peter parker x fem!reader, brand new day
after a month of wishing spider-man would show up again, you aren't prepared for the state he's in when he finally does. he is completely broken, the result of his painful new transformation, and you are the only one who can put him back together. (6.5k wc)
read part one!!
taglist: @lumpy-grapefruit @kuro-mimi @mermade1975 @mitskiandmarvel @sourmooonlight @fanworrior @pupcakemp3 @leeprtt @swagtasticteal @taylormm1016 @thebadbatchfan @anda333 @eviepeazy (tysm to all of you for the love!! <3)
A month had passed since Spider-man had broken into your apartment but your mind was only just starting to let go of the hope that he would show up again. A night like that was not one someone could easily let go of, much less forget, but you suspected you had ruminated a little too much on the memory. Immediately following that night you began sitting on your fire escape more than you used to. It wasn’t like you never sat out there, you were just a lot more likely to now that a certain local superhero happened to stumble onto it.
Unbeknownst to you, this was causing a lot of trouble for Peter. He had to come up the stairs like a regular person way too often for his liking now on the off chance you would be watching and see him swing into his apartment. He could tell you were starting to get over it when you stopped eating dinner outside and he could finally continue business as usual. It took a lot of effort to ignore the pull in his heart that wanted to see you again. Maybe it was some last vestige of his teenaged ego that wanted to swing by one more time and dazzle you, that small part of him that still loved being Spider-man for all the ego-centric reasons someone might like being a superhero. It was the same part of him that had wanted to show up to Liz’s party in high school or swung around with MJ whenever he could convince her. When he put the mask on he was different, special, and he liked it. Or he used to, anyway. He tried to focus on all the noble sources of pride that came from helping strangers on the street, taking pictures with little kids, or saving people from burning buildings, not looking cool in front of the girl he loved. Any self-serving benefits no longer existed, and if they did he didn’t see them as equal to what he had sacrificed. Maybe he had a martyr complex, maybe that was the exact reason he deliberately ignored your window every night. It felt nice to be taken care of, to talk to someone who saw through the mask a bit, but he knew that if he indulged again it would likely only put you in harm's way.
Especially now. In the midst of isolation he had started to… change. Nights that should have been spent on the streets saving people were now consumed by late night tracking his vitals with E.V. and hunting down whoever the hell had possessed those people to break Scorpion out of prison. Something was deeply wrong with him, something he had no way to see coming. It only took one disgusting video on the life cycle of a spider for the message to become clear to him but that didn’t mean he had to accept it. The constant migraines that split his head in two, his overwhelming senses, not to mention the total asshole he was becoming, it was all too much. He was changing into something he didn’t understand. All of that to say, it was a horrible idea to see you again.
But like everything else that was a bad idea, it ended up happening whether he wanted it to or not.
This night had been worse than most. He finally let himself go on patrol and he had messed up big time. He still wasn’t in control of his all new organic webshooters or all new temper and just barely held himself back from breaking every bone in a superarmored bank robber’s face. He had escaped prison when Scorpion was broken out and was quick to repeat his crimes once he had gathered their resources. His fist was inches away from making final contact when he came to his senses and took the man to the hospital. He was so full of rage he couldn’t see straight and it terrified him. How was he supposed to protect this city when he was becoming a bigger threat than most of the bad guys he put away? His mind looped these thoughts as he swung home that night, that’s when he spotted you on your fire escape. Immediately he swung onto a nearby roof top and prepared to wait you out. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but it just so happened that it was the worst night possible for it to recur. He was at his weakest and the last thing he needed to do was rope another person into his shitty reality.
Since that night, it had gotten harder for Peter to stay isolated. He heard every sound from the apartment below his. He knew when you were waking up, what you were listening to, when you went to work. At first, it was unconscious, like some part of his brain had tuned into your frequency without him realizing it. After a few days though he couldn’t help himself. Against every instinct in his body, he had become attached to you.
However, despite his most noble efforts, his spider DNA had other plans that night. When the headache started he knew had to retreat. He bit back a scream as it tore through him, his blood pumping red hot through his veins. E.V.’s voice spoke in his ear, “Arachnid hormone levels rising.” He knew it would only be moments before it began, the pain that made him beg for release, for death.
Two choices laid themselves before him. His window, or the one below it. In a moment of weakness, he locked onto yours. You couldn’t make it go away, and who knows what he would do if he was around you. What if he hurt you? From deeper within, a voice of reason spoke. May’s voice. What if I didn’t?
You had barely made it back into your bedroom when you heard a thump at your window. Despite the part of you who had wanted Spider-man to show up again, you were terrified at the possibility of seeing him again. It can’t be. Your head whipped around immediately as your heart pounded in your ears. On the other side of the glass was Spider-man, doubled over in pain with his head furiously pushed into one hand while the other was slammed against your window.
From the other side of the glass you could hear his muffled plea, “Please, let me in.” Immediately you sprung into action, opening the window and backing away as he weakly pulled himself in. His body fell flat onto the ground, his head barely missing the metal radiator below the sill. It was like you were on auto-pilot, possibly due to the embarrassing amount of times you had already rehearsed this moment in your head, as you grabbed a pillow from your bed and tried to put it under his head.
“Holy shit, what happened to you?” Your voice was thick with worry and panic. Whatever shape he had shown up in last time didn’t come close to what you saw in front of you now. The physical injuries were obvious. Blood was all over his arms and hands, some was even splattered on his mask but it was hard to see where it was coming from past his hands wrapped around either side of his head.
Instead of replying, Peter violently rocked back and forth on the ground, grumbling, “Stay back, I’m begging you—” a fierce groan ripped through him before he could finish. Fear shot through your body, causing you to flinch away from him and stumble from your squat into a full seat on the ground. Below the mask his face shifted through countless emotions: shame, fear, and most of all excruciating pain. When he got like this, it was impossible to control himself. There was a very real possibility that if the spider took over, you would be its target. His head felt like it was about to pop. Every sense was amplified; each sound felt like it was coming from inside of his ears, everything he touched felt like it was on fire, his skin felt like it was turning in on itself. It very well may have been, he didn’t totally understand what his transformation would look like other than the videos he watched of actual spiders shedding their skin. Regardless of the shame as he felt for scaring you he couldn’t bring himself to calm himself down. The best he could do was tumble out apologies.
“I’m so sorry, god, I’m sorry. I didn’t know where to go. Please, make it stop,” he pleaded.
“Make what stop? What is happening to you?” Despite your fear you crawled towards him again, your hands hovering inches away from his wrists. He wanted to push you off, tell you to get away, but the only thing stronger than his pain was the fact he couldn’t be alone anymore. When he chose to come through your window he had already accepted the obvious truth- he needed help. Your help.
“Something’s wrong with me… I’m changing and, I-I can’t stop it…. It hurts so much, please, god make it stop.” Peter’s body curled more into itself as he willed himself to speak. You were completely clueless as to how you could help him, much less make it stop. What does he mean he’s changing? Nobody knew how Spider-man became the way he was, much less the long term effects of being that way, which made it impossible for you to try to solve the problem. Truthfully none of that mattered now, not only was his initial transformation unprecedented but whatever was happening now was off the deepend of whatever you could possibly conceive. What mattered was the man in front of you, afraid and in pain with no one else to turn to. Why else would he show up here?
The realization sent another shock through your body. It had occurred to you when you had first met but to see it manifested in this moment broke you. You had only met one time, but it was you who he had turned to. He had nowhere else to go.
With a renewed sense of duty you tried a new strategy. With a faux-calm voice you attempted to soothe him, “Spider-man, hey, hey, look at me.” Your hands finally planted on his wrists as your thumbs traced small circles on them. At first he jerked against your touch, which admittedly terrified you, but he relented slightly after a moment. He let you pull them just far enough away from his head that you could now clearly see there was no gash on his face or his arms. That wasn’t his blood.
“There you go, there you go, please, deep breaths, c’mon,” you wavered as you spoke. His breaths were slowly becoming less shallow, the cries of pain became quieter and less frequent. Instead, they were replaced with one solid phrase repeating, “What is happening to me?” You wanted to ask the same thing, but now wasn’t the time.
“It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay.” Peter couldn’t stop the shaking but his vision was slowly becoming more focused on you. Now able to see you somewhat clearly he could see just how afraid you were. Your eyes were wildly scanning him, searching for any source of injury. Using you as a focal point he ran through his five senses, honing each one in on you. He could see your fear. He could feel the shakiness of your hands against his wrists. He could smell the remnants of a candle burning somewhere in the room. He could hear your voice, anxiously soothing him with repeated whispers. He could taste the blood in his mouth, thankfully it wasn’t yours. One sense at a time, he was pulled away from the edge. The headache that sent him into a burning frenzy began to dull into a consistent thump.
Peter finally crumbled beneath your touch, his fetal position turning into an exhausted slump. You took this as an opportunity to get him off of the floor.
“Listen, you don’t have to explain anything right now, but we need to get you somewhere comfortable. Do you think you can stand?” He opted for a nod, which prompted you to slowly pull him up by his arms. The thought of letting go of him terrified you, so you held on tightly as you led him onto your bed. With an anguished sigh, he lowered himself onto the bed sitting upright. Finally you let go of him, but you stayed close for a moment in case he fell forward. When he was finally stable you took a few steps towards the door.
“Okay, please stay there, I’m gonna get you some water.”
An overpowering self-consciousness came over him. Despite his desperation, Peter called out, “Please, don’t, I shou-”
“No, stop it. You’re here now so we are doing this my way,” you scolded from the door frame. He hadn’t seen you this serious last time, it was completely new to him. It reminded him of life before everyone forgot about him, when he had people who cared about him. He blamed his compliance to your demands on the rush of nostalgia, but he didn’t allow himself to dwell on the memories too long. Right now, he was too emotionally and physically exhausted to remember how horrible his life had become in the last four years.
As you stepped into the kitchen you finally let out the shaky breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Everything was hopefully calming down now, but that didn’t mean he was in the clear yet. Focusing on that instead of your own fear, you filled two glasses with water before preparing a cold rag. Carrying all three things back to the room, you were filled with pity at the sight that awaited you. Spider-man sitting on the edge of your bed, his head buried in his hands as he shook it weakly. Whatever had happened tonight had broken him in a way you hoped to never experience, in a way you wanted to fix. Silently, you held the glass of water out to him. He looked up at you as he took it, and while you couldn’t see his face you could still feel the gratitude pouring from his white lenses. You took a seat next to him on the bed and slowly held the rag out.
“If you want, I can go make you something… if you wanna have a moment to,” you gestured to the mask before finishing awkwardly, “yaknow.” In yet another moment of what he perceived as weakness, Peter let his mind consider the option that terrified him. Everyone had to forget who he was in the first place because he needed to protect them, but every moment since then had been torture. He had been forced to question what being Spider-man was all for now, what living was for. It was harder to come up with an answer nowadays.
He didn’t respond to your offer, instead beginning his explanation of how he ended up there, in your bedroom, tonight. That seemed much easier to answer in comparison. The rag stayed neglected in your hand.
“I’m changing,” he started. Peter paused for a moment to let you have a moment to speak, to stop him from explaining and send him on his way so you didn’t get caught up in this mess, but you didn’t. You just hummed in response.
“When I became Spider-man, it completely changed my life. I finally had… a purpose. I was stronger, faster, more powerful than anyone ever should be, and I used that to help people. That kept me going, until it didn’t. Until I lost everything that I wanted to protect.” He turned to meet your burning gaze now. You hung on each word that left his lips.
He continued, “Something happened, something really bad. I had to make a choice that meant letting go of everyone left who knew who I was. It’s so hard to explain-”
“Then don’t,” you stopped him. “Tell me what you can, not what you think I need. I’m here.” Peter’s lips parted as he searched for a stabilizing breath but it wouldn’t come. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to talk to someone, to be honest with someone. At least, someone besides E.V., which always made him feel pathetic. It took him a moment to gather the strength to speak, it was time to say the scary part out loud.
“It’s been four years since then, and I’m still not over it. I saw them the other day, my best friends in the world, I talked to them… but they still couldn’t remember me, and I don’t know, I guess that did something to me. Ever since that day, my body has been… changing.” Again, he paused to let you ask any questions, to back out, but you stayed silent. That didn’t mean you were without questions, but now wasn’t the time.
“The spider that made me this way, it changed the chemicals in my body. Now, it’s changing me again somehow. I-I can shoot webs from my wrists,” each word was emphasized with a gesture of his hands.
“My senses are tuned to one-hundred percent, and it hurts. My head feels like it’s about to explode, and I can’t control myself anymore. I could’ve killed someone today. Someone who deserves to have justice served to him, not die. Sure, he’s killed people, but that’s not what I’m supposed to do. I’m supposed to save people, not fucking kill them. I was so scared, I ran away like a coward. Then the headache came back. I don’t know what’s going on with me, and I’m horrified of myself.” In the moment of silence that followed, Peter 3’s voice played in his head. I stopped pulling my punches. His gaze fell to his lap.
There was a heavy pause before you could say anything. It was almost too much to take, how can someone live like that? Whenever you tried to think of the right thing to say, you were stumped. Maybe there wasn’t a right thing to say, just saying something was enough.
“That’s… the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.” You didn’t mean to, but a heavy huff of laughter escaped your lips with the words. Peter looked at you with shock, only to be met with tears welling up in your eyes. You couldn’t even feel them coming, but they started to pool and before you could control them they slipped down your face in hot streams. There were no hiccups, no sobs, just pitying tears. Before he could stop himself, his hands softly cupped your face. His gloved thumbs ran over your face and softly wiped them as soft reassurances left his lips.
“Hey, hey… come on sweetheart, please don’t cry. Please, I promise I’m gonna be okay…” The rag you were holding slipped to the floor as your hands wrapped around his. You tried to hide your face in his hold but he wouldn’t let you. There was no time to focus on it, but the name set a small rumble off inside of you.
“God, I’m sorry, this isn’t about me. I’m so sorry for you… Spider-man.” The name felt silly now. He was showing you who he really was, whoever that may be, but here you were calling him by the name you felt might as well be a curse.
“Don’t apologize, please. It’s bad right now, it is, but I… I love doing what I do. I get to save people every day, not everyone can say that, right? I even get to go to strangers’ houses and tell them my sob story,” it was his turn to make a pitiful joke now. It was successful, the air was ever-so-slightly lighter now and after a moment you let your hands drop from his. With one last wipe he retreated as well, the ghost of his touch still lingering on your skin.
“I don’t think you can call me a stranger anymore, even though we don’t even know each other's names. I know pretty much everything else about you.” As you spoke you felt your energy returning. The weight of the moment remained but it wasn’t crushing, instead becoming the heavy fact of reality. You could push through that.
“Yeah, and I know you are probably dying inside at how many germs I’m getting on your bed right now.” That pulled a real laugh out of you as you took another close look at him. He was filthy.
“Oh my god, I didn’t even think about that. By the way, you totally stained my couch. You are so lucky I haven’t kicked you onto the floor,” you laughed out, rubbing your face with the backs of your hands. The tears had stopped now and were replaced by a genuine smile. The pressure was finally off of both of you, a feeling that left you feeling brave. Brave enough to say your name.
Peter’s head whipped up to look at you as it left your lips.
You repeated it again, adding, “That’s my name. I know you can’t tell me yours, but I want you to know mine. I guess, I want you to know there’s someone out there who really cares about you.” Electricity ran through Peter’s body. His lips moved, whispering your name back to himself like it would slip away if he didn’t. The cocktail of emotions in the air kept pulling more out of you.
After a pause, reassurances began flying from you. “Don’t, like, think you have to tell me yours though. Seriously, I’m not trying to—” In a flash, his fingers slipped under the lip of his mask as he pulled it off in one swift movement. Your sentence immediately trailed off as your jaw dropped to the floor. There he sat, Spider-man, with no mask on. He was beautiful. Dark curls exploded out from the tight confines of the mask and he nervously ran a hand through them. There were some small cuts that had healed over dotted around his sharp face. After a moment of staring, you became aware of the fact you were gawking in complete silence. It felt like it was illegal to see his face, a feeling that overwhelmed you as you covered your eyes and shot up from the bed. From behind you, Peter laughed through a thick layer of nerves.
“Am I seriously that hideous?” he joked. That couldn’t have been further from the truth.
“God, not at all. You are like, wow,” the words tumbled out before you could stop them, which made him laugh even harder.
“Ignore me, Jesus, this is horrible. I just- I feel like I’m breaking the rules right now!” Your face was burning from under your hands when you felt his wrap around your wrists. Gently they pulled them away, leaving you exposed to his stare. He was smiling now, an expression that only made it harder to look at him. Dammit, of course Spider-man is hot. I knew it. Why wouldn’t he be?
“It’s fine, you aren’t gonna get in trouble for knowing who I am or anything.” It was a joke but he couldn’t help but feel like there was a bit of deception twisted into it. People did usually seem to find trouble after finding out who he was. When you finally met his gaze again, he took a deep breath. Here goes nothing.
“My name’s Peter. It’s only fair I tell you, that was your rule and all.” Your mind flashed back to the first time you met once again, you couldn’t believe he remembered. Everything was out in the open now. There was no taking it back. If you decided to tell the world, there wasn’t another magic spell that could fix it. He was trusting you with his life, and it felt warm in your hands. Against your better judgement, you pressed your fingertips to his face, tracing a soft line against a cut on his cheek. Despite the small contact, he leaned into your touch. His hand wrapped around your elbow and squeezed gently as his eyes fluttered shut. You were so close now, it felt impossible to retreat from him. Your touch continued to move, following the lines of his face into his hairline.
Quietly you asked, “Why did you come here? That night, tonight, what happened? Why me?” His hand traveled to your upper arm as he traced over the thin skin. His eyes fluttered back open and took you in. There was a desperation in your eyes. You didn’t want to pry, but now more than ever you needed to know the answer to the question that had haunted you for weeks.
“The first time… was a mistake. I mistook your window for mine and… then I was here.” Your head turned to the side at that, your fingers slipping from his hair. While you had assumed that was the case, it only made you more confused. Sensing that, he explained with a point to the ceiling.
“I, uh… am your upstairs neighbor.” Immediately you straightened up, your eyes lighting up with shock. All of those nights you heard the window slam, the nights you racked your brain with imaginary confrontations, it was him? It all felt so obvious now. You spun away from him suddenly and raked your fingers through your hair. His hand felt empty now that he wasn’t holding your arm as he considered the fact he might have just ruined everything.
“Seriously? God, that’s why you’re always coming back at the craziest hours ever. Who are you talking to, like, all the time up there?”
“That’s E.V., she’s the artificial intelligence I use to help with… kinda everything. And she’s kinda my therapist, which I realize saying out loud is the saddest sentence anyone has ever said before.” You huffed once again at that but you couldn’t find it in you to respond, instead continuing to put together the pieces in your mind.
“You’ve been right above me this whole time…” Neither of you spoke for a minute after that, both absorbing the situation; you, the fact that the very person you had been obsessing over for a month straight was right above you all along; him, the fact that you cared about him even though you had no idea who he was. He was just a faceless neighbor and here you were, worrying about his safety. He was overcome with emotion at the idea, a force that made him cross the room to close the space in between you.
“But that isn’t why I came here tonight. I came because… I thought that seeing you might make it go away. I couldn’t do it alone anymore. I couldn’t stop myself from seeing you anymore. I’ve tried for weeks. Every time you sat out on the fire escape—”
“You saw that?” Your face burned again at his admission. He took another step closer.
His voice came out again, even more confident this time. “Every time, I wanted to just… be with you. Tell you everything. It sounds insane, we only met once, but I don’t know. I felt like I had to see you.” The words simmered in the air between you, that space becoming a vacuum that pulled your breath from your lungs. A new instinct took control of him now, one that was entirely rooted in the part of him that was human. The urge to kiss you.
With one swift step, he consumed your space. His hands wrapped around the back of your neck and pulled you in, your lips crashing together with the force. Immediately you melted into him, any fear you had felt that night slipping away like a distant memory. Your own hands found his face, one hand smoothly carding through his hair. You swore you could feel his heart beating against your own, the thumping pulling you even further into the pull of his body.
Cautiously, one of his hands slipped down your back, firmly pulling your waist into him. Your body obeyed, craving the contact. His kiss became more passionate as you surrendered into him as if this moment had the ability to heal everything inside of him. You felt it in his touch, the desperation of someone who had nobody. Someone who had gone adrift from the world he sought to protect, and here you were, anchoring him back to it.
Despite himself, Peter broke away first.
“Is this okay?” It came out less like a question and more like a plea.
“Peter,” you breathed out. It was final. There was nothing else that couldn’t be said with his body. Instead of attaching himself back to your lips, he eagerly latched onto your neck, his hot breath pulling you deeper into your trance. Your head lulled back as his name slipped from your lips, begging him for more. He obeyed, both of his hands now tracing over your body as he pulled you into him. You couldn’t stay still, your own touch wandering up and down his frame, searching for the perfect landing. The further he strayed from your lips the faster the pool inside of you swirled, but you needed him back. Taking his head in your hands you pulled him back to face you and for a brief moment you looked into his eyes. They were wildly searching you for something, any sign from you that didn’t want this. Then, you saw them. Hot tears threatened to spill from his eyes. When he felt them he was filled with shame, it was obvious on his face.
“Peter, it’s okay, please. I’m here.” Your fingers were sprawled across his face, each one electrifying him. You smeared the tears into his skin as his body trembled against yours. Your lips suddenly closed in on his face, kissing the tears away. The salt clung to your lips as you pressed each other, a gesture that only led to more spilling out.
“I’m here, I’m here, everything’s okay now. Shh,” you soothed, your fingers finding their way back to his hair. “What do you need, I’ll give it to you. Please, tell me what I can do.” Peter couldn’t believe the words coming from your mouth, they made him become even more desperate.
“I need you, please, I need you baby,” his voice came out weaker than you had ever heard it. You didn’t speak again, instead pressing your lips back to his. He melted against you now as you guided him backwards. He folded back when the backs of his legs pressed against the bed. When you separated again he took full advantage of the fact he was angled below to run his hands up and down your body once again, finally palming your breasts. Just as he made contact, you took your place between his open knees. He let his fingers slip below your shirt, the cool sensation of his gloves making you shiver. Your hands met his and pulled the shirt over your head, leaving you almost fully exposed in front of him.
“God…” the word slipped from his lips as he suddenly pulled you closer by your hips, pressing hot kisses against your stomach. His fingers found their way under the waistband of your shorts when you stopped him.
“Please, I need to see you.” He understood, immediately rising. Surprisingly, the suit came off quickly, leaving him on almost complete display. Again, you couldn’t help but stare. He was practically carved out of stone, and the pressure inside of you became almost unbearable when you locked onto his erection. It was begging for a release you were eager to provide. You started making your way closer to make him sit again when he stopped you with hands planted on either shoulder.
“Wait, before… I need you to promise me you’ll tell me if I’m hurting you. Please, please, tell me.” Again, he seemed so small in front of you. In an attempt to show him how much you wanted this, your hands wrapped around his and guided them down to your chest. His pupils blew wide with desire.
“I promise,” you whispered back.
“Fuck, baby… you’re gonna kill me.” His lips attacked yours again as his fingers got busy with your bra. When that was gone he pushed back again and took in the sight.
“God, you’re fucking perfect,” he whined. You could see him getting harder by the second. As he once again reached to take off your shorts you slipped your hand into his boxers. Your fingers wrapped tight around him as your thumb played with his tip, your appetite growing more and more ravenous as you smeared him with his own slick precum. His lips pressed an open-mouthed moan into your own as you started working him. He finally relieved you of your last bit of clothing while you finally got him to lay flat on your bed. You crawled over him now, rolling your hips into his with a hungry pace. His dick was now pulled over the top of his boxers and with a free hand you lined it up with your folds.
“W-Wait, please let me taste you,” he pleaded. With a nod of your head you gave him permission, a granted wish he eagerly took advantage of. He quickly wrapped his arms under your knees and flipped you both, stealing the air from your lungs. Without hesitation, he buried his face between your thighs, suckling and teasing your clit with his hot tongue.
“Oh my god, Peter, please, please, touch me,” the words flowed from your lips without restraint. He slowly began prodding your entrance with his fingers as he kept his tongue right where you needed it. When he finally pressed in, you could only see a flash of white. Instinctually you started to grind down on his face, a movement Peter quickly controlled with a firm press of his other hand on your stomach. He guided your body like he knew it as well as his own. Another finger slipped inside of you, sending you teetering on the edge of release when paired with his furious tongue. It didn’t take long for you to give into the feeling.
Peter’s voice came out in a hum against you as he kept his pace, “There you go sweetheart, let it go, let me show you how much I need you.” The power of the orgasm pulled your hips to the sky like there were puppet strings attached to your body. Again, Peter tamed the movement, keeping you still under his firm grip. When the pleasure finally finished rumbling through you, he made quick pace to start kissing up your stomach.
“Please, I need you in me now,” you pleaded. That was all he needed to hear. When you looked down at him, you saw his boxers were not fully abandoned, leaving you face to face with his firm erection. Slowly he lined himself up with you, his hand rubbing reassuring pets over your body.
“Please, you promise you’ll stop me?” His eyes burned again with sincerity, a softness that was almost lost on you in the midst of him fiercely pleasuring you. You couldn’t speak, instead nodding furiously. Finally, you felt him breach you, the stretch sending a chill through your body. He froze for a moment when he felt it but eventually pushed in further. When it was finally in fully, he craned his neck down to press his lips against yours.
“You feel so good, oh my god,” he muttered against your lips as he finally set his pace. It was slow at first but it didn’t take long for it to build with his desperation. Your moans were captured in his mouth as he kept kissing you, breaking only to continue to shower you with praise.
“Just like that, please, keep gripping me like that. Fuck—” a deeper sigh was pulled right from his lungs, causing him to bury his face in your neck. There, he licked and nibbled at the skin. His hot breath poured all over you, a sensation that could have sent you right over the edge alone.
“Please keep going, I’m so close,” you whispered in his ear, your legs now wrapped fully around him. He couldn’t form any more real words, instead pounding even harder into you as he kept muttering shapeless sounds in your ear. You could tell he was finally about to cum when he began shivering all over, his arms shaking on either side of you as he supported his full weight.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum in you baby, please, I need it,” he begged as he rapidly approached his peak.
“Yes- please, yes,” that was all you could manage before you felt him shoot inside of you, his warm seed filling you to the brim as he fucked it deeper inside of you.
It took a minute before he finally detached from you, his breath hot and unsteady. Your body was limp next to him as he splashed into the bed next to you. He wrapped his strong arms around you, one of them slipped under your neck to cradle your head. For a while you both just laid there silently. Neither of you had the energy to speak, much less the clarity to identify a single thought to say aloud. Instead, Peter pressed silent kisses to the top of your head.
When the haze finally cleared, Peter wrapped a finger under your chin to force your gaze up at him
“Thank you,” he whispered and pressed another kiss to the tip of your nose. Despite the vulnerability you had already shown you got shy, which only made Peter smile more.
“You’re beautiful, you know that? I didn’t say it last time, but I wanted to.” You nuzzled against his arm, half hiding your face.
“I would say the same but you had a mask on.” Your voice was slightly muffled against his skin, but his laugh signaled that he understood.
“And how about now?” If you had the energy, you’d roll your eyes.
“Eh, you’re alright,” you teased. He pulled you tighter into his arms then, attacking you with kisses. A little whine left your lips as you weakly fought against it, which only made him laugh more. When you both finally settled, another wave of emotion crashed in Peter’s mind. However, instead of despair, it was pure peace. He pressed his forehead against yours.
“I’m not letting you go,” he whispered in a promise not only to you, but to himself.
“Neither am I,” you promised back. For the first time in four years, Peter truly believed that he wasn’t alone.
Description: You’re spider-man’s closest thing to a friend since the world forgot his name. Helping him with gadgets, cleaning his wounds…all without him ever taking the mask off. His true identity has always been a barrier between you two, but what happens when he gets hit with the pollen, and not only him, but the creature lurking inside him fixates on the only person he gets to call home?
Tags/warnings: sex pollen smut, fem!reader, porn with plot, whiny desperate peter >>>, dry humping, piv, riding, oral fem!rec, fingering, dark!peter taking over for a bit, orgasm denial, prone bone, so much yearning, mask stays on…or does it?
Note: You have no idea how giddy it makes me to write him again. He had NO business looking that good in the movie so I had to get this out of my system. Enjoy 🤍
Masterlist
You've seen spiderman hurt many times. When you signed the lease of the first apartment you could afford as a recent graduate, you never thought that would become your new normal.
The first time it happened was completely accidental. He’d arrived at the building in the middle of the night, bruised, bleeding and too disoriented to realize that the window he’d come through was not his.
That night, the noise of a heavy body collapsing onto the floor woke you up. For one terrifying moment, you believed someone had broken into your apartment, only to switch on the lamp and find the city’s superhero groaning and pressing his hands to his side. His suit was torn there, and blood soaked through the ruined fabric onto your rug.
He barely lifted his head when he heard you gasp, the lens of his mask focusing on your figure standing there with wide eyes, wearing only an oversized shirt.
“Wrong window,” he choked, then tried to hold himself up but immediately collapsed again. “Dammit,” he cursed, waiting for you to freak out any second now.
You could have, but instead you rushed to him and knelt beside him.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” Your hands hovered helplessly over his body, trying to see how bad the damage was in the dark. “You need a hospital–”
“No!” He snapped, trying to turn away but failing miserably. “I’ll be fine, I heal quickly.”
“You still need to stop the bleeding,” you countered, folding your knees under your body so you could rest on your calves. “Listen, I can help you. I took some medical courses last year and I have a kit somewhere.”
You looked at him with pleading eyes. He’d saved the city so many times, the fucking world, it was the least you could do to give something back.
He considered his options for a second, and to be honest he didn’t have many. His body was betraying him, and he couldn’t even get up to fix it himself like usual.
The blood loss made him nod, and you wasted no time in getting up and finding said kit. The blood loss also made him drift in and out of consciousness as you tended to the wounds on his ribs as much as you could.
It did not make him less cautious of you though. When you noticed the rip on his mask over a nasty gash on his neck and reached for it, his hand closed around your wrist and even half conscious, his grip was strong.
“Please,” he whispered. Pleaded. “Keep it on.”
The fear in his voice made you promise you would. Even if you couldn’t get to that gash properly. Even when he fell asleep on your floor and didn’t wake up for six whole hours.
The next morning, he opened his eyes and found you sitting on your bed, still staring at him.
His hands patted his chest, and confirmed his arachnid powers had done its job and healed him mostly. But most importantly, his mask was still in place. With no warning from E.V of it being removed. He learned that you’d spent the night making sure he was still breathing without seeing his face.
That had been one year ago.
After thanking you profoundly for helping him, he’d repaired your window, apologized several times, and disappeared into the apartment next door. He then considered moving into another building, but the thought was brushed away very quickly when he remembered the balance in his bank account.
So he acted more careful instead. For a while, he only turned back home when your curtains were already closed, or he only left the apartment when you had already left for your job (because yes, he absolutely researched the hell out of you after that night.)
Then he moved to the attic of the building. Bigger space, no neighbors, no risks. No you. Or at least he thought.
Because some nights…some delirious nights he still found your window a few stories down, and the accidental visits became less accidental. When he was too badly injured to care for himself, he came to you, even after you confessed your degree had nothing to do with medicine.
When he noticed you understood about his equipment malfunctioning, he’d bring it for you to inspect. When he became too reckless with himself you talked his ear off about how being difficult to kill did not make him immortal.
Somewhere along the way, you became spiderman’s friend.
Spiderman was safer. With you, spiderman was the only part of him he could let you see. Because that was the thing, you only knew the masked superhero.
He’d spent so much time blocking away his identity, making peace with the fact that there was no longer anyone in the world who would call him Peter and know exactly who that person was. That name only belonged to the people that once knew him, and no longer existed, so he never gave it to you.
Never showed you more than a sliver of skin when his mask rode up or glimpses of his abdomen when you tended to his wounds. He always kept that barrier and you respected it, even on those nights he was too weak to stop you. Even if sometimes not knowing the color of his eyes kept you up at night.
A promise was a promise.
Maybe that’s why he kept coming. Why he trusted you with a certainty he couldn’t understand. Why he eventually showed you his new living quarters in the attic and let you spend time with him. Why half a year ago, he added another chair next to his desk so you could work together, or help him when he was out patrolling and needed an extra set of eyes.
“I’m officially the girl in the chair, spidey,” you joked that time as you sat next to him, spinning around in your chair.
He’d gone quiet immediately, his body tensing up enough to make you frown, but then managed a small smile and said you were. You pretended you didn’t notice him being too quiet as he worked on his inhibitor after that.
He was wearing a hoodie, sweatpants and the mask. Always the mask that didn’t quite let you see through him. After a moment of quiet, you rolled your chair closer to his and nudged his arm playfully.
“You know I can’t keep calling you spidey forever, right?”
He snapped out of his trance, and the chuckle that came from under the fabric was unmistakable.
“Why not?” He nudged your arm back, but still focused on the device he was hunched over. “I like spidey.”
You put your elbow on the desk, resting your cheek on your hand so you could lean a little closer.
“I like it too, but it feels ridiculous after having my hands all over your body almost every night.”
The moment the words left your lips, you realized how bad that sounded. He straightened up, turning toward you.
“Wow.” Even if you couldn’t see the smile on his face, the lenses of his mask were quite expressive sometimes. He was amused.
“That came out very wrong,” you said immediately, before he bursted into laughter. He had been laughing more since you entered his life. “You know what I meant,” you whined, laughing too with heat flooding your cheeks.
“I think I know,” he chuckled, making you roll your eyes.
“I’m being serious though,” you added, a little more quietly. “You don’t have to say your real name. Just give me something.”
“Mmm…” he acted like has considering it, going back to tinkering with the piece of metal between his fingers, but then his eyes drifted to the flowers he’d bought that morning, and the name came out of his lips before he could think twice about it. “You can call me Maynard.”
“Maynard?” You repeated, suppressing a chuckle. “You don’t sound like a Maynard. That’s like an 80 year old man’s name.”
“That’s all I can give you,” he shrugged playfully.
You had a feeling it went deeper than that, but you’d also learned not to push it with him.
“Alright. Maynard,” you nodded, “but don’t expect me to use that name unless you’re dying. Guess I’ll stick to spidey for now,” you chuckled, going back to your own work as he hummed in agreement.
The conversation ended there. With him trying not to think about your hands all over his body in…different conditions.
Peter didn’t know exactly when his gratitude became longing. He could not identify the moment the friendship, the closeness, or just your smile, shifted into something he craved everyday.
Despite the mask and the fake name, he knew that after years of being no one to everyone, he had become someone to you. And you had become everything to him. Even if it was behind walls he’d built, you were the person who knew him better than anyone alive.
Which is why, the night he lost control of himself after an unknown dust was thrown at him in a fight, he chose not to crash land into your room.
Peter hit the floor of the dark attic with a loud thud, as his senses went overboard. His suit was sticking to his body uncomfortably due to the sweat coating his feverish skin. The fabric was intact, with no visible wounds in his body, just that burning sensation of something running through his veins.
And that dark part of him he’d managed to lock down with the inhibitor, trying to claw its way out.
“What the…what the fuck is going on,” he cursed, clutching his heaving chest as he panted against the worn wood floors. “I can’t–I can’t breathe…”
The computer’s monotone voice broke through the silence.
“You have arrived injured. I’m letting her know–”
“NO!” He cut the AI off, “EV, don’t tell her–”
“Message already sent.”
He glanced up at the digital clock on his desk. 2:18 am.
He groaned, grabbing his head when a wave of migraine hit him. He knew what came after that. The black eyes. The desire to break. To take. But this time something felt different. It was like a pull, looking for something or someone…for…for you?
Oh fuck.
You were going to come in and you were going to see him like this. No, no–
“Spidey?” You asked from behind the door, knocking exactly twice before opening it anyways.
The air changed the exact moment you walked in, and that something inside him shifted too. It became aware that the only thing it craved to survive was in the room now.
He needed to get to you. He needed to pin you down and–
“Don’t!” He managed to scream, holding his hand up weakly when you scrambled toward him.
You stopped right in your tracks, eyes wide and running all over him, searching for torn fabric, blood, or anything that would explain why he looked like every breath was painful.
“What happened?” You frowned, when you couldn’t find any source. “Did you get hurt?”
You instinctively stepped forward, but he waved his hand in front of him again.
“Stop, stop, stop,” he said quickly, “don’t come any closer.”
The harshness in his voice caught you off guard, but what sealed the deal was him dragging himself further away from you. It was barely more than a clumsy, desperate crawl, but he managed to put a decent distance between you before collapsing against the side of his thrifted couch.
He avoided looking at you. The oversized shirt covering your body, the comfy shorts you were probably wearing, the way your hair looked messy from rolling out of bed as soon as you got EV’s warning even if you had work the next morning.
You stayed right where you were, watching him. His suit had always fit him like it was painted on his skin, but every pant made his chest rise and fall beneath the fabric so violently that you wouldn’t be surprised if it ripped at the seams.
This reminded you too much of the changes that happened in him months ago.
It started with a sharpened temper, then the heightened sensitivity to everything, the black covering his eyes, and moments during patrol when his reactions became simply frightening for someone who had as much strength as he did. But you were supposed to have stopped it.
“Is it the inhibitor?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, “is it failing?”
“I–I don’t know…I was hit with some dust out there,” he breathed. “I think it’s tampering with it…my head is killing me. Everything is too much.”
You nodded, turning toward the workstation.
“I will check the programming. Just hold on.” Not your best attempt at reassuring him, but he groaned in acknowledgment.
“EV?”
The computer woke when you touched the keyboard, illuminating the dark attic in a wash of blue light.
“Online.”
“Please run a diagnostic on the inhibitor and any possible interference.”
“Beginning diagnostic.”
You waited impatiently for the results, tapping your fingers on the desk while you watched him from the corner of your eye.
Over there, he…he was doing his best trying to breathe.
This obviously wasn't his first time having sensory overload. When the animal tried to take over the human part of him, everything in the city became impossible to escape. Not a single movement, or sound, or simple existence within miles was unnoticed by him.
But this time? The rest of the city had disappeared. There were no sirens in the distance, or voices coming through the walls, or every heartbeat in the building pounding in his head.
There was only you.
Your rapid heartbeat echoing inside him. He felt every tap of your fingers against the wood, every slight catch in your breathing each time he made another involuntary and pathetic sound from his spot on the floor.
Your scent…God, your scent filled the entire apartment.
The scent he found himself coming back to so often that it scared him. He didn’t want the attachment. The possibility of having someone again only to risk losing them again.
That same scent was making every muscle in his body react in a way he didn’t understand. It made him, and the other him, wanna do things to you he had only dreamed of in his wildest fantasies. Things he wasn’t proud of, things he wouldn’t dare to say out loud, even if he looked at you through the lenses of his mask and you couldn’t see the black in his eyes.
He pressed the back of his head against the couch harshly.
This was wrong. So wrong.
His senses were supposed to consume everything when the change came. Instead, they had fixed themselves entirely on you.
He could feel the heat of your body from across the room as though you were still in front of him. Could remember with sickening detail how soft your hands looked when they reached for him. Could almost feel the burn of the touch that had never landed because he stopped you.
What if he’d let you? What if he’d felt the way your hands ran all over his body? What if you’d moved them lower, and lower, as your mouth–
“Diagnostic complete.”
Your heads snapped toward the screen.
“There’s no external damage affecting the integrity of the device. I detected a foreign biotoxin in the bloodstream that may be bypassing the inhibitor, activating the suppressed arachnid hormones.”
“What biotoxin?” You frowned.
“Unknown. No matches found in available databases.”
Great. He thought. He had no time to take a bath with Yelena Belova to find out what the stupid dust was.
The screen changed, displaying a model of his nervous system. There were yellow bright lines pulsing quickly, running all the way from the base of his brain down the length of his spine. Something unknown was moving through his blood, altering the part of him he had spent months forcing into submission.
He sucked in a breath as he watched you read the screen. Your eyes were focused, and a bead of sweat made its way down the side of your forehead.
He suddenly felt the need to lick it off.
Wanted to run his tongue from the base of your neck to the back of your ear. Wanted to fist your hair and make your heart beat out of your chest from how good he knew he could make you feel–
“The effects remain within his enhanced tolerance. However, prolonged exposure to certain hormones can cause extreme distress without relief.”
“What hormones?” Your voice, worried and unknowing of his thoughts only made him feel guiltier.
It took him a second to realize what you asked, but EV threw him under the bus before he could say anything.
“There’s a significant rise in reproductive hormones. The unknown toxin is inducing a strong mating response in him.”
Mating response. He stopped breathing.
Your eyes slowly moved from the monitor to him, and he saw the moment your attention dropped lower to the tent of his pants.
That suit concealed nothing on a good day. On one like this? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck–
He shifted almost immediately, but the movement only worsened the pressure, pulling a helpless groan from his throat that made your pulse jump. You looked away at once, turning back to the computer.
“Is there a way we can…umm…stop it?” You asked hesitantly.
“The subject is experiencing severe sexual arousal with a fixation on a nearby individual,” she explained, because fuck him if he wasn’t the unluckiest individual on earth. “Acting upon it can be a positive option to relieve sexual tension.”
He wished the floor would open beneath him, swallow him, and never ever EVER spit him back out again.
Your pulse was absolutely hammering after that. He caught the sudden change in your scent. There was a sharp spark of surprise, nervousness, and something else beneath it that his altered senses fed on immediately.
You kept your eyes fixed on the monitor, although the data had stopped meaning anything the moment you heard fixation on a nearby individual.
“Is that what you really feel?” You asked softly after a moment.
His head fell forward, catching it between his gloved hands. He didn’t know how to answer without making everything worse.
Although, after what EV said, could it really be worse?
“…Yes.” The word came out rougher than he expected. Yet still not enough for what was happening inside him. “It’s like…I can only feel you. All of you.”
Heat rose to your face once again.
“What does that mean?”
Don’t say anything, don’t–
“I can smell you.” Great start, idiot. He cleared his dry throat before continuing. “I can smell your shampoo…the lotion you use…the ink on your hands from your favorite pen.”
He chose not to mention he could also smell the adrenaline on you. The heat gathering slowly beneath your skin.
Your eyes dropped to your hands, and under the dim light of the computer, you caught the ink stains in them from your journaling session before bed.
“I can hear your heartbeat changing every time I speak,” he added. Okay, that one slipped out.
You swallowed. And god, he felt that in his own throat.
The suit was suffocating him at this point. He wanted to rip it off as much as he wanted to rip off the fabric covering the goosebumps on your skin.
“Is it only because I’m nearby?” You asked, gathering the courage to turn your chair to him.
White lenses met you across the room. He dragged in another shaky breath of oxygen made of you as he thought about his next words. He could’ve lied. He should’ve lied. But instead, chemically overwhelmed and stripped of every defense he possessed, he gave you the truth.
“No.”
His voice was firmer this time. No hesitation in it despite the thousand red alarms pounding in his head telling him to shut up.
“It picked you–no, I picked you for a reason,” he added. “And it’s not just me. The other…the other me wants you too.”
His voice went lower on the last part, that told you how much it cost him to admit that.
The silence following his confession was heavy. For a moment he wished he could read your mind. For all he could feel of you, your thoughts were unreachable.
His own mind was a mess. The impulses didn’t feel like thoughts anymore, just his body feeding him instructions.
Get up. Cross the room. Touch her. Breathe her in.
His palms shook with the urge to close around you. His teeth ached with the need to graze your skin. His eyes burned with the desire to see beyond fabric.
Every part of him seemed convinced that the small distance between you was a mistake he needed to correct. That he needed to breathe you in until his lungs burned. Drag his mouth along the inside of your wrist and taste the pulse there.
He hated it.
He hated that something inside him could look at the person he cared for the most and reduce her to an answer for his pain.
“EV, how long is this state going to last?” He asked the computer, followed by a weak cough as he clutched his side.
“Your enhanced physiology is struggling to break down the toxin’s structure. I estimate a time between ten to twelve hours before it’s metabolized. However, neurological collapse is expected before that timeframe.”
“What?” You looked at him. “There’s no way we’re letting that happen. Maybe I can–”
“Don’t even start,” he cut you off, shaking his head profusely.
“So what? I’m supposed to sit here betting on whether your body collapses on hour three or hour six?”
“I’ll just pass out, big deal. I’m not putting you in danger because of this. I can handle it.”
“You’re barely handling it now. There’s no danger in trying–”
“You don’t understand what’s happening inside me right now,” he argued, raising his voice. “This other thing, the one the inhibitor controls it’s…awake. That part of me doesn’t think like I do. It doesn’t care if you're scared, or hurting–”
“You wouldn’t hurt me–”
“You don’t know that!” He snapped, his fist struck the floor next to him, hard enough to make the worn wood crack beneath his knuckles.
The sudden noise made you flinch. He smelled the flash of fear moving through your body for only a second.
One second enough.
“Fuck–that is what I mean,” he cursed, covering his lenses with his hands. “I don’t…I don’t know if I’d be gentle. I can’t risk this, I can't…shit, I can’t risk you.”
The words, said with so much pain, and honesty, seemed to settle somewhere deep in your chest.
“Okay,” you nodded, settling deeper in your chair. “But I’m not leaving you like this. I can’t risk you either.”
He shuddered a painful exhale. His head dropped to the couch again, shutting his eyes in preparation of what the next hours of torture would be.
Except…he didn’t even last ten minutes.
The suit was killing him, so he decided he’d be better without it. He reached desperately behind his back, clumsily undoing the zippers that tied the suit together.
He could feel your wide eyes on him as he tugged the fabric off his shoulders, peeling it off his sweaty arms. He groaned when he lifted his hips and the suit grazed his swollen crotch. In a matter of seconds that felt like eternity he managed to break free from the spandex, and threw it away somewhere in the room. He’d undressed down to his dark boxers, mask still in place, revealing the marble sculpture of his body.
You let out a shaky breath from your spot, eyes raking over a body you’d only seen partially. He was covered in wounds most of the time, but this time, he only had faint bruises from the night before decorating his chiseled abs.
His tight muscles flexed with every rise of his chest, his bulge straining harder the more you devoured him, pressing against his pants, making him curse quietly.
You noticed, and returned your eyes to the screen to track his vitals.
He felt grateful that you’d given him that grace, but just you being in that room made it very hard for him to think of anything other than your existence.
Too hard.
Before he knew his hand drifted down the growing ache in his crotch, trying to feel some relief, but every rub he made over the fabric of his boxers sent a jolt of pain through his body instead of pleasure.
It only made it worse when he realized you were tense at the desk, trying very hard to keep your focus on the screen and not on the whines he was letting out.
“…I’m sorry,” he apologized instantly, breathlessly, moving his hand away. “I didn’t–”
“Don’t apologize,” you shook your head quickly, eyes still on the screen. “You…you can do whatever you need.”
He didn’t say anything, just whined in pain again, so you took it as a chance to say it before you regretted it.
“But my offer still stands, spidey.”
What a polite way of saying ‘I’d let you fuck me into next week so you can control your horny arachnid hormones, spidey.’
Fucking hell.
“I’m okay I just–God I didn’t–I didn’t think it would feel this way…” He laughed humorlessly, staring at the ceiling. “But I–I got this. Yes.”
You kept quiet, hearing him mumble to himself about a hundred times about how he had this.
“I’m okay…I’m good…it’s fine…”
He wasn’t.
“Fuck I don’t…I’m going to die…”
For God’s sake.
“I think I can help.”
By the time he registered the words and looked back at you, you had already moved from your chair and shortened the distance between you, kneeling in front of him.
His senses went from one thousand to one million. He forced his hands behind his back, trying to keep the animal from grabbing you and getting it over with.
“What–what are you doing?” He stammered nervously, the lenses of his mask going wide.
“Maynard,” you said quietly, ignoring the way his body tensed up at that name. “Would it make you feel better if I put my hand here?”
You placed your hand right in the center of his chest, and your cold palm met his overheated skin. He gasped, feeling every individual fingerprint on his skin. He wanted them marked on him. Tattooed.
His back arched from the couch, with a strangled gasp breaking from beneath the mask. The relief hit him all at once, through a simple contact that felt like salvation.
Your hand steadied him for only a glorious second, but now that you had touched him, his body knew precisely what it had been denied.
It wanted more.
His own hand closed around yours so suddenly that you almost pulled back, but he loosened his grip the instant he realized how tightly he was holding you.
“Sorry–”
“Don’t apologize.” You pressed harder.
He was burning.
The heat beneath your palm scared you, but what scared you more was the violent pounding of his heart beating against your hand so so quickly.
“Better?” You asked quietly, trying not to bite your bottom lip at the image of him crumbling under your palm.
“So fucking better,” he said breathlessly, pressing your hand tighter against his chest. “I…dammit–”
“Breathe,” you reminded.
His head fell back against the couch. Chest rising up and down, up and down, up and down.
Just take her, man, she’s right there–
Your free hand accidentally brushed his neck, right where the border of the mask started, snapping him right back. He grabbed your hand, not harshly, but firm enough to make your breath hitch.
“Please.” Was all he said.
Leave it on.
It brought you back to that first night he’d crashed into your life.
“I wasn’t planning on removing it,” you whispered, leaning closer. “You can keep it on. But let me help you…I really want to.”
See? She wants it. She needs it so bad.
He hated that the other guy was right. He knew you meant what you said because he could smell the proof pooling between your thighs.
Fuck it.
In a sudden movement he reached for your waist, dragging you forward so you were straddling his lap. The bulge you landed on made you gasp, hands instinctively grabbing onto his sweaty biceps for balance when he let out a broken groan that vibrated against your core.
His hand cupped your jaw, bringing it closer to his face, and your dilated pupils reflected on the white of his lenses.
“I can feel that you want this,” he mumbled, tilting his head to the side. “Please, say it again…”
You shifted your hips, barely, so minimal yet he felt it travel through his whole body. He hissed, tightening the grip on your jaw.
“I want this,” you repeated firmly, moving your head closer to his ear. “You can take whatever you need…”
You moved your hips again, more deliberate this time, pulling a broken whine from him. The toxin made every contact feel like electricity racing down his spine, straight to the heavy, aching weight of his cock under you.
“Yes…yeah just like that…” he panted. “Just let me…”
His hands landed on your waist, moving you back and forth at a quicker pace over his bulge. You gasped at the friction, fingers digging into his shoulders, while he let out a collection of muffled words you could barely understand.
“...M–more…” he whined, throwing his head back against the couch. “I can’t–I need…”
“What do you need? More what?”
“More contact.”
His hands left your waist to grab the hem of your shirt.
“Can I?” He whispered.
You nodded eagerly, gasping when his hands shifted to the collar of your shirt instead, ripping it off your body with a sharp pull.
“Oh fuck,” he cursed when he realized there was nothing under that shirt, and saw your nipples hardening instantly under the cold air.
He resisted the urge to bite them through the mask.
His hands, however, wasted no time to cup your breasts with a broken whine. His thumbs played with your nipples, tugging at them as hard as he could allow himself to without hurting you.
“Fuck you’re perfect…you’re so perfect…” he whispered, more to himself than you, pulling some soft whimpers out of you when he tugged a little harder. His hands drifted to your lower half, to the hem of the last piece keeping your body from his greedy eyes. “These too,” he said, “please, can I? I want to feel you.”
“Yes,” you nodded, already out of air.
You didn’t even know why you tried to get off his lap to take the shorts off properly, when he just did the same as the shirt: ripped it in half where it rested on your hips, yanked it off from your body and threw the ruined pieces far away.
You weren’t wearing anything underneath.
“I can smell you. God, I can smell you. You’re so–oh God…”
Now he could feel your wetness drenching his boxers, dripping onto the fabric. He could almost taste it in his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to drown in it for hours.
“Can–can I–?”
You didn’t even let him finish, you grabbed his hand and placed it right between your legs.
Water. He found water in the middle of the dessert.
His hand moved carefully through your wet folds once, twice, delighting in your warmth, the way you felt, the way you let out the prettiest sound he had ever heard in his miserable life.
“Fuck…” you cursed softly, moving your hips eagerly when he kept stroking slow. Too slow. “Touch me, please.”
He obliged, fingers finding your clit in movements that had you gripping his shoulders tighter, eyes fluttering shut so beautifully he had to bite his lip to not let out a pathetic sound.
“Been wanting this,” he mumbled. “Longer than today. Longer than tonight.”
His finger slid inside of you, making you moan when he curled it just right.
“There were…there were nights I thought about you riding my hand,” he kept going, voice cracking as he added a second finger, stretching you more. “I’ve wanted you for so long–not just because of this shit in my blood. Because it’s you.”
Every word made you clench around his fingers. Every admission pulled another shaky moan out of your throat. You were a mess already, breathless, hips rolling down to meet the thrust of his fingers.
“Oh my God–don’t stop, please don’t stop–”
“Not stopping, baby.”
He kept working you open, the white lenses of the mask never leaving your face. His free hand slid up your chest, settling between your breasts.
“I’m–I’m close,” you managed. “I’m so close–”
“Come on…you’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect like this.”
The heel of his palm lifted to press against your clit. You were right there, right on the edge, about to come on his hand and drip down his boxers–
“Please,” he begged, unable to keep it in. “Let me fuck you after this…please. I need to be inside you. I’ve needed it for so long–just let me, after you come, please, please–”
The plea undid you.
You came with a broken cry, stopping your movements as your walls pulsed around him. The sound you made against his shoulder nearly finished him right there.
It took you a second to just breathe again, your chest synching up with his in the search of oxygen. He kept rocking his hand slowly, not just to work you through the aftershocks, but because the friction of your pussy in his hand brought the tiniest relief to him.
You just stayed there as the last soft waves rolled through you.
Once you were able to see clearly again, you let out a breathless chuckle and straightened back up.
He needed you. He needed you so badly you really thought he was going to die if you didn’t help him.
You placed one hand on his chest as the other reached under you, slipping inside the fabric of his boxers without breaking eye contact.
The second your bare fingers brushed him, his hips jerked hard under you.
“You said please,” you whispered breathlessly.
You wrapped your fingers around him and pulled him free.
His cock sprang out, heavy and flushed between your bodies, so thick and hard and painful. The head was red and shiny, with precum dripping down the vein that ran along his length. The tip brushed the skin of your stomach, leaving a warm, wet patch that made the hair on your arms go up. He could smell the small flicker of intimidation sparking inside you, but the want that followed was stronger.
You stroked him a few times, slowly just as he’d touched you at first.
“Oh my God, your hand–your hand–”
Another thick bead of precum welled up and spilled over your fingers. Whether it was the toxin or just his enhanced physiology, he was dripping for you.
Flustered wasn’t enough of a word when you had his leaking cock in your hand.
His hands slid down to your hips, gripping tighter, guiding you up as if he was about to lift you then pulling you back down immediately.
Fuck her. Fuck her right now.
“Please, I need–I need to feel you…” he cried out. “Let me…let me…”
You nodded just as desperately, lifting yourself up as he helped, steadying you with shaking hands until the thick head of his cock nudged against your entrance. You both exhaled hard at the same time when you started to sink down, taking him inch by inch.
He was big. Almost too much. The burn of it made your breath hitch, but the way he cursed under his breath multiple times, completely at your mercy, made you keep going until he was buried balls deep.
You sat there for a moment, breathing heavily, and so full of him.
When the initial sting faded away, you started moving. He let you set the pace as you adjusted, holding back his need of thrusting up. His fingers dug on your skin, not lifting just holding you, but the more that you moved, the more that control started to waver.
He could feel it coming. The change.
You kept moaning, bouncing on top of him, completely unaware of his self restraint crumbling away.
His grip slowly tightened when his eyes began turning completely black under his mask. That careful, pathetic boy who’d been begging disappeared beneath something more…primal.
Fuck. Whatever had been holding him back finally snapped.
The next thing he knew, his hands slid under your thighs with sudden strength. He lifted you up in one motion until only the thick head of him remained inside you, held you there for a second as the last part of him tried to remember how to be gentle–then snapped his hips up hard.
That first thrust pulled a sharp moan out of you, but there was no chance to adjust this time. He set a relentless pace almost immediately, using pure strength to bounce you on his cock while he drove up to meet every drop of your body, buried so deep it stole your breath every time he bottomed out.
“Oh my–May…Maynard–” the name you barely used on him slipped out in the middle of the frenzy, but his hand reached behind your head to pull your hair back slightly as he kept thrusting up.
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, his voice so different from just minutes earlier. “It’s Peter. Call me Peter when I’m inside you.”
He didn’t even give you time to process, still lifting and dropping you onto his cock at the exact hard rhythm he wanted. The only one that satisfied the need inside of him. Your hands instinctively reached for the edge of the arm of the couch he was leaning against, fingers digging into the worn fabric as he hit that spot inside you over and over again.
“Of fuck…Peter–fuck…yes…”
“That’s better,” he approved. “I was right, you’re so so perfect…taking every inch like you need it as bad as I do…”
A desperate sound slipped out of you at the praise, he could feel your walls clenching tight around him as your body went for that second orgasm, your eyes were fluttering shut, almost there–
“Nuh–uh,” he denied immediately, stopping mid thrust, holding you pressed against him as you gasped, surprised and confused.
“What–what happened? I was about to–”
“I want you to hold it for me. I know you can.”
That twisted part of him enjoyed the slow realization on your face.
Even if you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew the same spiderman he’d been without the inhibitor, was the one with your body at his mercy now.
Good.
He stayed buried to the hilt for a moment, breathing hard behind the mask. When your breathing finally slowed down and accepted that the high never came, he stood up. Still inside you, he walked you to the bed in the corner of the room.
His bed.
He pulled out with a wet sound that made both of you groan, then laid you down roughly near the edge of the mattress. He kneeled down, strong hands hooking behind your knees and dragging your legs over his shoulders, folding you open for him completely.
“Look at the ceiling,” he ordered. “Don’t look at me.”
You obeyed, staring up at the wood beams high above you while he tugged the bottom of the mask just high enough to free his mouth.
Peter leaned down and pressed a few soft kisses to your swollen folds. He wasn’t necessarily eating you out, just giving a few loud smooches that felt good enough to make you grip the sheets.
“M’sorry, you were so perfect there…” he mumbled condescendingly against your most sensitive spots. “But I need you to hold on a little longer. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”
You nodded, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. Maybe too eager. Maybe too pathetic. Just like he’d been. Had he pumped that toxin into you?
Either way, you didn’t care. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like this version of him.
He laughed right over your clit when you moaned loudly, after he moved his tongue in a slow, torturous swipe over it.
“Was back there too much?” He cooed. “Maybe I just need to stretch you more...”
Two fingers slid inside you, so easily, but the sudden stretch still dragged a whine out of your throat. He curled them immediately, finding the spot that made your hips jerk.
“Peter…”
“Huh?” He acted coy, pumping his fingers with a rhythm that kept you right on the edge without letting you tip over. He added a third finger, making your back arch from the mattress. “Keep holding it in.”
Every shake of your body fed the stupid toxin inside him. Having you like this…really trying to keep your body from coming apart because he said so.
God. He was never going back.
“You just took my cock. I think you can take three fingers with no problem.”
He kept the same relentless pace, chuckling when your body started twitching again.
“Shhh, you’re perfect, absolutely perfect…”
“Peter…” you called out again, hand dropping the sheet to find his shoulder instead. “I need…need…”
“Need what?”
“Need you inside me…please I won’t–I won’t hold for much longer just–fuck me.”
He stopped altogether, a smirk you couldn’t see stretching the corner of his mouth. He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, licking them clean before tugging his mask back in place and standing up.
“Yeah?”
Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed for a moment before his hands gripped your hips and turned you over. He moved you higher up the bed, grabbing one of the pillows, and shoving it under your hips, tilting your lower body up for him.
He then climbed onto the bed behind you and knelt between your spread thighs, the mattress dipping under his weight as one hand stroked down the length of your spine.
But something made him stop.
“This fucking mask–” he cursed under his breath. “It’s suffocating me.”
The sweat on his forehead had pooled under the mask, making it so sticky over his eyebrows that it was affecting the lenses he was trying to see you through.
“I need you to be a good girl for me,” he added breathlessly, yet still commanding enough. “Keep your head on the mattress. Ass up. Don’t turn around.”
You nodded. Too eagerly again. Couldn’t care any less again.
He didn’t think twice, just yanked the mask off and tossed it aside. It landed near you, making you bury half your face on the sheets as if staring at the mask alone would be disobeying his commands.
The sound he made when the cool air hit his face was pure relief. He swiped the sweat off with his forearm, finally seeing you clearly. Face down. Eyes squeezed shut. Already clutching the sheets.
“You look so pretty like this,” he mumbled. “All spread out for me…waiting.”
“Peter…” you whined, lifting your ass slightly from the pillow.
“I know, I know. You’re okay.” He couldn’t keep the smirk away when he added, “you said please.”
He reached between you, guiding the thick head of his cock between your thighs until it nudged against your entrance. You were still soft and ready and perfect.
Peter pushed in slowly, letting you feel every inch as he sank deep and deep and deeper.
He braced one hand beside your head and kept the other on your hip, pushing you into the mattress as his thighs hit the back of yours. Slap. Slap. Slap. The position left almost no space between your bodies, with Peter pressing his chest against your back.
“Fuck…you feel so good like this…so pretty taking me.”
He kept going, making the mattress creak and the base of the bed hit the brick wall repeatedly. Your desperate moans ran through his body like electricity, making something inside him crack open again.
What? What is–
The moment his rhythm stuttered, he shook his head, trying to clear it. Beads of sweat flew from his hair to your back.
“God–you…you’re making me–” The roughness of his thrusts slowed down immediately, inhaling a sharp intake of air as he felt the change again. “I can’t, I can’t…”
He lifted his gaze to the window behind the bed and noticed his eyes had turned back to its original color.
“Oh my god,” he gasped, stopping altogether. He straightened up, still kneeling and inside you, but panicking. “I’m…I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened I–“
“Peter!” You cut him off, pushing yourself back, closer to him, without turning around. “Shut up and fuck me.”
The order left your mouth breathless, pushing back against him even more to make the point clear. His hands twitched when they gripped your hips again.
“Okay, okay…” he panted, groaning when you dropped back on the bed and his cock almost left the warmth of your pussy. “I’m sorry–if I was too rough, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
He picked up the pace again, but the words tumbling out of him now were pure pleading Peter again.
“Don’t turn around–don’t turn around–fuck, fuck…” slap, slap, slap. “You can come now. Please. Please, I want to feel it–you’d come apart so pretty on me, I know you would…pleasepleaseplease–”
His final permission and the desperate way he said it made you crash harder than the first time, crying out into the mattress. The second he felt you coming around him, he knew he couldn’t last much longer either.
“Can I–inside…please, can I??…let me fill you up–”
“Yes–inside, Peter, do it inside me…”
He buried himself to the hilt with a strained groan and finally came. The orgasm tearing out of him was harder and longer than anything he’d ever felt, holding you there, filling you up.
You gasped against the sheets, breathless, as the waves of cum seemed to go on forever, flooding you with warm and thick ropes in every spurt as he emptied himself inside you.
“Thank you…thank you…” His forehead dropped between your shoulder blades, sending broken gasps against your skin as he kept coming. “You are so perfect–fuck…so perfect…thank you…”
The pollen wrung him dry until he could barely breathe, and even then he kept rolling his hips weakly, chasing the last of it while he slowly softened inside you.
When it finally eased, the pain, the need, the hunger…he pulled out slowly with a whine, and half collapsed over you. His arms held most of his weight as he planked above you, but you could feel every ridge of his muscles brushing your sweaty skin.
Peter’s eyes fluttered shut, feeling exhausted and aching in the best way, almost lulled by the sounds of your agitated breaths.
You both felt the warm trail of liquid leaking out between your bodies and neither of you moved or said anything for a while. He could’ve stayed like that forever, really. With your naked body under him, no masks, no barriers, just your swollen pussy leaking out his seed–
“Successful ejaculation brought down the arachnid hormone levels immediately. Inhibitor working within regular parameters now. Congratulations, Peter.”
EV’s monotone voice cut through the silence.
It took two seconds of shock before you both broke into breathless laughter. His teeth grazed your back as your bodies vibrated in sync from the amusement and overall flustering after everything that happened.
“Thank you, EV,” Peter muttered.
“You’re welcome. I gathered data and the released semen volume exceeds standard parameters by two hundred and twenty six percent due to the high hormonal concentration. Hydration, clean up and rest are advised.”
“For fucks sake…” Peter cursed under his breath.
“Oh god…” you mumbled against the sheets.
That was your call back to reality.
Peter felt you move under him, reaching blindly to the side until your hand found the mask. You lifted it over your shoulder, offering it to him without looking.
“I don’t want to,” he said, too quickly, then cleared his throat. “I…I don’t want to put it back on.”
“Then I’ll close my eyes,” you offered instead.
“No–I mean…you don’t have to. I don’t want to wear it around you anymore. Not after…all of this,” he admitted sheepishly.
“But you told me to not turn around,” you reminded him, dropping the mask on the mattress again. “And that was you, not the darker you.”
He chuckled, nodding even if you couldn’t see him yet.
“Yeah, because if I saw your face while I was balls deep inside you I would’ve busted before you came.”
There it was. He said it. No turning back now.
At least it got a chuckle from you too.
“Listen I…I meant everything I said. Everything. The wanting, the nights I thought about you,” he confessed. “I don’t want you to feel like I just used you when…when there was always a reason why I needed you like oxygen tonight.”
Your breath hitched, and his hand found your waist, pulling you closer to him, and when you didn’t push away…he exhaled in relief behind you.
“So maybe…you can turn around now. If–if you want to. Know the real me.”
“I would really like that,” you whispered without hesitation.
You tried lifting yourself up to turn around, but he did most of the job, moving away the pillow he had placed under you and helping you roll onto your back. You closed your eyes, at least until you were facing him completely, and took a deep breath. Holding onto his biceps for moral support, you finally opened them again.
Seeing his face for the first time felt so intimate, even after everything you just did.
There he was. The same guy who just fucked you into next week, looking more shy and boyish than you could’ve ever imagined.
Brown eyes. Dark, curly hair sticking to his forehead. A nervous smile tugging at the corner of his gorgeous mouth.
So young. So earnest. So yours.
Not spidey anymore. Just Peter.
Your Peter.
Thank you so much for reading 🤍 I used to write Peter so much back in the day (shoutout to my starktonyx era) and I’ve missed him dearly.
a little as a joke, a little as a test to see if he will actually do it. he’s been asking to eat you out but in his usual way of staring you down and then demanding you to get on the bed. when you don’t move he nudges closer to you, kisses your neck, whines about that he wants to eat you now. it’s then you decide to test him. in your living room, a random show playing on the screen. you can see the lump in his shorts and you feel the same.
“get on your knees and beg for it.”
that has him pulling off you, a quirk of his brow to test if you’re playing or not. quickly, once you cross your arms across your chest, he realises you’re not.
“hah?” but it comes out like the last breeze on a windy day. breathless yet weighty.
“you heard me.” you reply, flicking your eyes up and down your pro hero boyfriend.
you’re aware he’d do anything for you. you’re wondering if anything stretches to this.
“you’re a fuckin… you want me to…,” he trails off, sitting up off you. his lower stomach heats. his cock twitches. he’s into this unsurprisingly. “fuck, baby.”
you don’t move but you look at him expectantly. like you know he will. your confidence makes his blood heat under his skin, his heart race with speed. you jut your chin to the floor.
always a stubborn man, he has to roll his eyes before he moves. even pushes out a huffy sigh and mumbles under his breath. “this shit you have me doin’.”
but he does it. manoeuvres his muscled, wide shouldered body onto the floor. onto his knees in front of your legs. your bare thighs spread on the sofa in your shorts… your pussy is right there. he can see your folds through the fabric since they’re so tight.
he’s got a muscle tank on and you see his biceps flex when he clasps his hands together. your favourite is how all his stubbornness dissipates away and he becomes completely and utterly yours.
when he opens his mouth, the corners of your lips spread to under your eyes in a smile.
“lemme eat it, baby. please. please let me. i’ll do it so good, get you comin’ on my face, screamin’ for me. baby.” it’s all a syrupy drawl, his gold tooth catching the lamp light with every word. he even leans forward to press a kiss to the flesh of your thigh.
katsuki on your knees for you. this is what dreams are made of.
he goes in for another kiss on your thigh, closer to between your legs. you place your palm on his forehead, pushing him off.
“you’re too needy. i didn’t even answer you,” you frown, lip curled.
bakugou doesn’t know where this version of you has come from but he thinks he loves it.
“my bad, baby. you’re just so gorgeous.” he grins with half lidded eyes. he wants to touch your calves, massage them, nibble hickies into your thighs and have your touch his cock.
but most of all he wants—, “can i eat you? promise i’ll lick you clean. any position you want. miss your taste, baby. please.”
you tilt your head at him.
“please, princess. my beautiful girl. the love of my fuckin’ existence.” he’s too fucking jolly. smiling away with these sleepy yet needy ruby eyes.
you stand up. he looks better at this angle on his knees. head up to look at you. he’s like a dog ready to scent you, by stuffing his head between your legs.
“fine. i want you to undress me then i’m sitting on your face.”
>> sleepy, platonic dry humping with best friend!tsukishima
>> part two
>> here's part one for you!
tags: grinding (dry and wet), a "use" kink (idek what to call this??? is this considered free use????), a wittle bit of fingering, a wottle bit of fuckin, tsukki who begs :'))), 2.1k of straight up NONSENSE
you dont talk about it.
you dont talk about how, when you both wake a few hours later, tsukki just climbs out of bed and reaches into his designated section of your closet, tugging out a fresh pair of boxers and sweats. how he just silently rushes to your bathroom to shower, his ears burning red and his shoulders tense.
you dont talk about how he barely meets your eyes, how every time you look at him as he's leaving (smelling like you, but you cant think about that, too), all you hear is the sound of him grunting and swearing in your ear as he comes in his pants.
you dont talk about the bulge you can see forming in his sweats, even now, as he's grabbing his keys and wallet and muttering 'see you' before all but running from your apartment.
you dont talk about it.
you just go to work and pretend that your brain isnt empty of everything but tsukishima kei bending you in half and rutting against you until he cums. of your best friend using you and of you using him. of how much you'd loved it.
of how badly you want to do it again.
he doesnt come over again for a few days, despite usually stopping by every night to complain about work and watch your show together.
and neither of you texts or calls, despite years of your phone buzzing constantly, because hes a double-triple-quadruple texter and you're just as bad.
by the time that nearly a week has passed, youre a mess of anxiety and the looming dread that your best friend will never speak to you again.
and then he's there, at your door, with a bag of takeout and a shameful blush dusting his cheeks.
you dont know what to say, so you say nothing at all, just letting him in. he sits where he always does and pulls containers of food out — food he always gets, because he's a picky eater and because he knows your orders by heart. and then he turns on the show he always does, giving you the same look he always has when he's waiting for you to join him so he can press play.
you dont talk about it.
you just watch your show, laugh at all the right times, kick your feet up and relax into the cushions in all the right ways. and you do your best not to think about the fact that your panties are soaked, that they have been since he'd shown up at your door looking like he always does, smelling like he always does.
you do your best not to think about the fact that he's hard. that you can see the tent in his pajama pants, that you notice when he shoves a throw pillow over his lap to hide it.
that he's wearing pajamas, which means he plans on staying.
he stays until it's too late to leave — you watch the clock next to the TV, watch as it passes his usual time to pack up and go home — and then he mumbles under his breath.
"want me to sleep on the couch?"
your heart jumps, because you recognize what this is. that he's giving you one last chance to leave things here, without ever moving forward. that it would be okay if you want him to stay here tonight.
your heart jumps, because you know what it means if you say no.
you swallow and stand, stretching in a way that you hope doesn't show how shaky you are, and move down the hall, praying it looks casual.
"no, it's fine. the couch isnt comfortable, anyway."
you dont let him know that you can hear when he breathes out a quiet 'fuck' and moves through the room faster than he usually does.
you dont sleep. you just lie there, facing away from him and staring at the wall. waiting to hear his breath even out, waiting to know that hes asleep.
it never does.
every time you think he might be asleep, he shifts, and your heart flies into your throat. and you know that tricking him into thinking youre asleep wont work, because your breath keeps hitching and your heart keeps pounding so hard that theres no way he cant feel it through the mattress.
you stare at the wall until streaks of sunlight start to fall against it.
thats when his fingers brush against your back, gentle and cautious.
your skin breaks out into goosebumps wherever he touches. he takes it as permission.
when his chest presses against your back, it's with a shaky breath and trembling fingers on your waist. he doesnt ask if this is okay, and you dont tell him that it's so much more than that.
he just presses his hips against the curve of your ass, and you just gasp, because he's still hard, even after all these hours.
but you shouldnt be surprised, because youre still soaked, the desire for him feeling more and more like a craving, a desperate need.
tsukki buries his face in your hair, letting out an uneven sigh when he rolls his hips forward against your ass. you arch your back, pressing into him gently.
"fuck," he whispers, sliding his arm under and around your body and pulling you flush against him. you whimper, pushing back and enjoying the feel of him.
and then you choke out a moan, because he's slipping his other arm over your waist and shoving his hand down your pants.
"o-oh, my, god-" your voice breaks when his fingers — ice cold and trembling with nerves — push past the band of your underwear and land right where you need him, swiping one circle over your clit and then one more.
his hips jerk forward, breath heavy against your neck when he slides his fingers through your folds. "so fucking wet f'me," he groans. "just like last time."
you cant answer, too busy trying to find the breath in your lungs. hes rocking his hips the whole time, always managing to bump you forward against his fingers, stars bursting behind your eyelids whenever he pushes down on your clit.
"tsukki-"
you dont need to say anything else. he understands.
it's no more than a jagged inhale and his hand ripping out of your pants before you find yourself on your back.
your pants and his pants missing.
your underwear soaked and his boxers tented and wet with his own pre-cum.
when he grinds down on you, way less fabric between you than the first time, his moan is low and drawn out, echoing in your ears and forcing you to whimper in response.
he bends you in half again. you mewl embarrassingly loudly, the thought of being used smacking around inside your brain and setting your skin on fire.
he grunts in response. "you liked this last time, too." the shallow rut of his hips makes you bounce, and you hear when he moans in the back of his throat. your shirt is dragged up and over your chest, the hem pushed up to your lips. he doesnt tell you to bite, but you do anyway, the fabric soaked with your drool the moment you piece together that he wants to watch your tits bounce while he grinds against you.
he swears under his breath, both hands coming up to cup your breasts, his hands so big compared to yours. he kneads them under his fingers, calloused and rough, and you whine, your hips wriggling against his in response.
you dont need to tell him what you want — that this feels nice but you need him to refocus. he just gets it, either by the look in your eye or by the way your hands reach down to tug on his boxers.
when his fingers clamp down on the backs of your thighs and your knees end up closer to your face than anyone else has ever been able to get them, the shirt drops from your mouth, because youre letting out an echoing, needy sound that youve never made before.
he slams his hips down against yours, again and again and again, grunting and moaning and biting down on his bottom lip to keep the sound trapped in his throat. and then he huffs out, breath ragged, and takes in the sight of you properly.
"fuck, y/n, whats all this about?" his voice is rough, and hes sweating and flushed, and his hands are gripping your thighs tight but trembling nonetheless. "what is it, huh?"
your answer comes out in broken pieces, matching the rhythm of his hips. "us-ing-me-nngh-"
he stops. you cry out, tears pricking at your eyes. he just stares down at you, eyes wide as he examines the frustrated look on your face and the humiliated burn on your skin.
you start to cry, barely noticing when he uses one hand to brush the tears away, his thumb rough on your cheek.
you barely notice, because he covers it up by reaching down and tearing your panties off of you in one smooth motion.
you gasp when your body jostles against the mattress. you stop breathing entirely when he shoves his boxers down to his thighs.
"want me to use you?" he mutters. "okay. i'll use you."
you dont respond, just staring down at his cock and trying to process that that is never going to fit inside of you.
but he even doesnt try.
he just lines his cock up against your folds and slides through them slowly.
your head falls back and a cracked, broken moan falls past your lips. he doesnt sound much better, his breath sharp and his grunt tense in his throat.
"fuckin'-" he slides against you again, choking. you cant breathe. it's so hot and hard and nothing like anything youve ever felt before. "so fuckin' good," he breathes. "you feel so fucking good-hah-"
and then he leans forward, putting all his weight on the backs of your thighs and folding you in half, just like you like it.
his lips fall on yours like he's in love.
you kiss him back like you are, too.
the pace he finds is brutal, but he doesnt keep it for long. between kissing you and mumbling about how good you feel, his hips are unsteady.
which is exactly how the tip of his cock ends up catching on your entrance, slipping in just far enough for you to feel the stretch.
"oh-fuck-fuck-" he chokes, his eyes flying open and his hands slipping clumsily off your thighs and slamming into the mattress on either side of you. "fuck-y/n-"
your back is arched, chest pressing against his and your breath stuck in your throat. you stare up at him, unseeing, heart pounding in your ears.
"tsukki-"
he hears it again. what youre asking. but for your sake, he pretends it's his idea.
"c-can i-" he stumbles. "just a little?" he still hasnt slipped out, so he feels when you clench around his tip, dragging him in just a little more. he drops his head, groaning low and watching where your bodies meet. "fuck. fuck. i-please, y/n-" he lifts his eyes, staring down at you, his gaze wild and his arms shaking and his face radiating waves of heat. "please?"
there are more tears rolling down your cheeks, burning as they go, and you can only nod frantically. "please, tsukki. need you to-"
-use me.
he breathes out a quiet "oh, fuck," and starts to roll his hips in, soft "fuck, fuck, fuck"s falling past his lips the further in he pushes. the more he stretches you around his cock.
you're letting out embarrassing sounds, ranging from simple moans to humiliating chants of his name and the words "more" and "please" and "yes, fuck", all slurred and babbled together.
you dont even realize he's fucking you into the mattress until you hear the headboard slamming against your wall, over and over and over again. until his voice is right next to your ear, his chest pressed to yours and your thighs gripped tight in his hands.
"thank you," he grunts. "fuck, thank you. thank you."
you feel when it pushes you right over the edge, feel yourself mouth the words "yours" and "take it" and "please" against the shell of his ear, your walls squeezing tight around him as you come.
the noise he makes rumbles low in his chest and feels primal, and suddenly your headboard is hitting twice as fast and youre feeling his cock smack up against a spot you'd never realized was there.
when he comes, it's with your name on his tongue and his cock buried deep inside you, warm and pulsing and filling you just right.
you fall asleep like that, and he does, too. just like last time.
synopsis . Your boyfriend reaching the avatar state when he’s close. content . afab!reader, improper use of air bending, established relationship, dirty talk, missionary, pet names, he (nervously) talks you through it, praise, implied/slight breeding kink, etc.
author's note: i’d lick the sweat off his bald head if he let me.
You should’ve known something was up when the bedroom’s lanterns began to flicker.
But with the way Aang's hips snapped down against yours in such a relentlessly missionary rhythm—plump cock smothered deep within the juicily squelching walls of your pussy—it was hard to focus on anything else outside of the way he stretched you open.
HIs breaths came in searing pants against your neck, one gripping hand braced beside your head whilst his free one occupied itself with one of your thighs, tugging your leg impossibly higher around his waist just so that he could fuck you at that pinpointingly perfect angle.
"Ohhh, that's ittt, sweet girl. T-Taking me so well," Aang murmured as his eyes locked onto yours with shimmers of honest adoration visible all over them. "Keep squeezing me like that, mmgh. F-Feels good. So good." He thrusted even harder then, his breath flying out of him along with it as the wet slap of skin on skin emulated throughout the room.
His muscles tensed and his balls felt sorely heavy with each time they came plapping down against your sweat-slicked skin. The lanterns began to flicker again, brighter this time around as they cast shadows around the bedroom.
Then he leaned all the way down to smush his soft lips into yours, capturing your breath with in a messy kiss. His tongue came out to slide against yours as his firm body rocked into yours, the bed struggling to remain in place with his every move.
When his mouth left yours, he was dazed. This should've been the second signal for you. Especially as he let out a loud groan and went whispering, "Gonna breed this pretty cunt-," Instantly catching himself after and letting those soft grey eyes of his go all the more doe-like on you, "Shit... can I say that? I-Is that okay? Do you like it when I talk to you like tht?"
His hips picked up in pace, jaw going stiff as the balmy head of his cock smudged all sloppily against your cervix. Aang glanced down to see how he was disappearing into you, gasping at the obscene sight below him and then returning his eyes to yours.
"Tell me, baby. Please, talk to me. Tell me how you want me-, how you need me. I just wanna-, ohfuck—" Mid-sentence, his steady thrusts seem to derail and your cunt soaks around him to leave a sheeny layer of aroused slick all over his dick.
You're sucking him in deeper than he expected you to, and it catches him absolutely off guard. Which you notice rather quickly, batting your fucked-out eyes up at him, "Aang? Are you okay?"
"Yeah-, yes.. You just keep—" He hunches over against you—body going taut and lean muscles constricting against one another. "You keep squeezing me like that."
Begining to like seeing him struggle, "Squeezing like what?" you asked in sync with your walls clenching around the deft base of his cock.
Air puffs right out of him as if he'd been choked and his body shudders with something powerful coursing through him. You only catch it for a split second the first time it happens—a brief flash over both his markings and his eyes as his next array of groaning stammers out of him.
Following this is the flash of something wild in his eyes as they broaden, pupils dialating a fraction. Aang's head tips to the side and the plump crown of his cock slavers itself alllll around your insides, the puffy lips of your cunt left to quiver around him.
"You're so pretty-," Your loving boyfriend chuffs out, unknowingly thrusting into you harder via a burst of controlled air slapping against his backside. "H-Have I told you that? Hm?" He's asking as if he wasn't literally air bending himself into fucking you harder.
Your head just barely manages a nod, tears coating your lash line, "Nngh-, yes, Aang."
"Say it back to me then," Aang encourages. In between his breathy words, a brush of air is felt slithering against your cunt. It was almost as if his ability to seamlessly multitask was showcasing the best of his abilities via stimulating you everywhere. "Tell me how pretty my girl is, yeah?"
The sensation brings a stutter to your speech, "A-Aang, I can’t," you cry out, nails lightly scraping at his back.
He smiles halfway before his thrusting grows erratic and his jaw slacks some, "Oh. You're gushing-, shit."
You feel the way his tip pulsates inside you, his hips struggling to pull himself back for a moment long enough to give his cock a second to breathe—not that he much cared to do so anyway.
"So wet. Wanna see you cum-, wanna feel it." Aang husks, "Can you do that? Cum for me?"
"Mhmm," You nod weakly at first but within the next few seconds, as something begins to rumble distantly, you start to second guess your agreement. Mouth falling agape, “Wait, s’too much-,” you try to warn him.
He’s lost though—lost in the feel of your greedy insides begging his dick to spill enough seed into you to repopulate a nation or two at least. Aang’s unconscious manipulation of air only gets worse too, he goes from using his bending to fuck himself deeper to using it to sprawl your puffy pussy lips ‘n legs apart even wider.
You’re a stretched out mess in mere seconds, gasping his name and crying out in pleasure as your back begins arch. Then he’s chuckling all of a sudden and you swear for a moment he’s not even the same man you knew him to be.
Aang’s head cocks back some and his eyes roll back, “You can take it,” he grunts like he knows his words to be true and no argument could convince him otherwise. “You always do. Mmgh-,” He bites his lip for a second before looking down at you once more. “Can’t you feel that? The air helpin’ me fill you up? It’s-, hah.. It’s a little something I’ve been practicing.”
You pout at first, “Aang, I don’t know if-, mmgnh! Y-Your markings!”
The room illuminates with colors of spiritual blue before he notices what you’re talking about.
“What about them?” Aang asks cluelessly, his voice having changed due to the height of pleasure and energy surging through him.
Sweat drips down his body but it doesn’t even manage to touch you or the bed because he’s bending those droplets just as he was the air—completely losing himself in the feel of you and bending all sorts of shit because of it.
“They’re glowing,” You gasp.
Then his cock buries itself all the way in, every stiff inch clamped by your sappy insides, and his body comes to a sharp stop.
You knew there were… concerns when it came to having sex with your boyfriend who just so happens to be the avatar. But, no one told you he’d enter the avatar state just from cumming too hard!!
It’s while creamy gushes of cum are flooding into your poor cunt that his body is shuddering and he’s literally entering a new state of pleasure. He could hardly manage a word out or even move, the state had taken him over entirely.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little worried for him because of it, but honestly you were a tad bit distracted by how fucking hot it was.
You shouldn’t let this go to your head, really.
But who else can say their pussy sent their boyfriend into the avatar state?
That’s something to brag about!
(not proofread) banner from “Welcome to The Muscle Salon!” || tags:
୨୧ megumi fushiguro loves it when you praise him (1K SPECIAL)
megumi wasn’t really vocal with the stuff he was into.
not to say he was into anything weird, but it felt weird to express the things that really turned him on.
megumi thought he was being relatively subtle with his kinks, holding back his whimpers when you moaned how good he felt, or fighting his faint blush whenever you told him how handsome he was, or any ‘out of character reaction’ he would have to any positive thing you said to him. unfortunately for him, you do notice the small cues whenever you give him praise, especially when he gets in a daze and thrusts into you harder when you tell him how good he’s fucking you.
he can’t help it, he likes to be praised. but he would never tell you that, he would also never tell you how badly he loves your thighs, and your boobs. he would be lying if he said he didn’t dream about fucking your thighs often, especially when he gets to lay his head in your lap as you massage his scalp and tell him about your day. like a good boyfriend, he would peer up at you and listen, adding input when needed. he feels like a pervert though, guilt racking his mind as he caught himself glancing at your tits occasionally as you blabbed on endlessly. they were right in his face, nipples peaked under your thin tank top and practically begging to be sucked and toyed with.
it was particularly hard for him to control his urges when he got to cuddle with you. he was supposed to be taking a nap, head snuggled into your chest as he attempted to sleep. he doesn’t understand why he feels so pent up, but he does. he’s laying on your chest, arms wrapped around your back as his legs intertwined with yours. he already knows he’s hard, but he’s praying you won’t notice, which is looking good for him so far. you’re still chuckling at your phone while you gently massage his scalp, a habit you find yourself doing mindlessly whenever he’s like this.
megumi continued to shift his legs against your thighs, melting into your body heat as he tried to push the dirty thoughts out of his mind and sleep.
but he wants to fuck your thighs so bad.
he groaned into your chest, pulling you closer against him with a frustrated huff as he felt himself growing needier by the second. his huff brought you back to reality, your hand pausing in his hair as you placed your phone to the side. “are you okay, megs?” you asked, looking down at his hair, his face still buried between your chest. “no.” he responded, need disguised as irritation, his voice muffled into your shirt.
“what’s wrong, handsome?”
fuck.
he could’ve came on the spot.
“…can’t sleep.” he responded, lifting his head up to look up at you, trying to distract the ache of his dick so he could continue to speak. “i’m just really pent up.” he finished quietly, your hand returning to his hair to comfort him with a small smile. “you wanna do something about it?” now he’s starting to get embarrassed, giving you a subtle nod before leaning up to kiss you.
you were honestly prepared for penetrative sex, not this.
megumi was the type of boyfriend that would slowly reveal his kinks during sex. which is how you got here, watching in anticipation as he finished spreading lube along himself. you spread your legs, ready for his fingers, or at least for him to push inside you already. “no—keep them closed.” he said quickly, a hand prompting you to shut your thighs again. you did, albeit confused as he grabbed your legs and put it on one of his shoulders. his hand returned to his cock, the both of you watching as he slid his dick between your shut thighs.
he bit his lip, choking back a whimper as he began to slowly fuck your thighs, his leaky tip peeking out from your legs with every thrust. “fuck..wanted this so bad.” he admits through aroused breaths, a hand coming to rest on the back of your thighs as you watched in awe. his face was flushed, eyes struggling to stay open and glued to where the two of you were connected. seeing your boyfriend in such a state had you clenching around nothing, absolutely soaked as quiet moans slipped from his lips no matter how hard he tried to hold them back.
“you sound so pretty, megumi.” you said mindlessly, praise coming out like it was nothing. he shuttered, hips moving faster as his cock throbbed in need, pre bubbling and leaking from his mushroom tip. you had your suspicions about your boyfriends hidden praise kink, but this was only solidifying it. he let out more moans before he could realize it, hands grabbing at your legs desperately as pleasure came over him.
he couldn’t help it, your voice just does something to him, especially when you’re telling him something positive. “just like that, handsome. feels so good doesn’t it?” you cooed, testing the water, just to be sure you wasn’t imagining things. his cock twitched, humming in agreement between a whimper.
he’s been caught, and he hasn’t even realized it yet. too busy struggling to keep his eyes open to look at your pretty tits, each push of his hips making them jump erotically beneath him. his body moved before his mind could keep up, pressing your thighs lower against yourself so he could lean down to kiss at you boob softly. he moved one hand off your thigh to cup your tit, lips moving down to seal around your now perked nipple, sucking gently. his thrusts became more shallow to keep his tip from bumping into you, moaning into your tit as your hand returned to his scalp.
he kept sucking, whining as his tongue swirled around the peak, flicking and sucking as he practically drooled on your boob. you let out a shaky moan, gripping at his hair tightly as be continued to fuck your thighs. the stimulation of his mouth and the slight friction on your clit from your thighs was driving you crazy, body begging for more stimulation, but settling on watching your boyfriend lose himself on your body and not your pussy for a change. “mmfp—keep doing that, baby. feels so fucking good.” you encouraged, he whimpered, continuing his efforts as his pace quickened, chasing his orgasm as it built steadily in his core.
he pulled off, kissing your nipple gently before giving the other some attention, hand coming down to grab at your thigh once more. he looked like a absolute mess, hair tousled with flushed cheeks, moaning with every thrust between your thighs. “megs…you look so good like this.” you added, massaging his head as he mindlessly nodded along, not even fully registering your words as his tongue ran across your nipple for the nth time. he postured back up, admiring your now sensitive and saliva soaked tits, reaching to grab at one as he began to rut his throbbing dick through your thighs once more.
the sheer amount of pre he spilled on your lower stomach just from sucking on your tits was pathetic, his moans becoming slightly higher pitched as he felt himself growing closer. his hips began to lose rhythm, now chasing the heat and friction of your legs as you began to coo at him. “getting close? are you gonna be good and cum for me?” that nearly made him cum on the spot, nodding along with rushed yeses, in a complete daze as his balls swelled painfully with an orgasm. “yesyes..i’ll be good—wan’ be good for you.” he slurred between moans, his tip now peeking from your thighs rapidly as your hand came to tease it with every pass.
his thrusts stuttered, whining as his cum shot up your to you mid section, hips pushing through his orgasm as his eyes fluttered shut. “thats it, such a good boy for me, megs.” you praised through his orgasm, your words of affirmation having him spill more spurts of cum onto your body. he looked down at the absolute mess he made on you after a few seconds, breathing in embarrassment as he let go of your thighs, easing your legs down slowly onto the bed and kissing you softly.
“so you have a praise kink, huh?” you teased when he pulled his lips from yours. he blushed, trying to look irritated as he hovered above you. “shut up.” he mumbled, hands trailing down slowly back to your thigh to soothe it before gently pushing them open, something you thought was going to happen initially. “let me take care of you.” his fingers now trailing up your drenched folds, your enjoyment of this now evident on his fingers.
to others, megumi may seem blunt or mean, but to you? he was your sweet boy.
another HUGGEEEE thank you to all of you for getting me to 1k followers! this means so much to me im grateful for every single last one of you and another BIG thank you to @stqrgumi and @kissthesword for helping me come up with the idea! this wouldn’t have been possible without you two! xoxo ❤︎
a/n play this to set the mood or wtv...!! yall this my first time writing full on smut dont flame me
The argument had been building for days.
Not over anything real—not really. You'd been tired, short-tempered, snappish in ways you couldn't explain. He'd been patient at first, the way Aang always was, his calm voice and steady hands trying to soothe you. But even the Avatar has limits.
"You're not listening to me," you'd said, arms crossed, back turned. "I am listening. You're the one who keeps interrupting herself."
You'd spun around, fire in your eyes. "Don't get smart with me."
"I'm not getting smart. I'm stating a fact."
His jaw had tightened. That was when you knew you'd crossed a line—not because he looked angry, but because he went still. The way the air goes still before a storm.
there's silence.
"Y/N."
"You want to be factual? Fine. Fact: you've been gone for three weeks. Fact: you came back yesterday. Fact: you expect me to just—fall into your arms like nothing happened. Like I didn't spend twenty-one nights staring at the ceiling wondering if you were alive."
His expression had shifted. Something flickered behind his grey eyes—hurt, maybe, or guilt. But you were too angry to care.
"I can't do this right now," he'd said.
"Then don't." You'd grabbed your pillow. "Sleep on the couch."
You'd slammed the bedroom door behind you. Not locked it—you never locked it—but closed it hard enough to rattle the frame.
That was two minutes ago.
Now you're under him.
You'd fought him. Or at least tried to. For about half a second. Your hands had pushed at his chest, your teeth had nipped at his lower lip, your body had twisted in his grip. But he hadn't let go. He never let go.
Now you're on your stomach. Your hands are fisted in the sheets. Your back is arched—deep, obscene, the way he likes it. Your knees are spread wide on the mattress, and he's kneeling behind you, one hand on your hip, the other pressing your upper back down into the pillows.
His cock is at your entrance. Not inside yet, the head pressing against your slick folds, teasing.
"Look at you," he says. His voice is different now—lower, rougher, threaded with something that makes your thighs tremble. "All that fire two minutes ago. All that fight. And now you're arched for me like a good girl."
"Shut up."
He pushes in. Just the tip. You gasp.
"Mngh—"
"That's not shutting up."
He pushes deeper. You feel the stretch—the impossible, delicious stretch—and your fingers claw at the sheets.
"You're so tight," he murmurs. "Always so tight for me. Like your body knows what your mouth won't say."
"I hate you—ah—"
He thrusts. Hard. Bottoming out in one smooth motion, and you scream into the pillow.
"No, you don't."
"too big- s' too big-"
"come on...you've taken it before baby"
"s'different...you've been gone for so long.."
"I'm sorry," he says. His voice softens. Just a little. "I'm sorry I was gone so long. I'm sorry I didn't—"
"Don't—ngh—don't apologize while you're inside me—"
"Why not?"
"Because I can't—mmph—I can't be mad at you when you're—"
He pulls out. Almost all the way. Then slams back in.
"—when I'm what?"
You sob. "When you're fucking me like this—"
He does it again. Harder. The bed creaks. The headboard hits the wall. Your body jolts forward, and his hand presses down on your back, keeping you in place.
"Say it."
"I can't—ah—"
"Say it, Y/N."
You turn your head. Look at him over your shoulder. His grey eyes are dark, intense, fixed on your face. His arrow tattoos are faint against his skin—not glowing, not yet, but there's something simmering beneath the surface. Something that makes your stomach flip.
"I can't be mad at you when you're fucking me like you mean it."
He smiles. It's not a nice smile. It's cocky, a little mean, a little mocking—the kind of smile that makes you want to slap him and kiss him in equal measure.
"I always mean it."
"Prove it."
He does.
His hips snap against yours. Hard. Fast. Relentless. The sound of skin on skin fills the room—wet and obscene—and you bury your face in the pillow to muffle your screams.
"None of that." His hand tangles in your hair. Pulls. Your head lifts. "I want to hear you."
"Ngh… mmph… ah-"
He pulls out. Leaves you empty. You whine at the loss, your hips pushing back, searching for him
"mn..? aang—"
He pushes back in. One thrust. Deep. You cry out.
His hand reaches around. His palm cups your breast—full, round, soft—and he squeezes.
"So soft," he says. "So perfect. These tits are mine, aren't they?"
"Yes—"
"Say it."
"Yours—they're yours—"
He pinches your nipple. Rolls it between his fingers. You moan and push back against him, and he groans—low and guttural.
"You want more?"
"Please—"
"Please what."
"Please—harder—"
He gives you harder. His thrusts turn punishing. "I'm going to fill you up," he says. His voice is low, rough, almost a growl. "I'm going to fill you with my cum. With my babies. You want that?"
"Aang—"
"You want me to put a baby in you?"
"Yes—yes—please—"
"You want to be round with my child? Swollen and heavy and full?"
"I want it—I want it—"
"Tell me you're sorry."
"I'm sorry—"
"Tell me you're mine."
"I'm yours—"
"Tell me you know who's fucking you right now."
"You—ah—Aang—"
"That's right."
You whine. High and desperate. "Ngh… Aang…"
"You wanted this." He pulls out almost all the way. Slams back in. "You ignored at me and yelled at me. You made me wait. You made me worry."
"I'm sorry—"
"You will be."
He fucks you. Hard. Deep. Ruthless. His hips slam against yours, and the bed creaks, and the headboard hits the wall, and you can't do anything but hold on and moan.
"Mmph! Ah… nnm… ngh…"
"Listen to you," he says. "So pathetic. So pretty. All those sounds you're making—"
"You're making me—ah—you're making me—"
"I'm here. I've got you baby."
He slows down. Pulls out almost all the way. Teases you with just the tip.
You sob.
"You're so mean—"
"You like it."
"I hate it—"
"You're dripping." His voice is low. Dark.
You are. You can feel it—the wetness sliding down your thighs, soaking the sheets, making everything slick and obscene.
"You're so—ah—so dirty—"
"You love it."
He fucks you. Hard. The way he fucks you when he's been gone too long and come home too late and found you waiting, angry and beautiful and so full of love you don't know what to do with it.
His hand leaves your hair. Slides down your spine. Grips your hip. His fingers dig into the soft flesh, hard enough to bruise, and you moan—loud and pathetic—and push back against him.
"So pretty like this," he murmurs. "Arched for me. Taking everything I give you. And you were so mad two minutes ago. So ready to fight."
"I'm still—ngh—still mad—"
"You don't feel mad."
"I am—ah—I am—"
He thrusts deeper. Angles his hips. Finds that spot inside you—the one that makes your vision go white, the one that steals your breath and your thoughts and your anger.
"Feel pretty fucking good for someone who's mad."
You can't answer. Your mouth is open, sounds spilling out—soft, desperate little noises that you'd be embarrassed about if you had any shame left.
"Ngh… mmph… ah…"
"I missed you," he says. His voice is softer now. The cockiness fading into something real. "I missed you every day. Every night. I thought about you—"
"Don't—"
"I thought about this. About coming home to you. About fucking you until you couldn't remember why you were mad."
"Jerk—"
"Mm. You love it."
He's not wrong.
He shifts your weight. Pulls you up, your back pressed to his chest. His arm wraps around your waist, holding you against him, and his other hand finds your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, his fingers curled around the column of your neck.
"You feel that?" he asks. His voice is right in your ear. "Feel how deep I am?"
You nod. Can't speak. His cock is inside you at an angle now—deeper than before, hitting places that make your toes curl and your eyes roll back.
"Tell me."
"I—I can't—"
"Tell me, Y/N."
"How am I supposed—ngh—how am I supposed to-hic- talk when I'm stuffed with 9 inches of your dick?"
He laughs. Genuinely laughs. The sound vibrates through his chest and into your back, and you feel it everywhere. His hand slides down from your throat to your breast. "You're so soft," he murmurs. "So warm. I dream about this. About you."
"I dream about you too—"
"Yeah?"
"Every night—"
"What do you dream about?"
You turn your head. Look at him. His grey eyes are soft now, the darkness fading into something tender. His arrow tattoos are glowing—just faintly, just at the edges, the way they do when he's close.
"This," you whisper. "I dream about this."
He kisses you. Deep and slow and sweet. His tongue slides against yours, and you taste yourself on his lips, and you moan into his mouth.
"I love you," he says.
"I love you too."
"I'm sorry I was gone."
"I know."
"I'm sorry I made you wait."
"I know."
"I'm close," he says. His hips stuttering.
"Me too—"
"Come with me."
"I—"
"Now."
You come apart.
Your body convulses. Your inner walls clamp down on him, squeezing, pulsing. You scream into the pillow—his name, just his name—and your vision goes white, and your ears ring, and you feel everything and nothing all at once.
He follows. His hips stutter. His grip tightens on your hip. And he tattoos glows for a hot second before he spills inside you.
"Aang—"
"Fuck—"
He groans. Low and rough. His head falls back. His body trembles against yours.
You've never heard him curse before. Not like that. Not with that raw, broken edge.
He collapses beside you. Pulls you into his arms. Your back presses to his chest, and his face buries in your hair, and his arms wrap around you like he's afraid you'll disappear.
------------
i was writing this and accidentally deleted the best part of the fic n i cant remember it at all...END ME.
on my break rn and i literally cannot stop thinking abt dry humping w bsf!bakugou like. normal roughhousing play fighting that is integral to your relationship goes slightly too far and you make a Noise when his knee slots between your legs and he's red in the face asking you what the fuck was that? then suddenly you're kissing all tongue and teeth and spit and he's grinding his hips into yours and his hands are grabbing your chest and yours are grabbing his hair and dragging him closer. he comes in his pants and you both stop dead staring at each other panting while you try to come up with something to say.
you end up sitting on opposite ends of the couch for the entire rest of your movie night and when you're leaving you shake fucking hands like business men cause the normal shove and hug is too intimate now.
texting him later that night to say "hi u gave me a hickey" and he just responds "ok". (he is fucking his fist thinking about the noise you made and how soft you were under him and how he wants to kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss you again).
𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗢𝗣𝗦𝗜𝗦 ── Genius profiler, Gojo Satoru, is the FBI's resident boy wonder, human Wikipedia and the reigning king of tragic cardigans. He can read a killer's pysche in seconds, but you can't figure him out. A grudge that's half a decade old, a stakeout, and a virgin all collide in the front seat of your car.
𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 ── kisses to all who can recognise the muse for gojo in this fic
The office carries the scent of burnt coffee, and old filings. It's the kind of place that wears its years proudly, with scuffed desks, walls washed pale by fluorescent light, and the constant clatter of keyboards and phones. A new espresso machine hums in the corner, already claimed territory, for half-empty mugs and discarded sugar packets are scattered around it. Like offerings to the temperamental god of caffeine.
You pull your new (itchy) blazer tighter around yourself as you step inside. This is it, the Behavioural Analysis Unit. Your new home, and the result of a decent few years clawing after case files and letters of recommendation.
You've always been told you were a prodigy in the field. Sharp, quick and too intuitive to be stuck doing desk work in the downtown city offices. The BAU was always looking for brains that could pluck patterns out of the noise, to predict a potential criminal's next move before they even made it.
And now? You finally got to prove it.
"Oi, you're the new hire?" A voice barks, sharp enough to slice through the buzzing office noise.
You turn, resisting the urge to ask why he feels the semantic need to ask that question, considering he was the one who stamped the approval on your unit transfer. But you doubt that your new boss is the sort of man you want to cross, on your very first day no less.
Ryomen Sukuna is a lesson in not judging a book by its cover. Wheat-golden skin, lined with streaking dark tattoos over his cheekbones and jaw. A shock of peach and raven-black hair streaked in a rough undercut. He looks as though he should be running a biker gang, not a federal unit, but there's something in his maroon stare. Hard and cutting, that makes you stand a little straighter.
"Don't slow us down," he grunts.
No handshake, no warm welcome. Just a warning, but you can understand why.
Time is of the essence in the Behavioural Analysis Unit, as is the ability to stomach the uncomfortable.
You pad after him, doing your utter best to not scuff the linoleum floors as you dodge strewn cables near the heavy glass doors. The entrance leads to a smaller nook, a quiet room with an oaken, circular table stacked with flimsy files, bulging with stamped papers. Worn chairs are scattered across the circumference, and you do your best to flatten yourself against the wall as others filter in.
Great. Meeting new people, your favourite hobby, right?
Although, that being said, you had studied all of their case files, with the sole benefit of not fumbling your way through first impressions.
You begin to match names to faces, hesitantly lowering yourself into your cold seat, in an attempt to look busy.
Nanami Kento was the first one who entered, and to your chagrin, he gets a brief handshake from Sukuna. Fuck, why didn't you get one? But Nanami's presence seems deliberate and measured, for he's tall, with every inch of him pressed into a well-tailored steel blue suit. His honey-blonde hair is neat, his face solemn yet thoughtful.
He's flanked by two others. The first being a woman with cinnamon-brown hair, twirling a flat lock idly between violet, chipped nails. Nicotine and cheap beer, threaded through with something unexpectedly floral.
Shoko Ieiri.
You know from pouring over her file that she has more years of medical knowledge than anyone else on the team, but right now, she looks like she'd rather be anywhere else.
The man pulling himself into the chair on the other side of Kento is, frankly, a perfect candidate for a haute couture ad. Long, dark hair pulled loosely back, with strands falling around his face in delicate arcs, like the petals of a spider lily, brushing the dark stud that glints in his ear.
Suguru Geto. Built like a bear, broad enough to block the doorway, his strong frame draped in a scuffed indigo racing jacket that looks permanently fused to him. Hie flips through a case file with the kind of casual detachment that comes from too many years doing this job. You've heard he's been here the longest, and from the way the others glance at him, shoving their own files to him, you can tell it's true.
The fourth new face nearly barrels into the table, gaze glued to his phone. He looks up just in time to scowl, as though it's everyone else's fault he wasn't looking where he was going.
Floppy sandy-blonde hair falls over the man's amber eyes, messy enough to look intentional. Dark roots peek through at the top, while moss-green tips dye the ends in a streak of rebellion. That Prada suit is a slim, toned fit and you know it costs more than your car insurance.
You don't need a file to place Naoya Zen'in. One could argue he only scored this job thanks to his father, who sits pretty high on the federal chain, pulling strings. But apparently, he isn't exactly dead weight. For what he lacks in tact and brawn, he makes up for in sheer agility.
That, and his reputation of being an utter jerk.
"I see you people way too much," Geto is grumbling, though his arm is already stretching around Kento to snag a glazed doughnut. He shoves the doughy confectionary into his mouth, smacking his lips shamelessly, as he muffles around sticky crumbs, "How is it we're already being assigned another case? We only just flew back in yesterday."
"The beauty of this is that it's a gift that keeps on giving," Sukuna's voice rumbles like gravel as he drains the last of his mug, "Sick fucks always findin' new ways to hurt each other." He slams the empty mug down the table, tattoos flashing like black cuffs around his wrists. His russet eyes flick up, catching your stare.
You grimace, pretending to admire the lead pencil in your hand, as though you were looking at literally anything else.
Sukuna rolls his eyes, "And lookie here, we've got fresh blood." He jerks a thick finger in your direction, "Department approved a new transfer since Kashimo ditches us for whatever adrenaline-junkie bullshit he does now."
"Probably bungee-jumping into a volcano," Naoya mutters, not bothering to lift his eyes from his phone.
A round of quiet nods and murmurs of ascent follow, resigned as you gather this must track for the famed, impulsive Hajime Kashimo.
"That, and the fucker kept tryin' to take my job," Sukuna growls, but his sharp eyes swing back to you, "So, kid. Tell us where you crawled out of."
You shift, suddenly wishing you'd spent a little more time preparing a decent show-and-tell, "I – uh, spent some time after the academy in Cyber. Worked cases involving data trafficking, predictive algorithms, behavioural mapping and —"
The doors bang open as a ridiculously tall man blows in, alongside a rush of cold air, balancing a pastry bag and an oversized coffee, as though he's walked through a hurricane. His tie is loose, white hair windswept, and his glasses are a little askew.
"Sorry, sorry — I'm late," the man blurts, breezing in like a hurricane with a coffee cup in one hand and a pastry bag in the other. He cuts across the room in long, careless strides, clapping Kento on the shoulder as he passes, "Don't start without me."
"Oh, no, your majesty," Sukuna mutters, voice dripping with snide disdain, "We were all waiting for you to grace us with your presence. What, fifteen minutes late? Wouldn't want our little genius missing the fun."
The man flushes mid-step under Sukuna's glare, shoulders stiff, "Look, man — "
Sukuna raises a thick brow.
"Uh, I mean, sir. Yes, sir. No, sir. Won't happen again, sir."
"Get your ass in a chair."
Geto presses a hand valiantly to his chest, and it takes all your Herculean effort to not stare at the counter of his sculpted chest beneath his top. But the man is as solemn as a priest, "He won't do it again, boss. Nope. I'll personally buy him an alarm clock."
Shoko snorts into her ocean-blue turtleneck, tugging it tighter around her throat, "He doesn't need you to suck up for him."
"Welcome to the team," Naoya finally drags his amber eyes away from his glaring phone screen, pinning you with an exhausted stare, and once again, that look that blamed all of his displeasure on others, "Not too late to hand in your two weeks' notice."
God. You should have read that case file one more time. Should've done a single ounce more of snooping into your new team. Then, maybe, just maybe, you would have been more prepared.
If you had just bothered to read the last and final page on the current members of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, you would have picked up on this.
Gojo Satoru.
He's sinking into a wheeled chair, flipping through a file and shuffling stacks of crisp paper. Loose navy cardigan over crisp slacks, and a cream button-down, with sleeves rolled to his elbows. White hair a little too long, falling into his glacial blue eyes, hidden behind wire-rimmed glasses that look devastating on him now.
The last time you saw him was, when? High school?
He had been a mess back then, composed of crumpled Lord of the Rings hoodies from Hot Topic and a ramble of babble that everyone attributed to him being, well, an absolute nerd.
Gojo Satoru, the valedictorian. The boy genius with a scraggly bowl cut and round, prescription sunglasses. The guy who could speak a dozen languages, and pass an exam without cracking open his book once. Eidetic memory, and all that.
But he had always been a bit of a social pariah. If he wasn't alone, mumbling over textbooks in the library, he was probably exchanging Pokémon cards with some friend of his, like the bumbling, dark-haired Ijichi.
And now? Well, it's an ironic choice of words considering your line of work, but he looks criminal. Still a nerd, but in that hot way that Pinterest girls swooned over. Tall, broader than you remembered, sharp-jawed and somehow pulling off a cardigan better than you right now.
Your mouth is already open before you can stop yourself, "When the hell did you get so hot?"
Gojo's head lifts quickly, blinking at you like you're an anomaly in a code that he was clueless about. No recognition, no faint spark of memory in those jewel-toned eyes. He adjusts his glasses, pink lips quirking, "I'm sorry, have we met?"
Every cell in your body goes into system shutdown. Somewhere in your periphery, Kento's face flattens, as though he's embarrassed to have spent time in your presence. Across the table, Shoko slips a twenty into Geto's waiting hand. You catch Naoya sliding in a crisp fifty with the same bitter grace as tossing meat to a dog.
You cough, cheeks puffing as you scramble for rapid damage control, "I mean, wow. When the hell did it get so hot in here? I'm sweltering. Are you guys hot? Because I'm hot. Like, wow, summer's already here? Global warning, am I right?"
"It's the middle of winter," Sukuna throws you a look of mild disgust, as though you're contagious with a brand of idiocy he wants to avoid.
"Phewwww." You wipe your brow theatrically, refusing to die in utter shame, "Must be just me then. Because I'm boiling in here."
Naoya leans back, eyes dragging over you with lazy, bored curiosity, lips curling just enough to flash his fangs, "You do know all BAU agents have to pass a psych eval, right? You didn't bribe the assessor?"
Shoko perks up suddenly, leaning forward with the first glimmer of interest in her doe-copper eyes, "Could be medical. Hyperthyroidism, maybe. Or pheochromocytoma. Seen an endocrinologist lately?"
"Uh..." You falter, because Gojo is frowning at you with real concern over his puzzled face, "I'll get it checked out. Thanks."
You hear Sukuna grunt something about 'fuckin' idiots' before he's already sliding individual files towards everyone. His huge hand click the pointer, and the wall-mounted screen flickers to life.
"Remember our mystery case from last year?"
"Flat-top weirdo who set people on fire?" Geto frowns, pushing your file towards you, from where Sukuna tossed them onto the middle of the table. You murmur a quick thanks, careful not to meet Gojo's eyes, the gaze boring into you from across the table, suddenly quite stern.
"The unsub was found not long after. Jogo, wasn't it?" Kento murmurs.
Naoya wags a finger towards the screen, "Then there was that freak with the bio-warfare. Something about flowers and shit?"
"Hanami. Also caught. Do you even pay attention to what we do?"
Naoya just shrugs, golden hair fluttering as he tilts his head with little regard for Kento's disapproving stare.
"Eyes up here," Sukuna warns, his tone like barbed wife. He clicks, and the next slide makes your stomach lurch. You'd braced yourself for crime scenes photos, comes with the job, obviously.
But nothing quite prepares you for the patchwork grotesque on the screen. Stiff sheets of human skin, stitched together with light blue-grey thread in patterns so deliberate it makes your chest crawl.
You swallow hard, throat tight as you hold onto your breakfast. But the others? Entirely unfazed.
"Yeah, that's the telltale M.O, it's poppin' up more and more," Sukuna shoves his hands into the pockets of his charcoal-grey denim.
"Oh man, yeah," Shoko says, leaning back in her hair as though this is a casual conversation about the weather, "That case has been open for months, I thought the unsub had stopped acting, and we had to put the investigation on hold?"
"Nah." Sukuna sums it up eloquently, "This is from two days ago. Something's triggered the killings again." He drops the pointer, tossing it onto the table with a thunk! Your boss jerks his chin towards the far side of the table, "But I'll let boy genius tell you more."
Every head swivels towards Gojo Satoru, except for yours. You keep your eyes firmly trained on the stacks of paper in front of you, the coordinate grid maps of where the unsub had previously struck last year.
Gojo's pushing his glasses up the bridge of his hawkish nose with one long finger. The glow of the projector washes his pale skin in sterile blue, catching on the sharp edge of his jaw. For half a second, the thinnest sliver in time, you could swear he looks at you, watches for your attention.
"Okay, so — " He claps his hands together once, quick and sharp, and you swear the sound reverberates through your bones, "Our unsub. Male, mid-twenties to mid-thirties. We could assume he's highly organised, almost meticulous with what he does, but impulsive to a fault. He does what pleases him, and gambles on what he thinks will give him a thrill."
"Like Kashimo," Shoko mutters, rolling a strand of flat, chestnut hair between her fingers once more.
Geto shakes his head solemly, "True that."
"The victims are skinned postmortem. And we've consistently found that pale blue thread is used to stitch pieces together. The shade of blue is consistent, almost ritualistic. The nylon fibres were analysed in the lab, and our unsub uses the same brand. It's cheap, easy to get at specific convenience stores so we can track his location as a path."
"You gettin' this?" Sukuna peers over at you, startling you out of your mild reverie. You fumble for the nearest Sharpie, already creating crosses over the past locations, wincing at the sound of the marker squeaking across paper.
"And like I said earlier, his stitches really are meticulous. Cross-stitch, blanket stitch, whip stitch. It's like he's experimenting with technique. I doubt it's random."
"Who spends time learning this shit?" Naoya mutters, reclining in his chair, but straightening up once Sukuna levels a shark-like flat look at him.
"Shut up, you wouldn't know a running stitch from a running nose," Gojo scowls, firing back without missing a beat, and he's pacing now. Voice picking up speed, words tumbling like dominos, "Locations? Spread across three prefectures, but always within walking distance of either a fabric store, or get this, cinemas? Something personal, perhaps?"
"Last time, agents found notes he had left behind, a manifesto?" Kento wonders out loud, dark eyes narrowed as he peers at the illuminated screen.
"Yeah, but it was nothing useful," Shoko shrugs, before pointing to Gojo, "Sorry, hang on. I'll get back to you. But there were no fingerprints left, not a speck of DNA to trace. And most of his ramblings made no sense, something about 'Idle Transfiguration' and his motivations, like humans hating and fearing each other."
"Like that's anything new," Sukuna grumbles, "Most people are like that."
"You're an optimist, boss," Geto notes, broad shoulders rippling beneath his jacket, "Anything about victimology?"
Gojo pushes his glasses up once more, glancing at you briefly. You loathe the feeling that pushes against your ribcage, and force your buzzing mind to actually focus on his words, "See, this is an anomaly. For someone so driven and focused on what he considers his craft, his victims seem to be chosen at random. Complexion and – uh, texture seem irrelevant. So, he's not really chasing consistency for his patchwork."
"But you guys caught him on your radar last year? You didn't find patterns?" You ponder, and while you know none would believe your words, you could swear that Gojo flinches at your voice. Ugh.
But the white-haired man gnaws his lower lips, "Yeah, yes. Patterns, yes. He disappeared for weeks, sometimes months, then resurfaced. That's typical cooling off period in disorganised killers, but this is the one part of his behaviour that doesn't seem as impulsive. He seems to hunt deliberately after mass public events. Tragedies, natural accidents, moments where there's a lot of negative public sentiment in the air. Like that's his time to source the right..." Gojo snaps his fingers, suddenly grinning, "Like sourcing the right fabric."
Naoya pulls a face, idly picking at a raw cuticle, "That's disgusting."
"Yeah, don't you love our job?" Gojo pushes his sleeves up, revealing toned forearms, dusted with light hair. He's clicking to the next map overlay, a string of red pins dot the screen, matching the marks you've made on the map in front of you.
"Notice the clusters. Each crime scene radiates outwards from a central hub. That hub? Abandoned textile factory in the south quadrant. It's a line of vast sewer tunnels, and I'd guess that's where our unsub probably feels safest returning to?"
Gojo coughs into his fist, finally lowering himself into his chair, as though he's just remembered that oxygen exists, "So. Yeah, that's – uh. That's what we're dealing with."
"Yeah, I knew all that," Sukuna snickers, slapping his thighs as he stands, "But now — "
"What?!" Gojo's head snaps up, scandalised.
"I knew, 'course I read the profile. You think I don't do my job? Just wanted you to get it out of your system, so maybe you'd get the chattering out of the way and I'd get five blessed minutes of silence at least."
Gojo mutters something under his breath that is absolutely not HR safe, folding his arms sullenly over his cardigan. Geto reaches over to pat his sulking friends shoulder in slow sympathy, "There, there. You'll always be my favourite profiler."
Shoko rolls her eyes skywards, sharing a long suffering look with Kento.
"Anyway," Sukuna grumbles, "We've got enough agents to stake out the predicted strike zone. We'll be in the field, but I want two of you pulled back a little, car surveillance, eyes on any movement in the surrounded abandoned area."
"I'll do it," Geto offers smoothly, putting his palm up. But the reaction is immediate and violent.
"No way."
"Impossible."
"You better not even fuckin' think about it."
"Not after Kenjaku-gate."
You frown, brows furrowing, "I'm sorry. Kenjaku-gate? This was some...incident?
"Don't," Geto warns sharply, stuffing another helping of glazed dougnut into his mouth.
"Please do," Shoko encourages, propping her chin upon her fist with wicked interest.
Naoya leans in, and you're struck by his immense resemblance to a hyena, "Yeah. There was this guy, Kenjaku. His whole M.O was identity fraud, always swapping bodies, new disguises, different lives. Shit got real sticky, he even wore Geto once."
You wonder if you heard that correctly, glancing at Geto, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else, "Wore? As in — ?"
"Right," Naoya continues gleefully, "So for a hot minute, everyone thought he was guilty of all these weird crimes. Big mess, and the higher-ups in the government had to get involved. They were foaming at the mouth and all."
"Mhm," Sukuna huffs, leaning back in his chair, and jerking a thumb towards Geto, who was currently scowling daggers at no-one in particular, "He's been cleared now and all, but that bastard caused a lot of problems. Nearly sank the team."
Your eyes flick to Kento, who hasn't said a word, but who looks far more strung. You mouth, something personal?
The golden-haired man hesitates, then gives the barest nod, Don't ask. Something about his twin brother.
You file that away, stunned. You frankly can't picture your new boss having friends, let alone a brother. But before you can prod, Sukuna's sharp eyes cut back to you like a blade.
"Well, how about this then?" His voice is slow, dripping with challenge, "I'll send ya' out there. You and boyband wonder, hmm?"
"Me?" You freeze, sudden heat climbing your neck.
But Gojo, mid-sip of coffee, sputters, "Boyband? Man, what the fuck?" He runs a nervous hand through his hair, pushing it up self-consciously.
"Shiny teeth, tragic wardrobe, zero substance?" Naoya offers with venomous glee.
"I have so much substace," Gojo sinks further into his cardigan, "Like, layers. Onions-level."
"Enough," Sukuna cuts through Gojo's muttering like a blade, voice sharp, and the casual chatter dies instantly. "I'm not your fuckin' babysitter. So, let's focus before I do lose what little patience I have left."
Gojo winces, lips quirking into an awkward grimace, but Sukuna ignores him and taps the case file with a thick finger, "We've got fresh dumpsites with consistent signatures. Stitching patterns, the pale blue thread. Most recent was two days ago, meaning we've got a live unsub working fast. That puts us on the clock."
You feel Gojo's eyes flick to you again, quick and unreadable, and your stomach twists. He still hasn't said anything. Not a flicker of recognition. Not even a hey, long time no see. Just nothing.
It pisses you off more than it should, irritation welling up in your throat.
"Fine," you blurt, before your brain can catch up, "I'll do it. Stakeout. Whatever you need."
There's a faint quirk at the corner of Sukuna's mouth, like he can smell the edge of desperation under your words, that urge to prove yourself. But his eyes are colder, "We'll see about that."
"Kento, Ieiri. You canvas the medical angles. Hospitals, ER admissions, anyone who might've stitched somethin' suspicious together. You'll get the most traction."
"Geto, Zen'in, go after witnesses and locals. Hit the perimeter, dig for chatter. And don't give me excuses about your personal vendettas gettin' in the way."
At this, Geto and Naoya give each other nasty, defeated looks. You briefly wonder the dynamic between them is.
But Sukuna's glaze cuts back to Gojo and you, "Which leaves you two. Surveillance car. Abandoned industrial area on the south side. Keep ya' eyes open, and if you get trigger-happy, I'll have your badges before you can blink."
The team starts gathering files, muttering, scraping chairs against the floor. You catch Geto purposefully knock his elbow into Naoya's ribs, but one by one, they filter out. You're slow to move, waiting till Gojo gives you a hesitant look and pushes the door open.
But you're absolutely aware that Sukuna's gaze is still pinned on you.
"Stay a minute," he orders.
Your spine stiffens, wilting under his maroon eyes. Oh, god. What did you already screw up?
But Sukuna doesn't waste time, "You want to prove yourself? Do it out there, not in here." His arms cross over his vast chest, tattoos shifting with the movement, "This isn't a playground. People die if you fumble, or freeze."
You swallow, throat tight, "Yeah, I know. I mean, understood."
"For the record..." Sukuna pauses, eyes narrowed as he seems to search your face for something, "The only reason you're here is because someone vouched for you. Usually I don't take rookies without field scars."
"Someone vouched?" Your heart stutters, thudding beneath your sternum.
"Yeah," Sukuna's lip curls, like the whole thing is a nuisance, "Gojo. Said you were worth the risk."
Your jaw practically unhinges, in the most unflattering way possible. Gojo? The same Gojo who looked you dead in the eye, and treated you like a stranger, while you babbled on about global warming?
Sukuna seems to read your silent expression, rolling his eyes, "Don't get sentimental. Whatever history you've got with boy-wonder, that's your problem. Out there, I only care if you can keep up." He jerks his chin toward the door, "Now get outta' here before I change my mind."
You nod quickly, fighting the ridiculous urge to kowtow, and grabbing your file before scurrying away with a spinning head.
"...So, you like jazz?" Gojo offers, peering low over his glasses, voice low in the hush of the car. His breath clouds in front of him, puffs in the winter chill.
You throw the white-haired man a sullen look, "Are you quoting the Bee Movie right now?"
Gojo's brows crawl up his face, "What? No." He wiggles in his seat, reaching into the pocket of his corduroy jacket. Producing a battered stack of discs, each one labelled in his crooked scrawl, "I bought jazz. Miles Davis, Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald. All the greats."
You must look gobsmacked, because flushed colour creeps across his cheeks. Gojo coughs and fumbles them back into his jacket, like contraband, "Sorry. Didn't know what you liked. If you don't want — "
You wave his stumbled fragments off, eyes darting to the frost-laced window, "No, it's fine." You gesture at the ancient CD slot on the dash, "Yeah, put whatever you want on."
Gojo perks instantly, sliding a CD in, and soon the tinny trumpet of Miles Davis fills the stale air of the car. You fold your arms, not looking at him, jaw clenched against the silence that starts to stretch.
For several minutes, the only sound is jazz, the occasional creak of your gloves as you flex your hands against the chill, and the scrape of Gojo's graphite pencil as he pulls through a crossword puzzle.
"So, first official stakeout. Excited?"
"Thrilled."
Gojo drums his long fingers against the steering wheel, "You know, these stakeouts are a rite of passage. It's the long hours, bitter coffee, and the leg cramps from being stuck in the car." He glances at you, smiling faintly, "Builds character."
"I can't wait," you mutter, eyes flicking over the dim, warm street lights casting long shadows across the pavement.
More silence. A car passes down the far end of the abandoned street, headlights sweeping briefly across the dashboard.
"You think he'll come tonight?" You ask finally, if only to give Gojo something else to do, other than throwing you confused looks.
"The unsub?" His voice sharpens, "Maybe. The dump site pattern isn't perfect, but this location fits his trajectory. High likelihood he'll circle back tonight."
"Guess all we can do is watch, no?"
Gojo hums in agreement, pink lips pressed together, before pulling his battered, cracked phone out of his pocket, "Naoya said he would send through any witness statements, I just hoped he stayed on task enough to remember."
You snort, "Has he always been this insufferable?"
Gojo smiles, and his expression is surprisingly warm, "He wasn't always. We grew up together, actually. Naoya was — " Gojo shrugs, eyes flicking to the windshield, " — pretty cool, back then. Somewhere along the way, he just became a jerk."
The bitter edge of jealousy curls in your chest, faster than you can halt it, "Well, it's nice you remember him."
Gojo's head jerks towards you, as though he's baffled by the sudden venom coating your tongue, "Uh, what?"
You moodily jab the dashboard a little harder than intended, "Seriously? You've been pretending not to know me this whole, like I'm some stranger you've never met, and I know it's not that deep, but it's — " You choke on the words, cheeks suddenly burning, "It's embarrassing. It hasn't been that long since high school, Satoru. Did I do something to you, or what?"
It seems that the air in the car has gone very still. Jazz murmurs faintly from the speakers, a trumpet line winding upward like smoke.
Gojo just blinks at you, stunned, lips parted like a fish out of water. But his expression shifts, sours suddenly. White brows knit together, that plush mouth pulling into a scowl.
"Are you asking me that?" His voice isn't loud, but the irritation in it cuts sharper somehow.
You gape at him, "What? Me? It's not like we were best friends or something, but a 'Hi, hello, how are you?' would have been nice in that team room. You practically ignored me."
"Yeah?" Gojo's laugh is humourless, bitter, "Well, it's better than tearing someone down, isn't it?"
Your heart stutters, confusion blooming, "What the fuck are you talking about?"
Gojo shifts in his seat, huncing in a way that looks wrong on his tall frame, pulling out his phone. You catch sight of the battered case, corners fraying, as though it's the same one he carried back in high school. He's frowning as he scrolls, before flipping the dim, cracked screen towards you.
Huh. A text message, addressed to you.
The date is old, years old, but your name is right there in the contact header. You drag your eyes over the clumsy words.
Hey, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go out sometime? nothing fancy. maybe that new burger place by the train station? i’ll even pay. (don’t laugh at me too hard, ok?) >_<
Your stomach flips, as you take in the following reply. Short, cruel. Mean in a way that only teenagers could manage.
"Wow. That's...wow. That's mean."
Gojo's throat bobs as he swallows, and he opens his mouth, but you sharply cut him off, "But that wasn't me."
"Huh?"
You force yourself to meet his eyes, hidden behind thick frames, startling blue, wide and wounded, "That wasn't me. I never saw this. I never replied to this."
"But —"
"Yeah," you blurt, "I changed numbers. Utahime dropped my phone in a pool, on a senior trip. I ended up just getting a new one, even a new number. Whoever did this just thought they were fucking with you, I mean, it's messed up, 'cause I never would have said that."
You swallow, the weight of the sudden silence pressing on your chest, but Gojo suddenly breaks it, blurting, "So, you think I'm hot now?"
Your head whips towards him, startled, as heat crawls up the back of your neck.
Gojo immediately winces, shoulders caving in as though he's trying to fold his giant frame into the tiny car, "Sorry. Just tryna' think of something to say. I didn't meant to embarrass you earlier. I don't know, I was just —" He waves his hand vaguely in the air.
You shouldn't lose focus, but your eyes linger anyway. His hands are elegant. Long, tapered fingers. Neat nails, calluses just barely catching in the dashboard light. Hands probably steadily enough to wield a scalpel or...
No. Don't go there.
Your breath hitches, and you drag your gaze away, desperately praying he didn't notice the temporary loss of your composure.
"No, it's fine. I mean..." You stumble over the words, trying to find stable foot, "I heard, well, Sukuna said that you vouched for me. Which is nice. I appreciate that."
Gojo's expression softens, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his features, "Yeah, well." He shrugs, defensively, "I asked Sukuna to keep it a secret, but figures he sold me out."
You almost smile, "Doesn't change the fact that you stuck your neck out."
"Guess I did," Gojo scratches at his jaw, over the faintest hint of stubble, glancing away, "Thought you were worth it."
Your heart stutters.
The car feels smaller suddenly. The cold air outside fogs the windows, but inside, it’s warm, too warm, the kind of heat that sticks to your skin. The mournful trumpet fades into a husky croon, and every note seems to hang between you like a dare.
You shift in your seat, knees brushing his by accident. He tenses, just barely, but doesn't move away. And maybe you're imagining it, but his gaze drops, to your mouth, then back to your eyes. Quick. Guilty. Like he hadn't meant to.
But you'd seen it.
The silence between you grows roots, tangling around the both of you. You can still feel the phantom brush of his knee against yours, the way his eyes had flicked to your mouth. It lingers, heavy, like the saxophone whispering from the CD.
Gojo clears his throat, Adam's apple bobbing. Then he clears it again. And then he blurts, "You know, statistically, unresolved tension like this usually results in impulsive decisions that compromise stakeouts."
"…What?"
"I mean," Gojo gestures helpless, corduroy sleeve slipping down his wrist, "It's – it's basic psychology. Two people with history, recent emotional clarification, physical proximity." His voice is speeding up, rambling now, "That kind of cocktail basically rewires your brain chemistry and then, um, then you end up, you know, uh —"
Gojo swallows, blue eyes fixed straight ahead, "Kissing."
You just stare at him.
Gojo winces, palms pressed to his knees like he's bracing for you to laugh in his face. "Not that I'm saying we should, I mean, I am saying that, but not in a creepy way, I just – " He cuts himself off, groaning, pressing a hand under his glasses, "God, I sound insane."
Something in your chest twists. Because under all the words spilling from his mouth, he looks…nervous. Really nervous. The kind of nerves that can't be falsified.
Then, like the world's clumsiest miracle, he drops his hand, and his blue eyes meet yours, wide and shining and sincere. His cheeks are flushed pink, breath puffing in the cold air.
"Please, I would like to kiss you," Gojo says softly, before stiffening, "Only if you want to, uh, doesn't have to be now."
The world tilts, blood roaring in your ears. You're frozen for a second, but before you can second guess yourself, you lean in, heart hammering as you press your lips to his.
At first it's tentative, testing the waters, your mouth brushing his like a question. But then Gojo's warm hand comes up, hesitantly cupping your jaw, and the way he exhales against your mouth, like he's been waiting years for this, answers it for both of you.
The trumpet solo wails on, high and bright.
The kiss should've ended at that. A brush, a sigh, a fragile thing left untouched. But Gojo makes this soft sound in his throat, half whimper, half groan, and suddenly you're tipping forward, hand fisting in his cardigan to drag him closer.
He kisses like he talks; too much, too fast, spilling over himself. His teeth click against yours, and when you gasp, Gojo's tongue darts in shyly, then a little bolder, like he's cataloguing the exact angle, the exact pressure that makes your breath hitch.
"F-fuck," he murmurs against your mouth, voice cracking, "I didn't –I've never actually..."
You pull back a fraction, dazed as you stare the swell of his glossy lips, "You've never…?"
Gojo's ears are pink, his white lashes trembling as his nose brushes yours, "I read about it. But I've – uh, not, you know. This, or anything like this. Not with anyone."
Oh. Suddenly, the fumbling, the eagerness, it all clicks. And your chest squeezes at how earnest Gojo looks, like he's terrified you'll ridicule and mock his inexperience.
"Relax," you whisper, sliding closer, your thigh brushing his., "You're doing jus' fine."
Gojo's groan is strangled, raspy as you press your lips to the juncture of his neck, "The fact that I'm even here, doing this with you is a-amazing, actually."
Then he kisses you harder, messy now, a little greedy. His hand finds your waist, hesitant at first, then tugging you practically into his lap.
Fuck.
You feel it straightaway, the thick, solid press of his cock straining in his slacks. Gojo jolts like he's embarrassed you noticed, but you grind down just a little, chasing after some friction between your legs, and he breaks the kiss with a loud gasp, forehead thudding against yours.
"Jesus Christ —" Gojo's voice is wrecked, wrecked in a way that makes heat curl low in your belly, pool between your thighs, "I'm – fuck, I'm so hard right now, this is, oh my god."
You giggle, breathless, nipping at his berry-pink lip, "Focus, genius. Stakeout, remember?"
And as if on cue —
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The car door rattles violently, as though someone has pounded their first on the window. You both jolt, scrambling, your thighs jostling as you clamber off Gojo's lap.
Sukuna, arms crossed in his windbreaker uniform. Face twisted in a scowl so utterly disgusted and sour that could curdle milk. The type of expression that promises consequences so severe that medieval executioners would tremble in fear.
Your head falls back against the seat with a groan, as you kick the door open, taking in the swarm of federal agents rushing past your stakeout car, most likely to chase after your unsub, "Oh, you've got to be fuckin' kidding me."
Gojo, meanwhile, is fumbling with his seatbelt, sliding his cardigan off to pull his windbreaker on, doing little to cover his very obvious erection, whining under his breath, "I can't go out there like this, holy shit, he's gonna kill me. W-wait, don't leave me, tell Sukuna I've caught the flu and —"
You shove yourself out the car door, shooting Gojo a look, "I'm sure he just saw that. Can only pray he doesn't send us to be hung, drawn and quartered."
Gojo follows, still muttering, still rock-hard, but trying desperately to stand up straight, "He's really gonna' kill us."
"Kento got a lucky shot, didn't he? They're gonna' have, uh, what's his name? Mahito? They're gonna' have him put away for life." Gojo buzzes, as the motel door clicks shut behind you, the muted clamour of the hallway falling away. You toss your duffel bag onto the bed, exhaling hard.
"So," you sigh, pushing off your shoes, groaning at the ache in your ankles, "How much paperwork do you think Sukuna's gonna bury us under? Forty hours? Fifty?"
Gojo groans dramatically, collapsing face-first onto the other bed. His muffled voice filters through the sheets, "I can still hear him yelling in my head. Like a banshee with a nicotine problem. I've never seen him so mad."
You laugh, unzipping your flimsy jacket, tossing it on the cheap sheets, "At least he didn't bench us completely."
"I thought he was gonna' shove my badge down my throat."
Gojo flips over, messy white hair fanned across the pillow, glasses crooked. He stares at you for a long moment, his ears pink, before he says it. Quiet. Too quiet for Gojo.
"…It was still worth it."
You freeze, turning slowly, "What?"
His hand scrubs over his face, as he pulls his glasses straight once more, "Not the badge down my throat part. The stakeout. Car. You. I don't –" he breaks off, sits up abruptly, ocean-blue eyes bright with nerves. "I've never felt anything like that before. And if Sukuna yells me into the ground every day for the rest of my life, it'd still be worth it."
The room goes hushed. Your chest tightens at how serious he looks, this tall, awkward genius who's always been a little too much, suddenly stripped down to something raw.
You cross the room slowly, settling onto the edge of his bed, "Satoru…"
Gojo's throat bobs, and the tips of ears are flushed, "Can I —" He stops, shakes his head, tries again, quieter, "Can I have this? With you. Tonight?"
Your heart lurches. He's never done this before. You can see it in the way his fingers twitch on his knees, in the unpracticed tremor of his voice.
You lean in, brushing your lips against his temple, "Yeah," you whisper, "I really want that."
Gojo's exhale is shaky, relief and hunger all tangled together. When he kisses you this time, it's clumsy but desperate, his hands hovering, not sure where to land until you guide them, pressing them to your waist, your thigh, your chest.
And then it breaks open, heat curling, restraint snapping. Gojo groans into your mouth as you push him back against the pillows, his long body sprawling, his cock already stiff and aching against his plaid slacks.
"F-fuck, I don't, 'cause I've never…" Gojo pants, face flushed, "Just tell me what to do, please, I'll do anything —"
You take in the fine sculpt of his nose, the long lashes framing his eyes, the broad press of his shoulders against the woven fabric, "I can't believe you're a virgin, Satoru."
"Hey! I've been too busy to get laid."
The laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it, warm and teasing all at once, "It's a compliment, I don't know if anyone tells you this enough, but you're hot."
Gojo groans, flopping back on the bed like he wants the carpet to swallow him. You rake your nails beneath his shirt, feeling his toned abdomen, lightly dusted with fine hair.
And oh, the noise he makes. Like his soul is trying to claw its way out of his throat.
You lean down, kissing him again. Soft at first, then not at all, because Gojo is hungry, fumbling hands tugging at your hips, and then over your ass, groaning into your mouth like he's been starved of this forever. And maybe he has.
It's clumsy, teeth knocking once, but then Gojo moans. Loud. Like you've just discovered a frequency that short-circuits his neurons. His cock twitches under you, hard already, "S-sorry," he gasps, pulling back, blue eyes blown wide, "I can't, it's so – this is so embarrassing, I'm already —"
"Hard?" you tease, grinding your hips down so his cock presses right against your building heat, "Good. Means you want me."
Gojo whines, white hair tipping back against the pillow, throat flushed pink, "Of course I fucking want you. I've wanted you since — " He breaks off with a strangled groan when you rock against him again, "Shit-shit-shit, don't stop. Please don't stop —"
Gojo's rambling, babbling like he does at case briefings, but instead of statistics, it's just desperate filth, "Y-you're so warm, I can feel you even through my pants, I think I'm gonna die, – wait, am I supposed to – should I —"
You cut him off with another kiss, tugging at his worn belt until it clatters open. Gojo's shaking, half-helping, half-getting in the way because his large hands are trembling too hard. But finally you shove his slacks down enough to free him —
And oh, he's big. Thick, veined, dripping already, precum beading at the fat tip. Virgin, sure, but blessed in ways unfair to humanity.
Gojo gasps when your hand closes around his flushed shaft. Loud. Shocked. His head knocks back against the headboard, glasses sliding askew, "Oh my god, you're – holy shit, I'm gonna cum just from this, don't make f-fun of me —"
"Not making fun," you murmur, stroking him slow, savouring the way his soft, velvety cock kicks in your grip, "I'm impressed."
Gojo groans like you've shot him through the heart, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets, hips jerking up into your hand helplessly, "Impressed —fuck, oh god, I think I l-love you, wait, shit, did I just say that out loud?"
You laugh against Gojo's throat, kissing down the column of his neck as he trembles under you, whining like he’s already on the edge, pearly slick already staining your hand.
"Relax, Satoru," you whisper, lining him up with your own slick entrance, pushing your panties to the side, feeling the thick, hot throb of his fat head near your core, "I'll take care of you."
And when you sink down, slow, tight, inch by inch, his groan could wake the entire floor.
"Oh, fuck, you're – you're t-tight, fuck, you're gonna break me —" His hands are everywhere, gripping your waist, sliding helplessly up your sides, pushing his glasses entirely off, "I-I'm inside, I can feel everything, I'm – oh my god."
You clamp a shaking hand over his running mouth, leaning in close. "Shhhh. Walls are thin, baby."
He nods frantically, eyes wet, muffling little cries into your palm as you bottom out, feeling every hot inch swab your gummy walls. His cock twitches inside you, already dripping, already too close.
And when you start to move, rolling your hips slow, grinding down until he's gasping into your hand, he nearly comes undone on the spot.
You barely get three swivels of your hips before he loses it.
"F-fuckfuckfuck, oh god, no – wait, shit —" Gojo's whole body seizes, hands clawing at your waist, voice cracking into a sob as his cock jerks inside you, thick head prodding dangerously close to that sweet spot, "I'm, oh no, I'm —"
And then Gojo's already climaxing, thick, creamy spurts spilling into you, thighs trembling, glasses long discarded on the thin sheets of the motel bed.
You blink down at him, stunned, feeling a heavy throb in your cunt, clenching around an overstimulated Gojo, "Did you just — "
"Don't say it," Gojo covers his face with both hands, chest heaving, still twitching weak spurts inside you, "Don't say I just came in thirty seconds. I know. I know. I —" His voice breaks into a whimper, muffled behind his palms, "Fuck, I'm so sorry, I didn't, wasn't even, fuck, it's like the data didn't predict this outcome."
You laugh, despite the fading ache between your legs, eager for some friction. Because only Gojo Satoru would be blushing and pulling out scientific metaphors while still buried heavy balls-deep in you.
"Baby," you coo, stroking a hand down his flushed chest, thumbing over a pink nipple, and the action makes him keen, "We're not done. Not even close."
Gojo peeks out from behind his fingers, cerulean eyes wide and wet, "Wh–what do you mean? I already —"
"Yeah," you purr, tightening around him just to watch his jaw drop, to feel that delicious ache purr back to life as your groin tacked across his sticky hips, "And you're still hard."
And Gojo is. His thick cock, flushed angry-red, still twitches inside you, leaking, pulsing like it hasn’t gotten the memo.
He makes a broken noise, "That's not biologically s-supposed to happen. Well, sometimes, it c-can."
"Guess you're pretty special then, aren't you?"
Gojo arches, loud and shameless, like you've just electrocuted him. "It's too much – wait, wait, I — fuck, I can feel everything, you're so wet, so tight, god, I can feel your pretty pussy's heartbeat around me."
You press your lips to the shell of his ear, nipping the sensitive skin. “Then c-come on, fuck me more, Satoru. I know you can do m-more than thirty seconds. Show me what you've got."
Gojo whines, rasping, "I don't, – fuck, I've only read about positions. And everyone knows the Kama Sutra actually wasn't o-originally about s – woah, mmph!"
You shut him up with a kiss, rocking down harder, grinding his cock deeper into your sticky, drooling walls. He moans into your mouth, a desperate mess of teeth and tongue as he chases after your lips, his hips finally jerking up to meet yours.
"There ya' go," you pant, breaking the kiss to bite his jaw, "Just like that. F-fuck me back."
And something finally clicks. Some primal gear in Gojo finally slots into place, and suddenly he's gripping your hips with surprising strength, thrusting up into you with a rhythm that makes your breath catch. Hitting that sweet, roughened spot over and over in a way that makes you squeal.
"Shit, shit," Gojo gasps, white hair plastered to his forehead from sheer exertion, "I'm doing it, right? Like, I'm actually f-fucking you. It's so good, is it good for you? Tell me it's g-good."
"It's a-amazing," you whine, crescent-tipped nails digging into Gojo's shoulders as your own head tips back, "Fuck, 'Toru, you're so d-deep."
He groans like you’ve just told him he solved the world’s hardest equation (knowing him, that's probably the type of shit that gets him off).
"Deep, yeah, I read average vaginal length is l-like three to four inches but your cervix can actually – fuck, fuck, fuck, you're clenching – holyshit — "
You cut him off with another grind, walls fluttering around him until Gojo groans, head tipping back against the pillows once more, flushed and writhing.
"C-can't – can't take it,” he babbles, hips snapping frantically, the sound of skin slapping sticky echoing through the room, "Too good, too hot – fuck, your pussy's gonna kill me, I'm actually gonna die a virgin after all, oh god — "
You laugh breathlessly, tightening your quivering thighs around him, pinning him to the mattress as you ride him through another orgasm. He spills again inside you, creamy and opaque, drooling down your thighs, gasping your name, shaking under you like he's unraveling thread by thread.
And still, still — he's hard.
But Gojo looks wrecked. Vibrant blue eyes dewy, cheeks wet with sweat and tears, lips kiss-bitten and swollen, "Why, why won't it go down," he moans, almost panicked, pulling his cock out to slap at your wet folds, and the stimulation over your throbbing clit makes you squeal.
You cup his face, leaning close, "H-hey, we got plenty of time to practice now, right?"
Gojo breathes out one last shattered plea, voice cracked and raw, abdomen heaving with splattered release, "Teach me again tomorrow?"
The first thing you register is sheer heat. The second is warm weight, Gojo's ridiculously toned body pressed against you. Half on top of you, and half spooled around you as though he's afraid you'll vanish.
The third thing you notice is something hard rutting insistently against your hip. Smearing warm slick over your soft flesh.
"S-sorry, pretty girl," Gojo blurts, voice hoarse, and you don't miss the mild crack at the end, "Didn't meant to wake you, fuck, where are my glasses? I just, uh, well, morning wood is biologically inevitable due to nocturnal penile tumescence cycles but this feels way better than when it just happens randomly in my sleep."
You cut him off with a lazy roll of your hips, grinding back into his cock, just at the right angle so it slips between your thighs, curving upwards deliciously. Gojo yelps, biting the edge of your shoulder.
"Please," he whimpers, eagerness thrumming in his voice, "Round two? I read that recovery time after multiple orgasms is supposed to be, like, hours but I think maybe last night recalibrated me — "
You turn onto your back, grabbing his face and dragging him down into a messy kiss. He's still nervous with it, teeth knocking, lips wet, as though he didn't carve his way through your pussy last night, but he's so adorably desperate it makes your heart ache.
"Satoru," you murmur against his sweet mouth, "Just fuck me.”
His whole body jerks, like you've just flipped every circuit breaker in his brain. Gojo pushes in deep, groaning like he's dying, hips stuttering as your glossy folds envelop his thick shaft once more, that delicious stretch making you quietly keen.
"You're so – oh my god, you're so warm, and s-so wet. It's better than anythin' that I've ever – fuck, you're squeezin' me so good."
You laugh into Gojo's mouth, clenching around him just to hear him scream, "God, you're cute. S-shut up and keep moving."
And he does. Frantic, erratic, messy, his big hands gripping your hips like lifelines, flushed cock driving into you with the enthusiasm of a man who's just discovered heaven is real and he's the only one inside.
When you finally come, with a quiet moan, stars glittering in the peripherals of your vision, heart racing as your pussy's clenching tight around him, Gojo breaks, face buried in your neck, babbling ironically sweet nothings as he spills into you again, cock plugged thick up in your walls.
His blue eyes are bright as he slumps against you, sweaty and trembling, whispering into your skin, "…So, I should have asked you this earlier, but if I asked you to go out with me, like a real date, would you say yes?"
You blink up at him, breathless, taking in the sight of the gorgeous. man hovering above you, earnest and wide eyed, "…Yeah. I would. 'Course I would, Satoru."
Gojo's grin splits his whole face, stupid and boyish and beautiful.
The entire team is staring, and Shoko's cigarette falls from her elegant fingers, "No way." She's staring between you and Gojo, copper eyes narrowed, "So if you two ended up –," she pulls a face, "I can't even say it. But that means he won, fuck me."
Sukuna's grin is all fanged teeth, and he barks out a rough laugh, "Called it."
Naoya scowls, slamming a crumpled fifty onto the table, "Bullshit."
"Pay up," Sukuna orders, already extending one tattooed hand. Geto groans and drops a twenty, shooting you a dirty look that implies you deprived him of his lunch money. Shoko sighs and pulls a fifty from her wallet. Even Kento slides over a neat fifty-dollar bill.
Sukuna collects them all with a grin sharp as broken glass, whistling as he counts the notes, "Easy money. I told you boy-wonder was gonna' crack first."
"Hey," Gojo protests, cheeks blazing, "We – we did not crack, thank you very much."
Naoya sidles past towards the churning printer, snickering "No, you got cracked."
"That's a bit unfair."
"Please," Sukuna cuts him off with a sneer, "I sent ya' on a stakeout for a serial killer, and I caught you cryin' over a boner. You're lucky you got off this easy."
"Heh, got off," Geto murmurs, and with all past rivalries apparently forgotten, he receives a joyous high-five from a gleeful Zen'in.
You groan, dropping into your chair, "Can we not?"
But Sukuna leans back, shuffling his new wad of cash with a victorious hum, stuffing the roll into a suspiciously expensive Italian leather wallet. You privately wonder if your surly boss has a private side-gig in any less illustrious black markets.
"Nah, it's deserved. But still, it's a good welcome to the team. First rule of the unit, everybody fucks up. Second rule, don't fuck during an assignment. And third?" Sukuna whistles, pushing through the doors of his office, "Don't bet against me."
Gojo leans over to whisper in your ear, mortified, "This is the worst day of my life."
But you only smile, pushing a strand of soft, white hair out of his glasses, "Relax. You're still the one taking me out tonight."
The way Gojo's ears go pink? Worth every cent Sukuna just pocketed.
"i'm gone for ten minutes and you start touching yourself?" ☆
part one here
your best friend geto is grinning ear-to-fucking-ear as he towel dries his hair, leant against the bathroom doorway in just a towel wrapped dangerously low on his waist. you might've just given yourself friction burn with how fast you've ripped your hand out of your shorts.
"perv," suguru laughs, looking behind himself to the open bathroom door. "were you... watching me shower?"
"you left the fucking door open," you argue, tidying up your hair and trying fruitlessly to look like you weren't just fucking yourself with your fingers and growing frustrated at the lack of his. "and no, i wasn't watching... you didn't leave the door open enough."
"listening, then?"
the smile on his lips makes you weigh the merits of homicide. you'd think yourself decent at hiding a body, plus who would suspect you? you're just the best friend he ate out a week ago and hasn't mentioned anything about it since. you're of half a mind to ask him 'what are we?', but you know you'd get a suguru-typical asshole answer.
"you know," he tilts his head, letting his long black hair fall forward off his shoulder. "you could have joined me."
ugh. like that.
"god," you cringe. "are you one of those guys who says 'without me?' every time someone he's talking to says they're going to shower?"
geto looks dumbfounded. "that's not sexy?"
"no. it's perverse. uncouth."
"shit. gojo said it's sexy."
you make a show of rolling over on your bed so that you're facing away from him. half in an attempt to make your attitude known, and half to hide the obvious flustered look on your face.
you don't even have an excuse for touching yourself just before. suguru had asked to use your shower while he was over, as he has many times before, and something about the knowledge that your best friend was naked and dripping wet just a few feet away made you dripping wet as well.
so you started touching yourself to the fucking sound of a running shower.
it's obstreperous. maybe he's right, and you are perverted in the head and can never be healed. you were so caught up in your own frustrations that you didn't hear the shower turn off, or suguru step out to watch you for god-knows how long before finally speaking up.
"so why is it you're so pent up that you've got to touch yourself while i'm showering?" he asks.
"my body was just so happy that you were gone," you roll your eyes, staring to turn over to face him. "it's like i dry up when you're around... so when you left i was just so happy that i felt a good old orgasm coming—oh."
your voice dies when you turn and find your best friend isn't standing at the doorway anymore. he's right by the bed, and you're suddenly face-to-face with the edge of his towel. his v-line is cut deep, and the happy trail that dips beneath the fabric is enough to reboot that achy need that had you touching yourself in the first place.
"quit staring, weirdo."
you snap your gaze up to him, though this new sight only makes things worse. suguru looking down at you, his lazy grin framed by damp hair... you can only imagine what look would wash over his face if you were looking up at him instead with his cock in your mouth. would you treat him well? make him feel as good as he made you? would your inexperience faze him or only spur him on? to be the only man that knows that the roof of your mouth feels like...
"you're squeezing your thighs together," he notes.
ah. so you are. you might just explode and die. "stop talking."
"what can i say? i like the sound of my own voice."
"i don't."
"i think you do."
"you think? doesn't that hurt your brain, sugu?"
geto rolls his eyes and takes a step even closer. if you were to tilt your head down any, you'd probably brush against the prominent bulge that is now tenting the towel hardly staying together on his hips. shit, now you're staring again.
"i could help you out," he drawls. "like last week."
you blink up at him. "i don't need that."
he doesn't believe you, of course. and you're not about to admit to him that after feeling his mouth on you last week, you haven't been able to make yourself cum since. still, you aren't sure it's all because you miss his mouth.
you loved it, of course you did, but since he went home that evening and the two of you fell back into being friends-without-benefits, you'd found yourself thinking less about geto pleasing you, and thinking about learning how to please him. You want to know how it feels to flip this, to take him apart instead. To see if he falls to pieces as easily as you had under his tongue.
"what if i want to return the favour?"
geto looks almost as surprised as he did when he found your stash of literary porn that sparked this whole exploration saga. you can practically see the gears turning in his head, the implication of your words going straight to his dick. and then he laughs. "oh? my sweet little pervert wants to get their mouth on me?"
asshole. "nope," you lie, rolling back over to face away from him. "not anymore."
"get on the floor."
you still. "what?"
"cmon," he's grabbing your arm with one of his big hands, his grip gentle but firm. "you wanna learn how to suck dick? now or never."
"sugu—" you start, but swallow when you see the look he's giving you. stern, but desperate in a way that convinces you that nothing could be sweeter than granting him release.
the floor is cold against your knees, but you can't seem to focus on anything other than suguru, who sits down on the edge of your bed, legs spread, leaning back on his arms. he's looking down at you still, not too differently than before.
there's a moment that passes where the two of you just look at each other. you wonder if this is how he felt last week, looking up at you from between your legs, near salivating at the prospect of tasting you.
"i don't know how," you whisper, glancing down to the tuck that keeps his towel in place, though your gaze is quickly lifted when geto takes your chin between his fingers and forces you to look up at him.
"sure you do," he says. "you read all that crazy porn, you've got a whole library of blowkjob scenes on that fucking phone of yours."
"you're not funny."
"yes i am," he smiles, and presses a thumb against your lips. instinctively, you open your mouth and let him push in. pressing down on your tongue, his breath hitches when you wrap your lips around his thumb and suck. "shit."
pulling his thumb out and replacing it with his pointer and middle fingers, he starts to slowly press in and out of your mouth. you wonder if he's visualising your lips around his cock instead, or if he's remembering how those same fingers looking plunging in and out of you last week.
"surely this isn't doing anything for you," you say, though your words and muffled by his still-moving fingers. there's no pleasure in sucking on his fingers, right?
"you have no fucking idea," is all he can manage in a reply. huh.
mentally shrugging, you let him finger-fuck your mouth for a little while longer before he finally pulls out and tucks his hair behind an ear.
you look pointedly down at his towel. "can i?"
"you—yeah, yeah go ahead."
you reach out and untuck his towel, noting the way he leans back on his elbows as you let the white cloth fall to either side of his lap. his cock is thick and so hard it looks painful and...
he's fucking huge. your eyes near bulge as you take in the full length, the weigh it weighs itself down as he shifts his hips. even the veins stand out like cords. you aren't quite sure whether you should drool at the sight or cry.
"all yours," geto says, and you don't know why, but it comforts you a little. just you and him, the man you're most comfortable with. if you're about to embarrass yourself, you'd rather it be with suguru.
you start with a kiss to his navel, though. pressing up on your knees to reach his abs, you ghost your lips over the line of dark hair that trails down to the base of his cock. your forefinger gently traces a bulging vein that runs up the underside of his cock and, when you reach the tip, you dart your tongue out and taste the precum that's already started to bead.
it's not as strong as you'd expected it to taste—salty if nothing else, and it spurs you on to then wrap your lips just around his achy tip. almost immediately, suguru lets out a low groan and bucks his hips up a little.
"careful," he says, though brings a hand up to the side of your face in a comforting gesture. "i'm... sensitive right now."
you furrow your brows and give him a look. sensitive?
"i just came a few minutes ago, your mouth is... a lot."
you have to make a conscious effort to pull off his cock before clenching your jaw, lest you want to bite the idiot's cock off. "huh!?" you sputter, wiping your lips. "you were teasing me for touching myself while you were in there jerking off?"
he blinks down at you. "yes."
"that's it? just yes?"
"...yes?"
you blink up at your best friend. stupid fucking hypocrite of a man, with his stupid fucking smile and stupid fucking massive dick. how embarrassed you had felt, despite suguru and your closeness, should have been reciprocated. he was doing the exact same thing as you were, and is now only reaping the rewards of your lust.
he's sensitive? you smile, which makes his smile drop in turn.
"why are you smiling like that? you know i don't trust you when—ohhh my fucking god."
you've got half of his cock in your mouth before he can even start to process the blinding pleasure shooting up through his spine. it's a bit of a mess, owing to this being your first time, but has his balls tightening all the same.
"oh fuck you," suguru is squeezing his eyes shut tight as you put to use one of the techniques you've read countless times before and swirl your tongue around his tip. "those fucking books."
you'd smile if your lips weren't stretched around his girth. the sounds escaping him are enough to spur you on further, that combined with the taste and weight of his cock on your tongue and you think you've never been this wet before in your life. you wrap one hand around what of suguru's length you can't fit in your mouth, and then snake the other one downwards to dip beneath the waistband of your shorts.
you're close already, though you keep your own pleasure at bay. being the first to cum while you're giving head would give suguru too much to tease you with, and you're rather enjoying the sight of him genuinely falling apart beneath you.
yeah, you aren't just friends. you're sure you'll continue to pretend to be, but just the thought of someone else in your position makes your ministrations speed up: this suddenly pathetic man is all yours, like it or not, and you think he always has been, in a way.
"you're sure... hah, fuck... you're sure you've never done this?" he's practically whining now, bucking his hips up in time with your stroking, forcing himself just that little bit deeper towards the back of your throat. you gag a little, but hold your position. "how the hell..."
you rub small circles over your clit in time with suguru's thrusts up into your mouth. the dual sensation of delivering pleasure both to him and yourself is threatening to undo you, and you know for a fact that suguru isn't far behind. you've never seen him messy like this, not even last week when the bottom half of his face was shiny with your wetness.
"i'm close," he warns, moving his hand from the side of your face to the back of your head. "gonna cum, all for you... you're so good to me, aren't you?"
so he rambles when he's close... noted.
"so pretty," he goes on. "fucking... god, fucking perfect. i'm so proud of you... i love you."
and so you stop, pulling back off his cock and looking up at him with eyes almost as wide as his own. he's staring back down at you, lips parted in shock at his own words.
"you love me?" you gawk, pulling your hand away from your pulsing heat.
"no," he's quick to shake his head. "i mean, well yeah, of course i love you. you're my best friend, i just... shit, you know? i didn't mean to—"
he's cut off by the laughter that bubbles out of your chest. it starts off small, and then grows louder with each harsh breath you take. "you should see your fucking face!" you giggle. "i'm fucking with you, idiot."
suguru lets out a half laugh in turn. "you fucking asshole."
"you deserve it," you catch your breath, inhaling deeply to calm yourself before tilting your head and looking your best friend in the eyes. "i love you too, you know."
it'd be a sweet moment between friends if your words didn't act as some sort of trigger for suguru. without warning, he's letting out a choked groan and bucking his hips up as ropes of hot cum spurt from his angry tip.
what doesn't hit your face or land on his stomach drips down his cock and over your hand where you still hold his still-throbbing length.
"did you just—"
"don't say a fucking word."
the two of you stare at each other for a moment. your gaze darts from suguru's softening cock, and then up to his pink-dusted face before returning southwards.
you lick your lips, tasting the salty cum that has painted them white, before ducking down and licking a long stripe up his shaft. you collect every last drop of his release, eyes never leaving his, as you swallow the mess suguru made at hearing you love him.
once his cock is clean, you push yourself up to sit on the bed beside him, and swipe two fingers through the mess pooling on his stomach.
because you like watching your best friend squirm, you mimic his actions from before and press your fingers into his waiting mouth. he's less eager to receive than you were, but cleans himself from your digits nonetheless.
"i get it now," you tease, pulling your fingers from his mouth and wiping your lips with them.
you have invited suguru geto ([email protected]) to join the event: ‘having sex hehe’ from 7:00 to 10:30 pm.
SUM. you’d never so much as gone out on a date before. kissing? not on your radar. but somehow you got the bright idea to go on a dating app—matching with suguru geto.
CONTAINS. 18+ content, MDNI. 6.3k words. x slightly awkward fem! reader. non canon complacent/au. cat dad geto. inexperienced reader. consent checks. dry humping. bit of boob play. oral (f + m receiving). unprotected p in v. missionary. pull out. cum eating. aftercare. stupid humor. use of pet names. scientology visit.
A/N. couldn’t go without reposting my baby, sorry
“you brought cookies.”
you held out the tupperware container filled to the brim with recently baked chocolate chips—the sweet, warm scent wafting through the plastic. "i did, yes. though i wasn't sure if you had any allergies, so don't feel any pressure to eat them or anything. i just thought it'd be rude to come over without bringing anything."
oh great. less than five minutes into this conversation and you were already rambling.
suguru took the container of baked goods from your hands with a wary look, bringing it up to his nose. "you're not a serial killer by any chance, are you?"
you blinked. "if i was, wouldn't it defeat the purpose of telling you now?" not very reassuring.
regardless, he gestured for you to come inside. you stepped inside the apartment and slid your shoes off at the door, taking in the sight of his living room.
the space was bathed in a dark red light accompanied by sonder’s one night only playing in the background and a couple candles flickering from the coffee table—the warm richness of sandalwood permeating through the air.
“you.. uh.. you really planned this out, huh?” why couldn’t you just have said it looked nice and moved on?
now it was just plain awkward.
well, awkward-er.
sure, you knew the concept of sex and how it was supposed to work, but what every hookup guide always forgot to cover was the before. even if you'd talked before this, the two of you were just strangers. what were you supposed to talk about with him?
how were you supposed to skip this part and go to where you were riding him like a pony?
suguru shrugged, padding over to the kitchen to leave the container of cookies on the counter. “did i do too much?”
“it’s just your apartment and all, but the lights seem a little.. excessive.” that was putting it as nicely as possible.
he took the criticism in stride, grabbing a remote from the counter and turning them off before flicking a lamp on, painting the room in a dim orange light. the room was immediately much more warm and welcoming than what’d you first walked into.
you stood at the door, taking a look at the little bits of decoration that you could now see more clearly. a couple figurines, expensive, if you had to guess, a couple books strewn around his coffee table, and a cat tree perched up near the window.
you remembered the small bag in your pocket. digging it out of your pocket, you held it up in between your fingers. “i saw your cat on that one thirst trap,” he didn’t bother protesting—it was a thirst trap, “so i got some treats on the way here. i hope you don’t mind.”
either you were a psychic or you just naturally had a knack for this sort of thing. “they’re her favorite, thanks. take a seat, we don’t bite.”
the previous girls that came over to his apartment usually just gave the cat a little coo or downright ignored her, but you seemed like you wanted to get to know her more than you did him.
suguru wasn't sure if he was amused or if his ego was slightly bruised. (hint: both.)
you took a seat on the black leather couch like you owned the place, patting your lap. “what’s your cat’s name?” you questioned, the cat peering up from her paw at the noise before going back to grooming herself.
“that’s sage.”
you lightly shook the bag of treats, trying to beckon the very uninterested cat with the promise of food and an unconvincing baby voice. your efforts were working. somewhat.
sage lazily trotted her way down from the top of the cat tree before making her way over to you, sitting at your feet. her eyes were calculating, analyzing if you were worth her time. you didn't dare move a muscle when she leaned in to sniff at your socked feet and legs.
just when you were convinced that you'd gotten a big fat F on her evaluation, sage seemed to decide that you were harmless enough. she hopped up on your lap and settled down like the self proclaimed royalty she was, nudging her head against your hand in demand for head pats. you complied.
your fingers ran through the soft black fur while the cat purred like a lawn mower underneath your touch.
"she normally doesn't like strangers," suguru noted, plopping down on the couch cushion next to you.
"do you use that line on everybody that steps foot in here?" well.... yes!
and it usually worked like a charm, thank you very much.
"wait, what, really?" the last girl he'd brought over to his apartment remarked, the very same girl that signed him up for lifelong scientology visits and the army two weeks later after he failed to respond within five minutes, staring at him like he'd hung up the moon and the stars.
"yeah." the cat in question, looked at him with as much disdain as her little body could muster. suguru made a mental promise to reward the cat with catnip and treats for helping him spit out the first bullshit that came to his mind. the girl seemed too happily convinced, going as far as calling herself sage’s step mom.
needless to say, the cat hadn't been all too happy about getting squeezed and cradled around like a baby by a woman she'd never seen before and never saw again after. her displeasure was obvious if the broken flower vases and scratches on his leather furniture were anything to go by.
he'd stopped using that line. or so he thought.
"...no."
you raised a brow, gaze full of suspicion as you stared at him. barely applying any pressure. and just like a rubber band, he ended up snapping within seconds, “…yes, fine, i have. but it’s the first time i’ve meant it.”
you weren't sure if he was full of shit. but the cat seemed to like you decently enough, starting her own biscuit factory on the fabric of your jeans with each ear rub. “how’d you end up getting her?”
suguru looked over to see you and his cat getting along decently well, finding himself a little lost in the scene when your question finally registered and you were staring at him.
“i found her locked up in a cage close to home. her owners called her a devil and all kinds of names, their own negligence, really,” he rolled his eyes, reaching out to pet her chin, “anyways, they were all too happy having someone to hand off the cat to.”
the two of you sat in a comfortable silence after a few questions from one another, getting to know each other a bit better apart from late night conversations. only the sounds of sage’s purring and the outside world filled the apartment.
that was until, "c'mere." suguru lazily spread his legs on the sofa, patting his lap.
“you do realize i’m not your cat right?” as if proving your point, sage got up from her spot on your lap over to his.
“fine, can you please come here?” he gave the cat one last scratch before setting her down on the floor, asking a little nicer. you got up from your spot, standing in between his legs before you lowered yourself onto his lap.
"hi," he murmured once you settled onto his lap, his hands instinctively moving down to your hips.
"hi." you braced your hands on his shoulders to keep your balance, suddenly feeling the reality of the situation crashing down on you. the pretty man underneath you wanted to have sex with you. you were going to have sex tonight.
sex and your first kiss, apparently. (you refused to count the time you'd gotten kissed as a dare in middle school.)
and as if he could read your mind, suguru took a hold of your chin and gently tilted your head up to face him, "can i kiss you?" you didn't miss the way his gaze flickered from your eyes down to your lips every .5 seconds.
you met him halfway, pressing your lips against his own. trying to go with the flow as many people said (what flow? you weren't completely sure yourself).
"close your eyes, i can feel you staring at my soul.” he pulled away, whispering the words against your lips and leaving you chasing behind his.
you let your eyes flutter shut, leaning into the kiss slowly. even going as far as tilting your head a little so you wouldn’t— “ow!” — do exactly what you just did. bump your nose straight into his.
you opened them back up to see suguru was more amused than hurt, a stupid smile on his face as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “try closing them when you’re already leaned in, hm?”
rolling your eyes, you shifted a bit on his lap before giving it one last go. one of your hands came up to cradle his soft cheek, leaning in and shutting your eyes at the last second. he tasted like mint and something else you couldn’t decipher.
his lips molded against your own in a languid kiss, each touch an experiment to know your body better. suguru’s hands moved down your body, each one resting on your ass like he wanted, no needed, you all that much closer. the exchange grew heavier, sloppier, messier.
everything was heightened—you could feel every single little thing. from the slight hitch of his breath when you captured his lip in between your teeth to your own traitorous heart thumping underneath your rib cage.
his lips moved from your own to the corner, down to your jaw, until he finally reached your neck. then that’s where he went ham. sucking, licking, kissing on whatever inch of skin was at his disposal all while taking note which spots had you shivering and squeezing your thighs together.
latching onto the sensitive skin of your collarbone, suguru placed a kiss out of reverence before he started to suck. he was practically in bliss all without taking his clothes off. if he were a weaker man, he would’ve shot his load the minute you’d settled onto his lap and got a whiff of your sweet, sweet perfume.
his hands moved up from your ass up your back, probably going to take your shirt off before his phone got the bright idea to interrupt the moment: want a break from the ads?
suguru had never regretted not investing into spotify premium as much as he did in this moment.
is your girlfriend unsatisfied in the bedroom? your stamina not being what it once was? if these symptoms sound familiar, you might suffering from erectile dysfunction. ask your doctor about levitra—
that was enough to get him up to his feet, crossing over to the kitchen counter in three strides. suguru quickly got his phone from the counter before the ad could continue, deciding that the ambiance was ruined and shutting the music off.
"do these symptoms sound familiar to you?" you teased, resting your cheek on your palm as you watched the scene with mild amusement.
"you could come to my room and find out." not nearly as smooth as he usually was, but good job suguru!
"are you really getting me into your bed with an erectile dysfunction ad?"
suguru tilted his head, "is it working?"
and you really wished it wasn't, but it was. you were quick to get up on your feet, padding over to where he stood and reaching your hand out. "let's go find out then."
his bedroom was much like the living room—a minimalistic design with a couple pictures hung up on the walls. his friends, if you had to guess. he led you over to the bed, sitting down on the edge.
not nearly enough bed-pouncing as you were expecting.
suguru spoke up, his hands resting on his lap, "you're allowed to change your mind, don't feel pressured to do anything you don't want to do. i’m here to please you.”
“i want this,” you responded, moving up the bed to rest against the headboard. he followed, keeping a reasonable distance between you two, “i want to have sex with you, suguru. let’s just take it slow.”
closing the distance, you straddled yourself over his lap, each of your legs next to his own. you lowered yourself down and placed your hands on his shoulders under the guise you knew what you were doing. and then, you started to rock and gyrate your hips against his clothed leg.
you rubbed and grinded your hips harder, faster against his leg in an attempt to feel something other than the friction of his sweats rubbing against your shorts—unsure of what to do other than rut yourself against him like a dog. maybe he was liking this?
should you start moaning?
“o-oh fuck.” a, what you hoped was realistic, moan left your lips, your fingers digging into his shoulders to really sell the point. suguru looked at you, wondering if he really looked that stupid.
you weren't sure what you were doing—that much was obvious. you were humping his leg, your rhythm too quick to be pleasurable for either one of you at this point.
"have you ever done this before?" were you really that obvious?
the question had your hips stilling their movement, your gaze falling down to his face. when you shook your head, suguru let out a small tut, holding your chin between his fingers, "that's okay, baby. we'll take it nice and slow, just follow me."
his hands splayed on your hips, slightly moving you up his lap before he started to guide your movements. and oh, now you felt it. his cock strained against the material of his sweats, each ridge rubbing against your warm heat.
well, at least now you knew the ad wasn't meant for him.
"oh yeah, that feels better huh?" he cooed in your ear, his cock twitching in his pants just by feeling how wet you were getting already.
you were dripping, slick stringing and sticking to your panties with each roll of your hips. he wasn’t much better—cock prodding against your entrance like it was begging to be released. “uh huh, better,” a breathy whisper left you, your back arching against his fingertips.
when he kissed you again, it wasn’t soft and gentle like he’d been at first. no, he’d tested the waters already.
now he was kissing you like he needed you, like he needed air to breathe. each breath grew labored like he couldn’t bare being apart. his tongue moved in a synchronized dance with yours, tasting and absorbing everything you had to give.
your lips moved with the same desperation, fingers gripping against the material of his shirt. trying to take it off before he seemed to catch onto your unspoken hint. he reluctantly pulled away before sliding his shirt off in one fluid motion, letting it fall onto the mattress beneath. and… wow. beautiful was an understatement when it came to him.
you let your fingers trail down his abdomen, the muscles tensing underneath your featherlight touch. tracing and poking whatever little beauty marks you found on your way down. he was just so.. pretty.
“you really think so?” his voice brought you out of your reverie, and oh shit, you’d said it out loud?
“like you don’t know it already,” you retorted, trying to downplay the situation.
suguru shrugged, watching your fingers intently as you traced and gently scratched down his pecs, “i like when you call me pretty.”
you rolled your eyes but gave in anyways, “you’re very pretty, suguru geto.” you felt his cock twitch underneath at the compliment. leading his fingers towards the hem of your own shirt, you guided him into taking off the flimsy article. he seemed all too eager to revere your body the same way you had his.
mumbled compliments of you’re so beautiful and so soft left his lips until he looked up at you, his hands gliding up and down your hips, "do you want me to keep going or do you wanna stop here?"
you grabbed his hands, bringing them up to your chest. “i want this, suguru. i want to go all the way with you, i promise.” his fingers tweaked and squeezed at your perked nipples, his lips ghosting above the left before he swirled his tongue around it. latching his mouth onto the sensitive flesh and sucking, working the other with his fingers.
strings of saliva connected his lips to your tits when he finally pulled away—deeming that he’d given them enough attention for now. suguru flipped the two of you over, hovering above you before slowly kissing his way down.
peck. your collarbone.
peck. your tits.
peck. your navel.
peck. the waistband of your shorts.
“you can take it off,” you assured him before he even had the chance to ask the question. suguru didn’t hesitate once he got the thumbs up, hooking his fingers onto your belt loops before sliding your shorts down your legs and shaking them off.
you could’ve sworn you caught a hint of drool once you were all exposed for him.
suguru kissed his way up your leg, each one leaving behind a slippery trail behind him. “so pretty,” he mumbled, sucking onto your calf before moving further up to your knee, “so perfect laid out for me.” each one sounded like a quiet admission to himself.
despite how desperate he seemed, suguru took his time when it came to finally undressing you. his teeth sunk into the lace of your underwear, your hips lifted when he moved down the offending material at the pace of molasses. trying to savor as much as he could.
he let them fall onto the pile of clothes next to you before admiring his meal. your cunt clenched around nothing when a slight breeze came in the room, your slick glistening against your folds, clit practically throbbing his name out in morse code.
but suguru prided himself on having some semblance of patience. thinly veiled patience, but patience nonetheless. he wedged himself in between your legs, his lips hovering dangerously close to your entrance before moving down to your inner thigh. repeating what he'd done earlier on your leg.
he pressed featherlight kiss after another onto the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, occasionally biting hard enough to leave behind a nice lil' memory for tomorrow. your legs instinctively spread, every sensation sending your body through a livewire and yet.. you were lost in thought.
you wondered how many people he'd had in this room, how long this would take, what'd you eat for breakfast tomorrow, and—"focus on me, pretty girl."
immediately broken out of your endless string of questions, you looked down to see suguru already peering up at you. "talk to me, what's going on in that head of yours?"
you shook your head, "just got lost in thought, i guess."
"then we'll just have to make it to where you can only focus on me, angel."
and then he dove in like he was a man starving.
his big hands gripped your legs and spread you apart like a feast, tongue flicking out to taste the slick dripping down your folds and thighs. "taste so good, thank you, thank you," he babbled, swiping his tongue up and down your folds before flicking it inside of your pussy.
your cunt gushed like an open sink against his mouth and chin, the man practically nose deep as he thrusted his tongue in and out of your sopping pussy. his jaw went slack, sucking and tracing your folds with the tip of his tongue before going back to eating you out.
soon, two of his fingers took place of his mouth. two long and thick fingers. your juices ran down to his knuckles while he spread you open, his fingers curling and hitting that one spot inside of you with ease. "fuck, it feels so good," you whined, bucking your hips up to meet his fingers.
"i knoww baby, just needed suguru to take care of you." he didn't let up, much too starved himself to even think about doing so. his lips latched onto your swollen, throbbing clit and sucked lightly onto the nerves. your grip on his hair tightened, a broken moan leaving from his lips.
"just like that," he hissed out, his hips rutting into the mattress underneath. you noticed a dark patch growing in the front of his sweats. "take what you want from me, y'know how to do it." your hips swiveled and thrusted against his eager mouth, spit and slick drenching his chin and dripping down to the mattress.
it was hard to think about anything other than him, you had to admit that much.
your legs shook with each thrust of his fingers, with each swipe of his tongue. just as you were about to press your legs together, suguru pried them apart once more with ease. "don't interrupt my meal, i'm not done eating." and how could he say that when he already sounded so drunk off you?
his tongue swirled against your clit, the tip drawing circles around the sensitive nub. "f-fuck, gonna cum, keep going," you whined out, nails digging into his scalp. the sound of your pussy gushing around his fingers was all you could hear, and yet, all you were focused on was chasing your own orgasm.
it was so close, you felt a knot building up in your lower tummy. "fu-fuck fuck fuck," broken babbles left your lips, your toes curling and legs shaking the more you felt that pressure increase. with one final thrust of his fingers, you came. the knot unraveled all at once, your release washing over you (and his fingers) like a tidal wave.
he'd never been such at bliss before.
each breath felt like it was splitting your lungs open, your chest heaving as suguru slowly pulled his dripping fingers out of you. he didn't mind staring you in the eye when he put his fingers in his mouth, sucking them off as if no drop could go to waste. "mm, wanna taste you forever." his eyes practically rolled back, his tongue swirling against the two digits.
once you finally regained your bearings, you sat up and asked, "do you want me to return the favor?"
suguru let out an indignant scoff like you'd just insulted his very existence. and in a way, you had. "i did that because i wanted to, because i needed to taste you," he retorted, shaking his head like he wasn't reevaluating his degree in munchology, "not because i was expecting anything out of you."
getting up from your spot on the bed, you padded over to where he was sitting and situated yourself right in between his legs. absentmindedly running your fingers up up up the thin material of his sweats, barely grazing your fingertips against the growing tent between his legs. before you pulled away altogether.
you looked up at him like you were sin incarnate, lashes fluttering against your cheek, "what if i really really want to suck you off?"
suguru swore his soul left his body for a minute. he'd gladly let you keep it if you wanted it at this rate.
“then by all means, go for it.”
that was all you needed to slide the flimsy material of his sweatpants onto the floor, his cock slapping up against his stomach once it was released. now it was your turn to nearly drool. you couldn't have imagined that a dick could be this pretty.
a nice tan color at the base with a hint of red at the tip, a curve settling to the right and precum dripping down his shaft just from having you in his mouth. it was fairly long and thick—as thick as your forearm, you could assume.
all the fanfiction you had saved in your bookmarks couldn't have prepared you for the sight of the twitching cock in front of you.
you stared at his dick like it was something out of an anatomy textbook, trying to figure out the best approach to go about this before ultimately deciding to throw it out the window and just try it out.
"a-ah fuck." suguru practically turned into putty the moment you took him in your mouth, one of his hands coming to rest on the back of your head. not pushing, never that; he'd never risk making you uncomfortable.
thick globs of spit dribbled down to your chin and down his shaft from the corners of your lips. "just like that, yeah, please." suguru wasn't afraid to be loud—letting you know what you were doing right. one of your hands wrapped around his cock, your fingers tightening around the base before you started to jerk your hand up and down.
you could hardly take him in fully—your cheeks hollowing out to make more space and it still wasn't nearly enough. "soo good, please don't stop," suguru’s voice drawled out when you tried taking more of his cock in your mouth.
you could feel tears pricking up at the edge of your waterline, blinking them back quickly. his cock was barely a couple inches in your mouth and the tip was already starting to hit your uvula, your saliva coating around the shaft to mix with the precum spurting out. once you were able to, you started bobbing your head up and down his length.
suguru’s fingers dug into the sheets beside him, his chest starting to feel like he’d run a marathon. your tongue, your mouth, just you, everything felt too stimulating, too good. the hand you’d been jerking him off with moved down to his heavy sack, your fingers rolling around his balls.
and just like that, suguru was a goner. he swore he saw the flickering of a white light above. you felt them tighten up underneath your fingertips, growing heavier and heavier with cum. you looked up to see him completely disheveled, mouth agape to let out shaky gasps and broken moans. and right before you swore you almost felt him cum, he pulled you off.
“did i do something wrong?” your question came out innocent, like you hadn’t nearly sucked the soul out of his body.
suguru let out a disbelieving laugh, pulling you up to your feet before feverishly leaning into kiss you. not seeming to care that he could taste himself on your tongue. “just need to cum inside you, can i do that, please? you still want this?”
he sounded completely and utterly ruined. but you nodded into the kiss, your fingers pressing into his shoulders. “i need you, sugu, need you so bad. please fuck me, please.”
he moved at the speed of light, setting you down onto the comfort of his mattress before he settled himself on top of you. his cock throbbed and twitched at the mere contact with your bare pussy, his fingers wrapping around the base as he swiped the tip through your folds. “you sure you want this?”
just one more time to confirm. you nodded.
“c’mon, use your words for me, pretty,” he whispered, rubbing the tip against your swollen lil’ clit. your throat bobbed as you swallowed back an embarrassing moan.
“i want this, suguru, i’m sure.”
"okay, take a deep breath in for me." you complied, filling your lungs with air before letting it out in a deep exhale. he slowly pushed his cock in, your walls tightening and clenching involuntarily against his shaft.
"there we go, that's it baby. takin' me so well." suguru's voice came out akin to a purr he didn't mention how he'd barely pushed an inch in. once he was certain it was okay, he pushed another and another in.
a choked gasp left your lips when he finally seemed to bottom out, feeling like your body had just been split in half. and maybe, just maybe it was, you wouldn’t necessarily doubt it.
suguru wiped away a couple tears that streamed down your cheeks, standing still while you got used to the intrusion. it was hard, he had to admit, when you felt so warm and wet around him. but anything for your comfort, he wouldn’t risk that.
“you can move, suguru,” you spoke up, one of your hands reaching out to take hold of his. his fingers grasped your own, placing your hand on top of your head before he slowly pulled out and thrusted back in one swift motion. your pussy drenched his shaft each time he pushed back in, each thrust smoother and faster.
suguru leaned down to kiss you, hair falling like a waterfall and covering his face completely before he ever got the chance to get close. you bit down on your lip, trying to keep yourself from laughing in his (hair covered) face before reaching out and moving his hair out the way.
so goes the super suave geto suguru.
a small giggle left your lips at the gesture, slowly starting to feel more and more comfortable being around him. (well how much more comfortable could you really get after having him inside you?) suguru let out a small huff, rolling his eyes in faux annoyance before handing over a hair tie.
you managed to make the world’s messiest ponytail in twenty seconds. go you!
“i’m glad my embarrassment’s amusing, but you okay?” he asked quietly, treating you as if you were a delicate piece of glass. long fingers trailed up your sides like he was admiring a piece of art, not at all like the strangers that you were supposed to be.
“i’m fine,” you assured, wiggling your hips and trying to thrust back into him, “you can go faster, though, please?”
suguru didn’t hesitate to follow that command, hips snapping into you almost immediately. your cunt sucked him in with each thrust, squelching with how much you’d drenched his shaft. his heavy balls smacked against your ass TWACK TWACK TWACK!
your legs wrapped around his waist like you were physically trying to intertwine your body as close as you could to him. “ah ah fuck, sugu, faster, faster!” your moans sounded like the best kind of melody to his ears, and well, who was he really to deny?
suguru hoisted a leg up on the bed for a better angle, hitting that spot inside of you with each quick thrust. your walls clenched around him like a vice, like you wanted to keep him trapped while you gushed and soaked around him.
“pussy’s so good, i’m never letting you go,” he babbled, his other hand gripping your hip to move you up and down his shaft as he pleased.
his middle finger rubbed desperate little circles against your clit, your eyes rolling back from just how good you felt. the hair tie was long since forgotten, hair falling onto his face as he leaned forward to capture your lips in what could only be described as a tangle of tongue and teeth.
everything about him screamed desperate and unhinged—and you weren’t any different.
“make me cum, make me cum, please,” you moaned out against his lips, your chest heaving and your breaths coming out in short pants. suguru nodded like it was his only mission in life, pushing his cock in and out sloppier and messier than he was at first. practically gliding with how wet you were.
your orgasm built up more intense this time, your nails digging into the sheets below as the coil in your tummy began tightening. “please please please,” for what were you begging for? you didn’t know. a scream that would probably wake up his neighbors left your lips as you came, dripping and soaking his shaft in your wake.
“so messy, my messy girl, that’s ittt.” he was a broken pussy-drunk babbling mess. suguru continued to rut into you, chasing his own orgasm while working you through your own. his hips moved desperately, balls twacking against you with each sloppy sloppy thrust until he finally choked out,
“w-where do you hic want it?”
you didn’t give it much thought, “my face, sugu. wanna taste you, come for me, need you.” that was all it took for the last bit to snap, barely managing to pull out in time before he was spurting out drops of cum onto your face and your open mouth.
you swallowed every last drop that landed on your tongue, your features contorting into a slight grimace once the taste settled on your taste buds. and just like you'd come out of a damn porno and his wet dreams, you stuck your tongue out.
"fuck, you're gonna kill me." a breathless laugh left his lips. he made sure to push his hair back this time around before he leaned into kiss you again, his tongue prodding into your mouth.
one time fucking awkward and slightly offputting girl pussy and he was ready to get your finger measurements to buy the most expensive ring he could find at the jewelers. maybe he'd start with just a date once he came back to his senses.
suguru plopped down on the mattress next to you, rubbing a drop off cum off your cheek with the pad of his thumb before bringing it up to his own lips. "was that okay? you need anything—water, a bath, your dignity?"
you let out an amused scoff, turning your head to face him. admiring his features in the post sex glow. you had to admit—to yourself mostly—he looked good worn out and panting. "my dignity's still intact, thank you. but some water and a rag would be nice."
he cracked open the water bottle and left it on the nightstand next to you before disappearing into the bathroom. you could briefly hear the sound of water running before he emerged once more, a wet rag in hand.
each swipe of the rag in between your legs was a gentle one, treating you with the utmost care in the world. “you don’t have to leave right away, if you don’t want to. i can make some mean scrambled eggs.”
“how inviting,” you teased, taking a sip of the water as you mulled it over. how bad would it be to stay the night if he’d already been inside of you? “but sure, i’ll stay. if only for the scrambled eggs.”
you weren’t sure how long the two of you spent up talking about nothing and everything in between, from what you did for school to how you got into baking. it was.. refreshing, in a sense.
you could picture yourself doing this kind of routine with him almost too easily. the last thing you remember before succumbing to sleep was his arms wrapped around your stomach.
holding you like he never quite wanted to let go.
loud knocking woke up suguru at ass o'clock in the morning, long before the sun even started to peek its head from the horizon. a groan left his lips as he forced himself to untangle his limbs from your own and get up.
you didn't seem to notice his absence, in fact, you almost seemed to enjoy it. a little too much, if you asked him. you laid in the middle of the bed, sprawling your arms and legs out like a starfish.
the knocking on the door grew more insistent—determined to get an answer one way or another.
"hi, good morning. i'm from the church of scientology." this time they'd sent a middle aged man to stand at his door and spit out the same spiel he'd heard for the past five months in a row, greeting him with a smile that suguru deemed unnatural this early in the morning.
a smile that quickly seemed to fade once the man took notice of the blossoming hickey on his neck, the scratches that ran down his abdomen.
the man grasped his copy of dianetics like he was clutching his pearls.
suguru would have to eat you out later just for this reaction.
the man cleared his throat, eyes averting down to the book in his hands, before he cracked it open to the first page he could find. suguru wondered how long it'd take the man to figure out the book was upside down.
"i'm here because you signed up to receive visits every weekend. for just the small price of ¥73,300, you could learn all about the church and how to reach enlightenment—" the more that the man rambled, the more that suguru was more inclined to start his own cult than join this one.
but regardless, he let the man finish his spiel before he tapped his chin in faux thought. “to join a cult or not to join a cult, decisions decisions…”
the man raised a finger to protest, pushing up the thick rim of his glasses up his nose, "well actually, we're not a cult, we're a religious group focu-"
the man was left rambling to the front door about the difference between a 'religious group' and a 'cult.'
but he relented, suguru had to give him that at least. the man remained at the doorstep, bringing his fist up to the door but never making contact. probably regretting coming over in the first place.
"who was at the door?" you were barely awake yourself, rubbing at your eyes as the bright morning light peered in through the windows.
suguru pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a small groan, "would you believe me if i said scientology?"
"who'd you piss off?" you questioned, standing by the kitchen with your arms folded.
this time, another groan. though he sounded more whiny than anything, “why does everyone always assume i did something?”
"am i wrong though?" you countered.
no, not at all. and suguru knew he wasn’t getting out of this conversation that easily. "come on, i'll tell you over scrambled eggs and those cookies you baked yesterday."
summary: a routine fire alarm inspection leads into you proving to clark that he does have a suckable dick (kinda.)
tags: 18+, smut, roommate!clark, established friendship, f!reader, i broke clois up (sorry,) clark is older than reader (non-specific,) reader doesn't know clark is superman, fire alarm inspections, clark kent is a DORK, reader just barely realizes she has a crush on clark, blowjob, messy blowjob, big dick!clark, big boobs!clark, big arms!clark, sub!clark, size difference (sorta?), m!nipple play, reader swallows but there's also kind of a facial, begging for like two seconds, sweet!clark, aaannd he picks reader up one time.
a/n: yayy my first clark fic !!! (facedown drooling twitching)
wc: 4.5k, reread once by my eyes
my masterlist - my askbox
You’ve been roommates with Clark for approximately… seven months.
It’s been great really. No complaints, especially since he’s never home long enough to be annoying. He does the dishes, he takes the trash and recycling down every Thursday, and he usually makes enough food that there’s leftovers for your lunches the next day. The friendship between you two is easy, but not intimate. Clark, to you, is personable, but not personal.
You do know that he moved in with you after moving out with his ex girlfriend, and that the relationship ended as amicably as possible for “professional reasons.” Clark also works at the Daily Planet and being a writer may or may not be why he needs a roommate in his thirties. He grew up somewhere not Metropolis to your knowledge and he goes back home usually one weekend a month.
And that’s it. That’s all you know about your roommate of seven months. It’s kind of nice to live with a dependable man, especially when he’s not just kind but also sort of intimidating. Your last roommate was a young woman around your age, and though she was fun, you were always a little worried about the weird neighbor down the hall. He really liked talking to you when you’d take the recycling down, or god forbid, when you’d have to do your laundry in the basement of your building. As soon as Clark found out about that he made a point to start taking the trash down for you and coming with you to do your laundry. The weirdo neighbor backed off pretty quickly when you began walking around with a 6’4 grown man who gave him the stink eye any chance he got.
Obviously you’d rather be living alone, or with a romantic partner, but neither of those things seem like they’re in your cards at this point. Clark is a good alternative. You get plenty of alone time when you have a day off since Clark is at work until five most days, and on top of that sometimes he goes out with his friends. Alternatively to the time you get to spend alone, you also get to feel just a smidge safer at night. Metropolis is nowhere near as dangerous as Gotham is, at least not at night, but you can never be totally sure. Superman can handle whatever huge creature is toppling buildings over, but you can’t really call Superman if there’s someone trying to break into your apartment. You can call Clark though, or rather, knock on his door. Usually.
Tonight Clark is out. He’s actually out a lot later than usual, which is strange. He said something vague this morning about having to go to a meeting later tonight with his friends after work and he’d “be back aroumd smghmsgh.” His voice muffled at the end of his sentence because he had stuffed a cinnamon swirl eggo in his mouth. Helpful!
Around ten you finally peel yourself off the couch. It feels strange to get ready for bed without Clark being around. You aren’t dependent on him, but like, it’s routine by now. You brush your teeth, he brushes his teeth, and then you both go to bed. Sometimes he showers, but that’s not your business to think about. At all. Clark is your friend and roommate. Your kind, dependable, tall, handsome, buff, protective, roommate. You walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water, telling yourself you aren’t prolonging the time before you get ready for bed sans-Clark.
The water pools in the sink as you run the tap for a moment before sticking your glass under. It fills a little too quickly. You chug it, pour more water in the glass, then let your eyes flit to the overhead cupboards. A notice is taped to one of them, one which you taped up.
NOTICE: Fire alarm inspection
Dear valued tenants,
This coming Saturday the MFD (Metropolis Fire Department) will be entering your apartments to test your fire alarms. These tests will happen between 8am-11am. If you are unable to be present this Saturday please let me know by e-mail so we can rearrange a time.
Thanks.
Ugh. Your landlord is a nice person but is it necessary to start fire alarm testing at 8am on a Saturday? You were kind of hoping Clark would get home early tonight so he could be the one to let the fire department in tomorrow morning, but you guess not. He’s going to end up sleeping in late if he’s not home soon, so you better set your alarm.
—
It’s 7:59am. And they’re already here.
You had woken up to a strong knock on the door of your apartment that had you gasping for breath as you stumbled out of bed, throwing a more presentable shirt on. Thank God the fireman that you opened the door to looked worse for wear than you did. If you had opened the door to a sexy fireman while wearing your somewhat holey Snoopy sleepshirt, which you’ve had since middle school, you might have lit yourself on fire to test the alarm.
Now you’re sitting on the couch backwards, staring at the fireman as he stands on a ladder in the kitchen. You’re kind of wondering if the fire department needs to do this. You’re pretty sure Clark could check the fire alarm without using a ladder, which you’re tempted to tell the fireman, but he seems nice enough. It’s just early, you’re grumpy.
“I’ve been doing this for almost a decade now,” the fireman says. You hum in an interested tone, watching as he uses a screwdriver to unscrew the panel of the fire alarm. It falls down into his other palm and he checks the batteries.
“Expired,” he says disapprovingly.
Okay fire alarm guy.
He takes a couple batteries out of his shirt pocket and replaces the old batteries. Then he screws the panel back on. It kind of feels like watching you dad or uncle fix something, which would be sweet if you weren’t sleep deprived and annoyed that somehow this guy made his way to your fourth floor apartment before these tests were even supposed to start.
The fireman puts his screwdriver back into his toolbelt and then looks back at you from where he’s standing on the ladder.
“Might be loud,” is the only warning you get.
A shrill beep screeches through the apartment as he presses the “test” button on the alarm. It wakes you up all over again, making you jolt upwards. You’re close to cussing, but then you hear a different loud noise. Two loud thuds echo from behind Clark’s bedroom door.
Oh shit, he was still sleeping.
A couple more thuds sound out before Clark’s door is ripped open. There’s a wild look to him as his chest puffs anxiously.
“Fire?” He asks at the same time the fireman says “alarm works now!” Proud as ever.
No, there’s no fire. But it’s starting to get warm.
You’ve never seen Clark straight out of bed. Typically he showers at night, after you go to bed, so that you can have the bathroom in the mornings. That means that by the time you see him each morning he’s already dressed for work, curls tamed, and he’s all put together. Right now though, he’s the least put together you’ve ever seen him.
His hair is somewhat screwed up, the curls flat on one side of his head from how he sleeps, and his glasses are a little crooked from how hastily he must have shoved them on. Clark is also shirtless, which is surprising. You kind of took Clark as the kind of man who has old fashioned cotton pajama sets considering he wears a suit to work everyday. You very much wish he was right now.
Clark is obviously a strong guy. He’s got great arms that you’ve been able to admire multiple times over the last seven months, and sometimes you’re able to see how big his chest is when his dress shirts strain just right. But right now, you’re getting a full view of everything, and he’s so, terribly, attractively, big. Clark’s arms are much bigger than you thought they were, but so is everything else. His stomach pushes against the stretchband of his pajama pants just right, making you think of the time that he had shared the fact that “Ma fed me well,” over dinner. Fuck yes she did. Thanks Ma. His stomach looks dense with strength, like he’s been bulking his whole life, and his tits… Lord. Never in your life have you ever thought that a man having tits could be attractive, but Clark Kent doesn’t seem to be able to be unattractive. They look heavy and the skin looks soft and for a split second you think about what it would be like to run your hands up his body and cup them.
You notice that you’re staring at him, but he doesn’t. Instead, Clark seems to realize that the guy in your apartment isn’t an intruder, but is actually checking the fire alarm. He walks over quickly, and in typical Clark fashion, strikes up a conversation with this guy. He’s distracted fully, giving you more time to kind of drool over the new angle you’re getting of his arms.
Normally you wouldn’t do this. You’ve purposefully been avoiding being attracted or generally objectifying Clark no matter what because when he moved in with you he was sorely broken up over his last relationship ending. Clark was much too sweet for you to think about in that way, no matter how delicious he is to stare at. But it’s been months now, and he seems more okay, and damn it he’s shirtless and it’s 7:30 in the morning and you’re pissed! You deserve a little eye candy, no?
You let your eyes drop back to his stomach as he stands while talking to the fireman. The profile of his tummy almost hanging over the waistband is making your whole body heat up, but then your eyes drop lower and it gets worse.
He’s not wearing underwear.
There’s literally no possible way that he’s wearing anything beneath the pajama pants. You can see the outline of what you think is morning wood, but you aren’t entirely sure. If he had a boner that big right now he wouldn’t just be casually talking to a stranger in your apartment, right? But then again, there’s no way he’s packing something that much. It wouldn’t be human to be that big soft. He must just be oblivious. Fuck, you’re perving out right now.
It’s pressing against the plaid pattern of his pants in a way that maybe is camouflaged to the poor fireman who now looks like he’s trapped in a conversation with Clark. You watch as the fireman slowly packs up his ladder and moves unsubtly toward the door in an attempt to drop a hint that Clark isn’t picking up. It, yes it, isn’t camouflaged to you though. You watch from the couch as his pants tent around it, the thickness of it pressing against his leg as he moves toward the door with the fireman. Sweat starts to form at your brow as you swallow dryly.
Maybe his last girlfriend just couldn’t stand the hospital trips after they had sex? That’s the only plausible reason you can see someone dumping Clark. He’s suffering from the success of all those inches.
The fireman finally shuts down the conversation Clark had started with a gentle “I have to go test other alarms now,” and slips out the door. Clark turns to you now, still clearly oblivious to the third leg he seems to be showing off.
“I totally forgot about that inspection, geez.”
You are braindead. His words don’t even seem like words anymore as you get another full frontal view of his less-than-normally-clothed body and the inside of your skull feels fuzzy. It’s too early for all of these emotions of frustration and then sudden insatiable heat. Maybe you’re getting close to ovulating or something, but Clark is triggering you badly.
“Are you hard?” You ask.
Clark instantly reaches his hands down, covering his crotch.
“What? No, I just– I just threw these on. They must be too small.” He sputters.
Just threw those on? Your brows scrunch together in confusion. If he just threw those on before coming out of his room and he’s not wearing anything else (other than his glasses…)
“I sleep naked,” Clark admits flusteredly. Your eyes widen just as your mouth hangs slightly open in surprise. This is not something that you thought Clark would ever say, nor admit if it was the case. His ears are turning pink as his hands cover his crotch area still, though you doubt he’s actually covering all the square footage of his downstairs property.
“I started sleeping naked when I moved away from home. It was like a freedom thing, I think.”
Oookay. Coolio. Packing that tidbit of info into your brain and saving it for later when Clark isn’t home and you have a certain something charged. You nod with your mouth still open, then swallow back the dryness on your tongue before speaking again.
“Why do you…” you start speaking but then he moves toward the couch and your voice trails off. He sits opposite you, looking a little ashamed as he shoves a pillow over his lap. “Why do you still sleep naked?”
He can’t make eye contact with you now, he’s too embarrassed. It almost seems like he never really thought about the fact it might be strange to still sleep naked, and now he has to face the music.
“Clothes just… restrain stuff,” he admits quietly.
Stuff.
“Stuff?” You reply. “What stuff?
He shakes his head, says your name quietly like he wishes you’d forget this. “You know what stuff. My stuff.”
This is insane. There’s no way he’s that big all the time. That’s not something you believe.
“You’re seriously not… that’s not just morning wood or something?”
Clark shakes his head again and seems even more embarrassed now. His fists push into the throw pillow on his lap nervously.
“I’m sorry,” he says weakly. “I know it’s strange. Or scary, I’ve been called scary.”
Aw. You feel kind of bad for him amidst all your curiosity about this newfound limb on your roommate. The best comfort you can offer in this awkwardness is a shrug.
“It’s okay, Clark,” you attempt a normal voice, “it’s just a surprise.”
He laughs quietly, thank goodness. His smile is always a ray of sunshine but right now it breaks up the insanity of the situation.
“Golly, it’s a surprise to you? Imagine growing this thing,” he chuckles. Like it’s normal.
The honesty is somehow scarier than the fact that his dick is really that big. That’s just Clark’s life, he has to have that in his pants all the time, and now you have to know that he has that in his pants all the time too. What the fuck? What is this morning?
Clark finally works up the courage to look at you again, though you can still see the remnants of his flustered expression from moments before. His eyes stroll over your face and he seems to realize your befuddlement.
“Are you okay?” He asks. You raise your head to nod, but then feel the tug of a question caught in your throat.
“How big is it?” You ask. The tables turn again and Clark is back to being the one caught off guard. He sputters some breaths and attempts words but you shrug. “I’ve already basically seen it, Clark. I’m just curious.”
The last thing you say seems to ease him some more, as silly as it is. It’s true, you’ve basically seen the outline of the whole thing now, so he has less reason to be shy. Clark, again, nods. Then he picks the pillow up off his lap and places it on the ground beside his feet. This gives you a chance to see the way his stomach pouts out from his body while he sits, and the way his tits sit. They still look so soft, but you can’t make Clark any more uncomfortable than he already is, so you try your best to maintain eye contact.
“Eight and a half inches,” he manages to spit out. God, he sounds ashamed of it. Why is he ashamed?
You gawk at him. “I don’t even think I could fit half of you in my mouth.”
Why did you say that? Oh my god, why did you say that?
It sounds like a challenge. Your eyes drop back to his lap, searching for a moment until you can finally focus on the visible outline against the worn fabric of his pajamas.
“I could try,” you suggest. Clark’s head tilts down a little as he tries to meet your eyes that are currently feasting on the sight of his lap. He starts to say “what” but you stumble out more words. “Like just to see. Not in a sex way, but in an experimental way. Just to see.”
He seems a little speechless, his mouth forming the shapes of words that don’t come out, seldom for a shocked whisper of your name. Clark swallows the saliva in his mouth and then leans back against the couch, nodding.
“Not in a sex way,” he repeats as you slide off the couch and maneuver yourself between his legs. “Aw geez.”
Stupid cute man with a stupidly big cock. You aren’t technically breaking the “roommate rule” of don’t-fuck-your-roommate at least. You’re not fucking him, you are both just trying to see how much of Clark’s dick is humanly possible to suck.
He lifts his hips for you as your hands reach up and slide his pants down his legs, pulling them off with little struggle. It exposes his thighs to you, the hair that feathers out from his pubic area into a softer dusting around the outer area where his dick lays. It’s too heavy to even stand up on its own, it just lays against his thigh. He’s uncut but the foreskin is pulled back slightly, exposing the deep pink of his tip and how it’s starting to drool pre-come.
“Sorry, it’s um, been a bit. I’m a shower so don’t worry about,” he swallows nervously again, “about it getting any bigger than this.”
It is a little comforting to know you won’t have to deal with any more than you signed up for, but mostly you just want to soothe him. Clark seems so ashamed of how big he is, which isn’t totally unfamiliar. He always seems awkward in social situations, like a mega block in a world of lego bricks, but this is something you can help. You’ll prove to him that he is suckable.
But you’ll prove it in a moment. First you focus on what your mind, what’s left of it, wants to do.
You lean down and nudge your nose against the side of his cock, inhaling a little bit. He smells clean, just like the rest of him, but also a little different, a little more Clark than everywhere else. Your eyes meet his as you let your tongue loll out of your mouth and drag up his shaft, then lap at his tip as his head falls backward.
“Y-you said it wasn’t a sex thing,” he protests weakly.
“It isn’t,” you protest. It’s not a total lie. “I’m making sure you’re as hard as possible. You have to be fully hard for me to–”
“Please just put your mouth on me,” he blurts out. “Please? You wanna figure this out too, right?”
Holy needy. You weren’t really expecting Clark to be this submissive. He’s probably just desperate because, as he said, it’s been a little while, but he’s already begging.
“Yeah,” you mumble against his tip, “yeah okay.”
He’s so much more than a mouthful. You were expecting it to be a lot, but you can’t breathe at all once his tip is fully in his mouth. Clark isn’t just long, but he’s thick too. It feels like you bit off more than you could chew, literally, and you’re just desperately swallowing around him. It’s especially hard to focus on not choking because he keeps making these little sounds and grasping at the arm of the couch. Clark clearly doesn’t want to push you at all. The hand that isn’t on the arm of the couch is gripping the couch cushion ferociously and his hips keep trying to buck up but he resists it, though just barely.
It isn’t a sex thing, it’s an experiment, you need to focus.
Your eyes slide shut as you decide to lock in, tuning out the noises and movements he’s making. Most of your focus goes into relaxing your jaw to fit more of him in. You know you’ll ache later, but it’s worth it. He’s so heavy in your mouth and in your hands as you hold him. The wetness of your mouth doesn’t seem to be enough and so you keep drooling out more and more saliva, trying to lube your throat so he’ll slide in easier, with less resistance. It doesn’t feel humanly possible, he’s completely right.
You attempt to say his name, but just gargle around his cock. He struggles back a “yeah?” and that’s when your eyes open again.
You’re far enough down on his dick now that when you open your eyes and look up at him, you’re met with a slight underside view of his stomach and tits. Clark looks back down at you with clouded eyes and a sweaty brow, meeting your own accidental doe eyes. It’s hard not to look pathetic and needy when you have a dick in your mouth, it’s just what happens. You maintain eye contact as you work your throat, attempting to open it up more to take him further and he whines while looking into your eyes.
Clark breathes your name once, then shuts his eyes tight as his chest heaves.
“Are you trying t-to make me come?” He asks. His voice sounds pained, but his cock throbs in your mouth as he asks the question.
Well, are you?
He looks close already, even more wrecked than five minutes ago when this “experiment” began. Obviously you want him to come, you’re sucking his dick for gods sake, but he’s just making sure. He’s just being good and making sure that he’s allowed to come. The two of you are losing any inhibitions about this pretense of an experiment and you’re ready to fully let loose.
You can’t respond to his question without pulling off his cock, and you sure as hell don’t want to lose the progress you’ve made on his length, so instead you give in. Reaching up from the floor with your hand, you trail your fingers up his body and then cup his left tit in your hand. His breath catches as he looks down at what you’re doing, and that’s when you rub your thumb over his nipple. It hardens immediately and he lets out a rough moan as you nod, resuming bobbing your head up and down his cock.
Yes you’re going to make Clark come. You want to make this big, delicious, kind, man come his brains out, either in your mouth or on you, or both.
Whatever efforts you were making previously tenfold as you start to start to jerk off whatever you can’t fit in your mouth with your free hand, the other one still entirely focused on groping the soft fat of his breast and toying with his nipple. Clark starts to let his hips buck up more as he begins to repeat your name, whining each time you stimulate his nipple just right. Drool leaks out of your mouth and onto your balls as you let the back of your throat get pummelled relentlessly. It feels like your brains are melting in your head each time you feel him throb or taste him leaking a little more pre-come.
“I’m gonna come,” Clark warns. He says it again, but makes no move to pull you off him.
Your eyes meet his with some sense of determination, and you hope the bob of your head and the nod of your head don’t look too similar as you try to reply with a nod of “yes, yes, come.” The message, thankfully, is received. Your hands work relentlessly to stimulate him fully through his orgasm as he spills down your throat. You try to keep up with swallowing but it starts to feel like if you don’t pull off of him you’re going to have come drip out of your nose. Finally you jerk back, watching as his cock doesn’t slow down at all, shooting ropes not just on your face and neck, but dripping onto his own thighs too. He’s so noisy as he comes, on top of all the things in motion he’s moaning your name and thanking you.
“Thank you, thank you,” he whimpers, “m sorry it’s such a mess.”
It is such a mess. You didn’t take into account that him having a big dick might mean him having bigger balls, which you certainly won’t neglect if the two of you ever do this again, but now he’s coming so much. Some of it is already half dried on your sleepshirt by the time he’s finished.
Clark’s head rolls back again, his legs falling even further apart, as he catches his breath. He has half a mind to hand you the pants you peeled off him earlier, apologizing for not being able to clean you up properly. It’s a sweet gesture, and you’ll excuse his lack of aftercare since it seems like he just emptied his entire bloodline down your face and shirt.
After somewhat cleaning the come off you, you’re surprised as he lifts you up onto the couch, moving his spent cock out of the way so you can sit on him.
“Thank you,” he says again, pushing his nose against your shoulder, “sorry I ruined your experiment.”
It seems that despite what just happened, Clark will always be the considerate, sweet, guy that he’s always been during his time as your roommate. His breath is soft against your shoulder as his eyes flutter and look down.
“And sorry for ruining your shirt.”
A giggle pushes its way through your chest and past your aching jaw.
“It’s fine. I’ll just take off my shirt next time we try.”
Clark’s posture goes a little rigid at the mention of a next time. He pulls his nose away from your shoulder and looks at you a little curiously.
“Next time?”
You’re quick to respond, shrugging it off casually to avoid the many questions and considerations you’re sure Clark will chatter away at you once his brain rebuilds itself from his orgasm.
“Yeah, next time. I only fit like… half of you in my throat. I think I can do better than that,” you say defiantly. Clark huffs a laugh of disbelief out. “I just need more practice.”
“More practice. Sure,” he agrees softly.
>///<
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