending the day with my fiance, neither of us is working,” he sucks the mix of his cum and yours off his fingers, grinning as you watch. “Open for me.”
You do just that, as he spits his cum inside your wide open mouth, groaning at the sight of it slipping out of the corner, swiping it gently.
“Swallow.”
You do as he orders, how you love to be ordered by him, and soon he’s kissing it off you, making you a mess, pressing you into the soft satin sheets and pillows, fucking you until the two of you are ruined, desperate and weak and panting. You’re so sore and he’s shooting blanks at this point, your hole so full of cum, your tummy bloated with how much he’s stuffed you with.
You pass out snoring on him at about noon, and he just brushes your hair back, smiling against your hair.
He missed you.
*****
Six months later
“Hmm,” Satoru has your thighs spread, on your hands and knees on the bed, your tummy swollen with your baby inside you, cunt just leaking the milky white seed he filled you with. You tremble as his fingers brush you. “We don’t need to keep it all in anymore, you’re pregnant now.”
“Yeah, do you want me to push it out,” you taunt, smiling over your shoulder, so pretty and just glowing. “Or are you gonna clean me?”
“You know I love tasting us together,” he whispers softly, you two had just finally announced you’re expecting even though it’s been six months, you were both so nervous, tentative.
But everything looked amazing this time.
You had a celebration, you’ve both sort of took time off to just constantly be together, after so, so long of being apart, and Satoru may or may not have been fingering his pregnant wife under the table at dinner. He can’t help it, you smell even better, taste better, and your nipples were leaking milk that he was sucking on in the back of his limo.
How could he not fuck you more and more?
“Hmm, I’ll clean you up, filthy little girl,” he whispers, spreading your thighs and leaning down, tongue swiping up your slit and gathering it all. “Oh my fuck.”
He loves licking his cum out of you, tongue swirling inside your cunt to get every drop, slurping it up and groaning as he swallows it down his greedy throat - you’re sweet, he’s just a little salty, but together? Fuck it’s perfect, especially drooling out of your pretty cunt.
He spreads your folds wide, looking at the abused little hole, and your moans fill the room, fingers twisting in the sheets tightly as he eats you out like he’s starved, your swollen tummy is tensing with pleasure. Every time his tongue flicks your clit it has you arching, whining out, trembling, pouring more and more.
“You took so much this time,” he whispers. “I’m so proud of you.”
He shoves his entire tongue up inside your walls, already sticky and gummy and coated, hitting your spot. “Oh f-fuck,” you gasp, arching your back, “Satoru, oh my god.”
His tongue is giving you such slow, deliberate strokes, lapping up and gathering every trace of milky seed from your swollen folds. “So fucking good,” he rasps against your skin, breath hot and burning, teeth lines against your puffy cunt. “That’s it, lemme drink all of us up.”
You arch as much as you can in your pregnant state, while he tugs your hips to him, ass right against his face.
“Mmm,” he’s drinking all the juices pouring, before gently gripping you by your hips and turning you, laying you on your back. His lips are glistening from you both, you lean up and lick them, earning his moan. “Fuck you’re so pretty.”
“Oh, Toru,” your hands entangle in his hair as he kisses up your swollen belly, hands drifting across it. “You make me feel so pretty.”
“You are,” he is whispering against your skin, kissing even higher while his thumbs press against your breasts, and his lips trail higher, gripping a breast that leaks milk.
“Oh!” You get a little flustered, you haven’t gotten that far before, and now it all seems even more real. You feel a flutter and a kick when you tense, and his tongue swirls your nipple, sucking it into his hot mouth, moaning. “Toru, that’s milk! Crazy man…”
“It tastes so sweet,” his hand grips your tit and squishes it with one hand, the other resting on the side of you, sucking sweet milk into his mouth. “Oh fuck, I’m addicted.”
“You cannot even be!” You’d giggle but he’s making you feel so good, so sensitive you’re whimpering. “Mnh, they hurt!”
“I’ll be easier,” he smirks, and milk slips across his lips, grinning. “Maybe.”
You laugh breathlessly, before sucking in a breath, he’s sucking on your other nipple now. “You’re insatiable, freaky man.”
“You’re the freak here,” his fingers trace the curve of your bump while his tongue swirls a puffy nipple.
“Oh!” It feels good then, you're wriggling underneath him, still sore from his cock but ready again.
“Can you blame me?” His voice drops low, rough with want. “You’re fucking gorgeous, yummy, perfect.”
Outside, rain starts tapping against the windows suddenly, not a sprinkle but a hard downpour, while he kisses around your nipples that are just leaking so much milk, swirling it with his thumb. Your heart is fluttering right along with his soft breaths in the dimly lit room, soft and rhythmic, the two of you kissing, the tastes mingling of all the sweetness he’s sucked off you.
Soon he’s got you in the bath, your tummy and breasts slipping up from the bubbles, massaging your tummy gently, lips kissing up your neck, your cheek, your temple. Your hand covers his, and he feels him kick - another boy, this time he’s very active, and he loves to flip.
“He’s saying hi,” he murmurs, laughing softly. You look over at him, the water dripping from his chin, a big grin on his handsome face. “I can’t wait to meet him.”
“Oh, me too. God I’m so excited!” He buries his face against your neck, tasting the water on your skin. “What are we gonna name him!?”
“I haven't even thought of the right one and I've read so many books.”
“Hmm,” his fingers slip up and down your arms gently, lovingly, you sigh and inhale the steam, letting it fill your senses. “Do you like Asahi?”
“I do, what's that mean! It sounds so pretty.” You lovingly touch your tummy.
“Ray of hope, it's what he is.”
“I love it,” you're crying again, hormones are getting you, but also you feel so loved. He holds you close and just lets you cry, just staying silent, being there for you. “Asahi.”
“Yeah?” He smiles and swipes at your tears, the rain is pouring on the rooftop, while you're in this steamy bubble bath, your tears falling like little drops of rain.
“Hope.”
“Mmhmm,” he kisses your forehead gently, stroking your belly. “Hope.”
After wrapping you in a towel, he carefully blow dries your hair, pampering you to no end, he always used to before, and after that few months of not, you relished in the feeling. You sigh and lean back as he carefully brushes your hair, smiling at you in the reflection of the mirror, lips plush and soft as he leans low.
“Look at you, glowing.”
“Fuck I love you.”
“Mmm,” he kisses you gently, cupping your chin. “I know.”
He’s got you in bed later on once you’re both all dried up, wrapped in a light blue fluffy robe, and he’s rubbing your feet while you’re sitting up against the pillows.
“Now I’ll get too used to this.”
“Well, go ahead,” he presses kisses up your calves, feeling how soft they are from the lotion he’d massaged into them. “You’re growing our baby in there, you need to be taken care of.”
“You’re so good to me,” you whisper, your eyes heavy with sleep, but you don’t want to sleep, you want to feel him, be with him. “Mmm, I feel so good.”
“You deserve it,” he whispers back, his fingers pressing into your arches, making you moan softly. “You’re carrying our baby, you’re doing all the hard work. Poor girl, you can’t even have wine.”
“Who needs wine with you,” you’re already slurring your words, sinking into the bed and relishing in it. “Drunk off you.”
“Are you now?” He chuckles, letting your foot drop.
“You don’t have to do all this, not that I’m complaining,” you murmur, your hand reaching for his, intertwining your fingers, tugging his knuckles in so that you can kiss the back of them. “All I need is you here with me.”
Satoru’s emotions get stuck in his throat then, hearing the need in your words, both of you were scared after what happened, so scared you’d lose the baby. Even now, the fear lies there, at every meeting and every doctor visit, you’re both a little apprehensive, clinging to each other for support.
Satoru leans forward, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss that tastes of mint rather than whiskey these days, those mints he sucked on constantly when you met him. So familiar and warm, something you never ever want to go a day without, that taste that is just so uniquely him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, as if he can read your mind.
He knows you.
He’s always known you, even in those moments that he felt he didn’t, even when the two of you fell into that desperation, the darkness that swallowed you all whole. Since then you’ve been connected, talking things out, expressing things. You were both in therapy over the loss of the previous miscarriages, and you all had good and bad days.
Today was a good day, a perfect day.
“I’ll never go anywhere,” his voice is a low little murmur that vibrates through your lips, tickling them with his breath, his hand delicately brushing your hair back as he smiles at you. “Ever.”
You smile back at him, a sleepy little cute one that grips him in the chest, your eyes fluttering closed as his thumb traces circles on your cheek. “Good.”
The rain outside that was downpouring has softened to a gentle patter, a soothing rhythm that makes you even sleepier, yet you fight it.
“You trying not to rest, why?”
“It’s too perfect,” you say now, looking up at him. “Every moment of this I need to savor it.”
“Like I savor your pretty pussy?”
You blush furiously, and he grins. “You love to make me blush!”
“I do, it’s cute,” he continues to caress you, fingertips sliding down your neck, your shoulder, with the rain in the background lulling you both into a comfortable silence. His touch is tender and sweet, as if he’s memorizing every curve, every swell of your body, and he is.
He wants to remember how you feel while you’re carrying his baby, the heaviness of your breasts, the roundness of your tummy and hips, how your cheeks are just a little rounder too. Everything about you he commits to memory with his careful touches, his sweet little kisses.
“You know,” he says after a while, his voice barely above a whisper, “I used to think I had everything. Wealthy, right, so much influence, and I had you, fuck how do you top that? But this?” His hand rests on your belly, where Asahi stirs beneath his palm, making you both grin. “This is everything to me.”
Your heart falters at that, you don’t know how to put into words how you feel, where Satoru was amazing at them, you at times faltered. “Toru… you’re everything to me, and now Asahi.”
He leans in again, this time kissing the corners of your mouth, then your cheeks, then the tip of your nose so precious, earning your sleepy giggle, your cute little yawn, your own hands slip up and down his bare shoulders, feeling the lines of his strong biceps, fingers pressing in ever so gently as you kiss on him.
His hand slides up your thigh, beneath the robe, his touch teasing, you whine out and shift.. “Still sore from my cock baby?”
“You’re diabolical…” He grins now.
“Are you?”
“A little,” you admit, shifting slightly again, as if to shove his fingers towards your slick cunt, even as you act all innocent. “But I love feeling you inside me.”
“Greedy girl,” his fingers trail higher, skimming the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, making you shiver. “Let me take care of you again, then. I’ll give you anything.”
*****
Three months later
What once was a dusty, empty nursery is filled with love, decorated with everything before and more. Filled with you in the rocking chair, and holding your beautiful little boy. Satoru had run and grabbed you something to drink so that you can relax while you feed your little boy. You smile up at him, so heartbreakingly pretty with his son in your arms like that.
In that moment he falters by the doorway, just studying you both, feet locked into place, it’s hard for him to put anything into words of how he feels, to have been blessed by you both. It’s hard for him to fully grasp how lucky he is, he would seem so sappy if it all spilled, but he truly did not care how it came out.
“I’m so lucky…” he says then, and watches you brighten even more.
“You’re so sweet,” you say softly, he clears his throat a bit and heads to you, kneeling and angling a straw so you can sip. “You don’t have to do all that! I can hold it you know.”
“I want to make sure you rest some,” he murmurs softly, touching your face tenderly. “You had a rough time.”
“I know, but I’m on the good stuff, so I feel great.” He snorts a bit then, stirring your son awake, he opens his beautiful blue eyes - just like Satoru Gojo’s.
“You sure?”
“Very, I love holding him,” you snuggle and press a kiss on his snowy white head as he dozes off again, all milk drunk. “He’s so precious.”
“Just like you,” you giggle and then wince a bit. “See? You’re sore.”
“Well yeah, but I wanna be up,” he shakes his head.
“Stubborn girl, will you be like your mom I wonder? Or sweet like me?”
“You, sweet huh?” He grins deviously, you ruffle his hair, holding Asahi close to your chest. “You are sweet.”
“I’ll put him to bed, you need more rest,” Satoru stands then, taking him carefully, the baby is already tiny but looks even tinier in Satoru Gojo’s huge hands, his head so small right on his palm. “Hi buddy.”
He pecks a kiss on his head, and you melt in that moment, adjusting your top to cover up breasts still leaking a little milk, eyes glimmering as you look up at your son and your soon to be husband. They’re both so beautiful, the moonlight is gently pouring in, and illuminating their forms.
It makes everything worth it, every tear shed, every bit of soreness in your body, to see the happiness of Satoru’s lit up face, while he cooes at the baby, wrapping him and cradling him in his big arms, you’re so in love with Satoru in that moment – and you love your son so much – it physically hurts. Like your heart expanded in order to adore them both, and it barely fits in your chest.
You stand up and he frowns down at you. “Sit down, stop being so stubborn, hmm?”
“I just wanna hold you both,” you wrap an arm around Satoru and lean against him, looking down at your beautiful son. “I love you two so, so much.”
“And I love you both,” Satoru murmurs, kissing your head, and then his son’s, the spitting image of him truly. You think the only thing that he got of yours was maybe your nose. “You have mama’s nose.”
“I was just thinking that’s all he has of mine!”
“Yeah, weak genetics, psh,” you giggle again, holding your sore stomach. “Will you sit, you just got cut open a few days ago y’know.”
“Mmm, I may need more of the good stuff,” you mumble. “It’s been like eight hours I think.”
“They said six, see Mama’s stubborn,” he says to Asahi then, kissing his little head and holding him close to his chest, you see the baby’s lips curve up, melting you further, you’re literally just a fucking puddle now, for the two men in this room who you adore. “She doesn’t listen.”
“I do, sometimes,” Satoru rolls his baby blues, settling down Asahi now. “Let me swaddle him.”
“Mmhmm,” Satoru kisses across your shoulder blade, bare from the big sweater hanging off it, watching as you wrap him all up so tightly. He stands there and holds you from behind, a chin on your head, just keeping you there.
You lean back, your eyes shutting in relief at how good this feels, his hand presses on your tummy comfortingly, knowing it’s hurting to stand like this, just supporting you. You feel tears start to form in your eyes then, and look up at Satoru, they’re glimmering off your cheeks in the moonlight.
“What is it, are you hurting?” He panics then, Asahi moves just a bit, crying a loud little cry. “Hang on.”
Satoru goes and snatches up his binky, leaning over to pop it in his mouth, so he can suck on it and calm down – and that makes you break down more, how fucking in love and happy you are, after the pain you went through. How everything feels so blissful despite the physical pain and exhaustion, how you can’t believe you almost lost this.
Satoru immediately picks you up in his arms, cradling you. “Satoru, you can’t just carry me all over.”
“I sure can, and I will,” he gently shuts the door with one shove of a hip, you cling to his neck ever so tightly, tears sticky on his skin. “Let’s get you some meds and something to eat with them.”
“You do too much for me.”
Satoru pauses now, easing you down once you’re in the kitchen, frowning and cupping your face. He leans low now, lips a breath away. “You and him are my everything, I will do anything for you.”
“Oh, Toru, I can’t believe we almost…”
“Shh,” he kisses you now, your salty tears and slightly chapped lips from being dehydrated, holding you so close and rocking you against him. “We didn’t split apart, we are still here.”
“I am so scared that I almost lost you, I love you so much.” He kisses you again, exhaling, his arms wrapping you tight.
“I was scared too,” he swallows and sighs, his eyes so blue and glimmering. “We made it through all of it, and now look, we have him.”
“And I have you.” You hold his face, tiptoeing.
“And I have you, my cute little crybaby.”
“Hey!” He chuckles, trying to brighten your mood, he always does, and he always will, stay by your side and care for you. “I am a crybaby right now, but because I’m so very happy.”
“So am I, but I’d be happier if you rested,” he grabs your pain medicine, and a ginger ale. “Here, I’ll find you something to eat.”
“You spoil me.”
“Sure do, and I’ll spoil all of our kids, as much as I want.”
“You’ll make them country club brats?” You tease, swallowing the meds and wincing at the taste, Satoru hands you a little snack to nibble on.
“Maybe I will,” he tilts his head and grins at you. “What’s your little ass gonna do about it, huh?”
“Probably join you all,” you roll your eyes too, before nibbling and sighing. “Mmm, I was hungry.”
“See, I already knew.”
Soon he’s got you in his arms, he makes sure to sleep in bed with you every night, the baby monitor shows your little boy on the screen sleeping so soundly. It’s quiet, save for Satoru’s steady breathing, his arm wrapped under your breasts, his nearness and warmth lulling you ever so gently to slumber.
You turn and look at him, seeing his eyes still open – wide open – just staring down at you, his lips curve lazily, while you flush under his study. “What is it?”
“Thinking how proud I am of you.”
“Toru, I’ll cry again!”
“I am,” you’re already a mess, but he makes you more and more with every look, every motion, every movement. “I’m very proud.”
“I’m proud of us, we made him, god he’s so perfect.”
“He is,” Satoru cups your jaw, kissing you. “I think when you’re ready… he may need a sister too.”
“Satoru!”
“What?”
You smack at him playfully. “Are you already thinking of another?”
“Sure am,” his finger brushes your nipple over the big shirt of his you’re wearing. “Wanna keep these full.”
“You have to wait at least three weeks,” you taunt, turning and kissing him, your hand slipping down to grip his cock. His eyes flutter shut, moaning softly. “Look at me.”
“Using my lines?” He raises a white brow, but his look fails as you stroke him. “Fuck…”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t take care of you for once, hmm?”
Satoru kisses you as your hand finds him, stroking ever so gently. “Fuck I love you. I can’t wait to put more babies- ah!”
“Shh, just let go, cum for me.”
Satoru gasps at your little bold statement, the baby cries for a moment and you both pause, but he goes right back to sleep, making you laugh softly. “You’re even freakier now that you’re a milf, huh?”
“We’ll find out, won’t we?”
Your kiss meets his lips as you stroke him once more, and his hand grips your breast, pulling back to rub some of the milk on his lips, moaning. “Yes we will.”
Once you’ve pleased him, he’s drunk off you, just studying you once more, snoring and exhausted. He looks at the monitor and grins over at his baby boy, wriggling just a bit.
This is everything and more than he could ever have imagined, he snuggles against you and falls right asleep for the little bit of time you all can before the baby wakes up, thinking just how lucky he is.
My sweet girl I hope you love this <3 TYSM for trusting me to write this for you!!
commissions info here! (I'll be opening some more spots soon loves <3)
Reblogs/comments so appreciated if you enjoyed, kisses!!
No warnings, just fluff with smut at the end. Because Gojo sensei deserves all the love.
Nerdjo x reader
***
Adulthood sucks. But hey, at least you'll now move to your own place.
Scratch that, this is not your own place. You have a roommate. The landlord is kind enough to warn you that your roommate is a dorky man. But hey, the rent is cheap and the place is decent. Quite good for it's price if you ask me.
You arrived at your door, not sure if you'd knock or just enter right away. Luckily, the door opened for you.
Infront of you is a young man with pinkish hair, his face sporting a pout. Behind him is a short young woman with short brown hair, yapping and nagging him about something.
"You idiot! This is my favorite blouse, how dare you spill coffee on it"
The duo completely ignored you and walked pass you to hang the wet white blouse that they washed to dry outside.
"Oh uh... " You were looking at them until a black haired boy tapped on your shoulder
"Excuse me, are you uncle Satoru's new roommate?" He asked
"Oh! Uhh yes, uhm. His name is Satoru? Gojo Satoru, am I right?"
"Yes, please come inside. My name is Megumi by the way, Satoru is my uncle"
Without skipping a beat, the two bickering children earlier helped you with your luggage. "Oh wow thank you, very nice."
"I'm Kugisaki, this idiot is Yuuji. We're all cousins... Unfortunately" the girl said, pointing to the pink haired boy. Yuuji stuck out his tongue in response to Kugisaki.
"Great! Uhh, where is your uncle?" You asked, curious.
Why would this great, eccentric uncle let his minion niece and nephews greet his new roommate?
"Oh he was busy with work and hobbies. He also prepared your room earlier and made lunch. Now he is napping. He asked us to help you get settled" Kugisaki explained.
It's amazing how he could sleep through all the bickering though. And it's nice that he was thoughtful enough to get me some help. He's not so bad.
You told the trio that you could handle the rest, and they all went home. Still bickering. But you could tell they enjoy each other's company.
You roamed your eyes around the unit. There are cabinets with thick books on display. Encyclopedias, dictionaries, fictional books. Shelves with action figures on display, Pokemon cards on a frame, beyblades, you name it.
Wow this man is a total nerd. You thought to yourself
After getting settled, you took a shower and went to your bed. Your room smelled nice, everything is clean and organized. You took a mental note to thank Mr. Gojo for this.
When you first met him, you were stunned. Gojo Satoru is a tall man who wears baggy sweaters all the time. Oh and he has white hair, like completely white. You thought he's albino, but you never really asked. You were amazed at the way his white lashes framed his icy blue eyes. Shame that it's often covered by his reading glasses. You really like his gorgeous eyes. He's actually a beautiful man. A little weird and eccentric but he's wow.
The kids visit often. Yuuji, Megumi, and Kugisaki. They're a loud bunch, living to annoy the hell out of Satoru. Whenever he's with them, you get to have a peek of his serious adult side. He's like a parent to them, and you enjoy watching them together.
A couple of weeks passed and everything went smoothly. He's a nice guy and you feel comfortable around him. Well, except for the fact that he often tried to get you to play beyblades with him. Or that one time you caught him talking to the painting in his room while wearing a Gryffindor robe.
You find it endearing actually.
The way his glasses slide down his tall nose whenever he's too focused while reading.
The way he puts on lip balm before going outside, because "lip care is important!" He says.
Whenever he gets pouty because he haven't had his 1 hour power nap in the afternoon yet.
Or when your coffee is already ready on the table when you wake up, and he's there at the living room, dancing along to a Zumba video and he's chanting "hup, ha! hup, ha! shake it to the left, shake it to the right" at 6am.
And then whenever he calls your name. God, it feels weird.
Like a good weird.
It sends shivers down your spine, you feel lightheaded. As if he's hypnotizing you.
He likes calling your name. You noticed it just now.
"I'm going to do a quick grocery run. Need something, y/n?"
"Y/n, this tastes so good! You're an amazing cook"
"Wanna play Nintendo with me, y/n?"
"F-fuck y/n that feels so good"
Your stomach dropped.
You were about to give Satoru his clean laundry, you folded it for him as thanks for all his small gestures for you. But this is what you hear when you're right in front his door.
He was moaning, probably wanking his wee wee. But that's normal for a guy.
But he's moaning your name.
"Mhmm y/n, you make me feel so good. Keep sucking yeah? You're gonna make me cum so hard, sweet girl"
You weren't creeped out, you're actually pleased.
So pleased your hand instinctively flew down to your core. Feeling it tingle when you heard him moan your name.
You found out his dirty little secret. Gojo Satoru touches himself to the thought of you. And since you're here to return favors, you wanted to do the same too. But also in a dirty little secret way as well.
You put down his laundry and sat in front of his room, back pressed against his door. You slipped your hand inside your shorts, but outside your panties. Teasing your clit through the thin cloth, your other hand went to cover your mouth. Muffling the desperate whimpers you make.
Your fingers are now soaked, panties ruined, body trembling with need. Satoru's moans turning you on even more. He's whining and whimpering. You could feel how much he's desperate for your touch, and that's exactly your type.
"Hnggh please y/n, can I cum? P-please ughh your tongue I-I can't mmhmfff-fuckk"
Your fingers circling your clit slowly, as if you wanted to suck Satoru slowly too. You wanted to be slow, so you could hear him beg some more.
You heard him pick up the pace. Loud and wet squelching from behind the door, his moans are getting louder and louder, but restrained as if he's biting his lips to stay quiet. He's getting close and so are you, so you decided to rub your clit without your panties on the way. Rubbing faster and faster, as fast as Satoru's strokes on his dick.
This is sooo dirty and you're enjoying it. Both of your dirty little secrets.
You imagine how Satoru look like inside his room. Blushing and panting and messy, his cock in his hand. Red and angry, ready to shoot out long white ropes of cum while imagining you.
"Ugh, Satoru" shit.
You got lost in the pleasure. You forgot you had to cover your mouth and you accidentally moaned out loud. There was silence inside Satoru's room. Then quick shuffling. Both of you didn't even get to cum yet. You rushed to run back inside your room
You ran as if you were the one who started this awkward situation. Hurriedly locking your door, you were a panting mess. Your inner thighs are soaked, heart beating so hard you think your chest is gonna burst, cheeks flushed like a teenage girl seeing her crush.
You felt a presence on the other side of the door, but no sound was ever made. As if Satoru was hesitating to talk to you about he situation or let the tension die down first. And you think he chose the latter.
Slow and defeated footsteps echoed faintly outside your room. After a while, you took a peek outside. Just to check.
You saw a note on the floor, with a messy handwriting that says:
"I'm sorry y/n. I don't know how much you heard, but I promise you I do not have any bad intentions towards you. I hope things don't change between us. If you want to talk about this, then I will listen to you, y/n. And if you don't, I shall act like nothing ever happened. I'm sorry, sweets. I really did not mean for this to happen"
Awww, he's so cute. You don't think he realized that you were also touching yourself to the thought of him while on the other side of the door. So you thought of a plan.
Tomorrow, you will wear a tank top with no bra, a short shorts that would easily ride up your ass with the slightest movement. You wanted to tease him and see his reaction. See if he'd grow hard in front of you, by then, maybe you could fulfil his fantasy.
You love this little apartment you share.
-to be continued-
part 2 soon mwehehehe
note: wrote sum fluff this time bc the sukuna one was dark. and i miss gojo
Synopsis. Dearest gentle reader, it is with great pride that we introduce this season’s most eligible bachelor, Duke Nanami Kento. However, ladies be warned, rumors swirl that our most gallant gentleman already has his eyes (and hands) set on a particular chambermaid. You.
Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!chambermaid!reader, duke!Nanami, BRIDGERTON AU, duke x chambermaid, slight social clashes, he’s SO in love, courting, face-sítting (fem rec.), squírting, spítting, he’s FÉRAL, fíngering, overstím, breaking furniture, dóggy, “just the típ”, manhandIing, HEADLOCKS, creampíes, tummy buIges, chokíng, dúmbifícation, PÚSSYDRÚNK Nanami, the ton, proposals, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 9.0k
A/N. To that one nonnie that made it impossible NOT to think about this…
“And who–pray tell, is that fine gentleman, Shoko?”
“Who?”
“Him.”
It was like watching a parade, of sorts.
Monarchs upon nobles upon countless upper-class elites filtering in and out of the royal palace. Each with a long, satin gown fluttering about, or men with glinting medals that likely cost more than four lifetimes of your wages.
Debutante season had commenced.
And as part of the Queen’s chambermaids, it was your duty to pain-stakingly welcome each special guest deemed worthy of attending her highness’s garden parties.
Which is why - almost on instinct - you’d snapped your head towards the clip-clop! of a carriage steadying to a halt by the hedge-archway entrance. Catching just a flash of sleek blond, who…
Before the footmen swing open the carriage doors, and out steps the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your entire life-
“Oh, him. That’s Duke Nanami Kento.” Shoko drawls underneath her breath, dipping into synchronized curtsy alongside the household staff. “And he’s staring intently right at you.”
Honestly, Shoko might be one of the Queen’s most favored healers- but you really think she’s been neglecting the health of her eyes lately. Daring to elbow her in the side, “Don’t jest!”
She snickers, and you’re sure you detect the nearby daughter of a merchant family haughtily sniff your way—“I do no such thing.” Though, not for too long, fortunately for the two of your necks, because just then Duke Nanami’s stepping into clear view of the party - and you’d never glimpsed so many aristocratic mouths drop.
So many ladies (and some gentlemen) fluster, and so many older heads of families water at the mouth like they’d just spotted the most delectable prey.
Understandable, however.
Because if Nanami was thoroughly agreeable to your eyes in the few peeks you’d stolen at him- then he was almost other-wordly now.
With the most charming, tidy golden hair pushed back, a few curls coiling at the nape of his high collar. A towering stature that made even the most accomplished generals hunch in on themselves, and you nearly audibly gulp at the broad flex of his arms within his navy jacket. Stern. Stoic.
His molten, intense eyes peek over thin-rimmed glasses at the buzzing guests ahead, and you swear that they begin to stray somewhere near you—
“Heavens! Must I repeat myself, you common scullion?”
Ah, at the way Marquess Zenin Naoya was saddled right behind you and spitting hellfire, surely.
You rush to bend into an apologetic bow, so low that the knobs of your spine start to ache- “Please forgive my impudence, My Lord-”
“Have you nothing between your ears but lint?” He’s growling, spindly hands tightening on his empty goblet of wine until you hear the silver material creak. And it’s hitting you right then n’ there that in your haste to ogle Duke Nanami, you must have failed to heed Naoya’s calls for more drink-
He turns his sharp profile to the side and spits on a patch of clean-cut grass, “A servant that knows not her place is no better than dirt. What do you gawk at like so?”
“N-nothing, My Lord.”
And you can only watch, in slow-motion terror, as Naoya flicks his beady gaze behind you- and his sour face tenses at the vision of the tall newcomer that’d easily - and very obviously - ousted his mantle as the most eligible bachelor present. “That ol’ duke? Heh- dreaming that he’d bed a wench, did you?”
“Forgive me, sir, it was not my intent to give offence.” You’re breathing out, first clenching as you feel the withering looks that were starting to prop up around you two. Everybody loved a scandal. Trembling hands reaching out for his cup, “I-if you would allow me to just refill-”
“Don’t touch me!”
CLANG!
It happens all at once.
The heavy goblet clatters to the floor, a warm chest nuzzles your back, and a strong hand was locked right around Naoya’s raised wrist. Right before he could strike.
“It seems her highness’s liquor is exceptionally strong.” Nanami’s deep baritone sounds above your head and makes your skin bead with a blanket of goosebumps.
And it’s slightly husky. So attractive.
Especially when he’s tilting his head down so close, something primal in his eyes that made it feel like he was on the very verge of devouring you whole. Right there in the middle of the bustling garden party. Humming sternly, “Yuji, please escort our impaired marquess somewhere ah…quieter.”
“Y-yes, Nanamin- I mean, Your Grace!”
You’re watching, speechless, as a younger boy with the most vibrant head of pink locks runs up from behind and grabs onto both of Naoya’s shoulders to bodily steer him away from you.
He must have been stronger than he looked, clearly, because the proud heir was being lugged away like a sack of potatoes no matter how much he squirmed and fought - much to the amusement of the party-dwellers. And you.
But you’re quick to bite back your startled laughter once you’re realizing that Nanami Kento was still holding onto you. And not just stood behind- you must have stumbled amidst all the commotion because he had a large hand gripped onto your hip to steady you.
You were in his arms.
Gasping, “O-oh.” You couldn’t have broken off faster from him, knees strangely weak as you’re forcing them into yet another curtsy, “I am so-”
“My deepest apologies, Honorable Miss.” The duke beats you to it, a strange smile playing along his stern lips as he bends into an even deeper bow. “I should have asked prior to touching a lady.”
“A-a lady!” You’re squawking, in what was most definitely an unladylike manner. Hands wringing to gesture him to straighten as much as you could without it being seen as defiance against one of the crème de la crème of nobility. “I assure you I am no such thing, Your Grace.”
Just then he kisses the back of your hand in greeting, “Please, call me ‘Nanami’- or ‘Kento’, should you wish, ma’am.”
“It- it is beneath you to be designated that by me-”
“I insist.”
And if everyone here was watching the upending chaos before, then they simply couldn’t remove their eyes by now.
Whilst Nanami - still bowed - only tilted his head up with a smile, looking at you through his long, pale lashes.
You lift the humble fabrics of your working dress, a thick, dark-colored wool that marked you different from the tittering daughters of the upper-class. “B-but I am only in service to her highness.”
“Is that so?” And you’re breathing a sigh of relief as he stands back to his broad, proud figure- finally, he’s understood and would prance off as all young bachelors did to- “For I only gaze upon the most beautiful lady that has graced the floor this evening, and my blessed gaze.”
What?
“Have a charmed night-” Nanami has a dimple- he has a dimple that winks from the side of his grin as he turns and nods down with the velvety brim of his hat. “-My Lady.”
My Lady.
Utahime’s hands clap down on your rigid shoulders. “Sole heir to the Nanami fortune. Rich, handsome, aware when to cease talking.” Her low whistle rings in the air- tinged with such scandal, “Fiend seize it! I should hasten to practice your new title then, Duchess Nanami.”
“You have a lamentable deficiency in wit-”
Utahime, reputably sensible tutor to the offspring of the royal ladies-in-waiting, and known blockhead around your little trio. “And you have a lamentable deficiency in eyesight.” Sighing, “The look he bestowed upon you, my dear…”
“Or would it be ‘My Lordliness.’” Shoko croons in as well, sipping on a flute of bubbly champagne definitely not meant for her. “Oh-so-beautiful wife of Duke Nanami-”
“Attend to your duties!”
.
.
.
Dearest gentle reader,
It has come to my attention - and certainly to that of all the ladies who frequent the halls of Mayfair - something for which you should do well to brace your hearts. Whispers spread that the most eligible bachelor of the season, gentle Duke Nanami Kento, erupted quite the scandal during her majesty’s garden soirée by fixing his much sought-after attentions upon none other than a humble chambermaid.
Yes, you read that correctly, dear reader. For someone reputed in the upper echelons of society for being as stoic as he is handsome, Duke Nanami shares his first spark of interest as he searches for a bride this season.
So heed this author’s advice; as the famed noble resides in the royal palace for the rest of his stay, keep an eye about. For you may just be lucky to be named Duchess of the House of Nanami.
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
.
.
.
“This is preposterous!”
“It is absolute truth-”
“It is a sham is what it is.” You’re nearly crying out as you shove Lady Whistledown’s latest scandal sheet back into Shoko’s arms. “He- the duke never fixed his attentions on me.”
And your best friend didn’t spare you a word, only a long, narrowed stare of her intelligent eyes that made your stomach twist.
Did Nanami fix his- no. While you and Shoko huddled into a hidden alcove within the sprawling walls of the palace to read the latest on-dit gossip, you smacked yourself back into reality.
The nobility often did have nothing much to entertain themselves with outside of fanning scandal. He was powerful. He was attractive. And he has as many prospects as there were knights in this palace, surely!
Because - of course, for the universe did love to laugh at your expense - he’d taken residency in the palace until the season ended, as one of the Queen’s guests.
Days later you could count every look, every smile, every bow- goodness, there was that one time that you’d been placing cutlery along the winding royal dinner table. Only for Nanami’s engulfing fingertips to brush against yours and make your skin scorch with his whisper, “Thank you, my lady.”
You’re almost befogged why that wasn’t splashed across Lady Whistledown’s writing- chambermaid loses her wits, hear ye!
“Wh-whichever way one looks at it.” You’re stammering out, realizing that you’d been quiet for much too long. “His grace is simply raising some kind of mischief.”
“Certainly.” She was not certain.
“Just you wait- by the end of this season, Duke Nanami will be married to a lady of high standing and I shall–”
“Be disengaged?” That wasn’t the monotone, sarcastic voice of your longest friend.
It was something masculine, something amused. And it was emanating right from the open space of the corridor reading up to the alcove.
You don’t have to turn your head to realize who it is - Nanami Kento.
Though, you do turn anyway. And you almost regret it when you’re stuck by the sheer intensity of his stare, of his face leaned down so close. So intimately that you can’t stop yourself from flitting a sharp glance down at his plush, curving pink lips.
Perhaps Lady Whistledown wasn’t all that wrong - especially about him being handsome…
“Apologies for startling you, ma’am.” Nanami cuts your traitorous thoughts short by slowly tilting something flat and cream-colored in one hand. “Permit me to explain- will you hopefully be disengaged to attend the upcoming Royal Diamond Ball? Perhaps?”
You’re bowing, confused. “Y-yes, Your Grace. I shall be of service during her highness’s ball.”
It was only the most anticipated assembly this entire year, the annual gathering right in the Queen’s Great Hall to announce the diamond of the season.
And in only a week, every single servant of the palace was to work themselves to the bone - welcoming, chaperoning, making note of the newly-made unions to titter over much later.
“Ah, allow me to clarify.” Rubbing a free hand behind his neck, the famed Nanami Kento almost looks…sheepish. “What I meant was- might you be disengaged to…” Staring right at you, hypnotic. “-join me?”
“…What?”
“Of course, it would be no trouble at all if you can not spare a moment, I should be happy to merely converse with you.”
It slips out- “Th-that’s madness. All those ladies-in-waiting-”
Then he’s clasping your hands, he’s pressing the invitation in- but, more importantly, he’s holding you. “And yet, I would like nothing more than the pleasure of your company.” Close. Too close. His breath wafts your lips, “I hope this is not too forward of me. But should you let yourself, trust that I will take care of everything, My Lady.”
And just as soon as you think he’ll kiss you - how uncouth (though, you admittedly wouldn’t complain) - he bends at the waist to gently grasp your hand.
“Everything.” Whispering a soft kiss into the back, Nanami lingers his lips - his gaze - for a long while. “I await eagerly for your word.”
He’s gone almost as softly, and sweetly, as he’d appeared.
Taking with him the scent of golden caramel, and the racing beat of your heart. You swear you’d have been stuck within the alcove staring behind his muscular back until nightfall had it not been for Shoko.
“So…” She plasters a wry smile once you’re turning her way, invitation trembling in your grip. And you’re noticing that upon its envelope dazzles swooping calligraphy of your name, almost certainly written by him. “Would you prefer ‘Your Gracefulness’ or ‘Duchess Nanami’?”
.
.
.
Dearest gentle reader,
The ton is abuzz as her majesty the Queen’s Royal Diamond Ball nears closer. And the sole heir to the house of Nanami is certainly no exception.
This author hears directly from a reputable source within her highness’s Chamberlain Office that Duke Nanami Kento was uncharacteristically fastidious in securing himself an extra invitation. Most claim this as confirmation of his grace’s dedication to finding a bride, most also claim they’d seen the aforementioned, infamous chambermaid being handed it.
Take care of artifice; but such intrigue of a commoner attending the most prestigious ball of the year may be much more than my readers may be able to bear.
So, ladies, grab your finest gowns and shortest shawls to make haste for a chance to snag the eligible bachelor’s heart once and for all this season! And I shall, of course, be in attendance to report on all the scandals that unfold.
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
.
.
.
“I look…”
“Enchanting.” Utahime nods.
“I was thinking more toad-eaten.” You have to mentally remind yourself to close your maw and do your very best not to gape at the reflection in the decadent mirror displayed in front of you.
Despite your words, even you couldn’t deny that the deep, sapphire-encrusted gown you were donning made you look every bit the noblewoman that you weren’t. Its Empire waist snugly crowning the flowing muslin, sleeves fashionably puffed, with tasteful gold jewelry that you wouldn’t have so much as dared to look at let alone be dolled-up into.
It was made for you.
Quite literally. Utahime had been the one to write your letter of acceptance to Duke Nanami (after shrieking herself hoarse in excitement first.) And through a week of hushed conversation with his grace, the ball evening had crept up closer and you had an army of modistes and maids knocking at your servants’ quarters.
Scrubbing you raw, painting your face, slipping you into a dress he’d ordered tailored to your exact measurements- how did he even know?
Shoko had to let you use her office, and she was deriving her payment back for it by beaming at the sight of you. “And I was thinking more Duchess of the house of Nanami-”
“Cease!”
“Ah, so you observe? You are noble in all but title already.”
Whilst Shoko and Utahime - the traitors - burst out into peels of laughter, you’re left fiddling with the silken coverings of your gloves. “You…you don’t suppose he’s making a mockery out of me, after all?”
That makes them quieten down, and Utahime hugs your shoulders in a way that thoroughly displeases the attendants and their ruffles. “You shine everyone else down, my dear. He should be lucky to have such a lovely date this evening.”
“Quite so.” Shoko nods, “And should he dare fool around, I have long sought a specimen upon whom to test my latest scalpel-”
“Shoko!”
“Do let me join.”
“U-um, ehem.” The tense, honestly frightened clearing of Itadori, his protégé’s, throat cuts your morbid conversation short. And as he looks at you, the poor boy blushes- whispering something shapes strangely like a little—“Divine.”
Before you know it, you’re being escorted down the high-ceiling corridor just as you’d always watched the sisters and wives of nobility being guided so.
It’s a pathway more than familiar to you, yet seems so foreign once you approach the grand, imposing double doors opened to the ballroom. It was a magnificent thing; one of the Queen’s proudest possessions - with diamond chandeliers that dripped yellow light like a second sun, and a grand polished staircase kissing down from the doorway to a dance floor at the bottom.
Faint orchestra and chatter tainting the sparkling atmosphere, you breathe in nervously and even the flower-scented air seems too expensive for you.
Itadori hands the chief footman your invitation - something that makes the latter’s bushy eyebrows raise as he recognizes your name. And then the boy squeezes your hand before he leaves you off at the edge of the entrance, “His grace will be utterly bewitched, My Lady. He already is.”
Oh- what?
In the blink of an eye, he’s melted back into the crowd of other youngsters networking outside. And with nearly every guest already inside - you could only descend.
Down.
Down.
Down, the massive carpeted staircase- and it felt like every pair of eyes were on you. Most stopping mid-dance. Some whispering behind their fans.
And one, Nanami Kento, staring at you breathless and awestruck where he’d been politely conversing with the Queen herself, and a gaggle of entranced admirers. But he only had eyes for you.
Almost frozen. Almost shocked-
Enough so that your satin-covered feet were just a few steps away from reaching down to the marble ballroom floor before you’re thinking of turning right back around and running-
“You.” A hand on your wrist, a soft pair of lips on the back of your hand. Nanami Kento had broken through just about every rule of aristocracy to storm through packs of nobles and catch your wrist before you escaped.
And when he kisses you, it felt like he was finally breathing for the first time after years. “I had- I had not dared to hope that you would truly appear.” Staring at you through thick, golden lashes as he bends deeper into a bow. “You have honored me with the presence of the most beautiful lady to ever grace these floors.”
Languidly, you’re twisting your body back to face him - to face the crowd - and the way that the distracted orchestra has to begin their slow quadrille from the top, several teary debutantes looking between you and Nanami before shoving their faces into their fans, and even Lord Naoya was casting great attention.
Muttering.
‘Might I inquire as to that lady? Does she have prospects-’
‘Do tell- is it true what Lady Whistledown’s paper said- Bollocks! I wanted to bed Duke Nanami.’
‘My, the chambermaid? The scandal! Oh, but they are a most remarkably striking pair…’
You’re gasping when you catch a glimpse of her highness shifting on her throne to peer over curiously. Nanami had authority- but this?
Gulping, “Is this…is this folly really alright?”
“Oh, My Lady.” He fixes you with a lingering look, “For you, nothing would be folly. May I have this dance?”
.
.
.
“M-mmm, Your Grace-”
“What did I tell you, My Lady?” Nanami’s hot, simmering pant tingles your lips as he’s lavishing you with the swirling edge of his tongue. “Call me Kento.”
And you didn’t have any reason not to.
Well, first of all you two were far, far from any of the prying eyes of the ball by now - tucked away inside the empty, luxurious royal office allocated to him by the Queen. And then he had you pushed against the corner of the wide mahogany table in the middle- hands fisted into your gown, mouth searing against yours.
Nanami flicks the slimy edge of his tastebuds between your spit-glossed maw and groans once you’re eagerly sucking. Gasping. Heaving. “O-open your mouth.”
You’d just made the stern, stoic Duke Nanami stutter. And the thought itself is enough for you to knit your brows together and unhinge your jaw even further, “Like this?”
“Wider.”
“Mmm- like-” A glittery ribbon of saliva slicks down the corner of your lips the moment he’s parting his plump, puckered mouth and kissing you in a way you’d never even heard of. “-this?”
So primal. So heated. He’s huffing out a clouded breath through his flared nostrils, and you’re all but melting with each sleazy scour of his tongue.
“Yeah, wider. Lest I be thought ungentlemanly-” With a thumb latching onto the point of your chin, he has one hand angling your face, and the other curving ‘round your waist to support your weakening knees easily. “Suck on my tongue, ma’am.”
Kissing you and kissing you like he’s parched and every drop of sweet, syrupy water was just drooling from your mouth.
Your whirling head barely even realizes when Nanami has you softly falling back onto the frigid surface of the table. Splayed out completely. His beefy forearm eases the impact, mouth decorating with a few strings of spittle when he’s pulling back with a dampened pwah!
Lungs still clouding out in scorching breezes, “If you would allow it, My Lady.” And you’re whimpering when the doughy mountain of his palm comes rovering down your front. Not resting for a split-second until it was right between your poor legs- “I confess, not a morsel crossed my lips throughout the ball- and I find myself quite famished.”
You’re gasping, trying to close your legs- but it’s like his palm was glued to your drivelling core. Hungry. Desperate. “B-but it is beneath your touch to do such a thing-”
“You’re never beneath my touch.” You swear you catch him look down at your clothed cunt and gulp. Fawny irises dark and dilated, “Never.”
And almost as if he’s proving his point, his free, left hand clasps around your own and flies down gingerly to the absolutely massive bulging tenting Nanami’s trousers.
Oh.
He groans.
Oh.
And he’s looking at you through narrowed, predatory eyes- words so gentle even though the way the thick cylindrical curve of his erection was anything but. “See how you make me?” And with a teary nod, your hips find themselves bucking- “Witness how you- ah.”
Rutting.
So carnally, with your gown and chemise falling back, it makes Nanami snap his half-lidded eyes down at you like he’d just stumbled upon a five-course meal. A predator blood-thirsty for prey.
Drooling in a thin, slow trail, he hastily wipes it away like a gentleman. He wasn’t just famished - he was starved.
And by the way his touch shakes ever-so-slightly on your body, it’s a damn miracle that he hasn’t just lost it right now. “We wouldn’t want to waste your talents on just my hand, ma’am.”
Before you can even begin to wonder what his cryptic words meant, Nanami’s making use of the years of his noble training in combat.
Flipping your two positions, laying himself out on the far table, clinging onto your squirming waist to seat you right above his heavily respiring mouth. With your chemise tugged off with one hand, he’s stealing a good look at your naked, geysering pussy and moaning–
“I-I really am quite famished.”
And his voice breaks.
Making you jerk your hips in a slight gyration- unsure where to rest. “Wh-what are you going to- oh.” Whimpering, once he’s planting a firm kiss near the inner parts of your thighs where slick travelled like an adhesive sheen. Only pushing your gown to bunch upwards, “Please!”
“I shall be having my dinner, My Lady.” Lurching you ever-closer, he had your knees straddling each side of his face and it still wasn’t close enough. “Bon appétit.”
All five of his coarse fingerpads digging into the cheeks of your ass, he flicks his wrist and drags you straight into the gaping cavern of his maw. His glistening tongue was propped out just right to spank the surface of your pussylips on his tastebuds.
“A-ah.” Thighs trembling, it feels so strangely and erotically wet with him salivating all over.
He feels a slippery splosh of your juices leak from your slit and straight into his gullet, the creamy taste flooding up his tongue. “O-ohhh–” Savoring. “Has anyone ever made you feel like hah- this?”
“N-not at all, Your Gr-”
“Kento.”
“K-Kento–!” It’s all that you can squeal when the flexible tendril of his muscle crowns your hole and you’re seeing stars. His tongue is just so long n’ girthy that it makes your poor, filthy entrance clench when he’s slipping just an inch inside. “Fuck- n-ngh- fuck–!”
“Charmed you’re enjoying, ma’am.” And he sounds so genuinely elated - breathy, shaken - at the pretty moans falling from your mouth like music.
Though, it’s not enough.
It might never be enough, so the duke can only prop up slightly on one of his strong elbows just to angle his mouth into the perfect French kiss with your cunt. Slapping his tongue right over the puffy folds of your pussy, he’s licking and licking each stray bead of slick bubbling out of you until you’re all tender and glossy.
Only then is he wafting his right thumb vertically down your cute slit, “Though, not to overwork my dear lady- but might you mind lending me a…hand?”
You’re snapping your head down so fast that your chin knocks against your heaving chest, “Wh-what do you need, Your- ah, Kento?”
“Oh, nothing much, my darling. Just…” Tilting his head, Nanami’s rendering you stupidly dizzy each time he twists the callused knob of his thumb in and out of your folds. “Spit in my mouth.”
“Wh-would that be appropriate?” He was filthy.
Feral. “I would love nothing more.”
And he meant it- he truly, completely, and utterly meant it. You’re watching his prominent Adam’s apple bob greedily once the bead of pearly saliva bubbles between your lips and dead-on into his mouth. Only swirlin’ inside for a mere second before spitting right back into your polished cunt. Hard.
Letting the fat wad slip between your lips, and Nanami doesn’t waste a single second before pushing his rugged middle finger inside your hole.
“There we go.” Gazing in pure lecherous wonderment at the way your needy ring of muscle was swallowing him up, every single solid inch right down to his mountainous knuckle. What a tight fit. “There- there, atta girl.”
“It just feels so- ngh- so-” You don’t even know how to control yourself, hips jerking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until the globes of your ass strike his chin and make you keen. “Ah!”
“Eeeeeasy does it, ma’am.”
And he’s still grunting your name out with that title- even as he’s pryin’ apart your bloated lips and sticking in yet another digit. The fat ends of his index swiping across, engraving his family signet ring against your very walls-
“This is only a prelude, darling.” You’re flinching at the chilling scrape of the band on his second finger, and he grins. Glueing that very grin against your throbbing clit, he spits again- “Only just getting started.”
“Fuck- fuck!” Going against every policy you’d learned in polite society, you’re throwing your hips back and gyrating out looong sloppy drags of your cunt.
Straight from the treacly base of your pussy to where Nanami was nuzzling your sensitive clit with his nose. Again. And again and again- the duke’s kiss-bitten lips were burning and he’s still craning his neck for more. Panting, “Make a mess of me, My Lady. S’what I’m hah- here for.”
“N-ngh, it feels so gooood, Kento.”
And you don’t even have any inhibitions about that little slip-up of titles anymore, back arching into a perfect curvy ‘S’ shape at the way he’s salivating all over your pussy.
Rovering the ridged edges of his tongue in a cutesy lil’ heart over your clit, pressing down just enough pressure on it like a button. And it’s exactly what he needs to make you gasp, your hole winking- so that he can easily slide-slide-sliiide a third finger in with a resonating squelch!
“So wet. So divine.” He’s groaning at the sight of you suckling in on him and all his inches. Fitted in so deeply that your orifice is struggling to even squeeze, thighs clamping over his sweaty temples. Feeling inside you. Searching. “I must ask that you ruin me, darlin’. Ride me faster.”
Thighs aching, breaths shortening. His metal glasses thump the scorching front of your cunt and you whine.
“Faster.”
“P-pleeease!”
It’s like he’s ravaging your pussy with his thrusts, blond brows furrowing in so tight as he’s leaning in even closer. Tuggin’ apart your folds, he’s discovering every sleek, leaking inch of your cunt like he didn’t have enough time. Never would.
And it’s with only spank after spank of his metallic ring that he’s somehow skidding it right down your saccharine walls and directly into your g-spot. “H-here.”
“There.” Even with the kaleidoscope of tears dazzling your vision, you can make out the completely pussydrunken grin that smears across his face.
Rutting up against the swollen slope of your pussy, he laps up every sodden ounce of slick that escapes you once he hits his slimy target. “With greater fervour now, My Lady.” Your throat clogs up every time he reels his fingerpads down to the curvaceous edges and slams back in. “Harder-”
You grip onto the straight ends of his deltoids, flexing with muscular strength. “I-I’m not sure if that is possible-”
“Do not be gentle with me.” And it almost sounds like a command. Though he’s acting upon it like it’s a complete beg- swerving his palm to sticky clammily onto your left ass cheek and pushing you. “Let yourself hah- go. Give me all of you, I beg.”
You had the most powerful, stoic duke of all the season begging.
And he needed it- he was toying with the lacy circle of your garter and snapping it down onto your flesh with a flick of his fingers.
Only to make you wetter.
So wet with sappy, meady slick that he’s gulping down like his favorite liquor- splashing down between his lips and making him more n’ more inebriated by the second.
Glasses still on. Pumping his hips up into the empty air, all he could do was fuck his fingers into your hotly-glossed walls and pretend he’s doing it all with his aching cock. “Do you think you can handle a fourth, darling?”
Gasping, “P-perhaps-”
“Then…brace yourself…”
You couldn’t brace yourself. You couldn’t even intake a steady breath even if you tried.
Because while you’re perching your dripping pussy near the line of his straight nosebridge, Nanami’s slipping in the coiled edge of his lengthy tongue. Not his fingers. His tongue.
In addition to all he was rummaging your melty insides with, he swabs over the texture of his tastebuds down where you were the most delicate and strokes his tongue inside—
“Sh-shit- shit shit shit-” Your mouth juts out into such an adorable pout that makes the man beneath you thrusts his rugged hips upwards. “I-I think I’m…close, Kento.”
“S’that so? Gonna cum?”
So difficult to even breathe when he’s strobing his fingertips down your bulging g-spot, already battered and bruised with the slamming impacts. With the way he swats the side of your thighs stinging with your garter, “Mhm—hck!”
Probin’ every velvety nook and cranny with his touch, Nanami can’t have you on his weeping cock so he’s twisting all his three- now four fingers, and his tongue inside until his wrist aches. His jaw strained. Tastebuds raw, just as much as your pussy was.
“The orchestra is playing, you can be as loud as your heart desires. Say the words, ma’am- I beg of you to please just hah! say the words.”
It makes your vulnerable lips tremble just to formulate the next few scandalous words, never before having been so fucked-out. “Y-yes. Yes, please. Gonna…cum.”
And you swear that the ever-sensible Nanami Kento is gurgling out a wet giggle right between the space of your puffy pussylips, sending white-hot shockwaves down your bowed spine. “I would be-” He wetly gasps out, before slapping his handsome features right back down.
Addicted. He can’t even move.
“I would- hah- I would be quite-” And his spectacles dig in deep until the metal surface sizzles against your core, pushing and pushing himself back. His tongue’s going wild, stirring around with the wettest slurps. “I would be quite offended if you didn’t, my love.”
He doesn’t just mutter the words - he’s biting them right ‘round the perky knob of your clit. Teething his glinting canines just hard enough while he’s slipping his tongue back out - right on time, right at the very second to tastefully receive the way you throw your head back and squirt.
Hot. Hard.
It feels like your entire body’s caught on fire and no matter how much you’re slobbering your hips to the front n’ back, it only makes the sensation worse.
Your eyes water, mouth hanging open stupidly. “Yes- yes yes yes yes- I’m cumming-” Thighs trembling down upon either side of his eardrums at the friction- tight, and he doesn’t even care. “I-I’m cumming.”
“Squirting, My Lady.” Nanami corrects you, gently. Though, it’s a fucking miracle he even had the patience to considering that he’s gasping and panting for air but only pushin’ himself closer to the oodles of cute slick seeping out from you.
He doesn’t even care.
Doesn’t even need air- not when he can perk his head just right and push against your thighs. Wide maw unfastened gluttonously ajar to let the thick trickles of sap drip into his mouth after each zap! of bliss. Drowning him.
Mouth sagging further open, lungs screaming at him. So many bucketloads of syrupy sweet sap that sprays his features until they’re all glittery. “Squirt- oh. You’re- ngh-”
And something’s breaking at the back of his throat when he’s roaming his dexterous, looong tongue between the plumpness of your pussylips, and you’re taking him in so easily.
Overstimulated till you can let off only whines n’ sobs when he’s lazily dabbing his way inside your quivering hole.
“I’m so ruined, Kento.” Riding and riding. He wanted you to use him and you were- “It feels s-so strange.” The peak of your high was one big wave, and it tingles underneath your skin and makes your eyes roll.
Never - even during all those long, lonely nights with your hand slipped underneath the covers - did it ever feel like this. Never were you leaking your essence this much, with your sappy juices falling all down the sides of his rosy red lips. “Never f-felt this ngh- way before, Ken.”
And that makes him groan.
Slowly, gingerly - almost like it hurt for him to detach his hungry lips with yours, he’s pulling you off with one hand stuck to your hips. Surging backwards with- no, he can’t surge backwards.
The duke’s planting one more firm kiss onto your cunt, open-mouthed. And then jerking back- and forth. Another kiss. Another repeat until about five times later and he’s finally ready to say goodbye to your sweet, overspilling pussy.
But he’s not done with his little show- oh, the moment you’re finally spying a good, long look at him, you think you might cum again from just that.
Because Nanami Kento was ruined - blond hair astray, spectacles drooping down his nose, your pussy juices worn all over from the apples of his blushin’ cheeks down to his jawline like a lewd medal.
Waterfalling between the curves of his pectorals, gleaming wherever his pale skin was flushed. He looked as if there was a part of him that was feverish - barely even registering what he’s doing once he’s tugging off his slick-glazed glasses and sucking those pearly beads off of the frame.
Licking his completely wet glasses clean, Nanami tilts his head with a grin like he’s never been more accomplished. “I only live to please you, ma’am.”
“But that’s not fair.” You huff out a stubborn breath, shuffling down his tall body to try and cup the bulging outline between his legs that almost looked painful. “I, too, wish to-”
“Tonight is not the night, I’m hah- afraid.” He’s cleanly cutting off both your plea and your palm. Instead bringing up your shaky hand to kiss the inside of your wrist. Gloves off, his eyes primal and dead set on you. “I could never ask you to get on your knees. Tonight, I only ask that you let me drive you wild, darling. Let me devour you whole.”
And he meant it.
Oh, within sultry seconds Nanami was moving himself off of the tabletop and standing adjacent. Tall. Strong. Not letting you lift a single finger before he loops two hands underneath your thighs and draaaags you to the very edge.
Moistened thighs pasting to his obliques, “Pray, allow me to see to it. To everything.”
And you just wanted to rip the gossamer fabric of your dress off, but Nanami was oh-so-delicate with his hands all over you. Even though he’s fitting himself animalistically between your lewd legs and rutting-
“Why-” His breath catches once your petticoat and stocking are peeled off, both thumbs spreading your swollen pussylips like a lotus. Completely exposed now. “-hello, my love.”
Your mouth parts when you’re realizing that he’s not just talking to you- he’s talking to your cunt. Maw stretched into a smile so utterly lovin’, Nanami keeps that same dopey grin on as he’s leering his face down to spit.
Again.
“Please, Kento.” You’re bucking your hips up impatiently, still shaky with the aftershocks of your high but you wanted more more more. Needed it. “P-put it in.”
He groans- oh, was it him that taught your sweet mouth to say those words. Corrupting you with every second he’s drawing soppy circles on your wet outer pussy, the duke can only tear down his dress coat and his trousers. Careful with yours but he was ripping his own clothes off. “As you wish, my darling.”
It’s just then that he’s finishing tugging down his sensually tight breeches—and you’re drinking in all of him. And fuck- was it a sight only for your most light-skirted dreams.
Because Nanami Kento was naturally chiseled, to the point where you could count each of his eight washboard abs. Every dip and muscular curve of his hardened front just tensed when the cool air hit him, leading a path of gold along his middle.
A light happy trail down, down, down to where his red n’ aching cock sat heavily, so hard that his bulging tip looked just about ready to burst. Eight maybe even nine inches long, and so girthy that it made your mouth drop as if you wanted him fitted inside already.
You’re watching as his pre-glazed tip only coats an even more glistening layer of sap at your sinful attention. Trickling all the way down to his tightening balls, “You’re staring—”
“C-can you blame me?”
“I suppose not.” And the warmth of his towering proximity hits your body like a furnace, making you squirm restlessly when Nanami’s leaning over the edge of the table to tap-tap-tap his thick cockhead down between your legs. Rock-hard. “Brace yourself, ma’am, mhm?”
Then he’s splitting you apart-
And then he’s arching his sculpted shoulders to cage you underneath him and swearing–“Fuck.”
The first time ever that you’re hearing him spew profanities, just barely slipping the pointed globe of his shaft past the texture of your tight, hot cunt was ruining him.
“I-I apologize, My Lady.” It was making him gasp, “I apologize, how uncouth of my character. I didn’t mean to-” It was making him urgently snap his head down in panic and watch with primal awe as he ruts- deeper. “F-fuck!”
“Oh my god-” You’re throwing your head back at the pressure, only to be grappled back in by Nanami just so that he can sliiide his lips across yours. Open-mouthed. “H-how are you going in so deep-”
“I cannot help myself.” Grunting, Nanami doesn’t even feel the stinging pain when he’s slamming his capped knee down on the plane of the desk. Angling his slender hips to shove the slimy crown of his tip into your gooey entrance, “It’s simply- it’s just-”
And Nanami Kento, so articulate and calm, doesn’t have the damn words anymore.
Stuttering, falling over his panic to thrust in and in between your trembling legs. He feels the cute rimming circle of your cunt tighten ‘round his fattened girth, and snaps his head down in panic. Spitting. “I-I must have it fit inside, darling. Please, allow me just the tip, at least.”
“Will- ngh! will it even-”
“Of course.” And he’ll apologize for interrupting your sentence later - much, much later.
But for right now, the only thing that sparks in his fuzzy mind was to raise his toned left forearm up to your drivelling maw. Where you start gnawing wetly down on his skin, he spits-
“Bite down. Harder.” Hips sloppy, knee hiking up even further to maze his flared cock inside. You feel your elastic hole stretch a wider diameter as he’s slipping yet another solid inch in. “Come now, harder. You can ngh- take it.”
“It’s going in.” And you don’t know whether you wanted to slam your hips forwards or jerk vulnerably at the sheer weight of his body leaning down.
He breathes, “Yes- yes.” The breeze of his pants fanning your face, making your entire body erupt in flames by the time he’s squeezing past the tender slit carved onto his shaft. Cementing the bulging edge of his cocktip to the roof of your pussy with a raw sluuurp. “I have you. shall not let you fall- bite.”
And it’s all that you can do.
Because Nanami’s fucking you into office table like he wanted you to splinter straight through.
The half-lidded peripherals of his eyes latching onto where you were speared open like he was watching his personal show, “I hope you know…I’m no- hah- easily satiated man, my love.”
“Wh-what do you- fuck!”
Just on cue, he’s slamming the lines of his hardened hipbones against your inner thighs and making you recoil back near the edge of the table. Dangerously. Barely even giving you a second to pick yourself back up before he reaches over to lace both his rugged palms on top of your clammy scalp. Intertwining. Holding you there.
‘Just the tip’ he said. And yet here he was, pinning you down just to bully his vein-covered length between your snugly stubborn lips.
“Do not think to run from me-”
“Could never- ngh- could never-” You’re babbling easily at this point, because the curvy trails that his veins left along your walls were only driving you mad. “Just want more, Kento.”
“…Pardon?”
You blink your teary eyes up at him in a way that makes his throbbing girth fatten up, every ounce of blood in the duke’s head rushing to the ballooned-up knob of his tip. “M-more, I say-”
“More.” He’s echoing out, more to himself. Higher-pitched. Almost tasting the pure need in that one word, and the very repetition makes him half-thrust straight into the goopy depths of your pussy. “More…more.”
Nanami pants out a husky giggle—“More.” Oh, he’s just so in love with the way your cunt was struggling to swallow him whole n’ yet squeezing as you try. He leans back down and spits once more, thoroughly ungentleman-like. “Forgive my haste. You just m-make- me-”
And you swear you hear the tail end of that particular sentence break off into a whine once he’s finally, finally bottoming out.
So sensitive that all it takes is one, two, three lucious swabs of his drivelling orifice to get you to cum. Throat torn with hoarse moans, head throwing back- “I’m- once more…?”
“F-fuck. You are.” Easing in the girth of his cockhead to be spanked against your cervix and make you see stars. Nanami’s already flooding your pussy with a pour of his scalding hot precum. “What a wonder this enchanting body is for me.”
Again. He has you orgasming all over him again.
He’s feeling just a twinge of disappointment in himself for not making you squirt yet another time- but the night was still young. And your sappy cunt was already so wet, with beads of sparkly juices smearing down his happy trail every time he’s whipping his hips forwards.
Slam after slam.
Your entire body twitches with startles of euphoria, mewling. “Th-there’s so much- so- ah.”
Ah, how he would love to reach his hands over and wipe away the glistening tears streaming down your pretty face.
But no, right now he had them locked on top of your head and was using the leverage to pound you stupid. Harder. Spiking the peaks of your high with each thorough probe of his stout, mushroom tip. “I know. I know I know I-”
CRACK!
Oh.
The desk.
It takes a split-second for both your hazed minds to realize that the ancient mahogany table was sagging on one end, Nanami’s raw natural strength too much for it to handle. And then not even that for him to pull out his cock with a wet plop!
Manhandling you down onto the hardwood floors like a doll, on all fours. It’s such a sinfully new angle to have him looming behind you, tense core plastered against your back once his lengthy cock siiiinks in-
Orgasm still dwindling, entire body shaking. “Fuck- nghhh- fuck, Kento–!”
“You are doing so well, darling.” One hand glues onto the side of your left ass cheek and tugs you back down with his grip. The other carefully rovers just underneath your tummy, “M-makes it so easy to wish to hah- give away to my inclinations.”
A primal sob wrenches from your throat when you’re feeling the slimy drag of his globular, pointed tip. Drawin’ out a zig-zag down and down where you were most delicate, until he reaches the target of your cervix, spank! “Th-then proceed- I beg of you.”
You didn’t know what those guttural words would mean. You didn’t even know if you would make it out alive- but right now you’re starting to doubt it once Nanami gasps.
Once he’s slamming one of his flattened feets by the side of your thigh, deeper. The raw, sensual feeling so much that he can’t control himself. Rutting and rutting away as if he’s gone feral—
“Is this to- to your liking then, ma’am?” The duke’s gurgling out through a translucent froth of spittle, splat-splattering right down the middle of your arched spine. “H-how about now?”
He shutters his eyes furiously and rams the remaining few inches of his cock. Bottomed out and still trying to probe even deeper inside, so all he can do is plant his sock-covered foot over the top of your head and press. Bending. “N-now?”
Proudly, Nanami dares to snicker as his left thumb brushes down the plump, roaming tummy bulge he was fucking into you. Pushin’ down just on the curvy tip of where you could feel his split-ended cockhead thrashing your poor insides. “And I should love to hah! make this gorgeous cunt mine- make you mine.”
And he was a man of action.
It was high time you realized that, because within exactly three repeated swats of his plummy, rose-colored shaft- he’s discovering your g-spot. He’s kissing that bullseye with a looong, soppy glide.
“Though…that is what I am doing, that should be no hngh- sham.”
Feeling all the crimson rush to your head, he presses down just as his aching hot cock presses in. “It’s- it’s just- fuck.”
Faster. Harder. So sloppy that the planks of the floorboards start to sing out in singing creaks of protest, soiling with a trickle of syrupy precum and slick being poured from straight between your legs. Constantly.
Rubbing himself swollen n’ redly raw on the cavern of your tight pussy, Nanami doesn’t even want to blink to break his staring contest with your bulging pussylips.
Milking himself.
The sweetest smooch for your sweetest spot, Nanami coos as you shake- struggling to keep your weakened arms straight as you hold yourself up in this lecherous position. “Come now.” Your overstimulated vision spots with pure white as he darts the hand at your stomach to loop around your throat like a necklace - a headlock. Springing you upright—“I have you, My Lady.”
Spittle waterfalls in embarrassing bucketloads from your mouth and stains the front of his beefy forearm, squeezing your airway. Dilated pupils swirlin’ stupidly every time his strawberry divot circles the entrance to your womb. Squealing, “Y-you…ngh!…mm–”
“Hmmm—?”
“You- hck! please, Ken-”
His warm, ravaging cock was so big that the constant stretch of your walls finally had you stupid. Your brain nothing but a pulp of melted mush every time he snaps his clammy hips to your ass with a stinging pap! of skin-on-skin.
“Me…I’m-” And it’s like each time the puffy veins decorating each side of his overworked shaft gets squeezed, Nanami finds himself seeing stars. Sweaty, bulging biceps tightening on your throat even harder- you scream. “I have you, My Lady- I’m yours.”
Your hole gaping, thighs wet. Just taking everything he’s giving as he finally cums—and you do, too.
Though, you’re not registering it at first.
Not when that leaky hole at the very end of his cherry-red shaft pipes out a creamy icing of cum, layering thickly across every inch and cranny of your rummaged insides. Pump after pump- each one has your pathetic pussy overspilling with so many knotted wads of seed, and yet he always had so much more more more-
“O-oh.” He’s grunting out, feeling a particularly big splash of sap at the base of his cock- and it’s only then that you’re both realizing that you’d just squirted. All over again.
It’s traveling down like a flood between your thighs, painting a glistening ring on the tawny curls at his hilt. Soaking him utterly n’ completely that Nanami finds each thrust to let off the most primal sluuuurp!
“You- you really are the most beautiful hck! lady that has graced this Earth, my love.” Your gaze, your smile, that soul. It was your soul he found most beautiful, the instant he laid his eyes upon you.
He simply knew.
“Y-yet, I’m a chambermaid-”
“I care not.”
“You’re just-” It’s a damn wonder that you even could still speak by now, because every rubbin’ massage of his fat cock only left your mind blank. “-saying- mmm- saying that, Kento.”
“I fear you are mistaken.”
His veins indent your walls with lightning bolts, his cum cobwebbed across your spongy cervix and was splashing after each jackhammer.
Nanami drills into you low and slow now just to help your dripping wet cunt suck him dry. Loving the cute, velvety way you were clamping around his rovering shaft tiredly, “Only allow me to prove my ngh- heart.”
You’re so fucked-out that you’re barely even flinching when he’s finally freeing you of his sinful headlock. Taking mere nanoseconds to pluck that infamous House of Nanami signet ring off of his finger- and pushing it straight down the ring finger on your left.
An engagement. A promise.
“I shall get you another ring- one that is proper, one you deserve, when- if you shall have me, My Lady.” The smoky tone of Nanami Kento’s bass tickles the side of your stinging throat, almost a purr. “I swear it upon my word-” He guides that very same boneless hand of yours to cup his plush, thumping left pectoral. “-and my heart, to forever keep you the most beautiful lady upon this Earth. You shall never want, for I pledge to you my body, my soul for your happiness.”
You whimper, thighs still shaking with your high. Tears slipping down your face that he kisses away, “I-if you’ll have me, Your Grace.”
“Kento.”
“Kento.”
And by the time the last of his wadded ounces of cum had finished spraying out, Nanami pulls his hips back with a bellowing squelch that makes your body heat flare. Such a creamy mess of ivory glossing your pussylips that he’s taking one glimpse at and gasping-
You mewl, “K-Ken, what are you-”
“It seems…” He drawls, manhandling you spread-out onto your back with his sculptured hands. Snaking his face down to mouth a hot puff over your swollen folds that stick together. Tasting. Drooling like he’d just happened across his favorite dessert. “-that the ball is far from finished, my wife.”
.
.
.
Dearest gentle reader,
It seems we have a rather special (and scandalously romantic!) special announcement. Yes, whilst your lips were whispering at her majesty the Queen’s Royal Diamond Ball the previous night, those of his grace, Duke Nanami Kento, have certainly been up to worse.
The ton reached new heights of hysteria over Duke Nanami’s attendance of the ball with his lovely chambermaid acquaintance. This author personally confirms that her highness’s royal orchestra was barely audible over the sound of shattering hearts!
However, if this was where the story ended, dear readers, we would still possess our wits. Not only had her highness titled this unnamed belle of the ball as the Diamond of the season; aforementioned diamond was not in audience of her naming!
Where was she, you might ask? Why, nowhere else but bedding a certain handsome duke—or so palace patrol whisper amongst the halls.
An impatient dalliance or stirring the pot? You tell me, dear reader, though it certainly doesn’t help that said new diamond was spotted near the end of the evening with both a real diamond and the Nanami signet ring upon one’s betrothal finger!
It’s said that the House of Nanami - and particularly a once-stoic Duke Nanami Kento - has been exceptionally lively in preparation for the blessed union and his new bride.
On the other hand, this author shall have to purchase new robes for a summer wedding.
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
A/N. Tell me why it was SAUR difficult to write in regency speak I feel like I don’t even know this language anymore pls-
ok i love twiyor reveals but can we talk about BRIAR SIBLING REVEAL??
i honestly do not know what yor's reaction would be, but i imagine that she took up such a violent and demanding job so yuri could live as peacefully as possible. so, when she finds out he's gone down an equally violent path, maybe she would blame herself for not keeping him safe.
❝DID YOU GET ENOUGH LOVE, MY LITTLE DOVE, WHY DO YOU CRY?❞
୨⎯ ┊BATFAM X NEGLECTED!HEALER!READER ꒱
✰ ৎ──────SYPNOPSIS: all you ever wanted was a purpose. something that would give meaning to your existence, your power. healing others was the only thing that ever made you feel alive, needed… until you ended up in that awful place.
or… in which some decisions end in an unfortunate tragedy for some.
✰ ৎ────── masterlist. | prev. | next.
What’s so important about your power?
The question returns, as it always does, in the quiet moments. When no one is watching. When there’s no blood, no patients, no bodies to heal.
When there’s no excuse to exist.
Why do you do it? Why can’t you just stop?
It was never just about healing. It’s never been only that.
It’s… the only thing that gives you meaning.
You didn’t like hurting yourself, though you do. You didn’t enjoy the pain of others, though you feel it. You never wanted to die stitching together lives that weren’t your own, though you know that’s exactly what will happen if no one stops you.
It’s just that you don’t know how to live without it.
Every time someone bleeds and you can’t intervene, something curls inside you. Like you’re a broken doll, incomplete, incapable of fulfilling the one thing you were made to do.
Every time someone breaks and you don’t stitch them back together, a piece of you splinters too.
Your power became something greater than a skill.
It’s your compass. Your purpose, your voice.
When Masashi told you that you were special, that no one else could do what you could, you believed him.
How could you not? He let you heal. He let you treat patient after patient. He let you use your power. He looked at you with a warm smile when you were exhausted, bleeding, shaking… and told you that you’d done well.
He’s proud of you. He never asked if you were okay. Only if the patient had survived.
And over time, you learned to ignore yourself too.
When a bone breaks, you fix it. When an organ fails, you rebuild it. Even if it shatters you inside.
You know you can endure it.
You have to.
Bruce wouldn’t understand.
Your father would never accept it.
Would he be the first to stand against the only reason you have to live?
What’s the worth of a power if you can’t use it?
You never asked the question aloud. You didn’t have to, you already knew the answer. You’d felt it in your fingers, numbed by thread. In your nails, bloodied from stitching too hard. In the needle that no longer hurt when you drove it into your own arm just to practice, just so you wouldn’t forget what it felt like.
Just so you wouldn’t grow rusty.
Just so you could still be useful.
This power is yours. You had accepted it as such. It wasn’t a gift, and it wasn’t a curse. This power is a responsibility.
If you had it, then you had to use it. If you used it, then you could save. And if you could save lives… then maybe you weren’t a bad person.
That’s what you thought.
You weren’t a good person.
You’re not like them. You’ll never be like the heroes. They shine. They reach people’s hearts. Heroes lift buildings with a smile, capes fluttering in the wind, saying things that make people feel safe.
But you couldn’t do that.
You know perfectly well you don’t speak kindly to your patients. You sound irritated, frustrated, because you are. Why would you be happy treating injured people? You hated seeing the pain on their faces, but you loved the joy when you saved them.
You didn’t know how to comfort people. You only knew how to stitch torn flesh, mend shattered bones, repair punctured organs. You only knew how to drive a needle deep into their bodies and keep threading until their bodies stopped begging to die.
It was that… or nothing.
And now you were in Gotham.
The city that either rejects or embraces everything rotten in the world. Everything that could ever be like you.
Mutants, metas, people with abnormalities. Gotham didn’t want them. It didn’t need that kind of trouble. Ironically, though, the city also seemed to be a magnet for exactly those kinds of people.
Your father, Bruce, is the symbol of that, at least his alter ego is. Batman was the unspoken law. The silent rule that dictated: if you were born different, you were a potential threat to the city. To his city. Even if you wanted to help, even if you had never hurt anyone.
Because people born like you always ended up being a problem for the city and for the innocent. Everyone had to be investigated before being treated like a person.
You aren’t trusted.
Thankfully, Bruce hasn’t figured it out yet. No one in your family has.
You feel proud of having successfully fooled an entire family of heroes and detectives.
Then again, Masashi likely intervened in every document related to your existence, carefully crafting your life before Gotham to avoid suspicion.
That was… a rather helpful gesture on his part. You’re not surprised Masashi was so meticulous with your whereabouts. What genuinely does surprise you is that he didn’t warn you in advance about everything that was going to happen.
His silence is suspicious. Masashi has never left you alone for this long. He was always too clingy, too eager to spend every second by your side.
But then again, considering the kind of people your family is made of, it wouldn’t be surprising if Masashi took overly cautious, even surgical steps before finding a way into Gotham.
You can’t blame him. You’re scared of your own family too.
Every time Bruce walks past you… Every time one of your brothers talks about missions, villains, or justice… You shrink a little more inside. Like your very existence is a betrayal waiting to be exposed.
Because you know that once they find out what you really are, they won’t look at you the same way anymore. They won’t look at you like you’re something normal, like you’re something human.
You haven’t used your power.
You can’t use it.
You’re scared.
You’re terrified of all of them.
Is this really the right thing to do? Doubt fills you. You’re afraid… What do you want right now? There are no injured people in this mansion. No patients to treat.
Only you.
Running away like a coward, too afraid to face the consequences of your actions. With the truth of your existence pressing down on your shoulders.
Why did you want Bruce to look at you with the same approval Masashi always gave you?
You were alone again. The only company you had was the trembling in your fingers as you wondered how quickly you'd forget everything you’d learned.
What was the point of being alive if you couldn’t save anyone?
You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t dare say anything at all.
Because in the end, the only thing separating you from being a burden, the only thing that helped you believe you weren’t useless, the only thing that let you think you weren’t a bad person, that maybe, just maybe, you could really save someone’s life—
…was your power.
You loved your power. You adored it like nothing else in the world. Your power went far beyond any feeling of ego or control—over others or even yourself.
You loved your power because you knew that saving someone was the right thing to do.
The right thing, even if it hurt.
The right thing, even if you bled.
The right thing, even if it tore you apart.
Masashi always understood that. He was the one who helped you stop hating your power. He helped you stop questioning your existence, gave you a purpose, something to keep fighting for.
He never told you to stop.
He never scolded you for using it.
He was never horrified when you trembled with fever after healing over thirteen critically injured patients in a single night.
He just said: “Good job. You’re really… good at this, aren’t you?”
You believed him.
You were enough, for him.
Now you were here, in Gotham. A city where “goodness” was far more complicated than it pretended to be. You understand why a hero would stop you if they saw what you were doing.
You know they wouldn’t hurt you… And that was even more terrifying than being punished.
Because you understand that not hurting you would mean forbidding you. It would be the same as telling you that you can’t help anymore.
That you can’t save anyone.
That maybe… things would be better that way.
But you know that isn’t possible. If you stopped using your power, if you stopped healing, then who would you even be?
Who are you without your power?
Would you become that same dying girl with no last name again? Or would you turn into the greatest failure your father could have ever imagined?
No one.
You’d be no one.
Just a useless child, living in a massive house, waiting for something, or someone, to break, just so your existence could be justified.
At first, you thought maybe, just maybe, your father could understand. That foolish hope shattered the moment you found out Bruce Wayne was Batman.
Batman doesn’t trust what he can’t control.
You discovered his identity by accident. And with it, you discovered your sentence.
He wouldn’t allow what you do. You doubt Bruce would go as far as to believe a child is inherently evil… But you know it’s his job to stop things like you, and you don’t want to be stopped.
You can’t be stopped.
Because if you abandon everything that makes you who you are, then all that’s left is the worst version of you.
A broken child, a lie inside Wayne Manor, a horrible lie to this poor family, a metahuman hidden among orphaned children who fight crime wearing masks.
Damian already told you, and he’s right.
In this house, you’ll only ever be known as a burden.
You theorize that Bruce thinks he’s protecting you by keeping you on the sidelines. That he genuinely believes offering you a bed, food, a family close enough to see but distant enough to ignore, is enough to keep you safe.
Unfortunately for Bruce, he doesn’t know that it’s not enough. It never has been.
You can survive without all that.
What you need is something else. You need to save someone. To make your pain worth something. To see your power move. To watch the thread pass through flesh, in and out of their bodies.
You need this pain to be worth something.
If Bruce knew… he’d take it away. He’d lock you up, he’d isolate you. Maybe even hand you over, maybe because he secretly hated you for being a liar or maybe because he truly believed that separating you from your power was the healthiest thing he could do for you.
Unlike Masashi, Bruce would never accept that you needed to survive through your power.
Masashi at least knows. He knows that you’re already broken.
And still, he let you save lives.
This life is so painfully strange and complicated. You hope you’ve done the right thing, even as the doubts grow more unbearable with time.
You just hope… You’ll be able to leave this place at the right moment.
Masashi would never consider himself a ruthless man.
No, not at all.
He considers himself a just man.
Someone who does what must be done. Someone who doesn’t reject his true nature, who doesn’t waste time clinging to moral illusions about what’s right or wrong.
Masashi simply adapts. He takes advantage of every opportunity life gives him, molding the pieces as they best serve his cause.
That’s perfectly normal, for everyone. The only difference lies in whether you choose to accept it or live in ignorance while chasing vague moral ideals of what “good” means in this world.
To Masashi, you were one of those pieces.
If not the best one he’s ever obtained, ironically, even he didn’t realize that at first.
Meeting you was a blessing.
One he didn’t recognize until much later. Until the second time he saw you.
Masashi still remembers the first day he laid eyes on you.
Killing your mother was necessary.
It was even… fun.
That woman was foolish enough to think she could leave him. As if walking away would be enough to disappear without a trace. As if a traitor could ever hide from consequences.
Masashi always found a way to reclaim what he considered his.
Muchitsujo Seika.
A distinguished, highly respected woman, meticulous, brilliant in the field of medicine. She could have become a leading figure in Japan.
Seika could have been remembered for years to come, for her work, her pure effort.
But she made one critical mistake: She crossed a clear line. She dared to think her life belonged to her.
There’s no need to talk much about Seika. She was capable, talented, even brilliant.
But also naive.
She knew exactly who she was getting involved with. She knew she couldn’t leave without consequences. And yet she tried. Even knowing the risk. She actually believed she could hide a child from him.
Seika thought she could protect you from him.
The media didn’t say much.
They couldn’t. Masashi made sure of that.
Seika had been a well-known doctor in certain circles. Quiet, brilliant, with a spotless career and an unshakable reputation. Her sudden disappearance was, of course, an anomaly.
But Masashi filled in the blanks with an elegant and functional narrative: That Seika had chosen to leave medicine after an unexpected pregnancy and raise her daughter alone in a quiet place, away from the public eye. A reserved woman making a personal choice. Nothing more.
There was no body. There was no funeral.
Only an absence far too convenient.
It was the story he himself planted. The story you’d one day be told, whispered in a soft voice, with the rehearsed sorrow of someone who says, “I was too late.” A lie, carefully crafted, precisely manipulated by his own hand.
“Seika left to raise her daughter. Then… she vanished. Some say she was murdered. No one knows for certain what happened to her.”
All lies.
Masashi remembers the truth.
He remembers every second.
He remembers the blood. The spasms. The way Seika dragged herself across the freezing floor, dripping life, trying to reach the little creature she’d just brought into the world.
Just a few steps.
Never enough.
He remembers Seika on the hospital floor. The cold lights. The dull sound of her body collapsing against the tile.
It was a grotesque, desperate spectacle…
And at the same time, profoundly beautiful.
The terror in her face. The trembling in her hands. The pain in her eyes.
All of it was worth more than any apology she could’ve offered.
"You don’t have to do this… you don’t have to do this to her…” She whispered, barely a murmur, as blood poured down her coat.
“Of course I don’t.” He replied, voice gentle.
“But I want to.”
All she tried to do was reach the baby.
It was useless. Pathetic, even. The desperate effort of a mother who hadn’t yet realized she was already dead.
Masashi didn’t feel hatred. Just a flicker of irritation, like a tool breaking before it finished its task.
Still, even Masashi knew there was nothing interesting about caring for an infant.
A baby was useless. All it did was cry. The thought alone was tedious.
Who was supposed to take care of you? Him?
Ridiculous.
Then everything went quiet.
It was Charlotte who spoke next.
“The baby… are you going to get rid of her too?”
He looked at her without much interest.
“Why bother? She’s worthless. She’ll probably die with her mother. Wouldn’t that be lovely for them both?”
Charlotte lowered her gaze, calm.
“And yet… she could become useful. In time. You said the mother had potential. Maybe the daughter does too.”
Masashi didn’t answer right away.
“You’re suggesting I let her live?”
“I’m suggesting that if there’s no reason to kill her, letting her live isn’t a loss. If she dies on her own, time will have solved the matter for us. But if she survives… she might be worth something.”
He let out a soft laugh, thoroughly delighted by the idea Charlotte had offered. Masashi simply reached out and patted her head, like a master praising his dog.
“Good work. I really have taught you well.”
Masashi granted you the benefit of the doubt.
The decision was made. A decision based on logic. On a remote possibility, and the mild pleasure of watching what the future might bring.
There wasn’t much hope for you. You were just a tiny thing, so fragile, you barely counted as real.
Masashi didn’t believe you were special.
But like any other experiment, you had to be tested.
You were thrown into the nameless misery of Japan’s outskirts the moment you were born.
Brothels. Damp streets. Alleys where the sky didn’t seem to exist.
Seeing if you survived was the only curiosity in his mind.
If you did… maybe.
If not, who would mourn you?
If you couldn’t survive something that simple, then it was impossible for Masashi to imagine you'd be worth anything later.
Because it wasn’t as if someone would come for you, claim you, or protect you from the cruelties of the world at such a young age.
Years later, Masashi found you again. He hadn’t looked for you. Hadn’t even thought of you all those years. His expectations were minimal, if not nonexistent.
It was a coincidence, a twist of chance, but sometimes, fate arranges its pieces with terrifying precision.
The girl he saw wasn’t a living creature. She was an empty shell, dead eyes, the perfect mirror of her mother, without her fire. A walking corpse.
You were injured… and healing yourself.
The power surprised him. Not just the fact that it existed, but its rarity.
“Healing?” Masashi murmured, watching from a distance.
He crouched in front of you, studying the scene without intervening. Thin, almost transparent and luminous threads pierced your own flesh at inhuman speed. Needles, impossible to ignore, yet you didn’t cry. You didn’t even tremble.
You simply worked. As if that was the only thing you’d ever been taught to do.
“How interesting…” Masashi remembers how you looked at him.
Wordless. As if unsure whether you should fear him, or thank him. It no longer mattered. Because he had already decided.
That strange, broken, useful creature, would belong to him.
It wasn’t an act of love. It wasn’t vengeance. Because if he couldn’t keep Seika, then he would take what she left behind. As he should have from the beginning.
The daughter would suffice. You would be enough.
This time, Masashi would shape you from the start.
“You’re going to stay with me.” He said with a bright smile, stroking your head with something that resembled tenderness, but couldn’t possibly be called that.
“I’ll teach you not to waste what you are.”
You didn’t respond. You simply blinked, slowly.
You were empty. No mother. No father figures. No relatives to run to. No identity. No functioning emotional framework.
All that was left was that absurd need to serve, to heal, to do something useful with a body no one had asked to be born into.
Perfect.
Masashi would be more than happy to fill every corner of your being.
You didn’t have to ask for guidance.
He gave it to you.
You didn’t have to cry for your mother.
He told you he arrived too late. That there was nothing he could do.
That he believed you had died along with her.
A convenient story.
He wasn’t trying to inspire pity. He simply needed to keep you calm.
Masashi found it almost moving.
You—a child with no trace of anger, no ambition, no drive.
You were just waiting for someone to tell you who you were.
And he did.
He told you pain must have a purpose. That you were only valuable if you could heal. That being good meant being useful, nothing more. That you could save the innocent with the gift you’d been given.
You believed him. You accepted it, desperately.
Because you had never known anything else.
You were far too lost back then to even consider searching for something more.
You just wanted to save lives.
At least that way, you wouldn’t be a bad person.
The room was dim, lit only by the warm lamp beside the bed and the pale glow of the moon slipping through the curtains. Seika had settled onto the futon with effort, cradling her belly in her arms as if holding something fragile, precious, irreplaceable.
She couldn’t sleep.
Lately, Seika rarely managed to.
This time, it wasn’t because of the sharp aches in her back or the accumulated exhaustion from the past few weeks, with the worrying surge of patients suffering from deadly diseases and injuries.
This time, it was something softer. Sweeter.
Something inside her was begging, pleading, not to let the night pass without saying something.
So she gave in to the whim of speaking to her daughter.
“You know… I’ve been thinking about you all day.” She murmured, gently caressing the soft curve of her abdomen. “I wondered if you’ll like the rain. It calms me... but you move around a lot when it rains. Does that mean you don’t like it? Or does it excite you?”
She smiled. A slow, tired smile, but a real one.
“I don’t know what color your eyes will be. That makes me laugh a little. I’d like them to be like mine, though… if you end up looking like him, I think I’ll still love you just as much.” She chuckled at her own illogical thought.
“Silly, right? As if I could stop loving you over a few genes.”
Seika paused. She closed her eyes for a moment. The silence was thick, all-encompassing. Outside, the wind shook the branches of the tree in the yard.
“I want to give you a peaceful life. A life of school, snacks, books… a slow childhood, like the ones you don’t see much anymore. Far from harm and problems no child should ever face. But I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if the world will let us.”
Her voice dropped, barely a whisper.
“I don’t know if he will let us.”
There it was... the name she didn’t dare say out loud.
Masashi.
Her worst mistake, her crime.
But Seika wasn’t going to think about that now. Not about that man. Not tonight. She couldn’t.
“No, no. Not tonight, little one.” She sighed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Tonight, I just want to imagine you happy. Walking through a park. Laughing with your mouth wide open, without fear. Breaking things by accident. Dreaming big dreams, the kind that sound impossible when you say them out loud.”
Her voice trembled.
“I want you to know that I wanted you. I waited for you. I worried. I protected you. As much as I could, I protected you.”
She brought her hands to the center of her belly and pressed gently, as if trying to draw that invisible bond between them even closer.
“I don’t know if I’ll be there to watch you grow. And even if I am… maybe not in the way I’d like.”
She swallowed hard.
“But I want you to know this: I love you already. I love you unconditionally. Without knowing you. I love you with a part of me I never used before.”
She lay down fully, slowly, exhaling as if the weight of the world had become a little easier to bear.
“I’ll name you with care.” She whispered. “I’ll give you something beautiful, something strong. A name that protects you when I’m not there, a name that feels like home. Not a weapon, not a curse… just a real name.”
A tear slid down her cheek, quiet.
“I want to give you everything I never had. I want you to never feel alone.”
She caressed her belly one last time, as the soft movements of the baby answered her touch, as if truly listening.
“If the world ever hurts you, I want you to know your mother loved you before you were born. That she talked to you every night. That she laughed to herself thinking about your imagined quirks. That she dreamed of your tiny hands, your voice, your face full of questions.”
Then, with a gentle sigh, she closed her eyes.
“Tonight, tonight and for all my life… I just want to love you.”
“I promise I’ll be a good mother… I only wish you’ll come into this world safely and live happily… without worries…” Seika hummed a familiar melody. A lullaby, perfect for practicing, for when you finally arrive into the world, into her life.
“I’ll love you for all eternity, little one… I already love you, and I always will.”
A shame that, without knowing it, this counted as a farewell for both of them.
I just can't come in between them, they got their own thing ʚĭɞ or 6 times people thought they were dating + the 1 time it was actually true.
"So, you're dating?" the new camper looks between her and Percy after they gave him the tour around camp.
Ah, the long awaited question.
And the answer is always the same. "No, we're friends, why?"
Once again, the camper looks between her and Percy, who's standing just behind her with his arms wrapped around her shoulders, her head comfortably resting back on his chest. "Oh, nothing, I just thought—"
Yes. Everyone just thought. Everyone just thought they were together, and everyone was always shocked when it turned out they were merely friends.
Percy and her couldn't understand it at all, because it was totally normal for friends to act the way they acted with each other. Right?
ʚĭɞ the ponytail.
It is, obviously, totally normal for friends to want to help each other out before combat. So, of course Percy knows exactly how to tie her hair into a perfect ponytail. Doesn’t everyone know that?
Who can blame him if he knows his best friend so well that he can easily notice her discomfort with her hair falling on her face when she's sparring? And who can blame him if he wants to help? That's what best friends do.
So he didn’t see anything wrong when he stood behind her after they called for time out, his fingers gently carding through her hair, gathering it into a ponytail, twisting it with practiced fingers and securing it with the hair tie that he just happens to have on his wrist.
"Thanks, Perce." She says, as if it's nothing out of the ordinary.
"Dude, how do you even know how to make a ponytail to begin with?" Leo asks when he hangs back and she goes back to sparring.
"She hates when her hair falls on her face." He shrugs, as if that's enough explanation.
Leo doesn’t understand, he doesn’t try to, he simply shakes his head and says, "You do realize you're in love, right?"
But Percy isn't even hearing, his eyes fixed on her and his smile growing when he sees her more relaxed without her hair bothering her.
ʚĭɞ the necklace & hairtie
Yes, it is completely normal that she wears his best friend's initial around her neck. Totally normal.
It isn't even that noticeable, just a small, golden "P" that rests on her collar bone. Cute and meaningless. She just likes jewelry. This one she especially likes, since she wears it every day.
Clarisse has never noticed it before, but now that she stands in front of her as they drink water after training, the gold necklace manages to catch her attention, sparkling under the sun tauntingly.
Clarisse squints her eyes at it. "Is that... a 'P' in your necklace?"
She lowers her water bottle and smiles, and oh— Clarisse already knows what's coming just by the silly smile on her face. "Yes, for Percy."
"How is that-" Clarisse stops herself with a sigh. "Nevermind."
She's tired of questioning it.
And Percy? He adores the necklace, but he also loves the hair tie he always has on his wrist. Because friends should be prepared for when their best friend needs a hair tie, of course. There’s nothing else to it.
People don't realize at first, it's a simple black hair tie. But Percy fiddles a lot with it during meetings, snapping it against his skin when he's bored. And he doesn’t let anyone take it or borrow it from him, "anyone has an extra hair tie?" and he's silent because he's sure as hell not giving his.
Nobody really understands why until he ends up losing it and he's frantically looking around for it as if it's such a precious object he just lost and not a simple hair tie.
"Hey do you know if I left the hair tie in your cabin last afternoon?" He asks her when they sit together for breakfast.
"No, but you can have this one if you want." And it's that simple. He nods. And she takes it off her hair to give it to him.
This one is not even a black hair tie, but rather a lilac scrunchie that definitely clashes with his orange camp shirt. But Percy is grinning like a child opening christmas gifts, and you best believe he won't lose this one.
"Is that her scrunchie on his wrist?" Katie Gardner squints at him when he walks past her table.
"Yes, and he's wearing it like it's a promise ring."
ʚĭɞ the kiss on the cheek
And of course it's normal for her to greet him with a kiss on the cheek every time.
Hi? Kiss on the cheek. Bye? Kiss on the cheek. Training? Kiss on the cheek. Breakfast? Kiss on the cheek. Seeing him after capture the flag? Kiss on the cheek. It was simply her way of greeting. Him. Only him.
So when she was late for a cabin meeting and rushed past him with a distracted. "Morning, Perce!" without a kiss? Percy kind of froze. His eyes followed her as she walked away, looking like a kicked puppy, like a kid who's candy had just been stolen.
He proceeds to spend the rest of the day sulking. No sign of her around. No kiss on the cheek. By dinner, he's still weirdly quiet.
Grover asks first. "Dude, are you okay? you look like someone just stole your christmas gifts."
"She didn’t kiss my cheek today." He mumbles, more to himself than to his friends.
Piper almost looks like she wants to throw her fork to his head as she asks, "Is this whole thing just because she didn’t kiss your cheek?"
"Why didn’t she? Did I do something wrong?" And he's pouting, dramatically sad about it.
Grover raises an eyebrow at Annabeth, but before any of them can say anything else, she finally arrives, almost running to the table and taking her usual seat besides Percy.
"Sorry guys, had a busy day today." She excuses herself and then— like it's second nature, she leans to press a kiss against Percy's cheek. A greeting.
And every single one of his friends is able to witness the change in Percy's expression, the way his whole face just brightens. Long forgotten is the sadness and the sulking.
"How is this normal?" Annabeth shakes her head, going back to her food.
ʚĭɞ the wallet
Percy, as a good friend would, has memorized her usual order. "Chicken sandwich with no tomatoes and fries on the side, add honey mustard for those please."
"Does it change anything if I point out that you hesitated with your own order but not with hers?" Jason asks, looking at him as if he's simply ridiculous.
"That's what friends are for." Percy shrugs, taking out his wallet.
"So you know all your friends orders that way? I don't think-" Frank's words trail off when Percy opens his wallet. "What is that?"
Percy pulls out a few dollars before he realizes Frank is talking to him, his eyes fixed on the photo on his wallet. "Hm?" he looks down and he smiles at the photo. "Oh, that's y/n."
He proudly opens the wallet wider to allow both Jason and Frank to see the photo of little five year old y/n squinting at the camera with a wide grin, a bandaid on her nose. "Doesn’t she look cute?"
"I- uh- do you just carry it in your wallet?" Jason asks, genuinely taken by surprise. And he thought he could expect anything from those two.
"Well, yeah? she gave it to me ages ago." and he turns to pay.
Frank and Jason exchange looks and shake their heads in disbelief, meanwhile Percy is already busy. "Hey do you have those chocolate chip cookies with the colorful little sprinkles on top? She likes those."
ʚĭɞ the flowers and lipsticks
Friends get each other flowers, right? at least, Percy will if he casually spots flowers while shopping for groceries with her mom.
It's not his fault, they were just there.
A bouquet of pink lilies, her all time favorite flowers, right when he's walking past the flower stand. They are basically calling for him.
When Sally Jackson looks up from her cart and finds his son holding a bouquet in one hand and gummy worms in the other, she smiles to herself.
"Is there any special dates coming soon?" She teases, knowing exactly what this is about.
"Oh?" he looks down, as if he just realized he's holding flowers. "Oh these? they remind me of y/n, so I thought I might aswell get them for her."
Sally nods, she doesn't question it, she doesn't try to understand it. Because she already knows.
Except that sometimes it really is unbelievable that his son is so oblivious, Sally gets to realize this when she takes a lip balm from the racks by the cash register. "Maybe I should get y/n one of these, she likes them, doesn’t she?"
Percy hums, distracted by placing the groceries in the chekout belt. "Yep, but make sure to get the cherry-mint one, you know? the one in the little pot with the silver lid. She loves that one."
"Percy, how can you know how it tastes?"
Silence. For a second, Percy just stops mid-putting the bread down and realizes what he just did.
"I guessed." he replies simply.
Because he's not about to confess to his mother that he knows that's the lip balm she has been wearing since he kissed her for the first and only time when they were twelve. So what? they had just been friends who had never kissed anyone before. It just seemed fitting at the time that they should share their first kiss with each other.
And it was totally normal if maybe he simply made a mental note not to ever forget her favorite lip balm. Because he's a good friend.
"Perseus, you are unbelievable."
ʚĭɞ the date
Percy felt as if it was perfectly normal to be worried for his friend going on a date, worried to the point of sulking the entire day? completely normal.
Yes. She has a date. With some guy Percy didn’t even bother learning the name of. Percy had only focused on the sheer audacity of this guy to be charming enough to get her flowers— roses, seriously? and ask her out.
But it's normal for him to be a little protective over his best friend. That's all it is. He just doesn't want her getting hurt by some dude that didn’t even bother trying to know her favorite flowers.
That's the only explanation for the way he felt something inside him twisting when he saw her before she had to leave for the date, looking all pretty and smiling brightly to go out with some other guy.
That's why he doesn’t do much the whole day, he doesn’t train or joins his friends on their impromtu day at the lake. By the time the night falls, he has been on his cabin for hours, glaring at the ceiling for more time than he'd like to admit.
It's past lights out when there’s a soft knock coming from his door, and before he can even react, she opens the door and slips inside, still in that dress that looks like it's been made just for her, her heels clicking as she holds them in her hand.
Most of the times, she lingers on the door to wait for Percy to give her permission to step inside— as if he would ever tell her to leave. But not this time, this time she walks quickly and doesn’t even stop at the edge of the bed or sits like she always does.
No, this time she simply crawls into bed with him.
"Hey, how did-" He gets cut off when she suddenly wraps her arms around him, burying her face against his chest.
"Missed you." Her voice is muffled against his chest, but he's able to understand. "So much."
Percy wraps his arms around her waist almost instictively, pulling her closer to him. "You saw me this afternoon."
"Still missed you." She replies. "Especially after that date."
He chuckles softly, his fingers carding through her hair, her fingers curl slightly against his shirt, and he tightens his hold around her. And it feels right.
"Was it that bad?" He asks, keeping his tone light, as if he didn’t spend the whole day brooding.
"So bad." There’s no hesitance. "He talked about himself the whole night. Barely asked anything about me. And when he did, and I brought you up, he got all weird."
Percy's hands stopped on her hair for a second, his eyebrows raising slightly. "Weird?"
She shifted slightly, nuzzling her face against the crook of his neck. "He he told me that we should probably distance ourselves a little because people thought we were dating and he almost didn’t ask me out because of you."
"That's ridiculous." Percy laughs at that, but it even surprises him how forced it sounds, how his stomach twists again.
She pulls away now, barely really, just enough to look at him. "Yup, ridiculous, right?"
They both look at each other, her fingers still curled in his shirt, his arms still securely wrapped around her waist. And neither of them moves.
After a moment, he whispers, as if he couldn't allow himself to speak any louder because it might break the whole thing. "Have you ever thought that maybe... it isn't so ridiculous?"
His heart is pounding, his gaze glued to her, waiting for a response. "Yes, maybe it isn't ridiculous, maybe-"
Percy doesn’t let her finish her sentence, he can't. Because the moment she confirms what he has been thinking about, it's like his body moves instinctively, his lips suddenly crashing against hers.
Cherry-mint lips welcoming his like they've been waiting for this for a long time, his hand brushing over the delicate chain around her neck, fingers pausing just for a second on the tiny gold letter that hangs on it.
And it's exactly what it should be. Soft. Sure. Familiar. Comforting. And even better than that first time they kissed back when they were twelve year-old kids convinced that all they could ever be was friends.
ʚĭɞ the kiss.
The next morning, nobody notices the change— because there has not been any evident change in the way they act. Everyone just thinks that the clingyness, the kisses on the cheek, the hugs, are just part of the routine already.
Until they're getting ready for capture the flag and, as usual, Percy helps her with her ponytail. It isn't anything that people haven't seen already, No. So everyone just rolls their eyes at them, mumbling about how oblivious they are.
"How many more months do you think will take them to finally realize?" Clarisse mumbles, putting on her helmet.
"Who knows? It could be years, they-" Grover's words die on his mouth when Percy suddenly leans to kiss her.
Kiss her. Percy is kissing her. In front of everyone.
He doesn’t even realize that people have stopped to look at them, because as he pulls away, the only thing worth his attention is her smile as he says. "You'll do great out there, angel."
"I swear if you tell me you're only friends after that, Jackson." Leo tells him after she has ran off to go find her spear.
Percy chuckles, his smile bright, his eyes still fixed on her. "Friends? No, that's my girl."
thinking about getting pounded by colleague!gojo in his office after hours, thinking no one else is around. He has you bent over his desk, your panties pushed to the side while his thick cock stretches you open, leaving you a drooling mess. But then suddenly, colleague!nanami walks in, completely dumbfounded by the sight in front of him. He stands there in shock, the papers he was holding in his hand now scattered on the floor while he watches you, his colleague, being fucked dumb by the gojo satoru. “Nnnngh, t-toru! N-nanamiii!” You’re trying your hardest not to moan, completely embarrassed that he’s seen you in this light. “I know he’s standing right there, sweets.” He bends down close to your ear, his breath fanning across your sweaty skin. “He likes it,” he whispers, an evident smirk in his voice.
You can’t help but stare at the blonde in front of you, an obvious bulge in his slacks, his cheeks dusted a light pink. “Isn’t that right, Nanami? You like watching our pretty little coworker getting fucked, don’t you? You do have a crush on her after all,” he chuckles. He grabs a fistful of your hair, forcing you to look nanami in the eye while you take his cock, feeling his throbbing tip rub against your cervix. Nanami slowly steps forward, his eyes fixated on you. He reaches his hand out, gently caressing your cheek, swiping the pad of his thumb over your swollen lips. You look back at him with teary eyes, noticing the stern look on his face. You can’t tell what’s running through his head, but god he looks so good in his new suit and his disheveled hair, not to mention his raging bulge that was right in front of your face.
“N-nanami—ah! Fuck!” Your eyes squeeze shut at the sheer force of the gojo’s thrusts. Nanami unbuckles his belt, making quick movements to get his aching cock out. His chest heaves up and down, moving rapidly as he reaches into his slacks, his cock springing upward. He should be angry, furious to see you like this with gojo, it should be him that has you bent over his desk, but in a twisted way he doesn’t mind it. He likes seeing you in a such a vulnerable state, nearly on the verge of tears and desperate enough that you don’t care if you’re caught. He slowly strokes his cock just inches away from your face, settling his thumb in your mouth, encouraging you to suck it.
“This pussy is so fucking tight, mmm. You like having him watch? I bet you do.” Gojo lets out a breathy moan, sinking deep in your sopping cunt, making you moan around nanami’s finger.
Low grunts and whimpers erupt from nanami’s chest no matter how hard he tries to hide it. He follows the same pace gojo is fucking you at, imaging how warm and wet your cunt is as he stares down at you, noting the way your tongue swirls around his finger. “Don’t take your eyes off me, baby,” he says with a shaky breath, his grip tightening around his cock, moving his wrist in circular motions. He tosses his head back, his adams apple bobbing up and down, heavy breathing and shallow moans bouncing off the walls of the small office.
“S-shit, sweets! Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” Gojo grunts, his grip on your hips tightening, sure to leave indents in your skin. “God, you feel so fucking good! Gonna let me cum inside you? Say yes. Say—” You nod your head without hesitation, eyes focused on the way nanamis movements grow faster, biting on his bottom lip. His smears his precum over his swollen tip, dragging his hand all the way down and back up his shaft.
Gojo slams into you one last time, jolting your body forward as he paints your walls with his sticky cum, feeling his cock throb inside you with every drop he releases into you. “Nnnngh, fuck!” He slowly fucks his cum into you, squeezing the flesh of your ass and spreading it as he watches how your pussy grips around him.
Nanami’s breaths grow louder, his cheeks now flushed red just like the tip of his cock. “O-open for me, baby. Yeah, yeah just like that. So fucking perfect.” His eyes roll back when you stick your tongue out for him, just mere seconds later he cums all over, letting out the loudest moans. He milks his cock, not letting a drop go to waste.
Both of them try and catch their breath, your legs feel like jelly and your pussy completely sore. “Gonna let Nanami have a go at you next time?” Gojo teases, helping you stand to your feet. You shyly glance over at him, as if you haven’t just swallowed his cum and looked in the eye for the last few minutes. “What if he asks nicely, hm?” Gojo presses wet kisses to your neck, his hands roaming over your body and down to your ass.
“Unless she doesn’t want me to ask nicely. Maybe she just wants to be forced down and fucked.” You feel nanami’s breath on the back of your neck, sending chills down your spine, completely sandwiched between these two men. His hand comes up from behind, wrapping around your throat to pull you back for a kiss, his tongue swiping over your lips and into your mouth. You kiss him back, sloppily.
“Might have to take her somewhere else to fully have our fun then.” Gojo reaches under your skirt, licking a stripe across your ear and down your neck.
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