[phainology]

૮ ྀི ◞ ◟ ა ૮꒰ྀི ◞ ๑ ◟ ꒱ა ₍ᐢ.  ̯ .ᐢ₎ ꒰ྀི . .   ꒱ྀིა

# 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 !!

rina . she/her . 21 ☼︎

꒰ ྀི  ◞   ◟  ꒱ ૮꒰ ˶> ༝ <˶꒱ა ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱ ! (ó﹏ò｡)

[danijaci]

jumpscare aler!!!!!

[indiewritesxoxo]

INDIE'S HALL OF FAME!

a selection of some of my favorite oneshots from fellow creators :3 more of my recommendations can be found by searching my blog using #indiesrecs as well <3

꒰ა ໒꒱ friday night lights starring football player!sukuna by @epicderpface

꒰ა ໒꒱ strawberry cream starring ceo!gojo by @hellowoolf

꒰ა ໒꒱ golden brown starring knight!geto by @sixxels

꒰ა ໒꒱ web of secrets starring spiderman!gojo by @junos-chronicles

꒰ა ໒꒱ crawling back to you starring fwb!gojo by @sweethearticism

꒰ა ໒꒱ buried treasure starring surfer!gojo by @starmapz

꒰ა ໒꒱ bound starring incubus!sukuna by @yenayaps

꒰ა ໒꒱ blue raspberry slushy starring movie theater worker!choso by @spideyyeet

꒰ა ໒꒱ birds of a feather starring god!sukuna by @sukunahs

꒰ა ໒꒱ jackal's curse starring anubis!geto by @stberrypuss

꒰ა ໒꒱ kneel before thee starring heian era!sukuna by @rambld

꒰ა ໒꒱ x games starring snowboarder!sukuna by @seellove

꒰ა ໒꒱ i do it all for you starring serial killer!gojo by @iamsoclone

꒰ა ໒꒱ heaven is a home starring demon!gojo by @madamechrissy

꒰ა ໒꒱ athlete!sukuna by @cupidstrace

꒰ა ໒꒱ fire in my heart starring higurma + nanami by @kamiflix

꒰ა ໒꒱ dispatch in the line of fire starring gojo + geto by @besidesjustmyamour

꒰ა ໒꒱ scorched earth starring homelander!gojo by @nanamiskentos

div cred: @tsumiinum | for my content:

series | latest oneshots | patreon

[iamsoclone]

I Do It All For You

꒷꒦pairing꒦꒷ serial killer!Gojo x detective fem!reader

꒷꒦cw꒦꒷ NSFW, 18+ MDNI—(oh boy, here we go) modern AU, angst and smut and despair, explicit sexual content, graphic depictions of death and torture, so much blood (it's messy), moral quandaries, mentions of sexual assault, stalking, abduction, drugging, plotting & betrayal, heavy on the dub-con, mind fucking/breaking, choking (out hehe), slapping, knife play, (very) inappropriate use of firearms, dirty talk (threats count as dirty talk right?), 'make it fit' trope (big dick nerd mmm), fingering, face fucking, unprotected piv sex, creampie, sex with a dead body in the room, p0rn with a dose of murderous plot, obsessive and possessive and very yandere nerd gojo, he's a walking red flag and reader is kind of a freak as usual.

꒷꒦summary꒦꒷ the nerd in forensics has always been on your radar. everything about him is too crafted to be genuine. so you've always got your eye on gojo. the same can be said for him, but he’s just watching your back! you have a nasty habit of getting stalked by people who definitely aren't him. but it's mutually beneficial. you don't get murdered by the scorned, ex-con stalkers you've put away, and gojo gets another killer to bleed dry. you really are perfect for each other. but things are going off the rails this time around, and you finally see gojo for what he truly is. maybe you should have stopped looking so hard, but it's too late for maybe now.

꒷꒦a/n꒦꒷ this got out of hand so fast wow, but Dexter and Gojo? i couldn't stop, so now this is fat and absolutely filthy. it's still kinktober tho, right?┃art in the header by @/savoryjump on insta, dividers by @/cafekitsune, @/anitalerina, and @/sister-lucifer ꒷꒦w/c꒦꒷ 17.5k (holy shit, i swear its worth it T_T)

All the usual familiar faces greeted Gojo as he strolled out from the elevator, a box in one hand and a sugary coffee in a to-go cup from the cafe just down the block.

He flashed a smile, crooked and charming and with a few more teeth than typical for him at 8 AM, but he couldn’t help it. Gojo was in a great mood. How could he not be? He not only did the department a huge favor last night, but Tokyo as a whole.

“Good morning, Gojo!” A freshly promoted officer greeted him, wide-eyed and eager. Her uniform pressed, bright blue hair tied back in a neat ponytail, and a folder in hand as she walked through the open glass doors. “The lab had the results ready for that hair sample. I brought it up with me, figured I could save you the trip down!” She held the folder up in one hand with a smile as she kept pace with him.

Gojo glanced her way as he stopped to let a few people grab a pastry from the pastel pink box in his hand. They greeted him with distracted murmurs, eyeing the box for a favorite. 

She was a new face around the department, and Gojo was already a little poor at keeping track of names. It’s one of the few things that made him both feel a little more human, and somehow even more removed from normalcy. It was a flaw, one of many, but in a different way than most of his. He should remember names; being remembered makes people feel a personal connection, like they matter. It disarms them. 

When Gojo smiled at her, he made sure it reached his eyes, coming off warmer and more genuine that way. “That was very thoughtful of you, thank you. But, uh,” He glanced up towards the desks, a few still empty with officers and detectives off duty or having not arrived yet, and gestured to one with the hand holding his coffee. “I’m not the one to do any favors for. That’s who you should probably be grabbing paperwork for.” 

Right on time—no, you'd have been there for at least an hour if he gauged the time by how your desk was littered with folders and a few open boxes. Your head propped up on one hand as your eyes darted up and down from your monitor to a page. Maybe you pulled another all-nighter, you were in different clothes, but they were already rumpled like you’d been in that fitted button-down for a few hours already. Critical and sharp eyes a little tired. But that’s how it always was when you were on the precipice of a break, especially on a case as big as the one he knew you were working on.

“The sergeant?” Officer whats-her-face asked, looking from you to Gojo again. “She didn’t want any help, I already asked.” She said sheepishly, and Gojo’s smile got a little wider.

“Yeah, that sounds like her.” 

You grabbed a mug off your desk and took a sip, eyes glued to the screen for a long moment with the ceramic pressed to your lips. After taking in the same two sentences on the witness statement over and over until they blurred, you blinked, broke from the screen, and locked eyes with Gojo.

As if it's a reflex your body made the very moment you registered his presence; your eyes narrowed and your grip tightened on the mug. You looked him up and down fully, not an ounce of shame or hesitation in your sweeping gaze. You weren’t checking him out though; you were putting him under a microscope.

Like you could see the blood still on his hands, spattered on his face, and dripping from his hair if you looked hard enough. Like maybe he’d finally crack under the weight, and a piece of his mask would fall away if you cut through him with piercing eyes.

It happened every day, at the same time, no matter what, Gojo Satoru walked into your department with an effortless air of confidence surrounding him. There was always a smile on his face, sometimes it was small and seemed a little tired, his eyes distant, like his head was stuck somewhere else. Some days, he walked in like he was a fucking god. Wearing a smug grin like he’d won the ultimate prize in life, his unnaturally bright blue eyes satisfied and easy. 

Always wearing some lame ass button down, untucked like he couldn’t be bothered. Sometimes—like today—he’d grace the collar with a loosely knotted tie. Looking like a university student showing up to their first job interview, an attempt at professionalism that missed the mark and landed somewhere in nerdy frat boy cosplaying a salaryman. His platinum hair pushed back a little, just a few strands falling back down on his forehead like he didn’t use product to hold it. 

He was messy in a way that came off as endearing. Like he was just the nerd in forensics, appearances weren’t important, so he threw whatever on and stopped at the bakery down the block for assorted pastries that definitely were just random, it was chance that he somehow got everyone’s favorite treat every time. 

He really was so likable too, maybe that’s what really pissed you off the most. He was generally nice, helpful, and smart—one of the best in his field. He was funny, and thoughtful, a little goofy, but it balanced out because he was infuriatingly good looking on top of it all. 

You outranked him, but you were tilting your head back to make eye contact when he gave you a briefing at a crime scene. You’ve had to snap yourself out of it and yank your eyes off him when he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up over forearms roped with a little too much muscle for a nerd and flexed long fingers into blue latex gloves.

It was all a little too effortless for him; he was crafted in a way that seemed literal. Like the pieces of him were put together to disarm, to appease, and fit in, and keep people from pulling back a curtain and looking any deeper.

But you clocked it a long time ago. It seemed like overcompensation, and you started digging, especially when you were promoted to sergeant, and that’s when you saw the first crack.

Gojo had a habit of engaging in extracurricular activities. 

A few hair samples here, a blood analysis there, print matching galore, and none of it tied to a case number.

When you confronted him about it, he covered so quickly and perfectly, all you could hear was a hammer cracking down the final nail in his coffin. 

"Blah blah blah, data to support the arguments in a collaboration piece for a geeky magazine, it’s probably not your thing but it’ll be out in a few weeks if you really want to read it. You interested? Seems like it.” 

It was the perfect mix of authenticity and teasing, a perfect explanation delivered with a smirk at the end that twisted the spotlight back onto you instead. Like you’d only be interested in one thing, and it didn’t involve advancements in DNA testing.

You’d crossed your arms, looked down your nose at him, and told him to notify you before putting lab work through without a case number, and if it happened again, you’d write him up for it. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He winked with a mocking salute, like he loved it. Loved the way your nostrils flared at his insubordination and your glare at his smile that feigned innocence on the surface to hide something monstrous and sadistic lurking just beneath. 

You could see it, though, and from then on, you had your eye on him.

Gojo nodded your way, smiling like he wanted your eyes on him, like he enjoyed having your sights set on him, the challenge of being in your crosshairs and getting away with it.

He strolled right up to your desk with a, “Morning, sarge!” You leaned back in your chair, your eyes staying trained on his through his thick prescription lenses, the black frames low on the bridge of his nose. “I think they threw your favorite in again, want something glazed to start the day?” He said slyly as he offered out the box, but he knew you’d decline, you always did.

“No, what I really want is the full report on the head hunter vic from yesterday.” You responded flatly, your mouth set in a hard straight line. Your eyes flicked behind him. “Kasumi, you’re coming with Nanami and I to verify the statement from the witness yesterday, something isn’t right here.” You murmured, gesturing vaguely at your screen.

“Yes ma’am! When do you want to leave?” The blue haired girl immediately jumped to action, coming up beside Gojo to address you. 

“Help Gojo with his paperwork and then we’ll leave, his hands look a little full.” You looked right at him, the words curt and clipped and he grinned right back.

“Awe, thanks sarge, always so thoughtful.” Gojo's head cocked. Your eyes narrowed.

“Mm.”

“Good luck with your witness.” His smile grew by a fraction and your eyes flitted over his frame quickly once, cataloguing every bit of him before he nodded again, and turned to head to his lab. The new officer followed behind, file in hand.

The witness wouldn’t lead anywhere. None of your efforts would ever lead anywhere, not after last night.

The latest victim's head was the last trophy that sick freak would be taking. In a twist of something that Satoru likes to quantify as justice or maybe karmic retribution, but was really just Satoru making things a little more personal for the guy, a cleaver glinted as he pulled it from his kit, and hacked the killers own stuttering head off.

Who’s a fucking trophy now?

But his work is hardly over, it never is. The satisfaction only lasts for so long before hunger comes creeping back in. It all works out though because once again, and all thanks to you and your pretty face that can never keep out of trouble, tonight's the night.

A long moment passed within which you burned holes into Gojo’s back as he wound around the other desks, in absolutely no rush as he chatted around with others setting up for the day. Offering out the box of confections like he was fucking Santa Claus or some shit.

He could feel your eyes glued to him, and it just made him drag it all out more. He couldn’t help but like that you paid so much attention to him, because it just proved that he really was the best at what he did. Having you watching his every move and still getting away with it?

God damn, Gojo was good.

“You’re staring,” Nanami’s murmur yanked your attention off of Gojo as he and Kasumi moved on and headed to the lab set to the rear of the department floor. You glanced sidelong at your partner, his arms crossed, biceps straining at the blue cotton weave of his dress shirt. “It’s not polite.”

You scoffed, “Just keeping tabs on the department. Are you ready to go? Kasumi is coming with once she’s done in the geek hole.” 

“Mhm, do you really think it’s worth it to redo the witness statement?” Nanami cocked his head, and you swiveled your chair a little to face him. “She seemed quite frazzled yesterday. I doubt it’ll be much different now.”

“We have to try,” You sighed, “But even if we just clean it up and get a consistent statement out of her, it’s worth it. Everything has to be perfect to nail this guy, you know that.” The chair squeaked as you leaned forward. “I’m not letting that L’Oréal ad of a defense lawyer fuck this up because of an inconsistency if that hair sample doesn’t pan out.”

“You’re right, but don’t let this consume you. You won’t be any help running on shitty coffee and konbini food instead of sleep.” Nanami raised a brow, his soft hazel eyes studying your face, the rings under your eyes that you know have deepened after an almost full 24 hours at the precinct. “You sacrifice too much on cases like this.”

“We’re so close. DNA and a witness? The perp is getting sloppy; this is our shot to catch up and finally nail the sick fuck.” Nanami visibly tensed, a slight grimace passing over his features. It’s been almost a full year of finding body after body, once beautiful young women violated and left posed with their hands splayed out where their heads used to be, a polaroid of their sleeping faces where the real thing once was. The heads of each never recovered. 

“It can’t happen again. I can’t see another one like that, Kento, it’s just… you know.” You swallowed hard, and your shoulders slumped. Not defeat, you’d never accept that, just… tired. Tired of the same scene and little to nothing to show for it.

“I know.” Nanami said softly. His hands dropped, one went to a pocket of his grey slacks, the other thumbing the edge of a file on your desk. He cleared his throat, and changed the topic. “Are you thinking she lied? The witness.” 

“It’s more likely that she wasn’t thinking straight, but it’s not out of the question. Why though?” You hummed, taking a breath. “I’m not sure.”

“Coercion?”

“From the perp?” Your brow furrowed, and you hummed low again. “Why would he have even left her alive? If she saw identifying features, it’d make more sense to kill her, and he’s definitely not the type to show mercy.”

“Maybe it’s to throw us off,” Nanami countered, pushing your gears to start turning harder. “Lead us on some goose chase with a mismatched description.”

“Like… maybe he’s trying to set someone up?” Your jaw worked, and you stole a glance at the window to the lab. “We’ve never found DNA, and now we find a hair? Shit.”

“You think it’s all just for a setup?”

Your chair screeched back, and you practically leaped from your seat. “What if he’s trying to make a getaway? It’s all way too coincidental.” 

“Kasumi!” You called, storming off towards the lab, gaining a few turned heads. “Hustle up, we’re leaving!” Nanami groaned, slinging his jacket over an arm and following towards the lab. You threw a look over your shoulder at him. “Oh, what? She’s just doddling now, we have shit to do.” 

“You need some sleep, you’re doing that thing again.”

“What are you talking about? What thing?”

“The one where volume control goes out the window.”

The second statement from your witness turned up nothing new, as you had kind of expected, but you noticed something off about her this time around. She was nervous. Her story was straighter this time around, and she cleaned up details about the events, rescinding contradictory bits and pieces until the statement was airtight.

She was treating it almost like an alibi. Like there was something to prove. It just didn’t sit right with you, but she was a witness, not a suspect. Sure, you could have brought her back to the station and set her in an interrogation room and grilled her with Nanami until something came of it, but you had a feeling that nothing would come of it besides a burst of tears and a firm reminder about proper witness treatment from the inspector.

It was the last thing you needed, so you gave a slight bow, and left. Going around in circles with Nanami in the car, Kasumi surprised you a little by chiming in nervously every so often from the back. She was new, inexperienced, but getting fresh and eager eyes on tired information never hurts. 

But again, as expected, nothing new really came of it. Just that the shift from uncertainty about the features on the figure she saw to absolution, seemed suspicious. But then again, the shock of seeing a dead body—a headless one at that—makes much aside from that difficult to remember. Maybe she was just recalling things more clearly now with time given to get thoughts together. 

Maybe you were looking for loose threads to pull where none had come free. But then again, that’s what made you good at your job. And maybe sometimes a little much.

Fuck, you hated this shit sometimes. There really was no winning.

Back at the precinct, Nanami told you he’d deal with the inspector, and to go home. You didn’t have the energy to argue, not much at least. So, you tidied up your desk a little and told him you’d be back after a shower and a catnap, and to make sure the geeks had a match on the hair sample by the time you got back. 

As you grabbed a couple folders to take home for some light reading, your eyes gravitated towards the lab. Window unobscured with the blinds up, you saw Gojo working away at something involving the high-powered microscope. The lights dimmed slightly, and the bluish glow from his monitor cast a hue over his pale, defined features. Platinum hair shone silver, pushed back and held up by his glasses. 

He frowned at whatever he was observing, slim pale brows upturned. He pulled back, biting his lip a little and studying the slide under the microscope like it would give him more information if he scrutinized it with eyes whose blue you swore could only be found on butterflies or flowers or tropical ocean waters. 

Even his appearance was an enigma to you. But the perplexed look made him look kind of normal. Like even the perfect boy-wonder Gojo Satoru could be mystified by something. 

You're hard on him. Maybe, just maybe, sometimes a little too hard. Sure, he was a weirdo, and he set off the feeling in your gut that only screamed at you when you were in the vicinity of something dangerous. But he'd never done anything solidly wrong. Just gave you glimpses of things that could glint at something more sinister, but you never saw that.

You've been looking for something, chasing something, that you had no hard proof existed. Maybe all that darkness you felt emanating from him, hanging around him like a cloud, maybe it was all just like… depression, or something. You’d been there before, hiding behind a mask to keep up appearances. Hell, you were feeling something similar now. 

The bodies lately, the sobbing families, mothers who had to be told they'd outlive their daughters. Daughters who had whole, beautiful lives ahead of them, stolen by some psychopath who collected pretty faces framed by dark hair.

You'd been doing that a lot lately. Second-guessing yourself and your instincts. There had been too many cases like this one, where it just went on for too long. Some of them solved, the killers brought down and served up on a silver scale to the judicial system to lay down proper punishment. Something you felt could be harsher based on the horrors you've witnessed, but didn't contest because what else could you do? You'd done your job.

Some of them though, they haunted you. The killing stopped, the MO never picked up again, and it was like the killers just… vanished. You were grateful for that at least, but it meant they moved on. Got away with it, and were maybe even in another prefecture to play boogeyman there.

Your gut was usually bang on, but you've been wrong before. Maybe, just maybe, could you be wrong about Gojo?

The man in the lab rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, pinching the bridge of his nose before pulling his glasses back down to sit there, and looking up through the window. 

You didn't look away; you met his immense blue gaze head-on just as you always did.

He smiled with a few too many teeth, waved once, and winked at you. Long pale lashes brushing a high cheekbone in a single flick that set your teeth on edge. It screamed, ‘I know something you don't.’

Nah.

There was something seriously wrong with this motherfucker.

The files dropped to your desk with a soft thud, and you marched toward the lab. 

Gojo traded out the scrap of fabric under his microscope for a clear, flat slide with a print, and tucked the scrap in a drawer. He hit two keys on his computer, the monitor switched quickly to the DLC database, the page set to a window waiting for scanned print information to be input. Just in time for you to fling the door open without knocking.

“Hey, sarge. How'd it go with that witness?” Gojo asked as you stood in the doorway, crossing your arms under your chest. Practically squishing your tits together and shoving them in his face. Cleavage peeked from the buttons undone on your shirt, but Gojo was a perfect gentleman and kept his eyes on yours.

You ignored his question and asked your own instead. Your eyes narrowed and already unimpressed as you looked him over, sitting hands in his lap. “Did you pull any matches from that hair sample?” 

“It'll be hard, I know, but try to contain yourself.” Gojo grinned, turning slightly to snatch up a folder off a pile beside his monitor. “I not only got a match, but the guy is a real piece of work too.” You swiped it right out of his hand as he turned back to you, frowning as you flipped the front open to look for yourself. “Got sentenced to fifteen years on two counts of aggravated assault, rape, and abduction. The girls survived, but they matched the descriptions for the head hunter victims. Guess he escalated things once he got out of prison.”

“Served seven years and out on good behavior, my fucking ass.” You murmured, eyes darting around as you flipped through. Gojo hummed in agreement. “Fuck me, he matches the witness description too.”

“Oh? Well, let's hope he's still in town.” Gojo chirped, propping his elbows on his knees and leaning forward a little. Reading through the file, you were distracted and Gojo let his eyes glide over you fully once. Slow, appreciative. 

God, you looked fucking great. Smart and sharp as a tack. That shirt hugged your tits perfectly, and he knew the moment you turned to walk out the door, he'd get a great view of your ass. Lips pushed together in concentration as you studied the pages, he wondered not for the first time what they'd look like in an ‘o’ with a moan spilling out. Your service weapon holstered at your hip made you deadly on top of it all.

Truly the perfect little package. Gojo almost felt guilty for deceiving you so much. But he didn’t. 

What you didn't need to know, was that the piece of shit rapist he just handed to you, had absolutely nothing to do with all those headless girls.

But he was going to take the fall for it regardless. It all just kind of fell into his lap. Why not get attention off the real killer currently in nine pieces at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, get another scumbag thrown back in jail, and land you win with a huge case finally closed? 

The witness was easy to convince, planting the DNA was a joke, he had early and backstage access to the scene, and bam! The perfect crime committed once again.

He was practically a fucking hero.

Well, maybe that's a stretch. Vigilante? Lame.

He was fucking good at this. That's what he was.

“How long have you had this ready?” You set a hard look on Gojo and he hummed.

“Maybe… an hour?” 

“Why am I just now seeing it?” You snapped, shutting the file and crossing your arms once again. “I've been right there for fifteen minutes.”

Gojo’s jaw set, barely a clench. 

That was one thing you were. You were so fucking ungrateful. But you were oblivious to all he did for you, so he couldn't be upset. 

Maybe one day you'd see, but that day wasn't here yet. You weren't quite ready to accept whatever Gojo was. 

Definitely not, actually.

“Sorry, sarge. I've been kinda busy in here.” Gojo shrugged, and you outright glared.

“With what? What could possibly be more important than a suspect on this case?”

“Um… the five other homicides on my plate?” Gojo said slowly, as if it were the most obvious thing on the planet. Knowing full well he was just pushing buttons now.

You scoffed. “Check your priorities, because you're wrong about that, Gojo.” Your arms dropped, and you put a hand on his desk, leaning into his space and boring your eyes into his. “If we're too late and this fucker gets away because of your time management skills, I'll make sure that goes in the report, got it?” 

You wouldn’t be too late. He wasn’t going to get away because he wan’t even running. He had no idea what was coming for him. But Gojo feigned being sheepish and apologetic because he guessed that in your eyes, he fucked up.

“Sorry, sarge, it won't happen again.” 

Your eyes took a slow trip down and back up over him, looking for something but not finding it, so you removed yourself from his personal space. Not that he minded you there. “Better not.”

“I'll just give you a call next time.” He drawled, a lazy smirk on his lips as he slung an arm over the back of his chair.

“Mm, please do.” It looked like it killed you to say those words, so you added a light, "That's what the damn thing is for after all.” 

“You’re so right.” Gojo crossed a leg over the other, and cocked his head. “I’ll be sure it gets put to good use.”

You didn’t say anything else, just took the folder, turned on a heel, and gave Gojo a great view of your ass as you marched out, leaving the door open. He sighed, pulling out the fabric from the drawer he’d stuffed it in to resume his side work. 

God damn, you were so much work. But he always lived for a challenge. And he could take the backtalk and the pressure you loved to put him under when you served him up guys like Zenin Naoya almost like a sacrifice, he’d take anything you threw at him.

It was absolutely perfect. You put the Zenin guy away for a few years on some assault charges, and a grudge was born. No, something deeper than a grudge, like a personal vendetta. Something strong enough that he’d want to make you pay for ‘ruining his life.’ 

Fucking unacceptable. That the piece of shit would ever think he had the right or even could come close to you, take you for himself, hurt you. Gojo already had some… mildly violent tendencies, and something about the thought of another person, another man putting his hands on you just made the red he saw even bloodier.

He’d never get the opportunity to get close to you. Not with Gojo around, he would always make sure of that. The Zenin worm would be in bags at the bottom of the Pacific before the sun rose. 

Gojo glanced up through the window. You were talking with Nanami, flipping through the file as he looked from you to the turning pages.

Nanami was… fine. He was a good guy, he looked out for you—not that you’d ever need anyone but Gojo for that. He wasn’t a cop, he couldn’t be your partner out in the field or anything, so Nanami was probably the best of all the options you had. He just didn’t like the way Nanami looked at you sometimes. A little too lingering. A little more than just friendly affection in his eyes.

It was fine though. Nanami could be your partner in the field; he could help you with cases in the traditional sense—he was definitely that kind of guy anyway—but he could never do everything that Gojo did for you. 

Nobody could ever do what Gojo did for you. 

The neighborhood was near empty, typical for—Gojo pulled the sleeve on his shirt back enough to check his watch—10 PM. Cars lined the sides of the street, all your neighbors were home and settling in for the night, but not you, though. You’d likely be out at the precinct all night again thanks to the suspect you picked up earlier. 

How perfect was that timing? Almost like someone planned it all. 

A familiar car pulled up, and Gojo watched as it parked a few spots up from him. Gojo had everything ready for tonight. He had all he needed confirmed to finally act, and you’d be gone all night. 

It was perfect. A nice night for this, too. Cool enough that it wasn't too hot with a beanie covering his distinct and immediately recognizable hair. Left his glasses at home in favor of contacts in case of a brawl because he could never be too prepared.

Naoya would wait around for a bit, but being the impatient little fuck he was, he’d get bored once he realized you wouldn't be home and head to his usual spot; an izakaya a few minutes away, and get obliterated. 

Tonight was the night, and everything was perfect. 

Gojo couldn't help but smile a little as he took a long sip of an iced matcha latte, letting the sweetness of extra vanilla syrup roll over his tongue, savoring it. He usually would save a sweet treat for afterwards, but he just had to get a little something for the stakeout.

The driver door on the Zenin creeps car opened, and out stepped the worm himself, glancing around as he tucked something in the waistband of his pants behind him. Gojo’s smile dropped instantly.

What the fuck was he doing?

The door shut, and Naoya made his way up the street towards your house. A scowl pulled Gojo’s mouth down, and he jammed the drink back in a cupholder. He gripped the wheel to keep his hands occupied and off the door handle. The creep was about to break in. He was going to wait for you inside your house.

The thought made Gojo’s skin crawl; it made him yearn and itch to go knock the ugly fucker out right then and there before he had a chance to get into your space, to touch your belongings. But Gojo reminded himself with a breath that you’d be gone tonight. That it would be fine, and Naoya would get bored of waiting quickly and give up once he realized it was pointless to hang around. He would just come back another night. 

Too bad he wouldn’t get another night.

It was fine. Seeing Naoya stalk around the side of your house and disappear from view, it kind of made him want to grab the hunting knife from his kit and slit the wormy fuck groin to sternum and gut him like the animal he was, but Gojo took another long and cooling sip from the iced sugary drink and reminded himself that it was fine. 

It was the perfect night. He had it all planned down to a tee; one little setback wouldn't put the whole thing off course. 

Gojo sat for an hour in his car, and Naoya stayed put in your house. He was more annoyed than seething at that point; he really wanted to hurry this up. It was the second night in a row he’d been out hunting, and he was running on fumes and sucrose and the warm, metallic stain he could still feel as it spattered his lips. 

As he was about to check his watch again, headlights beamed in his side mirror. His eyes went to them immediately, knowing it was likely just a passerby using the residential area as a shortcut or—

He jerked upright in his seat.

What the fuck were you doing here?

This was wrong. You weren’t supposed to be here. Why the fuck weren’t you still at the precinct? It was barely past 11 PM. If you were going home to change, he knew that wouldn’t happen until the early hours of the morning. So what the hell were you doing?

He didn't have time to analyze the why. You pulled into the spot right in front of your gate, and your car shut off. You were about to step right into the trap Naoya had set in your house. He had to do something, and fast. You couldn’t see him here, though, how the fuck was he supposed to do this?

God, you were so much fucking work. And of course, you couldn’t just make things a little easier by doing what you always did and just stay at the precinct all night. Tonight of all the fucking nights.

Did you want to die or something? Sometimes he wondered.

Gojo reached back and grabbed the small zippered case from under the backseat, and watched you walk up to your front door. He waited until you shut it behind you before you threw his own door open.

It had taken a lot of convincing, but with the suspect in an interrogation room and holding fast on total innocence and refusing to budge despite having him practically dead to rights, Nanami finally told you to leave. You could come back and join the action again after a brief rest and a shower. He assured you that he’d call if anything happened, but that you’d likely be walking into the exact same situation after a few hours away. 

Nothing would happen while you were gone. It would be fine. You kept repeating it as you kicked off your shoes and flicked on the light in your hall, dropping your keys on the small table by the door. 

The kitchen light flicked on and cast the area in a warm glow. You’d get a bite to eat, shower, try your best to sleep for a few hours, then head back. Your fridge didn’t offer much aside from a box of takeout from a couple of nights ago, so you grabbed it and threw it in the microwave. 

While it was heating, you made your way down the hall to your bedroom. A few photos of your family lined the walls, your academy graduation photo, the one with—

You halted midstep. The photo with Nanami, the both of you in uniform, his hand on your shoulder as you wore the sergeant's shield for the first time with a small, proud smile, was crooked. 

Maybe there was a minor earthquake in the area?

None of the other photos were off, but you drew it up to the hook potentially being loose, and straightened it, continuing down the hall and unbuttoning your shirt. 

In your room, you placed your service weapon on your dresser and changed out of your work attire quickly. Slipping on a black and white Tokyo Metro Police Department shirt, a few sizes too big and softened from years of washing and wearing. 

Your pants were off and around your ankles when you heard a creak in the hallway. Your head snapped up instantly, and you kicked off your pants, creeping out to check the dim hall.

Tip-toeing along the hardwood in an oversized t-shirt and panties, you felt almost like a horror movie damsel. It felt strangely eerie, and you thought for a moment about running back to your room to grab your service weapon, but before you could—

A figure stepped out. Dressed all in black, hair covered by a hood pulled up, face obscured by shadow, the person stood in your way at the end of the hall. Their hand moved, and you noticed the glint of light reflecting off metal. A gun.

Sure, you were a cop, a detective, but you weren’t impervious to fear. And that was exactly what ripped through you as the intruder took a quick step forward. Then another.

“What the f—stop!” You stepped back, almost stumbling over your own feet as you backed towards your room, towards where your gun was, and away from the intruder moving towards you. “I said stop! Right where you—” 

Your words halted completely as your eyes found another figure behind the first. This one was moving faster though. 

Fuck. There were two of them in your house. You had to get your gun, and fast. You started to turn around as the second intruder caught up to the first and—

In an instant, the second person brought a hand up to the first's neck, and they both came to a halt. 

“Gotcha,”

The first intruder crumpled to the ground like a doll, and you stood in shock for a moment, staring at the man on the floor with your mouth hanging open. 

What the fuck just happened?

Your head snapped up, back to the intruder still left standing. It all happened so fast, but as you looked a little harder at the second intruder, you felt your brain short-circuiting. You… recognized him. Well, you recognized the bit of hair that was uncovered by his hat.

Pure, abject horror crept in as he held his hands up, and stepped towards you.

“Oh my fucking god.” You took a step back. You didn’t have your phone, you didn't have your gun. All you had was the short distance between you and Gojo, who was in your fucking house for some reason.

“Okay, okay, I know this looks kind of bad, but that—”

“What are you doing here?!” You cut him off, still moving backward as he kept taking tentative, almost delicate steps toward you. Like he was approaching a wounded animal with its teeth bared.

He scoffed, shoulders dropping a little. “You could say thank you. That guy was gonna kill you, you know that, right?” The light from behind reflected off of something in his hand. The same hand he’d brought the intruder down with. 

It was a fucking needle.

“Thank you? For what, breaking into my house? What are you even doing… here?” A realization settled in, and you barely breathed the word out. You almost couldn’t believe it. He said nothing, just cocked his head at you, like you were finally catching up to him.

Your eyes darted back and to the side. You could make a dash for it. Your room was right there, along with your gun and your phone. Gojo followed your eyes, and you both stood in silence, neither making the first move. 

“Sarge, let's just—” 

You lurched for your room. Launching into a sprint and pushing off the door frame to dart inside. Heavy, fast footsteps ran after you. Your fingers grazed the dresser, your gun was in reach, but a hand twisted into your shirt, and yanked you back. 

You swung around, hand flattened to hit him in the throat, but he ducked out of the way. Catching your arm and pulling you around so your back was to his chest. 

You made a fist with your free hand and slammed him in the balls with it. 

“Ngh, fuck,” He gasped and groaned and hunched behind you, grip softening on your arm, and you tried to wrench free. But Gojo was bigger than you, and apparently, he was stronger too because his hand tightened fast and a thick bicep came up around your neck, pressing hard into your windpipe. 

You fought for air, and got none as he squeezed tight and pulled you up, leaving your toes barely brushing the ground.

“Always so fucking difficult,” He rasped into your ear, breath hot as his lips brushed the shell. You clawed at his arms, scratching the fabric of his shirt, and he hissed, his arm around your neck was near crushing. “I could kill you right now, so stop fighting or I will.”

Oxygen was running out, your head was getting light and airy, but that sent a hard shiver through you.

You were right. You had been right the whole time. 

Gojo was a fucking psycho. 

And now he was going to kill you.

What you didn’t know was that Gojo was bluffing. He definitely could kill you, but he wouldn’t. And definitely not like that, with your face turned away from his. 

This was unreal, though. He knew it was bad, that he’d fucked up by letting you see his face, letting you see him at all. But you hadn’t really given him a choice; it was all because you’d come home early, so he may as well live in the moment and revel in feeling your body flush against his. His arms wrapped tight around you in a moment he’d only imagined for a long time, and here it finally was. 

“Sorry, Sarge, I didn’t want to do this.” It was a half-truth murmured in your ear as he felt you struggle and fight against him. Kicking and punching and scratching weakly until the last bit of air ran out, and your body slowly went limp as you lost consciousness in his arms. 

Gojo loosened his arm around your neck and turned your face to him. The blood vessels around your eyes had burst, and little purple specks, almost like freckles decorated the skin. It was kind of cute. You even had a little furrow to your brow, he figured that was kind of a permanent thing for you. 

“What the fuck am I gonna do with you?” He shifted an arm under your knees, and lifted you fully into his arms. Your head fell back, lips parting, and he looked over your sleeping, half-naked form as he strode back into the hall. Zenin Naoya was still in a pathetic pile on the floor.

“What a fucking mess.” Gojo grumbled, stepping over the creep in his way. 

He was right. This was a fucking mess.

The ground beneath your feet was cold, like stone or cement. Your head throbbed, and as you pried your eyes open, the vision they took in was blurred. 

You shifted, and found your arms were bound when you tried to pull them up to rub your face. It woke you the fuck up instantly, and you jerked upright. Blinking furiously to clear your eyes, your breaths started to come in shorter as you looked around yourself. You were sitting in a chair, hands tied behind the back of it. Your feet were unbound, still bare from the waist down.

Where the fuck were you?

What the fuck was going on?

“Good morning.” A familiar voice sing songed from across whatever room you were in, and your head snapped up to Gojo. You opened your mouth to speak, but barely rasped out what before you choked on it and coughed instead.

“Ah, yeah,” He chuckled, looking almost sheepish as he rubbed the back of his head. “I was kind of hoping to use the M-99, but you didn’t give me much of a choice. Sorry.” 

You lurched forward, and your wrists stung as hard plastic bit into the skin. The room around you was sterile, plastic covered every inch of the floor and walls, and soft yellowish light shone from behind the sheeting. There was a table between you and Gojo, and something was atop it.

A man.

You cleared your throat and swallowed a few times. The movement was difficult, like an impossible lump was there to block your esophagus, but you forced it down and looked Gojo in the eye again. 

His hands splayed out, palms flat on the table between you and leaning over the figure with a coy smirk. 

“What… the fuck… have you done?” You rasped out, almost choking on the words again.

“What have I done?” He echoed, cocking his head at you. “Well, for one, I saved you from this guy.” He gestured to the man on the table. He seemed to be asleep still, not moving as Gojo waved a massive hunting knife over his laid out body. “The least you could do is say thanks.” 

“Thank you?” You cried incredulously, pulling hard at the restraint around your wrists. You wrenched and fought as panic started to creep in. “You fucking psycho! You choked me out! HELP! HELP ME!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, as loud and as hard as you could with your windpipe still suffering the aftereffects of being closed off.

“Go ahead, scream your head off!” Gojo yelled back, “Nobody can hear you.” 

“Oh my god, I fucking knew it, fuck I knew it. You’re insane,” Your head hung, pulling at the ties around your wrists as you murmured more to yourself, “fuck he’s crazy.” 

It's not like you wanted to be right, but you did feel a slight twinge of satisfaction being validated. You weren’t crazy, you saw it, and you were right.

“Why did you come ba—”

“Are you going to kill me?” You cut Gojo off, and he stared open-mouthed for a long moment, contemplating. Hesitating. “Oh my god! Fuckfuckfuck, okay, you don’t have to do this, we can—”

“Just relax, I'm not going to kill you.” He waved the knife in his hand around, dismissing your panic with an annoyed eye roll. “I don’t kill innocent people, but I can't really say the same for this guy.” 

“What?” 

“Do you recognize him? You should.” Gojo took the man's head in his hand and turned his face to you. Dyed blond hair and dark brows, upturned eyes shut, sharp features and a few piercings on his left ear.

“Is that… Zenin Naoya?” 

Gojo smiled and let Naoya’s head drop back to the table. He was covered in a layer of plastic just like the room around you. Gojo strode around the table towards you, and you slumped back in the chair as he approached you, hunting knife still in hand. He crouched beside you and gestured to the wall of plastic to your right by Naoya’s feet.

“See those?” You followed the tip of his knife; there were a few photos of women, their faces bright and smiling. They all looked familiar; you’d definitely seen all of them at some point. “They were found in ditches on the outskirts of Tokyo, their heads all bashed in. Same murder weapon used in all three unsolved cases.”

Of course, they looked familiar; their faces had been up on the board in the briefing room for months. Their cases eventually grew cold, and the precinct had moved on with no leads.

“The only physical evidence we ever had was a fabric scrap found a few meters from the last body, barely even a few threads, and it never led anywhere. But,” Gojo whipped the knife back around, pointing it directly at Naoya with a wicked and satisfied grin on his face. “I found a shirt that matched it in a safe, in his apartment.” 

“Why… why not hand over the evidence?” You felt you already knew the answer to the question, but you asked it anyway.

Gojo gave you a flat look in return. “There's a few reasons for that, a couple of which you definitely already know.” He straightened up, standing tall over you. He put a hand on the back of the chair and leaned in close. “First, I didn’t obtain the shirt… legally, as you’d say. The evidence would be thrown out immediately, but you know that.” 

The tip of the huge knife pointed in your direction, Gojo dropped his head closer to yours, and your breath caught in your sore throat. “Second, Naoya has held a bit of contempt for you for a while now, guess he didn’t appreciate you putting him away on rape charges a few years ago. He’s been following you, and he was gonna act tonight if I didn’t stop him first—so you’re welcome for that.” 

“And third,” Gojo sucked his teeth, pulling the knife away and backing out of your space, towards the table behind him. “If I handed him over to the department, I wouldn’t get to kill him. Duh.” His icy blue eyes rolled like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

With a hard swallow, your mouth opened and out poured years of hostage negotiation training. “You-you’re right, but you don’t have to do this, Gojo. It’s not too late, if you just let-let me go, I’ll take Zenin in and I’ll make sure he goes away for a long time. We can do this the right way.”

“Come on, Sarge,” Gojo tipped his head to the side, amusement playing on his handsome features, glasses nowhere to be found and hair falling across his forehead. He looked so different than usual, almost sympathetic. 

“We both know that's a lie. Even if Naoya went away, it wouldn’t be for near long enough.” He twirled the knife in his hand, still looking at you as it spun in his fingers. “Sometimes, the world just needs to be cleansed of its filth.”

You opened your mouth to try again, but Gojo cut you off. “Just stop, the cop talk-down doesn’t work when the subject knows all the tricks.”

Fuck. 

You took Gojo in in full. He had on a butcher's apron over a black, long-sleeved compression shirt. Black latex gloves covered his hands. There was another table covered in plastic with a black mat atop it, and an assortment of blades gleamed, tucked neatly in each slot.

He was going to kill Naoya. With you right there.

“This isn't the first time, is it?” You asked on a breath, almost a whisper, but Gojo heard, and he shook his head with a smile.

“This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out, but I didn’t have much of a choice.” He sighed, walking back in your direction. A gloved hand came up, and your breath caught as he brushed your cheek. You jerked your head away, but he caught your chin and forced you to face him again. So close you could see each pale eyelash as his gaze flitted around your face.

“You shouldn’t have come home. If you’d just stayed at the precinct like you were supposed to, none of this would’ve happened. Too late for woulda, coulda, shoulda now though, right?”

A shiver shook through you. Incredulity twisted your features, and Gojo pouted. “Oh come on, don’t look at me like that.” 

You swallowed hard. “Like what?”

“Like I'm some kind of monster or something.” His head tilted, lip jutting out still. “I’m just doing what you and the rest of the department can’t. I’m on your side here, really.” 

“Are you looking for acknowledgement? A thank you or something?” 

He shrugged, “I wouldn’t say no to that.”

“You broke into my house and choked me out, you’re a fucking psychopath.” You spat out, glaring.

“After you punched me in the dick,” Gojo scoffed, “and I didn’t really have a choice there because you were definitely going to shoot me.”

“No shit! You broke into my house!”

“I’m not going in circles with you on this. I was there for a reason, and it’s because you can’t watch your own back for shit.” He let you go and walked back to the table where Naoya was somehow still passed out cold. 

Your head was swimming, still fuzzy from the oxygen deprivation and the impossible scene you found yourself tied up in, literally. 

There was no exit you could see, and Gojo had said no one would hear you scream. 

You were kind of fucked. All you could do was watch as Gojo pinched something close to Naoya’s face, and the man strapped to the table jolted awake with a gasp.

“What the f—”

“Shut up,” Gojo cut Naoya off, gripping his cheeks hard and bringing his face close. “You’ve been very bad, haven’t you?” Gojo practically purred in Naoya’s face. He took up the knife again and pointed it at the three photos on the wall, forcing Naoya to follow the tip of the blade. “Emiri Saito, Chieko Yamada, and Narume Kojima, look at them. You had the balls to take something from all of those girls, so have some fucking respect and look at them.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about? Who are you?” Naoya managed to get out with his face squished in Gojo's hand. “You’ve got it wrong, I-I’ve never seen any of them before!”

Gojo snorted, “You’re such a bullshitter, Naoya. I think I speak for everyone here when I say that nobody is buying that.”

Naoya seemed to register the words, and he looked around frantically, his eyes finding you quickly. 

“You,” He hissed, “You fucking bitch, you did this, didn’t you? Set me up again, you fucking cunt!”

Before you could refute or object, Gojo slapped Naoya hard. He grabbed him by the throat, squeezing tight enough to cut off air, and snarled in his face. “Watch your fucking mouth. Don’t even talk to her you fucking scum.”

Your already hammering heart kind of… skipped? 

Gojo tore his eyes off Naoya and met your gaze. The blue in his irises was brighter somehow, wide and wild and almost crazed, and your thighs squeezed together under the weight of it all. He chuckled, bearing a smile that flashed a few pearly teeth and fit with the look in his eye.

He was kind of right; what he was about to do wasn’t right, but he was doing what you couldn’t. If Naoya really was what Gojo said—a killer, taking the lives of innocent young girls after he’d violated them, maybe he kind of deserved whatever Gojo was about to do. 

You should have been more scared than you were. But you weren’t.

What the fuck was wrong with you?

“Did you like that?” Gojo asked, his voice low and rough.

Maybe.

“You’re fucking crazy.” 

It wasn’t a no, and Gojo took note of that. He saw the shift in your posture, your knees as they pressed together. 

Such a bad liar. 

He clapped his hands, looking almost giddy as he took a breath. “How exciting, I've never had an audience before. I’ll be sure to make this entertaining.” 

Entertaining was one way to put it; Gojo put on a fucking show alright.

Gojo had spent a few years in med school before joining the forensics unit at TMPD, and he was sure to flex the skills he learned on Naoya. 

He went through a few packets of smelling salts, pushing Naoya practically to the brink of death, passing out a few times before bringing him back to consciousness.

It was messier than usual. Naoya was missing a few fingers; the few he still had were mangled. Shallow stab wounds littered his torso, only where the knife would miss vital organs. Deeper cuts severed tendons and ligaments, rendering Naoya immobile even without the plastic strapping him to the table. 

The eyeball just popped right out with the optic nerve still intact; he pulled until it snapped. Naoya screamed and screamed like a little bitch and passed out again. He was still out cold, and Gojo had yet to wake him up again.

The blood was glorious. They were both covered; it dripped from Gojo’s hair, down his face, and back onto Naoya in a cycle of sorts, then to the floor to pool with the rest. 

Naoya wouldn’t last much longer; it was time to finish this. Gojo tore his eyes off Naoya to look at you. 

He thought you might have been sickened by it all, and you definitely looked like you might literally be sick a couple of times, but you held out. You looked away a few times and winced when you heard a bone crunch and a pathetic cry choke out.

“How should I do it? Stab to the heart, slit his throat, sever the carotid artery and let him bleed out slowly? Ooh, I could cut his head off, but I did that with that last one.”

“Why would you do all of this?” You asked, your voice sounded weak and small. It didn’t even sound like you, and his smile fell.

“Because Naoya deserves to suffer. You know what happened to those girls,” He gestured to the photos with the bloodied knife, and his expression went cold. “He would’ve done the same to you, and I couldn’t let that happen.” Just the thought of it made him want to drive the knife home right then, but he held out. He’d need to wake Naoya up first.

“Don’t you see? All of this,” He gestured around himself, down at Naoya still out cold. “It’s all because of you, to keep you safe from scum like him.”

“What happened to this being about your fucked up sense of justice for those girls? Don’t pin this on me.” You snapped, and Gojo’s smile returned. 

That's more like it.

“I’m not blaming you. Naoya would’ve ended up here regardless of whether he went after you or not. But he did, and I’m feeling quite passionate because of it.” 

Your eyes widened a fraction, like you were just now realizing the extent of things. The things he would do for you, like you hadn’t just witnessed it all.

Gojo cracked a fresh pack of salts and held it to Naoya’s face. “Wake up, asshole, we’re not done yet.” The man startled and whimpered as consciousness returned, and he felt the full extent of his wounds all over again.

“What do you think, sweetheart? Should I put him out of his misery?” Gojo cocked his head, and Naoya glanced at you with one remaining eye. 

He started to gurgle, “Fuck y—” The words cut off abruptly as the blade in Gojo’s hand carved through his throat with a roar.

“I told you not to fucking talk to her!” Fresh crimson spattered his face from the slit gaping wide on Naoya’s neck. 

Gojo looked like a fallen angel, something horrifically biblical and cast from heaven as he heaved ragged breaths. Rage twisted his face, his eyes wide and the whites and blues burned bright against the deep, bloody red that splattered the rest of his face.

He groaned a low, “Fuck.” And ran a hand through his hair, streaking the stark white strands a bright red. He looked up from Naoya’s lifeless body to you, and your breath caught. 

Still holding the knife and covered in Zenin Naoya's warm blood, Gojo stepped around the table and walked to you. You shook from the cold and something deep in your gut, like fear, swallowing hard as your head tilted back to look at Gojo.

He grabbed the back of the chair and tipped you backward. Your bare feet left the ground as Gojo loomed over you, his face close enough that you felt the heat of his breath on your lips, saw the individual specks of blood that decorated his face like freckles.

“I’d do anything, fucking anything for you. You understand that now, right?” 

Your mouth opened to respond, but no words could make it up and out of your throat because warm lips wet with fresh blood pressed hard to yours. 

You didn’t move. You couldn't move. 

You had been trained to deal with hostage situations and knew what to do in theory if you were ever in one yourself, but nothing could have prepared you for something like this. 

What the fuck were you supposed to do when your captor kissed you?

Probably not kiss them back. Right?

Blame it on adrenaline, the numbness of watching someone be tortured and killed, and maybe a few brain cells dying thanks to the headlock Gojo himself had you in a few hours ago, but his mouth on yours didn’t feel terrible. 

It felt kind of… good?

Gojo was a psychopath. A confirmed killer. As a cop, you should have been thinking of any way to get out and get him detained, bring him to justice.

But as a captive, and the object of his twisted, fucked up affection…

I’d do anything for you.

Your lips parted, and you kissed him back.

What the fuck else could you do here, really? You really hated it, but you’d always found him attractive. Even being covered in blood and holding a knife didn’t detract from that.

In a perverse way, it was kind of flattering. Horrifying, of course, but maybe you’d been desensitized to all this shit from so many years of investigating brutal murders, seeing the bodies yourself, because what Gojo had done right before your eyes didn’t make you as sick as it should have.

He was right. Naoya was scum. And now he was gone, and Gojo did it for you. It was wrong and illegal, so fucking illegal, but he’d done what you and the law couldn’t. Served up justice with a blade, and now Zenin Naoya would never hurt another girl again, and that was certain.

Fuck. You should really stretch before doing mental gymnastics. Maybe you could blame it on Stockholm syndrome, too.

The taste of pennies and something sweet like vanilla hit your tongue as it met Gojo’s. A slick, gloved hand gripped your thigh, the knife pressed flat to your skin under his wide palm. It was still warm, too.

Gojo almost couldn't believe it. It was impulsive, the high of a fresh kill left him up in the clouds, and there you were, tied up and half naked and wide-eyed, and he just did it. Kissed you without expecting anything in return because he couldn’t stop himself.

But you were kissing him back. 

He’d shown you the deepest, darkest part of him and expected disgust in return. Not… this.

Maybe you were more fucked up than he thought. 

You still trembled a little, but you didn’t pull away as his hand glided up on your thigh, streaking blood on your skin. Blood he spilled for you. 

Gojo pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, to see the blood smeared on your lips. “You liked it, didn’t you, sweetheart?” You shook your head, but you were squirming in your seat. “Don’t even try to fucking lie to me.”

“What are you going to do to me, Gojo?” It came out breathless, pitched, and almost desperate, like you were thinking of all the things he could do to you, that you couldn’t stop him from doing.

He laughed and tilted his head a little, “What do you want me to do to you, sergeant?” 

“I-I don’t…” You trailed off, your eyes flitting away for a moment. Gojo dropped his head, and your nose brushed his. He pulled his hand from your leg, and the tip of the knife caught the hem of your shirt.

“Tell me when to stop, I might.” He smirked, and slowly lifted the blade in hand, pulling your shirt up with it. You looked panicked as your shirt went up over your panties, cute and black with a pretty lace trim. But you said nothing, just breathing hard and fast with eyes impossibly wide as he exposed more of your stomach.

What were you doing? You should say it, say stop and hope to god that Gojo would. But you didn’t. You said nothing as the tip of that huge knife dragged lightly over your sternum, up between your breasts, staring silently at Gojo as his eyes lowered.

Cold air hit your breasts, your nipples pebbled with the cotton barrier removed, and you finally spoke. 

“Let me go.” You whispered, but it wasn’t stop, and Gojo looked you in the eye again.

“You know I can’t do that.” The knife halted close to your neck, the blade pressed to your skin just under the collar of your shirt. “Tell me what you really want, and don’t lie this time.”

You stayed silent, lips pressed together almost as hard as your thighs were. 

What the fuck was wrong with you? Your body was committing the ultimate betrayal; heat was pooling low in your gut despite how you shivered against the cold. It had been a while since you’d had time for a relationship or even just a hookup, and Gojo had just lit up something that demanded satisfaction after being long ignored.

Why now? 

Was your own sex drive going to be the thing that got you killed?

Gojo let the back of the chair go, and the feet slammed to the floor with a bang that made your teeth clack. He flipped the knife around fast, and the blade tore through your shirt with a loud rip. 

You inhaled a sharp gasp, and Gojo chucked quietly. “Oops, I slipped.” 

He was always like that. A teasing little shit, and it always irked you, and the irritation broke you from the silence you’d been holding. “Are you a fucking animal? Why not just take it off?!” 

Gojo seemed a little taken aback by the outburst; you were too actually. But he recovered quickly and scoffed, lifting a pale brow. “Well, you didn’t tell me to take it off. Don’t get pissy because you’re too chicken shit to say what you want.” 

The knife dragged down your stomach, leaving a thin red trail in its wake. Stopping only once he reached the waistband of your panties, the tip hooked in and caught the lace. 

“Should I cut these off too? Or will you use words like a big girl?” 

“Fuck you.” 

Gojo gripped your face with his free hand, and he sneered. “Watch it. I like you, but don’t push your luck here.” He was close enough again that his lips brushed yours as he whispered the next words that sent a fresh jolt of lightning up your spine. “You’ve seen what I do when I’m pissed off, so be careful, sweetheart.”

He kissed you again, still holding your face in place as his tongue pushed into your mouth. It must have stolen rational thinking from you, because you kissed him back again instead of biting his tongue like you probably should have.

Gojo’s hand left your face, but you didn’t take the opportunity to turn away. No, for some reason, you angled your head, leaning into it more and more. It felt too good for the situation you were in, but maybe that was what made it impossible to pull away from. The electricity that sparked with each flick of his tongue against yours, the danger that lurked in his lips, so pretty and warm and nice sliding against yours with little chu’s.

Something cold and hard pressed to your temple, and clicked. Gojo smiled against your mouth. You knew the sound well, and your eyes flew open with a gasp, breaking the kiss.

“Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me how badly you want me to fuck you, or I’ll pull the trigger and do it anyway.”

“Oh my god, what the fuck is wrong with you?” You whimpered, and only received the cold steel of the barrel of your own gun pushing into your temple harder, and a manic grin in return.

“A lot, you should’ve realized that by now. Say what you want, don’t think I won't do it.”

He was still covered in the blood of a man he’d brutally killed right in front of you; you had no doubt he’d pull the trigger.

Fear filled your wide eyes, glassy with unspilled tears you were holding back. It looked so good on you. He wanted you to shake and cry and beg almost as much as he wanted you to admit the truth. 

Gojo usually just dealt with the body and grabbed a sweet treat after dispatching a killer, but he had the feeling you’d taste better than any dessert. 

Your eyes darted from his, to the gun in your periphery, wide and panicked. Your chest rose and fell fast. You were struggling, trembling, and overwhelmed by the shift and thinking your life hung by a thread, easily severed by one little twitch of his finger.

He wouldn’t do it like that, though. Not with a bullet to your head, that was so impersonal, and not his style.

You hated this feeling. Fearing for your life and for some reason still not pulling away from the person threatening it. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before; your skin burned hot despite the cold with your shirt bisected and hanging open. The gusset of your panties was slick and sticky, and you kept your legs squeezed shut to keep it hidden.

Had you ever thought about Gojo like that before? Maybe …yes. 

Were you thinking about his hands on your body, what his cock was like, and what it would feel like if he fucked you right now? That was a shameful maybe. 

Would you ever admit that without your life on the line? Probably not.

But it was. Gojo literally had a gun to your head. You had to say it, right?

You took a deep, shaky breath and swallowed. “You’re fucking crazy, Gojo. But I-I want you.”

Something like surprise flickered in his eyes, almost like he hadn’t expected you to actually say it. But you didn’t get a moment to analyze it. Gojo slammed his lips to yours. It was bruising and desperate, and the barrel dropped from your temple, dragging cool steel down the side of your face, down your neck to press up under your jaw.

You probably would have done it anyway, but he forced your chin up and your head to tilt, deepening the kiss you could already barely breathe around.

The knife at your hip moved, and you heard another rip.

You groaned into Gojo’s mouth and pulled back a little. “What the fuck, I said—”

“I felt like it.” He murmured, cutting you off and putting his lips back on yours. The knife clattered on the ground, and Gojo’s fingers curled into the waistband of your panties and yanked. They tore like fucking paper and left you exposed.

He pulled the gun away from your jaw and used both hands to pull your legs apart. You didn’t fight it. Your mind was melted and spinning, and you didn’t even try to close your legs when two fingers glided along your slit. Gojo swallowed the moan that spilled from your lips, then pulled his tongue from your mouth and broke the kiss. A lewd, pinkish string of saliva still connected your wet lips to his.

“Were you this wet when you denied liking getting to watch me kill Naoya? Bet you were, a liar and a slut.” He tsk’d and slid two thick fingers still wrapped in slickened latex, into your cunt, watching closely as your face contorted. 

Your brows turned up, lips parting a little as a quiet “Ohh,” escaped. 

Fear looked good on you, but that was the face Gojo had been dying to see. The one you made as he fucked you nice and slow on his hand. Savoring the sounds that spilled from your lips every time he pushed in deep and the way you gripped around him when he curled his fingers. 

Gojo kept going until he finally hit a spot and pressed up, and you gasped, legs trying to clamp shut around his hand. He didn’t bother forcing them back open; he just put the muzzle of the gun under your chin again, and your eyes went wide. He didn’t miss the way your cunt twitched and pulsed with your own gun put to your head.

“Ah, keep them open.” You obeyed, legs falling open again. You bit your lip and let your chin be pushed up when he nudged with the muzzle. Gojo pressed his cheek to yours, letting his lips brush your ear as he spoke. “I've never seen you like this, so obedient. I didn't even think you could go thirty seconds without barking at me like a bitch.”

Your vision unfocused, and your eyes almost rolled as Gojo pulled his hand back, and pushed back inside with a third thick digit. The muzzle pushed your head up again, and you felt Gojo’s teeth on the side of your face as he smiled.

“You like this though, don't you? Like being held on the firing end of your own loaded service weapon with the safety off?” 

A whimper left your mouth, and you barely registered the feeling of steel dragging down your chest over Gojo nipping at your ear. Your mind was splintering a little more with every thrust of three fingers into your cunt that seemed to get faster. 

So suddenly, you almost choked on the spit pooling in your mouth. Gojo's hand pulled away, and cold metal pushed into you instead. Your legs closed on instinct, and Gojo’s now free hand pulled them open again. 

“Tch, if I want to fuck you with this thing, I will.” His tongue traced the shell of your ear. The cold muzzle glided through your folds easily with the slick still drooling from your hole. “Would you like that? Would you scream and cry and shake and come all over it like a slut?” 

The cold, thick barrel barely pushed inside. It felt perverse. The metal felt wrong, unforgiving and alien, and so fucking wrong. 

Dehumanizing, you felt like something was being stripped from you with each centimeter of your own service weapon that your cunt was forced to stretch around. Tears that had been held back up until that point broke free and spilled over. 

Your own body was betraying you again. Your rational mind knew you should object, knew that you should have tried to stop all of this before it got out of hand. 

But you didn’t. And now you were getting fucked with your own gun by a killer still coated in the blood of his latest kill, the one he did for you, and it felt wrong but not bad, and that fact splintered the rest of your mind. 

You were supposed to be able to deal with situations like this, ones where your life was on the line and it was you and your experienced mind versus whatever crazy had decided to take you on.

But Gojo was different. He wasn't just another crazy. He was smart and calculating and psychotic. He'd planned for this, all while you should have seen it coming, but didn't. 

You knew there was something wrong with him, but you never saw him coming. And now, you were trembling, biting your lip hard to keep a pathetic noise in your throat as the last few centimeters of cold steel were shoved inside you. 

The tears streamed down your flushed cheeks, burning from shame at the way your hips shifted around with the barrel stilled inside you. 

“I've never seen you cry before,” Gojo marveled as he looked you over. “You're even prettier than I had imagined.” You hated the way you leaned into his palm as he cupped your face and brushed a thumb through the wet tracks. 

His voice was sweet like saccharine honey and at complete odds with how he pulled the barrel out halfway and pushed back in. “Be good and make lots of noise when I make you come, sweetheart. I've been dying to hear what you sound like.” 

You could feel every cold ridge and edge of the barrel as it dragged slowly in and out, so deep that the trigger guard pushed into your clit and made you jolt. It felt purposeful, like Gojo wanted you to feel every little bit of it, wanted you to sit and squirm and take it as he fucked you with the most deadly inanimate object a person could encounter.

Your face was something Gojo had never even imagined. Better than anything his own mind could've created. Contorted in pleasure and fighting it hard. Cheeks flushed a deep red, lashes wet and clumped together as more tears spilled. Like you hated that you liked it, maybe even loved the way it felt. 

He was torn. Watching you twitch and jerk and fight your own body from doing what it really wanted was beautiful, and he didn't want to stop until you couldn't hold it back any longer. He didn't want to stop until you broke by his hand and gushed around the cold steel barrel.

But on the other hand, he wanted to feel it himself. He doubted you'd object, you'd probably welcome the replacement of cold metal—that was probably still shockingly cold compared to how hot your cunt was—with his dick. 

But the desire to watch you fall apart and shatter first outweighed the need to stick his dick in you. Just barely.

Your lip trembled, your eyes were far off somewhere else and glassy, darting around the room behind Gojo. They landed on something and went round, your breath caught, and you hiccuped. You looked at Gojo again, fear and pleading in your blown pupils.

“P-please,” Your voice cracked on the word. He had never seen or heard you like that, never thought you even could beg or whine like that.

He brushed your cheek again with a thumb, wiping the fresh wetness that fell. “Please what, sweetheart?” He never stopped the movement of his hand, still savoring the way he could feel your cunt gripping the barrel. 

You whimpered, “Please, fuck, I-I can't—I can't… fuck,” You couldn’t even finish the sentence, biting down on your quivering lip. You were writhing, chest heaving, and he finally realized that…

You were about to come, and you hated it. 

“You can, just stop fighting it.” He pulled your lip from between your teeth with his thumb.

He tore his eyes off your mouth, still stained red, looking like you’d been wearing lipstick before he came and fucked it up. 

“Give in to me, I promise you'll feel so fucking good. I'll make sure of it.” Gojo’s lips brushed yours, not a kiss, not yet. He had to hear you say it. Say yes and let go, let him make you see stars and forget how fucking wrong what you were doing was, and just give in to how right it felt. 

You were right there, dangling on the precipice of breaking. Your eyes glazed, lashed fluttering as you held his gaze and whispered his name. 

“Gojo, please.” The sound of you begging, pleading him. Uttering his name like some kind of broken prayer that could save you from what was happening, what was about to happen. 

It was so unbelievably easy, you made it so easy. Just dripping slick arousal and the barrel slid through your cunt. It was a mess. You were a mess, and the sounds of your pussy squelching and sucking the barrel back inside were obscene.

Your jaw dropped a little more but no sound came out, and Gojo sent the command into your open mouth. “Do it,” 

Your body tensed, he felt it. Your eyes started to roll, losing focus and your legs shook. You were still fighting it. 

“I’d do anything for you, I'd fucking kill for you, so come for me.” Gojo gripped the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair. Your glassy eyes were on his, the look that bore through him was there but it was like you were finally seeing behind the curtain. His lips were on yours as he poured the words he’d held back for years right into your mouth. 

“Just give in, let me break you. I’ll be yours forever."

Legs shaking, your hips lifted. Spine arching into a bow, chest pushed up and your head dropped back into his hand. Looking like a fucking angel in a tattered black t-shirt as you finally let go. A pretty moan spilled right into Gojo’s mouth as the tether holding restraint snapped, and you broke.

Wrong. It was wrong how disgustingly good it felt. The heat that coiled and tightened and wrapped through your entire body finally freed, you heard the sounds that came from your own mouth and almost couldn’t believe it. Guttural and unrestrained, your wrists stinging as sharp plastic bit into your skin and drew blood with every shift and pull. 

Gojo kissed you again and you let him in without a fight. Still tasting of warm metal, like sucking on coins after being held in hand. It was filthy. Tasting the blood of one man while you were kissing another. Your walls pulsed and gripped around the barrel as Gojo fucked you through the mind melting orgasm, pulling your hair and holding your head back to him as you saw stars and felt them bursting through you.

The last waves shuddered through and you twitched as he pulled the barrel out and left you empty. Breaking from your mouth with another filthy string of saliva tying you together.

He bought the slick coated barrel up to his face, holding it upside down, pinky resting on the trigger. Safety off, hammer cocked. One slip of that finger, and you’d have been bleeding out. 

It shouldn't have been so hot. You shouldn’t have shivered at the sight of Gojo, blood streaked in his hair and spattered on his face, sticking his tongue out to lick the full length of the barrel. Pale lashes fluttered, moaning as he tasted you on the steel. 

“I’d love to let you hold it while I suck this thing clean,” Gojo waved your gun and winked, “But I get the feeling you’d pull the trigger if I did.” His tongue glided up the barrel again and flicked over the muzzle.

You swallowed hard, and countered with, “Take the bullets out then.”

He seemed to contemplate it, head tipping to the side as he tapped the muzzle to his lips. “Hmm, but I’d have to cut those straps.”

“Is that a bad thing? I could touch you, don’t you want me to?” You bit your lip, angling your head a little with the doe-iest eyes you could summon. Gojo’s jaw clenched, gaze growing heavy under thick, pale lashes. It only lasted a moment before he licked his teeth and a wicked smile spread in its stead.

“Think you’re smart? Sorry, sweetheart, that won’t work.”

“I want to touch you, Gojo.” You pouted, it wasn't a complete lie. 

“Satoru,” He corrected, gently but firmly. “We’re past formalities now, don’t you think?” 

You pulled forward, as far as you could with your arms behind the chair, bringing your face closer to him. “Let me touch you, Satoru.”

Fuck. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.

So pretty, and catching onto the fact that you could ask just about anything of him and he’d do it. You looked like a trap, like the moment he took the bait, steel would clamp around his hand. 

Gojo knew restraint, he could wait and be patient and bide time. But he had limits. That bait was you, squirming around barely covered by that bisected shirt, thighs glistening and slick. Eyes wide and pleading and fucking needy. Looking at him like you needed him.

“You’re not getting the gun, loaded or not.” Gojo straightened, stepping around the chair to stand behind you. He grabbed your chin, tilting your head back to look up at him. “Try anything, and my finger might slip.” 

Acknowledgement came in a slow nod, lip caught between your teeth. Gojo lowered his face to yours, pulling your lip free with his thumb. “Very good, remember that, sweetheart. I’d hate to do it, but I won't hesitate to snuff you out.”

Gojo kept the gun in hand as he snapped the bloodied zip tie around your wrists, breaking the plastic at its weak point and your shoulders sagged as your arms were freed. He straightened again and watched you closely as you rubbed your wrists. 

You were free, you could run right now. Instinct made you itch to leap to your feet and dash for the closest exit. 

Too bad you had no idea where that was, and Gojo would catch you before you could figure that out for yourself. 

Looking around, you saw the knife near your feet. If you lunged for it, you’d get a bullet to the head. 

Gojo could see the gears turning in your head. But you were fucked here. Even if you got out you'd be running into practically the middle of nowhere being on the far outskirts of Tokyo. 

He pulled the tie on the butchers apron free and tossed it aside, moving to stand in front of you again. You lifted your eyes to his, hands in your lap and idle.

“Stand up,” 

You definitely weren’t running anywhere, your legs still trembled a little as you rose to your feet. You took a tentative step forward, bringing yourself close enough to feel the heat of Gojo's body through the clingy black shirt. Eyes trained on his, you reached out with one hand to glide over his wide chest, and down.

A sigh left his pretty, full lips as your fingers curled into the waistband of his dark pants. His shirt had ridden up a little and you could see the lines that curved along his hips and dove down, your fingers brushed through a trail of soft hair, bright white just like the mess of it on his head. He tensed when you touched him, biceps flexing, but he didn’t stop you. 

Silently, you lowered to the ground. Your knees hit the hard ground and plastic crinkled quietly. The only other sound was heavy breathing as both hands moved to pop the button on his pants open.

Gojo took your chin in his gloved hand and lifted your face up to him. “Is this what you want?”

Your lip caught again and you hummed. “Mhm,”

Gojo pulled it free again, and slipped his thumb past your teeth, into your mouth to press down on your tongue. “No biting.” He winked. You nodded, opening the closure on his pants. The knife was just to the left of your leg, it was in reach, but the second you moved you’d get a bullet to the head. 

Distract him.

That’s all it was. The saliva pooling in your mouth, the slick dripping down your thighs. You ignored that. Ignored how wet you were getting and how heat coursed through you as you pulled his boxers low and freed his cock.

Of course it was pretty too. Pale with a little curve, blushing tip beading pre-cum from the slit. Long and thick enough that you could just wrap your hand around the base because of course he’d have a big dick too. 

It was always the fucking nerds.

Gojo jolted a little and a pitched noise like a whine caught in his throat as your hand twisted up the length of his cock, and your thumb brushed his tip. Spreading the pre-cum that just kept leaking.

His thumb left your mouth, gliding over your lips, wetting them with your own spit.

“Want me to be gentle, sweetheart? Or should I fuck your face?” He asked, breathless and cheeks already flushing pink under the spatters of crimson.

You shook your head, pumping his cock slowly. “I don’t want gentle, Satoru.” 

He slapped you. Hard. Your head snapped to the side and you choked on a gasp as your cheek started to sting.

You said it. So he was going to deliver. 

His hand tingled from the impact and his cock throbbed as he watched you recover from shock. Taking your chin in hand again, he gripped hard and turned you back to face him.

Your body was as masochistic as Gojo was sadistic and your cunt drooled, the heat on your cheek from the slap was everywhere else too. 

He did it again, palm flat as it connected to the same cheek just as hard and your head snapped to the side with a little less force. Like you’d prepared for it that time. Your jaw clenched but it didn’t stop the whimper from coming out. Your thighs shook and rubbed together, sliding easily with the slick that smeared. 

Gojo almost did it again when you lifted your face to him all on your own. But the look you gave him made him falter a little. Brows turned up, lips glossy and parted, bright red deepening on your cheek, and your eyes. Fuck. The need in your eyes almost brought him to his knees. Tears gathered and ready to spill, about to fucking cry all over again. 

He wanted those tears to fall when you choked on his cock.

“What a slut.” He crooned as your lip trembled, “Remember, sweetheart. Bite me, and I’ll put one between your eyes and keep going till I come.” 

Looking horribly angelic with a smile that was pure and sweet, Gojo spewed vile filth that made your heart kick at your ribcage, and your core flood with heat.

Wrong. There was something seriously wrong with you. Because you nodded and, and opened your mouth wide.

His fingers thread into your hair, holding tight but he didn't pull or guide you, just held as you licked the drip of pre-cum off the tip of his cock. Tasting salt and sweetness on your tongue. He sucked a sharp breath in through clenched teeth as your lips closed around him. 

The sounds he made were pretty and pornographic and matched the look on his face as your lips stretched around the thickness and he hit the back of your throat. Pulling back, your tongue traced a prominent vein along the underside and he moaned again. Pale brows knit together, the baby blue of his irises rendered to a thin ring with the wide black of blown out pupils. 

You couldn’t help but think he looked so pretty like that. With his lip caught in his teeth, blood streaked his brilliantly white hair pink, pieces of it fell into his face, across his eyes and framing his face.

I’d do anything for you.

I’ll put one between your eyes and keep going till I come.

It was a shame he was such a nut.

Your eyes went wide and you choked as he tightened the hand in your hair and thrust into your mouth, shoving almost all the way in. He groaned deep in his throat and his cock pulsed in yours. Tears pricked your eyes and fell as you blinked. 

The hand in your hair held your head in place as he started to fuck your throat. Your eyes rolled, hand dropping away to your side as control was taken from you. “Like that, huh? Fuck, you’re so filthy. Such a—mnnh—such a slut.” 

It went right to your aching cunt, pulsing around nothing. Throbbing with Gojo’s cock hitting deep in your throat, forcing you wide open to him as he held your head and fucked your face. Drool dripped down your chin, so much it trailed down your neck in lewd streaks.

Your mind was splintering again as your nose buried in the soft, fluffy hair. Lashes fluttering as your eyes rolled and you gagged. 

“Ohh my fucking god,” Gojo moaned loud, his head flew back and your objective snapped back into place. You moved, reaching to your left and your fingers closed around the handle of the huge hunting knife.

Gojo’s grip tightened, your scalp stung. 

The tip of the knife barely pushed into his side before steel pressed to your temple again.

“Gotcha,”

Fuck. 

The blade pricked and cut into his side, the tip of it broke skin and was pushing in between his ribs. You gave him a weak glare, throat tight and still choking on his cock with the muzzle of your gun to your temple.

He was close already, balls tight and abs clenched to hold himself back. But that sight alone pushed him right over the edge. 

He grunted a “Fuck,” and his hips stuttered. Your eyes went wide and you blinked furiously as his cock kicked in your mouth, and he spilled hot cum down your throat. “Don’t—ngh—don’t fucking look at me like—ugh—like that,” He muttered through clenched teeth, shoulders drooping and panting.

“Think you’re sneaky, huh?” He asked, catching his breath as he pulled your face away. You gasped for air and coughed when his cock pulled from your throat. Holding the knife that cut into his ribs. He held the gun to your head as you recovered. “Saw that one coming the second you got on your knees, sweetheart.” 

“Fuck… you,” You choked out with a glare.

Gojo gripped your arm and hauled you up to your feet. The knife pulled from its spot between his ribs and moved to his throat quickly, blade pressed to a critical vein. The muzzle of the gun went under your chin. 

He held your naked body to his, his face amused as he asked, “So, what now?” 

You searched his face, lips puffy and glossed with spit. Your cheek still bright red from the slaps. 

You lurched forward, and kissed Gojo, lips pressing to his hard.

It caught him a bit off guard, but he got his shit together quick and wrapped an arm around your waist. Your head tipped and your arm went over his shoulder, fingers threading up through his hair. The other still holding the blade to his neck. 

The muzzle of your gun stayed pressed to your temple as Gojo walked you backwards until you hit a wall covered in plastic. Your mouths clashed, short breaths hot and mingling together as your tongues tangled and slid together. 

He pinned you to the wall with his body, hard chest pressed to yours. 

Gojo lifted his face away and pulled the latex glove off his free hand with his teeth, tossing it to the floor. His mouth found yours again and he gripped and squeezed along your body. Your spine arched, pushing your breast into his bare hand as he pinched and rolled your nipple. 

You moaned into his mouth. His hips pushed forward, to you. Cock already hard again and pressed to your stomach. 

Wrong. So, so wrong. How badly you wanted it. How twisted and dangerous and fucking hot it was with a gun to your head and a blade to his throat. 

Maybe you were a nut too.

Gojo slid his hand down to your thigh, lifting your leg to the side. You pushed up on your toes to get yourself a little closer to his height.

“Say it,” He murmured to you. 

You were aching, doing everything but begging for it at that point. 

“Fuck me,” It was a whisper of a plea into Gojo’s mouth and it made him smile. That you’d finally admit it, admit that you wanted him. For real this time. The cards were all out in the open, no sneaky blade was about to stab into his vitals because it was already at his throat. 

“Anything you want,” He glanced between you, “Give me a hand, sweetheart. Mine are a little full,” He tapped the muzzle to your temple lightly with a smirk.

The hand in his hair dropped, gliding over his broad shoulder. Down his chest, you felt every line and dip and defined muscle of his abs. Your eyes lowered to follow to trail down, and you gripped his cock. He took a sharp breath, eyes trained on your face as you bit your lip and slid the tip of his cock through your folds. 

Long fingers dug into your thigh, gripping hard as you lined him up to your drooling hole. The heat of your cunt was driving him fucking crazy, and he wasn’t even inside you yet. 

You looked up again, lip in your teeth, and he drove his hips up. 

Your face contorted, nose scrunching as your pussy struggled to take the thick intrusion. The blade at his throat trembled as you cried out, clenching around Gojo’s cock as he pushed halfway in and stilled. 

Fuck. You were so fucking tight.

He’d imagined something like this before, but nothing, not the vision his head fed him to pump his cock to, no other person, nothing could ever come close to being buried in you.

Gasping for air, gripping his shoulder and bunching the fabric of his shirt in your fist as you trembled on his cock. Stilled halfway in, every little twitch and pulse of your cunt made his breath come short. 

“Fuck…” You whimpered as his lips touched yours again. “Gojo, I can’t—”

“Satoru,” He reminded, “I’m literally inside you, sweetheart.” He groaned and pushed into you deeper, “You can take it all, right? Make it fit like a good girl, yeah?” 

You whined, shaking on tip toes. “Don’t fucking call me that,” 

“Want me to call you a slut instead?” He grinned, breathing hard and pulling out to shove back in deeper. “What if I called you mine?”

You shut him up with another kiss. He licked into your mouth like a claim, branding you with his hot tongue and his cock buried so deep it felt like he was in your guts already. The stretch burned and took your breath, pain and adrenaline made it melt into pleasure that you craved more of.

Fucking into you steadily, you felt every vein that dragged through your walls. The angle had him push into a sweet spot on every thrust into you. 

Moans and heavy breathing and obscene squelching echoed off the plastic as he fucked you up against the wall, holding you open to him with the muzzle still pressed to your head.

“You’re mine, you understand that now, right?” Gojo murmured to you, “You’ve always belonged to me, now I'm just taking what’s mine.”

He nipped your lip, dragging his mouth over yours as he pinned you to the wall and bottomed out with one hard thrust. “Say it.”

Fucked. That’s what you were. So unbelievably fucked.

You looked him in the eye as you breathed the words out. 

“I’m yours,” 

It didn’t feel like a lie. It felt like you belonged to him. Gojo killed for you, why didn’t that scare you more? Make you want to run from him and the claim he’d seemed to set on you long before this.

The gun dropped from your head and clattered to the ground. You had leverage now, he was giving up control and power and you could do it, tell him to stop and use this to get out.

But you didn’t.

You dropped the knife, threw your arms around his neck, let him pick you up with both hands, and kissed him.

Gojo carried you across the room and set you down on the table that held Zenin Naoya’s lifeless body. He broke the kiss, still buried inside you, and turned your head to face the corpse. You shut your eyes against the sight of it.

Gojo’s lips brushed your jaw as he spoke, his voice was raw and low. “Look. He’ll never hurt another girl again, and it’s because of you. Because I’d do anything for you.” Gojo turned you to look at him again. “I belong to you, too. Every fucked up part of me is yours.” 

He looked as raw as he sounded. Eyes wide and vulnerable like he was bearing his soul to you, and you nodded. You didn’t agree with the method, but you understood.

Too many times you’d felt you weren’t enough, like you were failing the people you swore to serve and protect. Gojo had done the same, and he was doing it in a way that made certain the monsters that roamed free would never harm again.

You were always into the vigilante thing, you guessed. It was pretty hot. Maybe Gojo would wear spandex and a mask too.

The thought made you laugh a little and you cupped his face with both hands. “You’re a fucking psycho. Take your shirt off, this feels unfair.”

Gojo grinned, wide and wicked and so pretty it wasn’t fair. “I’m crazy for you, sweetheart. Anything you want.” He pulled the tight black shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. 

That wasn’t fair. 

You always thought it weird that a nerd holed up in a lab all day would be so jacked, and now you understood why. You eyed him without shame, just as you always did. Lingering on his broad chest, gaze sliding down the ripples of his abs. There was a bloody cut on his oblique from where the knife had dug in.

Oops.

“Fuck me,” He was still buried inside you, but you said it anyways. And Gojo obliged.

He spread your legs open with both hands, and held tight as he thrust hard into you. He split you open on his cock, panting into your mouth and staring with lidded eyes into yours as he slammed in balls deep. 

Your head flew back and a guttural sound came from deep in your chest. The pace he set was brutal, like he’d held something back before and it was snapped free now. A sound like a growl rumbled in his throat, teeth raking down your jaw, over your throat and he latched on to the skin. 

He sucked and bit and bullied into you. Pushing your legs wider as he angled his hips up to push into a spot that made your head spin. Stars glittered across your vision and your nails dug into skin as you gripped his shoulders. 

The pain didn’t bother him one bit. He reveled in it, savoring the sting of your nails breaking skin. He bit harder and moaned against your throat. The table rocked with every hard thrust. 

He never wanted it to end, your cunt gripped and pulsed around his cock, greedy as fuck and sucking him in. Wet and loud and hot, what heaven might feel like. Your pussy was better, and he’d never even get to see the gates to compare.

Gojo rocked into you, sliding in deep and whining around your throat as the tip of his cock ground against your cervix. You cried out, cunt fluttering around him. Your legs shaking in his grip, spine bowing to push your chest up to him.

It was perfect. You were perfect.

He wanted to ruin you, break you just to put you back together and do it all over again. 

Heat coiled through you, wrapping through your insides like a white hot wire that burned anything it touched. Every drag of his thick cock through your walls sparked more and you clawed at Gojo’s shoulders, keening as you clung to him.

You were so lost in everything you didn’t even notice his hand move until his thumb pressed to your clit and your eyes rolled.

“Oh my god, f-fuck!” Your body locked up, shuddering as he toyed your clit, pressing mean circles on the sensitive bud.

Your cunt gripped tight, like you were trying to slow him, but Gojo was relentless, never slowing even as his abs clenched. He pressed his forehead to yours, both slick with sweat.

“Let go, come for me sweetheart, I want to feel it.” 

Another shudder wracked through you, and the wire snapped free. Your jaw dropped in a silent cry, your cunt pulsed and gushed around Gojo’s cock. Warm slick flooded and dripped as he hammered into you. Thumb wet and slipping as you twitched with every messy circle he kept rubbing, drawing out your orgasm until his balls tightened.

“Gonna come in you. You’re mine so I’m fuckin’ fill you up.” It wasn’t even a question, you wanted it just as bad as he did. As if you’d go through all of that just for him to fucking pull out.

He threw his head back and moaned. A pretty sound, almost as pretty as the sight, the column of his throat exposed. He gripped the plush of your thigh hard, buried to hilt in your still twitching cunt, and the ache in his cock finally released.

You felt the kick deep as he shuddered, hips stuttering as he spilled. Spurts of hot cum coated your walls. He didn’t stop, head falling forward again and whining as he fucked it all deeper into you. You keened and jerked on every short, sloppy thrust. Sweat dripped down your neck and your body felt beyond spent. 

Finally Gojo stilled, both of you caught your breath a little before he kissed you again. Softer, less urgent with the tension released. He pulled back and murmured against your mouth, cupping your face and brushing his thumb over your cheekbone.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Don’t be mad when you wake up.” 

Something pricked your neck and you jerked back, eyes going wide. “What the fu…” You couldn’t even finish the sentence before the syringe of M-99 he pulled from his back pocket worked its magic and you passed out. He caught you with an arm around your waist and lowered you to the table. He pulled out of your cunt and watched as his cum poured from your pussy. Pretty and used and dripping milky cum. 

What a fucking sight. Everything about you was so pretty. But he didn't quite trust you not to stab him in the back and run the moment you got the chance, not yet.

You’d be just as pretty when you woke up again tied up, even if you were in a blind rage when you did. 

He always did kind of like when you yelled at him.

꒷꒦a/n꒦꒷ if you made it thru all of this and haven't already, please go check out TMD by Innka on ao3, her work is incredible and seared into my brain and got me through this one (TMD is unfinished but still brilliant and worth the read). huge ty to my soulmate and beta reader @sadtrash69 for making this legible omg T_T

[tonycries]

Cruel Summer - G.S.

Synopsis. The five times Gojo Satoru would rather díe than marry you, his (infuriatingly pretty, oh-so-irresistible) arranged fiancée - and the one time he comes back from déath to.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, arranged marriage AU, enemies-to-Iovers, 5 + 1 things, PINING, Geto and Shoko cameos, matíng press, big D, tummy buIges, GOJO’S POWERS, creampíes, maIe squírting, oraI (fem rec.), face-sítting, he’s FÉRAL, fíngering, chokíng, spítting, p talking, down bad Gojo, slight exhíbitíonism, making him PÚSSYDRÚNK, those Gege sketches, slight spoiIers, HAPPY ENDING, swéaring, pet names.

Word count. 11.5k

A/N. Oh y’all don’t know how those Gege drawings had me, I just had to…

“I’m never marrying you.”

“I’d rather marry a special grade curse than you.”

“Huh- I’m much hotter than a fuc-”

SLAM!

That sharp, pointed noise of a ceramic teacup hitting the winding table you were seated at had almost become ritual at this point. The first few jabs of an argument escaping the mouths of both you and the other heir being a signal for at least one of the grim elders to interrupt before either of you could ruin a four-hundred-year-old contract.

And with a stubborn huff, you’re leaning back into your seat on the tatami mat to appraise the boy opposite you.

Everything from his cropped, snowy bangs to the way his summer-blue eyes blazed into you. Honestly, if you closed your ears every time he spoke, he could almost be- nope, he was sticking his tongue out at you now.

The ever-mature Gojo Satoru; new head of the ancient Gojo clan, freshly-enrolled student at Tokyo Jujutsu High. 

And your soon-to-be husband.

All cooped up in this traditional meeting room, one where generations of matches had been made and very rarely broken.

A coming-of-age ceremony, where the two of you had officially been declared leaders - and an engagement.

Your engagement. 

It was a business transaction of sorts. One that didn’t require any input from either marrying parties, according to the council of elders who sat upon either side of the table and stroked their beards in smug success. 

You’d heard that several clans had physically fought over this chance, before the Gojo clan ultimately chose you. And you knew why - you were one of the very few that had something to lose. 

The chance to attend Tokyo Jujutsu High. 

In short, play sorcerer all you want for three years, and in return they’d be free to enforce an old betrothal alliance between your two clans and demand a powerful new heir to jujutsu society - a win-win.

Though- looking at your reluctant fiancé, still donned in his dark silk robes from his ceremony, you wonder if you really should have just run away as your friends from Kyoto had urged you to. 

And one look at Gojo’s scrunched-up face told you he might just be thinking the same thing. Delicate features marred. Pouty lips nothing of the whispered legends you’d heard of the young prodigy—a monster. A blessing. The strongest.

He sounded very much his age as he echoes, “I’m never marrying you.”

You open your mouth- “And I-”

“-will be part of young Satoru’s high school journey!” Your father puts a hand on your shoulder, lightly squeezing. Becoming part of the Gojo clan was just as big of an opportunity for him as it was for you. Apparently. “We’re sure the young couple will get over their pre-wedding jitters by the time they’re back from graduation to continue their duties- right?”

A tap on your figure, that was your cue to answer.

Instead, you just turn your face towards Gojo, look him serenely in the eyes, the sweetest practiced smile on your face- and flip him off. Pre-wedding jitters your ass. 

The gasps that cloud the stuffy summer meeting chamber atmosphere were almost comical. As if you’d just sprung out of your seat and made an attempt on the poor, sheltered heir’s life. Out of the corner of your vision, you think you see one member of the council clutch his heart and faint-

“Pffft–!” That slight snigger rips through the air in sheer contrast, and every pair of eyes in the room peaks curiously over at the way Gojo muffles a slight chuckle. 

Your eyes widen, you think you liked him better like this.

Almost as if he’d just sensed your thoughts, he’s schooling his face into one of a steady lack of emotion, lightly clearing his throat.

Though, you catch the pointed tips of his ears scorching cherry-red.

“Where is the ring, boy.” Gojo’s father was a stern man, and his commanding voice was just as cut-throat. Seated right beside his son in a mirror image of you and your own father, he didn’t have to be loud to make Gojo’s spine stiffen almost unnoticeably still.

Ramrod-straight, silent- the younger version of the former head stuffs one hand between the fabrics of his yukata. 

And you weren’t sure what sort of ring might be bestowed on you by the famed Gojo clan - you didn’t allow yourself to imagine it. Perhaps a clean silver to match their emblem? Perhaps studded with sapphires for their new head’s irises?

Whatever it may have been, you don’t get to find out.

Because in that moment, Gojo Satoru flashes you with the obnoxious plastic pink of a ring pop. The very same kind you’d sneak out of your estate to buy from that little corner shop down the road, fifty yen maximum. 

“Satoru.”

Make that twenty yen.

“What?” His voice almost lilts into a whine as he responds to his father - trying oh-so-hard to pretend nothing was wrong, and this was totally the silver heirloom engagement ring of his family. Just…smelling slightly of artificial strawberry.

Gojo senior pinches his nosebridge, “I swear to- if you are not serious about that damn- school-”

“It’s alright!” Your fiancé seems just as bewildered at your interruption as you are, and you narrow your eyes enough to tell him that if he messed up your chances at going to Jujutsu High then his blood would be on your hands. Strongest or not. Reaching out your left arm, “I don’t mind, truly.”

And while the rest of the chamber murmurs, Gojo leans over the table to slip his mocking engagement ring onto your finger. To be married. To be his.

Holding your hand in his larger, slightly roughened ones, “I’d rather die than marry you.” He’s crouching to whisper in a heated pant, each syllable sticking to your skin. Only mostly meaning it.

And you whisper back into his furiously pink ear—“And I’d rather marry a special grade curse.”

.

.

.

Gojo Satoru met you in the summer, like one of those heat-induced fever dreams.

Okay, perhaps that wasn’t the best comparison- but in his defense, penning flowery literature was never his best subject after he nearly caused a clan rift by comparing Zenin Jinichi to a bullfrog. 

It was a compliment, really!

But you were a whirlwind, one that left his world tilted and his skin sizzling with heat in the aftermath- in a bad way, of course! You were a bad fever dream - a pretty one, sure, dressed in your most decadent cerulean robes and a withering glare - but still one of those you think back to even months later. 

Even nearly a year later when he’s sixteen and had insisted on walking up the ancient stone steps of Tokyo Jujutsu High without his entourage of attendants and elders.

“Hello hello—” Gojo’s running his pale fingers through even paler, short hair to free it of pinkish cherry blossom petals. Looming around the naturally green gardens of campus, “Where is- oh!”

Just as soon as he was about to tug his opaque, round sunglasses off to inspect whether it would impress his fellow students- that lady working at the store said so, so it must be, he bought twenty-five! Gojo spots a figure leaned against one of the ancient oaks by the dorms. 

That velvety blue of the dress code was one that he could recognize anywhere after so many years of yearning for it. 

And before he can stop himself, he’s sprinting towards the dark blob as fast as his lanky legs could take him. Calling out, “Yoohooo–! Your one and only favorite classmate is here~”

“Ieri–!”

“Wait-”

“You-”

So caught up in both your excitements to meet your new classmate - one of Utahime’s friends who happened to be your age - you two didn’t notice the one, single thing that you two couldn’t deny. Right by your side.

Your betrothed.

You snarl, stopping short. “What are you doing here-” And he does, too, hands haughtily planted on either side of his slender hips as he leans in close.

Snapping at you, the brief glimpse of his electric blue eyes sends goosebumps down your body. “I could ask the same from you. Couldn’t resist my charms so you had to follow me, hm~?”

“I’m here to learn, obviously. Why are you here- to get exorcised?”

“Take that back! I’m here to learn, too.”

You knew that it was part of your betrothal contract that the two of you would attend Tokyo Jujutsu High, you knew that the two of you would end up seeing each other one way or the other. And you already knew your clan stowed that stupid pink ring away deeply at the bottom of your suitcase (where you’d hopefully never have to see it ever again).

But you still raise a brow at the flashy designer stamping on his shades. “…Really?”

And Gojo could’ve taken disgust- hell, he would have even welcomed anger. 

But that genuine, wondering confusion in your tone as you swept your eyes up n’ down his defensive stature made him flush- “H-how dare you- duel me. Right here, right now.”

“Haaah? You would duel your future wife?”

“Scared?”

“No, just wondering why you didn’t ask sooner.”

Scoffing, both of you dart your heads in unison to the girl with the shortly-cut hair that was following your argument like the fiercest of tennis matches. Immediately turning ashen-faced at your attention, and damn near devastated when Gojo happily keens. “Bob girl! Can you keep score of-”

“No.” She deadpans. 

Frankly, you wondered just how she managed to sound as if she’s seen every horror there was to see in the world already. Possibly because she already had, right there, but Shoko doesn’t spend her time answering your unspoken question.

Too busy digging in her jacket pocket for-

“Cigarettes!” Gojo squeals, never having seen someone his age take a puffed-out drag of one so close-up before. The clan always detested anything that would ‘stain the purities of the body’- and right now, Ieri Shoko looked like she couldn’t handle sitting there one more second longer if she didn’t have one. 

He points a lengthy finger your way, accusatory. “I blame you for this- somehow- you must have corrupted her with your ways and made her feel all strange like you did me.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah? I blame you for our marriage-”

And he’s uttering for the second time, “Oh yeah? Well, I’m never marrying-” 

But just as Gojo was about to whirl on his feet and flick out a few cursed tendrils of energy like he’d taught himself. He was thinking of calling this one ‘Blue’ after that shade of your robes the first time you met, and the way you were about to be it’s first-

A deep voice cuts off his train of traitorous thoughts- “Yeah- mhm, I’ve gotta go. My new classmates are here.” 

A new-comer. 

And the black-haired boy looks as if he’d no sooner flip his cellphone closed to end his ongoing call and pretend he never walked out of the dorms than join whatever mess he’d just walked in on. 

Amethyst eyes slowly swivelling underneath his tied-back bangs to look at a fuming Gojo…to an equally-matched you…to Shoko, already chain-smoking her fifth cigarette away by now.

“Actually…could you stay on the line for a bit longer, momma.”

.

.

.

“It’s legal if it’s personal property, isn’t it?”

You groan, “It’s not your personal-”

He quickly taps the polished handle- “Now it is.”

“That’s…” You’re squinting your eyes, as if it will somewhat blur and spare you the sight of Gojo Satoru attempting to steal that shiny red moped parked at the outer edge of campus. If anything happened, you didn’t want to go through the hassle of getting called in as a witness, at least.

Shoko puts you out of your misery as the one voice of reason, “Yeah, that’s a lie.”

Geto cups a hand over his gaze to fight off the breaking rays of sunset, voice amused. “Well, I don’t see any cameras here.”

“Perfect—!” Gojo sings, clapping his hands together as he stares over his ridiculously gaudy glasses. It was nearing the end of first year, early December wind your fifth uninvited guest as the four of you chose to stay over in the dorms for your first high school holidays. “The key’s still here so we can sneak out, buy me the best birthday cake in Tokyo- no, in all of Japan, and sneak back in right before grump ol’ Yaga-”

“Sneak off from who-”

And, there, was aforementioned grumpy ol’ Yaga. 

Running at full speed toward your deviant little group from the top of Jujutsu High’s stairway. Which, considering the tough, rocky path, wasn’t too fast at all- but the four of you just bolt.

Faster than you’ve seen anyone move during any cursed mission, if you’re being quite honest. 

Shoko running, phone in hand with a suspiciously blinking camera light that meant she was recording the entire ordeal. Geto urgently twisting his fingers into what you’d learned was his summoning technique - he’d meant to call his Rainbow Dragon for a rapid escape, but ended up manifesting the massive, sleek form of his Giant Catfish who scooped him up into the murky depths of its mouth and slithered away.

And Gojo? 

Oh, Gojo was letting out the most impressive high pitched squeal before he’s slamming something hard, and helmet-shaped on top of your head. 

“Wh- hey!” Before you can even register it, two massive hands are grabbing onto your waist to sit you down on the cushioned back of the moped. Backwards. “Wrong way-”

“I don’t know how to drive!”

Your feet hitting the side, your back hitting Gojo’s larger one, it takes only a singular split-second for him to jam that lil’ key and speed off down the stony path of the campus. With Professor Yaga yelling from behind and you yelping, “Gojo I’m gonna kill you-”

“My bad, I meant to grab Yaga.” He’s grumbling at you from the front, the roll of his eyes practically carrying on the whipping wind. 

“Yaga would’ve known how to seat a kidnapee-”

“You want to touch me?”

“…No”

“Scared?”

Your wide eyes watch the disorienting way the lush nature of the Jujutsu High passes by, as if you were stuck in a kaleidoscope. “No.”

He only hums, finally getting used to controlling the vehicle enough that he was mostly sure he wouldn’t crash into every upcoming tree. “Prove it~”

Wordlessly, Gojo slows down enough that you won’t be part of his definitely-opportune traffic accident as you shift your body ‘round. The faux leather cover creaking! once you rover your palms onto his shoulders for balance- “There.”

“Ever seen anyone hold onto the driver like this? Ya prude-”

“Fine-” You’re cutting him off- cutting yourself off by clinging your hands in a neat knot around Gojo’s firm core. And through the flashing shard of the side-view mirrors, you catch the way his ears burn. “You better not get an erection.”

Okay, only partly sure he wouldn’t crash into an oncoming tree.

The deep timbre of his voice cracks- “H-hey!” You knew how to push his buttons just so. “Gods- why’d it have to be you?”

“And why’d it have to be you.”

The part he doesn’t say out loud is that it would’ve been stranger if it was anyone else. 

Not that you needed to hear it- of course not, you were still his infuriating, bold- stubborn fiancée who was forced onto him, after all.

Yet, to Gojo who’s held close by you, and to you who was clinging onto him for dear life as the haven of Jujutsu High melts into the bustling city, he doesn’t think he’s had a more peaceful birthday.

It takes fifteen minutes for the two of you to ride to that cozy convenience store on the outskirts of Tokyo, and what felt like hours (but in reality was five minutes) to give up on convincing the elderly clerk that you both were totally not a couple out for an after-school joyride.

And then - as if the universe was directing its very own prank at your expense - only three for Gojo to grow impatient and throw a tantrum swerving the moped to and fro until you finally tore open that packet of sparklers bought as birthday celebrations.

Honestly, what else did you expect from a man who organized his own surprise birthday party?

“Cake? Check. These things? Check. Happy birthday to me~” He’s tipping the starlit firework upside down to draw bands of gold in the darkening air. “Must be in the top seventeen birthdays I’ve ever had-”

You scoff, your breath emitted as a small cloud. “You’ve only had seventeen.”

“It just dropped down to eighteenth thanks to you-” And you swear you see the strongest outline a dick in the air with his sparkler, you swear he purposefully made it bigger than the one you’d drawn. “And nineteenth if we get arrested for the moped.”

In response, you draw the biggest dick. One with his face. 

You were parked on the side of a lazy road, only the occasional car and Gojo’s wonderment breaking the tense silence - perhaps the most civil one you’ve had in years.

It was odd being out with Gojo Satoru. No sniping over your betrothal, and if he tried hard enough- he could pretend that there was none. That there might be. But for now, the two of you were just two classmates sneaking out to ransack your local stores, “If we do get arrested, I’m blaming you.”

He nods, dramatically. Bumping his broad deltoid against yours, “As husband, that would be my duty.”

“So…” You’re blinking, your own sparkler’s ashy ends drooping onto the ground. There was no doubt on your mind that Geto would not have mercy on the two of you for finishing about half of these sticks. But you had something else on your mind right now, “You’re saying you don’t mind-”

“Wait. wait, no, that’s not what I meant. O-of course I mind!” And Gojo doesn’t give you the time to call out the way his breath gasps- the way his voice shakes, the way he’s flushing. Furious, “Never- in my right mind- would I marry you.”

A ring of gold from the dying sunlight wraps around your irises and irritates him so much when you finally look away to rustle your hand inside the numerous shopping bags.

Airily musing, “Then, I guess as my not-ever-husband you wouldn’t want your not-ever-wife to gift you this-”

“I take it back, I’m marrying you.”

If the elders of your clan knew that all it took for Gojo Satoru to accept the betrothal would be a packet of extra, extra-caramelized popcorn then they would have had the two of you married off by yesterday.

“Make no mistake, this was meant for me.” It wasn’t. You did eye this particular brand too long before swiping it off the shelf and paying when he wasn’t looking. You did think of nothing but the plastic ring burning a hole deeply inside your skirt pocket. And the way he’d whined and thrown himself on the floor of the nearby theatre on your last outing to the city, when Geto refused to buy him caramel popcorn.

So you’d bought it- to shut him up and spare your poor throbbing temples, if anything. Of course. 

But you can’t help the words that tumble out of your mouth at the glowing expression gracing his features. “But- here- happy…birthday. I’m not getting you anything for the next ten years.”

He’s silent.

Pondering.

And he can’t think of anything more flat than a little ‘thank you.’

The red, red metallic bag with enough sugar content to put anyone but Gojo Satoru into a coma sits carefully where you’d plopped it into his arms. And he looks at it with the sort of twinkle in his eyes that you’d never seen before. “Well…If I brought Yaga instead of you, he wouldn’t have bought me this.”

“I take it back-”

“Thank you.” Almost as if realizing those awful, treacherous two words himself, he backtracks with a sputter. Strange, he should bug Shoko into doing some sort of heart check-up on him soon. “W-we’re married for as long as I eat these. And after that? Divorce, sweetheart.”

Pretending to wipe your forehead in relief, “Thank goodness-”

“Oi-”

“What-”

And with your grumblings and partially-filled bags in tow, he’s fastening the singular helmet on you - so fast that you think he might’ve just taken advantage of his powers to do so. 

Just to watch you strangle out in what was definite annoyance as he pets the plastic top as if you were a child. Smack, smack! 

“I’d be a good husband- not that you’d ever know.” Gojo sticks his tongue out at you, vrrrrr—ing the moped engine so that your snarky reply gets drowned out. “And next time I am bringing Yaga instead.”

He takes back those words soon enough when Yaga catches the two of you right at the gates of Jujutsu High. Trying to race back away on his brand-new moped. 

.

.

.

“So- you see” Long, white lashes flutter rapidly, “Take pity on your poor, sheltered student. The Gojo elders really didn’t teach me-”

“I should’ve set the mission sooner so that I could be rid of-”

Geto pipes up above Professor Yaga’s booming lecture, a hand raised in every ounce of solemn discipline that his best friend didn’t show. Another mission. Constant. “In my defense, it was his idea.”

Valentine’s day. Also the early first day of second year; and it only brought about more missions, a couple more students as first-years, and a slightly-longer haired thorn at your side betrothed. And, apparently, this - three annoying, grating voices muffling through the gaps of your dorm’s front door. 

“I call shots on not answering to that.” Utahime pipes up where she was sprawled out on your bed and knitting her brows at your interrupted girl time. It’s not often that she gets time off from Kyoto to bother her only friends in Tokyo.

Snickering at Shoko’s absent-minded ‘ditto’ and Haibara’s- why was he even here, anyway - “I could! But maybe you should do it, he is your fiancé!”

Utahime cackles, face twisting from mirth to disgust when she inspects that plastic ring from where she’d dug it up from your drawer. “On Valentine’s day, too- oh I would rather die if I were you.”

It takes you a few moments to realize that all three occupants of your bedroom were staring at you for an answer. Pointing at yourself, “M-me?” Facing Haibara, “And why do you know that- you’ve been here for a day.”

He smiles, dazzling. “Ah, Gojo-senpai was telling us- it was why Nanami was trying to call home and leave.”

“Oooo, you heard the man.” Shoko presses a few buttons on her phone, and you hear the suspicious beep–! of the camera starting. Only incriminating herself further when she’s raising it upwards and flapping her hands forwards to urge you to open the door.

You groan, “Next time, we are not having girl’s night in my roo- wait.” And it had never caused you any trouble to leave and enter your dorm, it had never taken you more than a gentle push to open your door. So why was it that it just refused to open right now- “What the-”

It’s as if the door was locked from the outside somehow. 

Shoko leans in further with her recording camera as you prod, as you turn your shoulder to hit the wooden pane and shove- 

“Why- isn’t this-” You’re hissing through grit teeth, feet planting firmly on the surface and cracking open the bedroom door inch by inch. Gasping, “-open-ing–!”

And the sight before you was one you’d remembered for years.

Not just because smack-dab front n’ center to your vision was a pathetically kneeling Gojo Satoru, cowering in front of your looming teacher- but because of what was actually blocking your entryway. 

It wasn’t some lock on the outside as you’d suspected, it wasn’t a large desk or anything of the sort. It was a massive, heaping pile of buttons. 

Gold with bits of purple. So many that it was almost as tall as your door.

“What. The. Hell.” Your deadpan voice cuts Gojo off in the midst of some complaint to Yaga about ‘why is it named the Vessel Mission anyway, that’s stupid.’ And three sets of eyes snap to you as they finally register your entrance. 

“Ah…” Geto’s the first one to break the silence of your impromptu staring match, even though Gojo was pointedly staring away. Eyes twitching the longer his best friend stared at the mountain of buttons on your doorstep, he looked exhausted. “Satoru, care to explain?”

He’s gulping, “You see, this all has a very reasonable explanation and a very reasonable line of thinking-” 

“It’s all Satoru’s fault-”

“What-”

“Of course, it is.” Yaga rubs his aching temples, as he often seemed to do whenever he was around his group of second-years for just a minute too long. The older man turns to you with a weary, tired expression - and you make note of his dark circles, “This is the fifth pile of second buttons I cleaned from your door today- this hour.”

Ah, that explained it.

And it feels like your brain had just short-circuited, “Oh…wait- second buttons-?” Nevermind how he’d come across so many. Bought, most likely.

“I told you the elders taught me nothing-” Gojo squawks, scrambling onto his feet. He’s flailing his hands about, it was not his fault he didn’t know that second button meant…a confession. Or the fact that Geto hadn’t bothered to tell him and only watched with an easy smile as he made a fool of himself. “It was a prank- a prank! And his idea- he helped! I was going to block your door with buttons-”

“-second buttons.”

“-and make you all huffy and puffy that way you get-”

“-on Valentine’s day.” You’re finishing off, arms crossed. Carefully scrutinizing up at him- he hadn’t come across a growth spurt since last semester, he’d rammed into one at full speed. You shudder, in disgust, surely. “Did the elder’s hypnotize you or is there something you’re not telling me…”

And he hates it.

He hates how you look right through him in a way that induces some sort of heart condition in him- and Gojo would know, he’s visited every doctor in Tokyo just because of it. They all laughed. 

One even wrote up his letter of resignation.

Sputtering, ears pink in anger- and Gojo was glad that his pale hair had grown out just enough to cover it. Strangely. “Y-you wish, ex-wife.”

You’re swatting the back of his soft locks, and Geto doesn’t note how Gojo seemed to have put down limitless so you could swat him.

“Dickhead.”

“Delinquent.”

“Blind mouse-”

Gasping, he clutches onto the frame of his shades. “Oh, now I really don’t wanna marry you-”

Yaga’s had enough. 

“Enough!” 

One of the veins near the side of his forehead nearly pops, and you step back with a wince at the oncoming scream- Gojo shuffling behind as if he was bravely offering you up for sacrifice. 

“Enough- enough with the- the confessions-” Yaga spears a finger straight at Gojo’s directions and speaks over his protests. “-and the flirting! Flirt after the mission-” Then at you, and you could hear your friends cackling from either side. “Detention for everyone!”

Dammit- another line on your divorce document. 

.

.

.

You didn’t get to ‘flirt’ after that Star Plasma mission - not that you would, but still.

In fact, you didn’t get to do all that much after tasting death so close to your little haven at Tokyo Jujutsu High. 

And life goes on, sometimes leaving those behind.

And other times honing others who choose to stay and snap-

“It’s Suguru.”

“I know.”

The defection of Geto Suguru. The murder of his parents. His mother.

Your voice was more empty than he’d ever heard it- and he wanted you to scream at him, he wanted you to sob. Anything and everything other than the trained, stable tone that clashed against everything he was feeling right now.

But you only stare out into the yolky yellow tint beaming over the sprawling grounds. Sat on the flat, stone staircase of campus with your knees hugged to your chest- and he was close enough on the steps to hear your low mutter. “I’ll be leaving, too.”

Gojo’s head snaps to you- “What?”

“It’s my clan.” You’re swallowing, refusing to look at him directly. And that in and of itself almost hurt as much as when you did- and, for perhaps the first time, he’d rather have his heart race in those strange little palpitations. Right now, it was just heavy. “And yours. They don’t think it’s safe for a ‘future Gojo bride’ to be so close to danger.”

“Then we won’t marry.” He’s declaring, snowy brows set stubbornly.

“I know.” You lilt your head back to watch the sluggishly swimming clouds above, likely the last time you will from here. The council will be here tomorrow, and with them, your departure. You had that silly pink ring on your little finger, he notices. “I’m leaving.”

“I already said we won’t-”

“No, dickhead. I’m leaving.”

Widened, quivering blue peripherals lock onto you- and Gojo’s rosy lips part into a soft oh! 

He knew what you meant- hell, when he first wanted to enroll in this damn school, he’d threatened to leave the clan over and over until they’d finally relented. And suddenly he’s hit with the loss of his little group - no more missions, no more convenience store runs, no more you.

You were to graduate in a year, with only half the students left in both your grade and the one below. Nanami wasn’t even going to become a sorcerer anymore, not after Haibara. 

And he knew - he just felt - that you won’t be there for it. That you might never be. 

How he wished to run, too.

“Utahime’s friends with that one special grade sorcerer- Yuki Tsukumo. I’m leaving with her today to continue training my own way.” You’re continuing, hands flexing in your lap. “And leaving the clan. Officially.”

Huffing, “What? Gonna leave your poor husband at the altar—?”

“Like I’ve always wanted to.”

“Without even a kiss for the bride?” And he doesn’t know why he says it. Even more, he doesn’t know why he holds the line of your gaze and can’t bear to look away, even as his heart starts up that familiarly strange ba-dump–! rattling his chest. 

The tips of his ears tinging the very same blood-red as the sun now, Gojo thinks he can hear his eardrums whistling once you lean in. Once you close your eyes. And once you press your lips to his plush, soft ones for a mere single second. 

“There-” You’re murmuring, trying to sound stern even though the waver in your voice gives you away. “Now you’ve been deflowered and can’t complain. You’re an absolute curse, you know that?”

And, suddenly, he gets it.

Oh, so that was why all those cardiologists he visited laughed at him for about a year straight. 

He gets it.

Chuckling bitterly, of course. Of course, he has to understand now. Of course, he loses every shred of sun just as soon as he closes his hands- because for what reason should a weapon crave normalcy? Crave sealed fate? For what right should he demand that you stay here to bind you to him? 

His mouth quivers, head turning so that you won’t see the wet glitter of his eyes in the dying daybreak. “So now I’m a special grade and a curse? Does that make me the special grade curse you want to marry?”

Your flip phone buzzes, and he already knows it’s time. Standing up, “You had the curse part down pat even before you were a special grade. Probably why your bride’s running off, Satoru.”

It was the fifth and last time that Gojo Satoru would be declaring that stupid sentiment. Smile only half-true. It was a cruel summer.

But he always was good at waiting.

Gojo tugs on that cold second button of his uniform, calling out in place of a goodbye. “Good thing we won’t be getting married, sweetheart~”

.

.

.

Itadori Yuji has spied on his teacher’s phone before.

He didn’t mean to–he swears it! And was it even that much of an invasion of privacy if he simply glanced over at the glaring lockscreen wallpaper? Surely, it wouldn’t have been as bad as if he had peered over Gojo’s shoulder when he actually unlocked his phone…

…Okay maybe he had seen a snapshot of the older man’s home screen as well, but like he said- it was an accident. Flickering his curious eyes over as he opened up his catalogue of movies during their training together. 

But what wasn’t an accident was just how vividly he remembered each wallpaper. 

On his lockscreen; taken from the inside of what looked like one of Tokyo Jujutsu High’s dorms, with a massive pile of toppling buttons in the center and a much younger Gojo Satoru (and someone who looked faintly like Kenjaku?) kneeled on the floor. Clearly being punished.

Yet, what was most interesting was the scowling, arms-crossed figure of another student he was staring up at. Unable to tear his eyes away, even through his shades.

It was you.

That familiar face also featured in Gojo’s home screen - a more blurry photo, this time, as if it was still in motion. Of his teacher in the process of scrambling onto a shiny red moped, keys turning, with you stowed away in the backseat - yelling and sat backwards. 

And Itadori tried not to think much of it, but he saw you in the small framed photograph that Principal Yaga pretended not to have on his desk, yet, polished every day. 

He saw you in the postcards that Professor Shoko pinned up on the packed bulletin board of her infirmary, amongst diagrams of dissections and slaughter. He saw you in the brief, blurry facetime that the other teacher, Utahime, from Kyoto was on during parts of the exchange event.

And he saw you at the foot of Gojo Satoru’s bed, after he’d won.

Older, more mature now - but inevitably you.

Itadori could tell, even in the forlorn way you were slumped over the side of the mattress in Shoko’s clinic, body half-seated on a chair like you’d been there all night. 

“You…” He’s breathing, making you stir against his will. 

You blinky your teary eyes up in groggy confusion, fingers instinctively tightening on the large, callused fingerpads of Gojo’s digits. “Huh? Oh, you must be Yuji. And Megumi, and Nobara.”

Itadori was just about to open his mouth and answer that no, he was actually just Yuji- when a disgruntled voice behind him makes him realize he isn’t alone. “We apologize for the trouble, we can come back later if you-”

“Oh, no no.” You wave Fushiguro’s words off as the three enter - well, as Fushiguro enters and Kugisaki shoves Itadori inside. “I’m sure he’d want everyone here when he wakes.”

Gojo had won in Shinjuku, but Satoru was still sleeping.

Famed eyes closed. Bundled in the arms of bandages and reverse cursed energy ‘round his toned middle, he was breathing in slow unison with the beep! of the nearby heart monitor. Alive. 

You really did have Shoko to thank later.

And Itadori knew that as a student he should be more invested in how his unconscious teacher was doing, but he just couldn’t help but keep sneaking glances over and over. Wondering just who you really were-

“So, is the wedding going to be anytime soon?”

Fushiguro speaks, and the rest of the trio gapes. How dare he ask something like that from a sorcerer so lovely. And wait- why were you chuckling? “Oh right-” Nodding down at Gojo’s large form, of course, he told his honorary son everything. “I am his fiancée.”

“His what-”

“How much did he pay you-”

“Kugisaki, don’t be rude-”

Fushiguro nods, “No, she’s right.”

“Unfortunately, only this.” You’re scrunching your nose as you answer Kugisaki’s question- pulling out a tiny chain from underneath your uniform with an aged, faded pink plastic ring pop.

And she responds like she’d been personally wronged, dragging her hands carefully down her eye-patched face. “Ohhh- I knew it- not only is he a deadbeat teacher, he’s a deadbeat husband, too.”

“To be fair I did leave him. Of sorts.” You wave a hand airily, already having heard from Ijichi about the fate of the higher-ups. The clans. Over the younger girl’s ‘understandable!’ “I just landed in Tokyo today, I wish I could’ve come sooner but- ah, well.”

“B-but…” Everyone looks at Itadori as he stammers out, cheeks burning a slight rouge once your hand drifts over Gojo’s exposed core. Whispering in one breath, “How did he get a wife so pretty…”

“Hey- that’s my wife you’re talking about.”

You could recognize that smug, simpering tone anywhere. You’d be able to pick it out from a crowd of thousands. 

Laughing- as he’s tackled into a hug by an overeager Itadori, and the falsely reluctant rest.

It was quite strange to see Gojo Satoru like this - not just laid barren and sprawled over some hospital bed, but without any of his usual blindfolds and sunglasses. Just like when you’d met. And he always was so honest with his eyes.

And he was back.

And you were back - after ten years.

Which is why Itadori and Kugisaki have to fight the urge to look away at the expression settling over Gojo’s serene face. Wondering how you - his fiancée, of all things - would react. Winning against the King of Curses was quite the accomplishment, even for the strongest.

Would you cry? Would you throw your hands over him as they just did? Should they actually get up and leave the room-

“You- you complete idiot.” Gojo half-wonders whether your strength could rival Sukuna himself once you strike down a punch to his scarred shoulder. Yelling, glaring- crushing him into a hug. 

Your voice is suspiciously thick once you’re gurgling out into the pale crook of his neck, “I thought you said you’d rather die than marry me.”

And they don’t know what they’re more surprised about- the way that Gojo had the audacity to say those words to you, or the way that Gojo had the audacity to listen to those very words and laugh. Head thrown back, “Sweetheart, I’d come back from death just to marry you.”

Pulling away, you take the longest look at your betrothed that you think you ever have.

Everything from his longer, still-snowy hair, tickling the tips of sparkling sapphire eyes. Slightly slicked back to reveal shyly red-dusted ears, and a cute lil’ dimple at the edge of his boyish grin.

He was still the same Gojo you’d left behind - even though he was taller, stronger. So much bigger that you could feel the flex of his deltoids underneath your palms, and the ripple of his beefy forearms looped around your waist.

He was still Gojo. Always beautiful. 

SLAM!

“O-oh.” You’re jolting at the sudden closing of the clinic door, clearly his students had left the two of you to some privacy, and you’re almost embarrassed. “We’re an awful example.”

“When have we ever been a good example?”

“Well, I could say that about you-”

He only tugs you closer, breathing out as if the first breath he’d taken in a while since Shinjuku. Since you’d been gone. “I missed my wife.” And the two of you knew you should alert Shoko by now, but you only stay still- with you nearly in his bed by now. 

For what felt like hours. Years. 

“Yeah? Well, I- I missed you, too. I thought I lost you.” You wince, “I’m sorry for departing so suddenly.”

It was sincere - but the feeling of Gojo’s smirk pressing up against the side of your thumping pulse almost makes you reconsider it. “I know how you can make it up to me, wifey~”

Scoffing, he was really ramming up the ‘marriage’ part of your relationship by now. “Nothing with buttons or mopeds or-”

“No no-” Lurching back slightly, the plush, puckered fringes of his lips lean in oh-so-closely. Until you could practically taste the saccharine sugar of his heated breath, “You know, I never got to kiss the bride.”

Oh.

Oh.

Then he’s kissing you- and you’re kissing him. And it’s all that you’ve ever wanted with the sharp, pointed ends of Gojo’s canines digging into your bottom lip to drag you back.

Drinking you in like a man parched- he’s finding life in your mouth. Slipping his tongue in past the spit-glossed crevice of your mouth and uttering a hot pant. “Please-” Manhandling you with his strong, scarred arms up to straddle him on the rickety mattress. “Please.”

And you’ve never heard the strongest beg like this.

Never heard him flutter his droopy lashes and look at you through starved, feral eyes. A translucent bubble of spittle sparkling by the end of his swollen lips, “P-please.”

Never heard him stutter. 

Clearly he’s reading something in your sultry eyes because Gojo’s hastily shuffling the two of you down the bedsprings. Head hitting the puff of his pillows, your ass hitting his sharp pelvis. 

Your fiancé holds you upright and rubs a clawing hand doooown the back of your spine, toying with the metallic zipper on your sorcerer’s uniform skirt. “Fuck that about hah- not marrying you.” He’s crooning out in a throaty tone, strands of white nearly covering his greedy gaze. “M’ready to consummate our marriage right here, right now.”

“B-but Satoru- you just woke up-” 

“So?” There’s something deep n’ dark in his tone that made shivers skitter up your spine. Attempting to clench your thighs together but all it does is make your outer pussy push against the smooth path of his white happy trail. “Your husband’s the strongest, sweetheart.”

And then you’re being roughened up- then your skirt’s bearing the brunt of being almost torn clean off your hips. 

Gojo barely even registered his power, not giving two shits if it meant that he got to admire your pale blue panties up close and personal. A firm hand groping your right cheeks help push your clothed pussy up until your slit strikes the edge of his chin, thighs now straddling his pretty, pretty face.

Rosy lips purring over that darkening wet splotch between your legs, “Bon appétit.”

“Shut up and just- oh, fuck!”

He’s flopping the pinkish crown of his tongue out just enough to dab a lil’ dewdrop of spit between your swollen pussylips. And it’s just all that it takes for the first taste of your saccharine pussy to coat his tastebuds-

“O-oh!” He gasps, his hazed peripherals widen. You’re faintly registering the way that the shiny overhead lights of the private room flicker- 

Gojo grins as you gape, “Did you just…”

“Guess m’not in control anymore.” He’s snickering, stuffing himself nose-deep into your cunt. And there’s such a primal hunger in him, the way he’s not even caring for your poor, sodden panties before he’s hanging his jaw open and slide-slide-sliiiiding the edge of his mushy tongue up n’ down your folds. “Heh-” A light goes out somewhere down the corridor. “Whoops.

He’s whacking his jawline on the soft inner parts of your thighs and it still isn’t close enough. Tilting his head just so to slip his damp muscle between your ruined fabric.

“Shit- shit, your tongue is sooo big.” You find yourself keening, hips rocking back and forth at a mindless pace. And, truly, you now knew why Gojo talked so much because his tongue was so-very-lengthy, already circlin’ your sticky hole, “Like you better- hck! better like this.”

And the way he looks at you gets you even more drenched, haplessly watching as Gojo opens his throat wide enough to let the cloying droplets of your slick fall down to his maw.

“Oh yeaaaah–?” Gurgling already with the beads of sap that soak the lower half of his face, he’s starin’ you right into your fluttering eyes once he’s tugging your panties to snap! back on your heated core with an index. “Whaddaya gonna do about it?”

Before you can answer - before you can even think, the very tippy-top dome of his fingertip coils slimily down your naked slit. He feels you - so soft n’ warm - for the first time and pants. “Gonna ngh- argue with me from here to make up for it? Hmmm—?”

Almost as if on cue, your pert pussy is letting out the rawest lewd squeeelch at his touch. Bucking wildly, “Are you all talk or what ngh-”

“Looks like you’re all talk.” And you seriously were so wet that it was dripping down Gojo’s handsome chin, rovering a few more solid inches of his index to keep pryin’ your cunt apart with a wet plap!

Then a second inch- and a second finger.

His probing fingers are so big that the gummy channels of your walls have to mold to each size and measurement just to take him. “Look at ya- taking me in sooo well but ya don’t even- sit-” One of his hands claws on your left ass cheek to hold you down where you were hovering your weight, the other sinking in—

You’re squealing at the press of his thick, knobbled middle finger curving against one of your most tender spots. “What if I suffocate-”

“Then suffocate me.”

“You just came back to life.”

“I came back to life just to ngh- see this pretty pussy.” Gojo snarls up at you, tugging you down. Pulling you. Manhandling you. He just wanted to French kiss your pussy until he had that smart mouth of yours stupid. And those silly lil’ panties were a barrier- 

Within seconds, he has shreds of your underwear tattered and ripped between his pearly whites. 

Looking like a fucking animal once he’s finally sitting you down properly and stuffing himself so deep that you nearly see his pale, straight nosebridge disappear between your folds. 

Snaking his tongue to stuff and stuff where two of his fingers were pumping in n’ out in n’ out in n’ out. You were being dually stuffed open, the sting of him stretchin’ you out and swiping the gooey bottom of your core just delicious. 

“Don’t mind- haaaa-” Breaths ragged, movements sloppy. Gojo wastes no time in pursuing his delicate lips and spitting, “-dying now that I got ta see her. Now that I got to- hck- taste.” 

Hand shaking where he slides it along your thigh, breaths stuttered.

He’s feeling your slick waterfall down with every lap and slash of his tongue, bearing no mercy. Your thighs rendered all jittery and sleek with a sheen of syrup every time he flicked the tip of his tastebuds on top of your clit. 

“I’ve been so fucking thirsty- sooooo fucking thirsty.” Gojo whines, and you swear his baritone voice cracks. Hitches. Hips rutting up into the empty air, “You know how long I’ve wanted this- do you have any. Fucking. Idea?”

He sounds genuinely ruined, spitting back into your treacly pussy just to follow the wad dooown the seam of your pussy with his tongue. 

A third finger puckers ‘round the edge of your entrance, and you’re whining once Gojo lazily slugs the first pad inside and scrapes the roof of your cunt. “Please- since when- ngh- s-since…”

Giggling, higher-pitched than usual. “Oh, sweetheart- you don’t even wanna know.” You’re whimpering when he’s swatting down the velvety edge of his tongue on your sensitive nub three times before pulling away. Smack-smack-smack. “Spit in my mouth n’ I’ll tell you, h-heh.”

Breathless, “What did you just ask—?”

“Scared?”

And Gojo’s pale brows raise when you’re hunching forwards just enough to grab his clammy cheeks, streaming out a glittery streak of spittle straight into his ajar mouth. “Not if it gets you t-to- shut up-”

You spit in his mouth, and from the slightly-angled turn of your head you catch the way that his throbbing erection twitches. 

His fingers thwack so hard your very bones rattle, and Gojo drools the knot of slick straight back through your hole. Letting the jointed bumps of his digits stretch rub your pussy all red and raw from the inside. 

“That’s it that’s it.” He’s goading you on, scouring the searchlights of his digits inside of you for that one fragile target. And you’re feeling him poke his fingertips into the nooks n’ crannies near your g-spot, making you see stars. “I’ve wanted you to shut me up- use my ngh- face since I fucking knew what it was. Heh- if you’re not scared-”

“As if I’d be scared-”

“Prove it. Ride me.” 

“I am-”

“Not enough.” Within just a single blink of your glassy eyes, Gojo’s raising his non-dominant hand up with enough cursed energy that the neglected ol’ blindfold strewn on the edge of his bed flies into his grasp. 

Twisting his thick fingers over the silken fabric, circling it over your neck and immediately hauling you further down- “Ride me. Ride the st-strongest like you own it- h-haaaah- I’m your husband, aren’t I?”

With every word, with every second he’s thrashing four exact strikes of his fingertips scraping your poor g-spot. Slurring out a damp sluuurp every time your sheeny pussylips are gobbling him up. 

“Yes- hck! yes.”

Grumbling, sleazy grin just glued to the knobbly tip of your clit. “Yeah- yeah, then use me like I am.”

Kissing right back every time he’s surging his head up and mazing the flexible ends of his tongue muckily. It’s so wet n’ long that you’re damn near feeling the scrape of his tastebuds by your favorite spot, sloppily—“D-don’t think m’gonna last, Satoru.”

Gojo audibly, pornographically moans as you start carnally hastening your tempo. 

Cumming on his face- fuck, this was the wettest of his dreams all those long, lonely nights. In response he only latches his strawberry-pink lips against your cunt further, feeling every hot gush flood his throat. 

And you were so close that Gojo was drooling- pupils stirrin’ around the whites of your eyes with every circle of his thick tongue, throat cracking with whines every time he’s slushily spearing your pussy with his fingers. Over  n’ over. 

Rovering alllll around to prick your tenderest areas with- fuck, now four of his fingers.

Your husband spikes the edge of your g-spot, hard. Pulling you down with the corner of his blindfold just to dig his finger in deeper, “W-wanna cummm— ngh- please.”

“Call me husband.” He cockily smiles over the rim of your cunt where he was devouring you like a feast. “Call me- nghh- husband and I’ll let you cum.”

“Please-” Grabbing a fistful of his hair to shove him deeper and hopefully quieten his teasing. “-h-husband.”

Gojo groans like he’s the one cumming, “Ohhhh- again. Louder.”

“Husband-”

“Again.”

“Husband– Toru–!” Pouting stubbornly, “Unless you fucking can’t- oh, fuck.” 

Both you and the protesting bedsprings sing out in embarrassing synchronization once he’s shoving you into your high with a soft, sudden zap–! of one jujutsu-coated fingerpad across your g-spot. “Cumming- nghhh- m’cumming m’cumming–!”

And it feels so good you lose your vision to pure white, it feels so good that you can only throw your head back and ride him through each one of your peaks.

Milking the highs of your orgasm in repeated, filthy drags of your hips that knock the top of your glazed slit against his buttony nose. Whack! 

“O-ohhh—” Gojo throws his head back at the sheer, sensual motion. It just feels so good having you slickly rovering your pussy over his gaping maw, chasing the heat of his tongue slithering across your clit. Your sweet insides squeeze around his long fingers that Gojo thinks he could just cum right then n’ there.

And he almost does.

Almost- with almost inhuman reflex, he’s sneaking his free hand underneath the covers to plug up his leaking, red-hot orifice. Drivelling out a few creamy cobwebs of pre before he can plop his thumb over it. Close one. 

You ogle with a parted mouth as he grits his teeth hard enough that the plane of his neck throbs with a few veins, “Fuh-fuuuck–!”

And if you didn’t know any better, you’d have claimed that sounded like a whine.

A whimper.

But before you can call Gojo out on it, he’s sitting nearly ramrod straight against the cool metallic headboard. Starchy blankets - all drenched and coated at the hem with your trickling sap - all but thrown to the bottom of the bed. 

“Don’t worry- hah-” Suddenly, you feel something hot and moist gliiiiide between your puffy core. And it was so thickly curvy that your folds are being smeared apart as much as possible, “Made sure to save the big one for when m’inside, sweetheart.”

Mewling, “Big one?” Pathetically swaying your mouth open the moment he starts suckling on your tongue like some cute candy, “You sure about that?”

“See for yourself, my wife.”

You don’t know what to gape at more. 

What Gojo Satoru looks right now - eyes hooded, face flush, ivory tendrils of hair slicked back with sweat, several layers of sickly sweet slick stuck from the tops of his cheeks and gleaming down to his jawline - or the way that his cock looks like right now.

He was completely naked underneath, and you’re mentally counting about nine inches- possible even ten. Ten inches of solid, barreling length scrubbed all red n’ raw with ribbons of precum. Bursting out from the hole at the top of his fat mushroom tip and all the way down to the soft white hairs at his base. 

Drenched.

And Gojo gives the left of your ass cheek a good spank when it seems like you won’t be talking any time soon. Too hypnotized. “There there- big, huh?”

You’re huffing, “Y-you wish.”

“No need to liiiie- s’all yours.” Something in him cracks when he bucks up ever-so-slightly to let the shiny bulge of his cocktip scrape down your slit, mixin’ a heady concoction of white pre and slick that makes him salivate. “Look at her- she’s sayin’ she wants more.”

“You’re pussydrunk.” Such loud squelching noises that he jerkily lurches his head closer to listen to, as if his favorite song.

“Hell yeah I am, my wife.” With a raspy chuckle, Gojo slips the circle of his divot just underneath your swollen folds and hisses. “Now- I won. Your husband ngh- won today, why don’tcha gimme my reward, sweetheart?”

Oh-so-ready to make him cry on your tongue, you eagerly start snaking your hand downward. 

Fist almost enclosed around the bulky cylinder of his hilt before he stops you right there. V-line hitting your pelvis as he fucks up, up, up- 

“Nononono- another time. Right now…” Gojo slouches back, liiiicking that candied glaze of your juices off of his right hand. One by one. Before cushioning it underneath his head and watching you through sexy half-lidded eyes. “How do you want me?”

You hum, pretending to tap your chin in thought. “How you’ve wanted ta- ngh- have me, Toru–”

How he’s dreamed of having you.

Of shoving his thick cock between your pussy folds and fucking that smug smile off of your face while you tried to snap back at him. And his body moves before his brain.

Your back hitting the dampened sheets, your shirt and bra puddling onto the floor.

He doesn’t think he can breathe, he doesn’t even think he can think—especially when he sees that pink plastic ring pop as a pendant on your necklace and leans down to kiss it.

Every ounce of blood sprinting down from his hotly melted mind to balloon up his shaft so hard and cherry-red. Gojo’s tip is practically bawling by the time he’s flipping the two of you over and swiping the hard, aching bulge of it down your cunt.

Your thighs on his shoulders, his pelvis against your ass. 

Eyes widening—a mating press. A fucking mating press.

Gojo’s barely even done folding you completely in half before he aligns the round, spheroid edge of his cockhead to crown your sloppy hole and rut. Gasping, he shuts his eyes firmly at the warmth. “Wanted this.”

“O-oh fuck–” Coming your jittery fingers through Gojo’s sweat-splattered hair. He’s just so big that just the feeling of his globular tip makes you see white. 

“Wanted this wanted this- wanted this.” Gritting his teeth, furiously. He’s hiking his thighs up so that yours are pushed all the way up to hit your tits, bending you with all his powerful strength. “Have no idea how long- I’ve wanted you like this. Always in this position.”

“Why this one?” It was so filthy - even for him.

“What? Your husband’s the ngh- strongest and you expect him not to put you in a mating press the minute he sees you?”

Spanking the slivery slit of your cunt with one hand, Gojo fucking angles his head and grins at the slight puddle of sap that collects on his wrist. 

“So soft n’ sweet-” He bends his knobbly thumb in to twist the button of your clit, licking his pink lips lazily at the way your arousal glitters further soaked. And it wasn’t just that- your husband was just so girthy that he’s tuggin’ your entrance apart to fit his heavy shaft inside. “Oh, always wanted this pretty hole begging f’me.”

Just as he speaks, Gojo slips yet another inch inside and makes your oversaturated pussy keen. “B-bold of you to assume- ngh- I’m the one begging.”

“Ohhh- she’s not?”

“She- fuck!”

Before you can even speak, he’s rolling his sculpted hips and slamming your spit-glued mouth shut. Cooing down with fluttering lashes, “What was thaaaat–?”

You feel a damn sob break at the back of your voicebox at the feeling of his rounded slit lodging against the treacly roof of your cunt. So wet that he’s constantly rubbin’ his veins back and forth on your walls, half-ruts. Half-thrusts. Just to fit in. “Fuh-fuck you!”

And then you’re swearing that Gojo grows harder. Bigger.

The corner of his head swelling up to an even thicker circumference that strikes your soggy cervix with a plop! 

He’s bottoming out with a breaking tone, “Who’s fucking who now?”

And now that you’d given him an inch, he was taking a mile.

Fucking you into the rickety clinic bed like he was trying to stop your cute, arguing mouth from shrilling out. Every swab of his bulging cock enough to make your tongue flood with cockdrunken spit, he pounds his entire length into you like he hates you.

Slap!

So hard that the skin on his prominent v-lines stains completely red. And Gojo isn’t even feeling the pain, he’s only spanking hard abs into your front again. And again. And again.

Mouth falling into a sagged oh! as Gojo tilts his head down and watches when your geysering cunt swallows him up from the ruby-red tip to the bulk of his base. Heavy balls just peeking out cheekily.

All the way up until his pure white tufts of hair scratchily massage your clit and make you rut. “There- there.” The flat mountains of his palm come creeping down your tummy to press as he sliiides inside. With a smile, “Inside. Fuck- it’s inside. Can feel me all deep inside, s’like you’re hngh- made for me.”

“S’just s-sooo big, though!” You’re whimpering once he rubs over the callous of his thumb right at the bumpy point of his mushroomy head spearheading in. 

Gojo grunts, “And what happened to me being small~” 

You clench in response- the only thing you can do. And it’s like the entirety of the chamber tenses with something thick coating each atom of the air. 

You just had to clench once and his cursed energy was lapping. Out-of-control.

So powerful that it might just be enough to cause alarm-

“Oh.” As if alerted by something invisible, Gojo raises his free arm towards the door. Lengthy lashes coating with a flicker of blue lightning- before, like nothing ever happened, he’s back to rutting and rutting. In long, methodical strikes of his bashing, bulbous head. Probing deeply into every ridge.

Before you can ask what was the matter, there’s the metallic jiggling of the hospital doorknob. Locked - by his power.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“I-is anything the matter in here?” Someone- you think it might be Ijichi - calls out from the other side. “The cursed levels were just so high that-”

“Listening to the voice of another man when I’m the one fucking you?” Gojo snarls out, two of his battle-hardened fingertips swatting the side of your cheek so that you’ll stop staring at the door. 

Not when he was looking at you like that.

And not when he was the one unsticking your left hand from the side of his muscular obliques, gently kissing your ring finger even though he was drilling into you ferally. “Don’t you think of anyone else when- haaah- I’m the one fucking you-” The fangs of his canines bite in to the flesh of your digit, “Not when I’m your husband.”

“Wh-what if he hears—”

The end of your whine is caught up in his mouth, gnawing down on your lower lip and draaagging. “So let him.” He melts his glissading abs down onto your core, making you feel every bump and scar. “Let him- fuck. S’our long overdue honeymoon- and you’re gonna fucking- take- it-”

Mewling, “Fuck- fuck yes. More.”

It’s like those words have him going mad.

Gojo’s slick orifice grovering into the very bottom of your pussy, he tugs back on the blindfold dangling ‘round your neck to arch you further. Letting his zig-zagged veins creep down your g-spot, precisely. 

“Yes- fuck. Your husband.” Repeating and repeating every time he hits your sweet splotchy areas. “M’your husband” And then he clings onto your clit, then he twists his wrist and lets the pads of his digits buzzzz–! with cursed energy. “Your husband.”

Almost as if he couldn’t believe it.

He’s departing his breath out in a scalding breeze every time you squeeze. Bodily shoving apart the inner parts of your legs with his large, flexing shoulders. 

“Please- please please-” You’re wailing out utterly raw, the top of your throat feeling like it was clogging up after every ba-thump–! of his sweetly leaking cock probin’ every space inside your cunt. Swelling up so big that it was almost hard for you to clench- “Feels so ngh- good–”

“Yeaaaah–? Your husband’s makin’ you feel all good, huh?” The strongest couldn’t even give a shit about the way your screams were reaching a fever pitch. 

Faster, sloppier.

Fingers starting to stain with a bright syrupy coating of your slick, he doesn’t even mean to- but he can’t help the way that the air touching his skin crackles with energy. Drawing out hearts on your perked clit like a lil’ bullet vibrator.

“Go on- say it.” He outlines a very obvious ‘S’ on top of your rugged nub that makes you quiver like a leaf underneath him. And then an ‘A’, a ‘T’, ‘O-R-U.’ Coaxing out your tiny whimpers, “Say my name—”

“Toru- hck! Satoru.”

He twitches, syllables taking on a shaky manner. “O-oh right, that’s my name.” Chuckling, fuck- did he forget his damn name? Just that drunk on your pussy that he’d rather just be called your husband forever and ever. His flushed face pushes forwards to bite on that blindfold and pull you back down, “Call me your heh- husband again.”

Just uttering those words makes him jolt his mushroomy, flared tip inside you until the ridge hits the door to your womb. His balls on your ass. Bruising. 

You almost felt shy as he hastily brings down one of your hands to caress his rippling core. From each washboard ab to scar, sensually. “H-husband. My husband.”

Shit- he needed to make you cum now or he was going to, already feeling a steaming drop of pearly liquid empty out from his balls. 

“There- there we- go-” And by now Gojo’s fucking you so hard that he’s starting to scrunch his partially-closed eyelids with the weight of big, sparkly tears of sensitivity. “Whatever my wife wants.” The crowned tip of his shaft red and swollen enough to burst, pushing and pushing. “Anything my wife wants.”

“I’m close-” You’re sobbing, reeling him in so close with a grasp of his tensed back muscles. And it was true, his Six Eyes was showin’ him the way your nerves were sizzling, the way your mouth flooded with spittle. 

He counts underneath his breath. Five. Four.

Lips wobbling oh-so-adorably, “Toru, m’gonna cum. Let me cum.”

“Ohhh— s’that what you want, sweetheart?” He rolls his thumb over your overstimulated clit until you scream a yes. “Cum then.” Three. Spitting on the hills of his crowned fingerpads, Gojo makes sure they’re tight with particles of cursed energy. Two. Before spanking down- “Cum, my wife.” One.

You don’t know who cums first.

But to Gojo Satoru it doesn’t even matter- all he needs is to make sure is that you were creaming all over his ravaged cock, and that he was there to pump all his columns of wadded seed inside. 

Room lights shattering, somewhere in the distance sounding with a sonic boom! Gojo fucks himself hoarse on your pussy until the expanse of his skin was littered with pure power and lightning. 

“O-oh my god s’too mmm–” Your mouth dribbles with sap, gooey walls of your cunt sticking to the sides of his veiny shaft. Every tiny drag of his winding lines makes your high explode- “There’s so- hah- so much of it-”

So much that it was overspilling. 

And Gojo can only glide the planes of his digits down the saccharine white sap that leaked from between your legs. Gluing his fingers to the stray gaps of your hole, and they were buzzing. “No wastin’ now.” He bites down on the plush gum of his bottom lip and still can’t hold back his snickers. “Gotta g-give you the ring- and my second button. Then take you out for a- a ride-”

He could almost laugh at the dazed confusion on your face, arching up his spine just so that his cock pummeled into you deep and stayed there. 

“A ride and then a real ride. On a moped.” Giggling at his own joke, “Take you to eeeevery sweet convenience store in Tokyo you ngh- missed out on. Tell each one m’your husband and we’re having a summer wedding.” Kissing you softly, “M’thinking theme colours blue.”

That in and of itself is enough to make his drivelling orifice stream out yet another jetstream of cum, wadding up the entrance to your womb with clingy sap. 

He finishes off with another lecherous slurp that makes you feel so hot inside that it was almost feverish. “A-and then what? S’this all for you big- ngh- honeymoon idea?”

“And if it is?”

“Should’ve left you at the altar-”

Gojo’s red, raw cock jolts. “Ohhhh- just for that m’gonna fuck you in every hah- convenience store, too. Maybe they’ll hear- doesn’t matter.” Grinning, he hikes up a thigh until he is gyrating just enough to swirl his pummeling length in circles. The plump curve of his balls digging into your ass, eyes glowing with blue in the darkness. “Your husband’s the strongest.”

You don’t know if you can do anything but scoff through your embarrassment, “A-and real humble, huh?”

“Well…” He tilts his head with a dopey smile, “Did I tell you that was my first time? Been savin’ myself for heh- marriage, my sweetheart.”

Fuck.

“I love you. Isn’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

Oh- “I love you, too.”

And something in you told you that this was far from over.

Maybe it was the way that Gojo’s cock strikes the back of your cunt with a splosh of sap, slimily mazing through until it feels like he streams out a squirt of something. You’d just made him squirt- or maybe it was the way that he kisses your plastic engagement ring. 

Gaze delirious. Ears red. Fucked-out. 

“So…what was that they said about a Gojo heir, my wife?”

.

.

.

“The electricity has been suspiciously unstable today.” Shoko wrinkles her nose up at her completely shattered office lightbulb. The sixth today. 

Urgently flicking through her notes before she made a break for her most important patient as of late - the strongest.

Or, as she knew him, that damn Gojo with a penchant for tantrums and harboring a hopeless love for his betrothed. Often both at the same time. Speaking of said betrothed, she’d already shared a hasty greeting with you once you’d first arrived here- before you practically ran to the idiot’s room, that is.

Two peas in a pod.

“We have been getting strange him-level readings on cursed energy levels in this area since a few hours ago.” Utahime grumbles, barely out of the hospital herself but already steady at work as one of the new higher-ups.

“That so? Strange.”

“Yeah, and when I asked Ijichi about it he only looked pale and ran like he saw a-”

The two gasp. In unison.

“He finally proposed.”

A/N. Wrote this with a fever (Gojo was just that hot aha).

Plagiarism not authorized.

[tonycries]

Night(wing) Crawler - G.S.

Synopsis. Trapped with a too-smug, too-handsome Nightwing by the very same villains you were trying to swindle was not how you planned to spend your night. Luckily for you, Gojo can think of a much better way to pass the time.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! anti-hero!reader, Nightwing! Gojo, BATMAN AU, enemies-to-Iovers, forced proximity, píning, MARATHONS, manhandIing, Gojo goes FÉRAL, overstím, he is BIG, making it fit, cervíx kíssing, tummy buIges, BREÉDING, RIPPING suits, spítting, cúmplay, chokíng, arguing during it, PÚSSYDRÚNK GOJO, matíng presses, making Gojo CRY, oraI (f + m rec.), p talking, breaking furniture, Red Hood! Geto cameo, slight vioIence, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 10.4k

A/N. *evil laughs* I just had to.

“You.”

“You.”

“Enchanté, sweetheart.” And Gojo - oh, it’s so undeniably Gojo Satoru’s sapphire gaze behind that satiny mask - tilts over his tall, bubbling glass of champagne towards you with the cockiest of winks. A wink. 

Your teeth set on edge - out of all the pompous, boorish high society balls that he could crash undercover, it just had to be the one that you were planning to heist. 

And by the most pompous, boorish hero of all. 

If looks could kilI, then you’d be upturning Gojo’s grave to finish him off yourself already. 

“Didn’t think you were one for masquerade balls.” He’s leaning in to brush off an invisible piece of lint from your shoulder, words coming out in scorching hot puffs against your ear. Low, hoarse. “Changed much during your lil’ vacation, hm? How is the Gotham State Penitentiary this time of year?”

“Oh, I don’t know. How’s the hottest one of the Bat Family doing?” You’re sniping back, head cocked innocently. Silent for just how long it takes for Gojo’s eyes to widen, breath to hitch- “Y’know…Toji Fushiguro. How’s Batman doing, Nightwing?”

There’s a strangely sharp glint in his stare, and his traitorously handsome jaw clenches through a wild grin. 

With a wide sweep of the bustling ballroom, he murmurs over the live orchestra. “You’re gonna give me away~”

“Don’t even have to try.” You’re tilting your head up in defiance when he closes in so many sultry inches, all the way until you could feel the heated press of Gojo’s ticking biceps through his formal suit. Heady masculine cologne invading your senses, “That mask does more than enough damage.”

Honestly, what fool dons a disguise with a mask that looks exactly like his hero one? 

Though, you weren’t complaining - if Nightwing accidentally provided the perfect distraction for you to swindle future big-shot congressman and business heir, Naoya Zenin, out of his precious diamonds then so be it.

The fact that Batman’s protégé would be humiliated was only a plus. 

Scoffing, “So what you’re saying is you want me out of it? Scandalous, but I don’t fuck before a first date.”

A very, very big plus. 

“Never in your wildest dreams, Nightwing.” You’re pettily raising your voice just a pitch to make the sculptured man in front of you squirm, as much as he would never admit it. “S’it that you don’t fuck or you don’t get to? Come here to try out your hand with the wives of the bourgeoisie?”

“I’m here on business, sweetheart. Gotta get to that brat Naoya’s office.” Gojo nods towards a gaggle of ogling older ladies, ever-the-charmer. 

It’s enough to make them swoon, and - you hate to admit it - for your heart to stutter just a beat. 

Because Gojo Satoru looked good. All powerful, lean muscle that carried him so many numerous inches over six feet. The rich, yolkish lighting makes his dark blue jacket look almost painted to his slender waist, and those meaty, meaty thighs. 

Easily the sexiest man in this room full of sordid businessmen and shifty politicians.

If you dared to let your gaze roam, you’re sure they’d stray past his milky collarbones to catch a hint of the even tighter black and blue hero suit he was surely wearing under. 

He looked more than good, if you were being honest.

But when has one of Gotham’s most notorious cat burglars ever needed to be honest?

And you’re so caught up in pondering just what the others see in him that it gives you an electric jolt to feel the doughy pads of Gojo’s gloved fingertips brushing down your thigh. Feeling as if he was searing through your saucy, glittering gown.

There’s a tremor of amusement when his sensory tips meet the cold hilt of your famed dagger. Hidden. 

Tonality dripping with something sickly sweet that makes your tummy lurch, “And it seems like I’m not the only one, Prowler. The Zenin diamonds?”

“The Zenin drug smuggling ring?”

You both give a curt, almost-missable nod. Your eyes back to analyzing the sprawling celebrations for any sign of the aforementioned Zenin heir himself.

Though, not for long- “Y’know, maybe I should send you back to your lovely penitentiary right now, girl. Already did once.” Whispered right against your sensitive earlobe. 

“Darling–” Your plastic smile is almost painful as you feel the interested stares from around the room. You did make quite an eye-catching pair, especially so close. Hand drifting to his beefy, veined forearm and pinching, “-you’re too close~”

“I don’t think I’m close enough.” 

Nails clawing down his smooth skin and towards his pale wrist. “Close enough for me to strike a vein without a single person here knowing any better.”

“That’s kinda hot–” Gojo’s lips quirk upwards, sleek brows quirking up to the curtain of his snowy bangs. And you don’t know where to look - down below, where he’s adjusting his pants with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, or up above where his irises follow a triangle between both your eyes n’ your lips, dead-on. “-for a petty thief.”

“You little-”

“Big, actually.” And of course, he has to interrupt with a look on his face that tells you he knew you were fighting to not take a glance downwards and confirm for yourself. “I’m very big.”

“I hear words compensate.” You’re batting your lashes through your own lacy Stygian mask, too close. “And I hear Toji’s bigger.”

“Enough with the-”

“My my, young love sure is fiery!” Saved by a rough, booming voice to your side of the festivities. Though, you’re not sure if it would technically be considered a “save” when you’re finally snapping your head and recognizing the source of those words. “I always do tell Naoya ‘ere that it’s time to settle down. No such luck so far!”

As Naobito Zenin slaps an overly harsh hand down on his son’s crisp, suit-cladden shoulder with a bark of laughter, you mutter. “Can’t imagine why.”

Though, perhaps it was a bit too loud.

Because Naoya’s nostrils flare in a sharp inhale, and you’re hearing Gojo stifle a breathy rumble of laughter from his broad chest- shit, since when were you two even pressed up like this? No wonder it must have looked…romantic to an outsider.

“Naobito Zenin, at your service.”

“Ah, my apologies for being so rude.” You’re pushing away from the hero as if it burned - and by the strange tingling on your skin, maybe it really did. Reaching over to the wizened, leering man for a handshake. “I’m-”

“Mrs. Gojo, of course.” Gojo gets there first. “My wife and I are new to Gotham, you see. We wanted to make connections here in our new home.” A warm hand casually slings over your shoulder, slender digits tight. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

What….the fuck.

And perhaps you should’ve screamed bloody murder - maybe that would make the Zenin’s take pity on you after an encounter with this lecher. 

“That’s right.” Perhaps you shouldn’t have leaned in just as you did to his hard front. But if the way that Gojo was momentarily stunned told you anything, it was that you were doing something right. “It’s all been quite a change.”

Naoya’s thin, mahogany brows raise silently - new to the city and already invited to one of the most elite social gatherings of the year? That certainly was intriguing.

“Gojo? Gojo…so familiar…” Naobito muses out loud, and your veins boil with anxiety as his face scrunches. Before he clicks his fingers with flourish, “A-ha–! You wouldn’t have anything to do with the revered Gojo Enterprises now, would you?”

Your faux-husband places a hand over his heart, “Ah, my most beloved little project.” 

“President?”

“CEO.”

Calling a multi-billion dollar foreign company a “little project” was generous, you think. But what was even more so was- “Though, it’s nothing in comparison to what I have coming up soon.” Gojo gasps dramatically, “Oh! We probably shouldn’t reveal much, however. Confidential, only friends and family.”

Naobito Zenin was practically frothing from the mouth at this point. And you notice that even Naoya’s suspicious furrow had almost completely disappeared. Almost. 

“C-confidential-” The older man squeals, before bumping a fist into Gojo’s puffed-up chest. “Why, we’re friends now, aren’t we? Tell me tell me- just between you and I, how big are we talking?”

“Big.”

“Bigger than Gojo Enterprises? S-surely impossible-”

You cut in, “Bigger. Better, considering the association with the parliament we’ve negotiated this time. Whoops- my apologies, darling, that simply slipped out.”

And through it all, Naoya stays unnervingly quiet - even while his father tries and fails to hide his squawks of delight. 

It would’ve almost been comedic if the air wasn’t so cut-throat tense. As if the clinking glasses and chatter of the ball were infinite miles away from your little bubble now. 

Past animosity almost evaporated, you’re managing to meet Gojo’s eyes. His cloud-pale eyebrows wiggling with a knowing waver, and you find yourself plastering on an exaggerated look of distress before carrying out the finishing blow.

“Oh, but you know–” Patting the delicious curves of his pecs, “-my husband has been so stressed lately. I’m afraid he’ll overwork himself mad with this new project.”

“Aw, dear…”

“I do wish he’d take on a partner to collaborate and split the innumerable profits with. But, alas, there hasn’t been a company competent or high-profile enough for our taste.”

And by the sharp elbow Naobito digs into Naoya’s ribs, you already know that you’ve won. Well, that the two of you have won.

Reluctantly, almost as if every word made his bones ache, his son purses out a tight. “Well, Mr. and Mrs. Gojo, my father and I certainly hope this isn’t too forward, but we believe that- ah, we might just be exactly what you’re looking for.”

You both adopt a look of faint surprise, “Oh?”

Another nudge, another step forward. 

“Apologies for the late introduction, but I’m Naoya Zenin. Future congressman, future CEO of the immensely successful Zenin Corporations” Each syllable practically oozing with icy smugness, “I believe I know what you want, and we are it. Please, allow me to reach out on behalf of our Zenin hospitality and lead the two of you to our private business room; where we can discuss this further…in-depth.”

Somehow, the trail end of his sentence made you shudder. 

“Ah, how wonderful!” Gojo’s arm wraps possessively around your waist, “Lead the way, Naoya.”

And if you were lucky to be led straight to the dragon’s lair of treasures, then you were even luckier when one of those said dragons stayed behind.

Indeed, Naobito was held back in conversation with another undoubtedly important parliamentary figure as you and Gojo followed Naoya out of the massive, gilded doors. Silent. Rigid. 

“Take him out. Drug-smuggling documents, then diamonds.” Gojo rasps from the corner of his mouth, voice barely audible for you let alone the stiff figure a few steps in front of you. Leading you along windingly decadent corridors and staircases. 

You’re shaking your head, eyes following the velvety curtains and gleaming ornaments on display and wondering whether you should increase your scope for this heist even more than just the diamonds. “Diamonds, then whatever. I don’t give a shit what you do.”

“Drug-smuggling documents, then diamonds, then prison for you, girl.” He snarks back, “Unless– you wanna make up for this appalling date by actually going out with-”

“We’re here.”

It seems that the Zenin’s did have quite an affinity for interrupting you two at the most important of times. 

And the only thing keeping Gojo from curling his features into a sneer is the sight of those rich, mahogany double doors in front of him. This was it. 

The infamous Zenin office room.

With enough secrets to overturn the nation, and– Gojo sneaks a glimpse at the determined set of your gaze - enough diamonds, too. 

Naoya’s spindly fingers twist on the burnished golden door handles, letting them creak open just a few inches ajar. Dim lighting floods out through the crack, and you’re seeing the outline of an expensive cross between an office room and a lounge room.

He gestures his hands in a wave inside with an almost-bored sort of drawl, “Guests first, I insist.”

Your fingers itch towards the dagger strapped to your thigh, and Gojo’s stare narrows. Tone steely yet polite, “No no, as the future master of the house-”

“I insist.”

“Alright…” He plants a staggering palm on the small of your back, “Come along then, sweetheart.”

Tentatively stepping onto the luxurious red carpet inside at the same time, you swear from your cunning optics you see Naoya’s lips twitch-

And then it happens.

All in the span of a nanosecond that neither you nor Gojo have the time to react - the floor and the ceiling crack open in an almost metre-wide line dividing you two and the door, a thick wall of metal snapping! shut in place before you can blink, and suddenly– suddenly, you’re trapped. 

“Fuck-”

“No!”

“You must excuse me for the rude welcome-” Naoya’s voice drifts over, and you’re noticing that the gleaming wall had a small window pane. Enough for you to see a sliver of crazed, honeypool eyes, “-Prowler and Nightwing.” 

He knows.

Of course, he knew. You were here trapped between a thoroughly bolted, heavy-duty panel of metal harder than diamonds. Ones especially made for trained heroes and- well, you. 

And one furious bang! of your fist told you that not even your overpowered strength would be able to break through - it barely even rattled the barrier’s bolts that proudly stood circumference of your head. Running the expanse from floor to ceiling, you were backed into a corner. 

Looking behind you, you’re met with the rest of the gleaming office; shelves upon shelves of books, a busy desk, cushy loveseats. And no window. 

No exit.

He’s spitting, face twisting into heaps of wrinkles as he grins. “My father might be half-blind, but I’m not.” Pointing accusingly, “You almost got me, I admit. But any fool could tell- the tension, the stupid flirting. Who else would it fuckin’ be if not for you two?”

Crossing your arms, you do your best to keep out the tremble in your voice. “Quite frankly, I’m almost insulted.”

“I’m not.”

And you do not glower at Gojo…this time. To firmly disprove Naoya’s point, if anything. 

The other man clenches his teeth, throwing his hands. “I don’t care what you feel. This is checkmate, so now you both simply die.”

Running your hands through your cage, you could practically feel the power. The strength. “Well, it seems you’re not just beauty- well, you’re not beauty at all, actually.”

“Don’t forget, he isn’t brains either.” Gojo pipes up, nodding towards you. “I know this daddy’s boy wasn’t the one to make this lair. It reads more like the works of-”

“Shut up shut up shut up-” You and him watch in mild astonishment as your captor drags his fingers through his hay-blond locks and pulls. You swear you could count every red, popped blood vessel in his bulging eyes. “-insufferable fucking- I have you two at my mercy, and when my father hears about this he will be pleased. Very pleased.” 

You will yourself not to gulp, “There’s nothing you can do to us.”

“Wait and watch. After all, I am the future head of Zenin Corporations, I’ll kill both of you. It doesn’t matter how.”

Before you can torment him any further, he turns tail and throws a withering glare your way. Hands on the doors, it feels like something leaden is forming in your throat. “Better sit tight until the ball ends and we can have our ah- fun little afterparty.”

.

.

.

“Can’t you stop that infernal noise, girl.”

You’re halting your body mid-punch, a thin line of sweat trickling from your temple. Heaving out, “I don’t see you helping.” 

Not even waiting for a response before you’re back to gifting the office wall with a solid CLANG! You’d already attempted the same with the metallic partition, to not even a single crater. And by the unaffected state of the rest of the room, you’re slowly realizing that every one of these four walls might just be made from the same material. 

Fuck.

BANG!

“For fucks-”

“What are you doing, then?” You’re whirling around to face a precarious Gojo Satoru, standing on one foot on top of a high bookshelf and murmuring utterly ridiculously to something clutched in his palm. “An interpretive dance routine won’t get us out of here.”

He’s been like this for the entire time - it could’ve been hours, it could’ve been minutes - since you’ve been trapped here. All he’s done was rifle through a few files and snatch a few documents. And…this. 

Hell- you didn’t even find your diamonds, yet. 

“You think about ‘us’ a lot?”

Rolling your eyes- you can’t even bother with a scowl. Instead, turning back to spend your time planting CRASH! after CRASH! over his protests. 

“Keep it down, sweetheart, I can’t-” Punching your way through even harder - making even louder noise, on purpose. “-hear-” Perhaps you could kill him before Naoya even gets here. “-the mic-” 

“What?” You’re grunting, ears still ringing from the deafening noise yourself. 

And just then you find your brows knitting together because Gojo Satoru looks so…satisfied. It strikes you to your very core. Which was definitely never a good sign. 

Jumping down from the bookshelf in one, fluid motion, he shows off a tiny rounded gadget grasped in one hand. “You’ll see.” Gojo purrs at your questioning gaze, winking. “You’ll see very soon. We’ll be fine, promise.”

Yeah, you really didn’t like the sound of that.

But before you can swivel back to your target - you swear you were seeing a crack - Gojo’s tucking away the mysterious object into his jacket pocket and taking it off. Letting the silken fabric hit the floor with a dull schwf! Right along with his tie, his belt-

“Wh-what are you doing?” It comes out more breathless than you’d have liked. 

“Changing into my supersuit, that’s what.” He lifts up his mask to roll his eyes, full and well knowing. The pinkish perk of his tongue drags a slow glide of wetness across his lips as he unbuckles his belt - looking you straight in the eyes. “Why? This turn ya on, sweetheart?”

“No.”

Yes.

Fuck, you hated how even despite turning away, you couldn’t help but angle your body just so that you’re ogling Gojo from your peripheries. You hated how every thud of clothes hitting the floor made a fresh new layer of goosebumps bead along your clammy, heated skin. 

It was so hot. 

“You should do the same– you must be getting warm with all that ruthless, blundering violence.” Comes the sing-song voice from behind you, oh- he was enjoying this. It sent Gojo’s heart racing to watch the way you were all flustered because of his actions. His body. 

Scoffing, another punch. “You just want to see skin, lecher.”

“With a body like that- fuck yeah.”

“Save it for the wives of the bourgeoisie.”

“Scared, Prowler?”

Oh, for the love of-

“Not on your life, Nightwing.”

And then you do it.

You make the mistake of giving into your instinctual desire to glare at Gojo Satoru, as if your eyes never wanted to leave him. And then you see it. 

All his long, tantalizing muscles and curves - being hugged so tightly in that black and blue suit that you could count every one of his eight washboard abs. Fuck. Gojo’s body seemed to go on for miles, pulling the latex tightly over his rippling flesh. 

Right on cure, your eyes trail from the bulging valley of his pecs, to the ridges of his v-line to…you gulp.

You always did think it gave him an unfair advantage - just how sexy he was. It was one of the reasons he managed to distract you enough to lock you up in Gotham State Penitentiary last time, after all. 

Tittering, “Take a picture it’ll-”

“Take this fist to your face.”

“Kinky~ it’ll only make me harder, y’know.”

Hard-er. 

And all of a sudden it was as if the tension in the room was like molasses, and you were drowning in the saccharine concoction. Nightwing- Gojo really was too cocky for his own good, but what was even worse was he could back it up, too. 

Your skin flares up with a burning breeze, and your voice comes out peaky. “Fine.” Through his mask, you swear his eyes widen once your hands fly up to take off your own. And then to the zipper of your gown, “But only because it’s so hot.”

Pulling it down just an inch before-

“Wait…let me?”

Just a flash of that glossy black suit of yours, just a single sneak-peek of it enveloping your skin and he was pressing you to the wall. Ravenous.

You were gorgeous. 

Balmy heat of his body making yours sizzle up, all Gojo needs is only one of his massive palms to pin both your wrists wayyy above your head. Meaty thighs massaging up against yours to stop your jostling body. 

Lips twitching up into a smirk at the carnal hunger in your eyes, “Let me…help with that, yeah?” His gravelly words resound in your eardrums and make your thighs squeeze. The fat fringes of his digits draw slow lines down the side of your figure, memorizing. “S’a hero’s duty, after all.” 

You’re growling, “Do it. Do it if you’re not scar- ah!”

But that’s exactly what Gojo had been waiting for. 

Exactly the moment to make your pretty voice break, exactly the moment for him to tuck a finger behind your back and all but rip–! your dress from the back.

“Would ya look at thaaaat-” He’s snickering out in awe as your flimsy gown falls halfway through tatters around you, all along with your dagger. Revealing a snug suit that makes his mouth simply water. All gorgeous lines of your body that he can’t get enough of. “Always fuckin’ hated this suit.”

His sinful pants strike you in gusts when Gojo leans his admiring head down, down, down to push right into the valley between your heaving tits. “Made me s-soooo fucking hard every time I saw ya in it.”

Did you just make Gojo Satoru stutter?

No wait- even better, was that achingly hard outline bumping right between your legs what you thought it was?

He’s rubbing the swollen outline of his mushroom tip at the target of your hot core, drinking in that cutely surprised expression on your face. Something devilish. “Oh~? What’s this? I-if this is what it took to shut that pretty mouth, I’d have done it sooner.”

But what he didn’t account for was the way that you would take the initiative shutting him up. 

The way you would breach that almost-non-existent air between you two and crash your lips onto his. In French kiss so filthy that it makes Gojo moan–

“You’re better like this-” You spit between his strawberry pink lips, the taste of his bubblegum sweet taste now your most favorite. Cherry flavored, almost. “-when you shut up.”

In response, he’s nipping on your lower lip and draaaagging. Smirking at the adorable squeal that lets off from your ajar jaw, “Can’t even keep yer h-hands off of me, always knew you found me irresistible.” And Gojo doesn’t even need his other hand to entrap you now, pinning you with his muscled front. A sultry glissade of mere inches up n’ down up n’ down up n’- 

You could tell that he was big. 

So could that soft palm of yours, sneaking down to cop an agonizing feel of his rotund bulge. Fingers rovering generously along the damp crevice of his slit, “What was that?”

“Found me ir-re-sis-”

Harder. 

“Shiiiit.” He hiccups, head swimming. “Suck- suck on my tongue.”

You do. Making Gojo’s eyes glaze over at the twist of your pillowy lips, making him rut-

“Fuckin’ dirty little thing.” The rough texture of his tastebuds swirl across your own, and even through his mask you swear he looked fucked-out already. Taking off his suave gloves, he leaves one spank on your thigh. Two. “Mmm- spread them f’me now.”

You’re snarling, despite the furious throb you feel from your leaking cunt. “Who’d ya think you are to ngh- boss me around?”

“Have it your way then, girl.”

And when he says that shit, he means it.

Before you know it, he’s sitting on the capped curves of his knees with a loud bam! You’re grimacing for but a mere split-second at just how much it must have hurt, before realizing that Gojo doesn’t care.

It’s the last fucking thing on his mind once he’s gliding an open, calloused palm underneath one of your unsteady legs and wrangling it on top of his sculpted shoulders. 

You’re latching a hand through his soft, fawny strands with a yelp. “Asshole.”

“Witch.”

“Pussy.”

“Pussy, alriiight—” The borders of his short, manicured nails draw an invisible line down, down, down to coast the puffy fissure of your pussylips. Before pinching and tearing cleanly between the legs of your latex suit. Breathing deeply in- “There she is. Pretty girl…hey there, the name’s Satoru. I’m the stuff of your wettest dreams.”

You can’t even bite out a retort - a plea - before Gojo’s diving nose-deep allll the way into your drooling cunt. Nudging apart your gluey folds with his perky buttoned nose, lengthy tongue slathering your hole with a fat drag-

He’s basically glued. Addicted with only a single taste, and swerving his tongue to scratch up in solid, dizzying circles around and around your soppy entrance. 

“Sh-shit-” Your thighs break out in jitters, and he only responds with a firm tug to interlock your craned limb ‘round his neck. Making your spine bend the perfect curvature off of the cool wall, “-more. More.”

SPANK!

The rims of Gojo’s fingers burn into the globes of your ass, and he’s so unrepentant about it. So smug. Making such a spectacular show of letting your globs of slick pour down his tongue. 

Kiss-bitten maw hanging wiiidely agape to make you watch the thick rivulets of sap that hit the back of his awaiting throat. He’s dripping wet all the way down to his bobbing Adam’s apple, treacly splotches of juice hitting the floor in puddles. 

Gojo gurgles out something feral, still mushing his pert maw to your wet mound so you’re feeling each n’ every vibration. 

“Dooooown, kitty.” Another spank, and another steamy snog of his mouth. Though, this time he’s letting his pearly whites catch on your plumpened clit. Dangerously so. “Watch ngh- watch it, I bite.”

With a frustrated tut, you’re pushing his pretty features even deeper into your pussy. Making him pinch your sensitive nub between his teeth even harder. Slobbering a long drag from every inch of his pointed chin, to the very apples of his high cheekbones. 

“Maybe m’into that…Satoru.”

“Oh- Oh.” Through the bleary gaps in your eyes, you’re noticing that Gojo was blushing. Bright. Red up to the tips of his ears. Burning skin chafing up into your own, and you’re practically melting at his heat.

That sound was like heaven to him. You were like heaven to him. And Gojo’s dilated irises hold direct eye contact with you once he’s digging his round fingertips roughly onto your asscheeks. Resonating out such saturated squelches after squelches as his tongue laps every nook and cranny. “You’re gonna get it- fuck, you’re gonna get it, sweetheart.”

So many delirious moans rip out of you with every slash of his tongue, perking it in every right sensitive spot of yours - without even trying.

Mewling, “Toru- ngh- Toru.”

“Easy there, easy there.” He giggles out in a wet sputter right into your inner thighs, ragged voice all waterlogged with so many ounces of you and your sweet pussy. In the blink of an eye, you feel like you’re floating - only mere moments later do you realize that it’s because Gojo’s holding you up. 

With only one hand.

Relieving you of any thought other than jerking your cunt repeatedly on top of his open mouth in a sultry tempo. Back and forth. 

“Have no idea h-how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He spits into your weeping pussy - both literally and figuratively. Free hand darting upwards to push aside the glutinous barrier of your folds and spray it with a thick wad of spittle. Licking over the shiny sheen, “No idea. Always actin’ so ngh- high and mighty. Had to fuck my fist every time I fought ya, had to run off and- shiiiit cum to the thought of you all over my tongue.”

Gojo was babbling, and right now it was as if he started and couldn’t stop.

“Annoying fuckin’ girl.” He’s snarling, every syllable falling out before he can even think. The swollen point his thumb treks past your walls and catches on the fluttering orifice of your hole. “Ya just need to be eaten out reeeeal proper. Lemme show you how it’s done.”

Then you feel like you’re being split-apart, and you knew you were fucked. 

Because Gojo’s fingers were both long and girthy. 

Such a lethal combination that had you mussing up his silky bangs while you held on for dear life. 

His barreling inches crawl right past that first cozy outer ring, showering it with such lustrous layers of pure, slippery need. Pushing and pushing until they’re skirting to thrash right into the bulging area of your g-spot. 

And just when he’s pummelling your molten wall with a harsh strike, just when Gojo’s mouth parts at the pure ecstasy of finding it. Of how pretty you looked. 

You’re letting your own, too, in a frail whimper. “Th-that all you got, Nightwing?”

“Ohhh, I love a woman that bullies me.” 

All that Gojo whispers into your cunt - low, almost reverent - before his touch turns deadly. Cock aching painfully, thighs squeezing together until his pulsing, hot shaft gets squeezed. 

You’re faced with the full force of his slick-covered fingers pumping direct hit after hit. Sending white-hot flashes of pressure straight from the stout ends of his fingerpads and right to your brain.

“That all I got? H-heh, that all I got-” He’s echoing your previous words like a mantra. Breaking. Octaves higher as if he was on the verge of laughing. “How fucking cute.”

“C-cute?”

“So fucking cute.”

“I-I’m not- fuck!”

Pinpointing his long index purposefully in a massage right up against your g-spot, like it was a button for him to toy and push. 

Gojo’s smile leers ever-wider as he holds it there, listening to the way your moans pitch creakily. “What’s that?” And you’re barely spilling off a few more syllables in response before he angles his wrist deeper to push down even harder. Making your entire body shudder, “What’s that? Yeahh, s’what I thought.”

You were so tight around him that Gojo’s forcing himself to bite his driveling bottom lip to hold back countless embarrassing whimpers. Because you were clinging onto him like gum, tugging his fingers back into your boiling hot depths every time he’s reeling back.

And the problem with Gojo Satoru was that he couldn’t decide. 

He wanted you. And he wanted it all. 

Couldn’t stop from alternating between scissoring his dexterous fingers into every ridge and crevice of your goopy cunt, and making out with you like he was parched. Lolling his tongue like he was drunk- all over your swooping slit and rubbing in tiny hearts on top of your hooded clit. 

“Need you. Need you s-shoooo fuuuckin’ badly.” He couldn’t even speak properly at this point. You’re flinching as a third finger slimily squirms inside your pussy. “Want it all.”

So fucking sloppy in ways you’ve never seem him.

Your dewdrops of slick coat the outside of his mouth and stick in delicate strings, growing thicker and thicker by the minute as he once more strikes your magical spot and makes your toes curl. Gasping, “Yeah- yeah, fuck. Take it, take it ngh- all, Satoru—”

You think you’re gonna snap.

“Upsie daisy.”

Basically being manhandled to lean your entire weight on his shoulders. You don’t think you’re even holding yourself up at all this point. Feeling every flex and ripple of the hero’s deltoids underneath your fleshy mounds.

You’re so loud - and not just from your mouth.

“Hell yeah. Talk t’me.” Juicy sloshes spring onto the edges of Gojo’s mouth after every gyration, practically devouring you. He narrows his lust-murked stare to your glistening hole, giggling - fucking giggling - at how your hips just can’t stay still. “She’s saying…ohhh she’s saying- saying she’s gonna be good f’me.”

You’re blinking down with dazed intrigue, watching with an empty head at the way that his motions only get faster. And faster. 

Pupils sprinting allll the way to the back of your heavy lids, “Close. Think- think m’so close, Toru.”

“Ya think?” He muses, drawing a bold stripe up your bruised and battered g-spot. One so hard that it has the corners of your lips flooding with a bubbling torrent of saliva, it has your eyes shuttering- “Oh, girl– I know. You’re cummin’ already, sweetheart.”

Shit- you were? You were. 

Head spinning, throat raw. 

And you didn’t even realize it with just how fucked-out you were on his long, lecherous tongue. Rendering your head permanently dizzy with those vulgar patterns he was drawing with it, both inside and out.

Your goopy walls tingle with the force of your high, ears popping with the pressure of those startling peaks after peaks. Ones that Gojo drags out gladly. 

“Cumming from the hah- the great Gojo Satoru, huh?” He’s groaning, tonality husked with a shiver of something predatory. Unstable. Needy. Smashing away over and over and over on your most tender spots, buzzing. “Cumming all over my mouth. Always was meant for this- meant for me.”

If you thought that the squelches from before were blasphemous, then you surely weren’t ready for the slurps that follow now. 

So loud. 

Slithering the curling tip of his tongue to slap down on your quivering entrance, he’s pounding your hole dually with a mean mouth and even meaner fingers. Merciless. 

You’re cumming and cumming and he’s stringing you along with every explosive ram and suck. Tired fingers pulling out of your hole with a wet plop! and lurching down to squeeze his achingly hard cock. Grinding the fat of his palm over n’ over across his length-

“S-soooo sensitive—” You’re sobbing out, eyes leaking hot tears once the crescendo of your orgasm pulls taut, powerful tingles rushing from where Gojo was latching his neat teeth onto your clit and biting. 

And not even wringing your fingers to scratch his scalp, not even draaaagging Gojo by his sweat-matted hair could get him to part. 

He wasn’t done yet. No. 

His chin hits the very back of your cunt as he targets your pussy with yet another viscous few wads of spittle. Scattering it all over your sloppy hole when he’d drunk up all your sweet sap and there wasn’t enough. “Wanna taste more o-of you. S’fuckin’ sweet, wanna taste more.”

Because to him it would never be enough.

Not even when you’d finally let your toes uncurl, not even when your cracked whimpers were turning hushed. Bated. 

Not even when he finally breaks his kiss between your legs with one last looooong slurp. Well, multiple. Gojo simply kept parting and coming back every few seconds with the most vulgar kisses because it hurt him to leave the very same pussy he’s been dreaming of since the day he first met you. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” Gojo seethes out through rough pants. The soppy thwack! of wiry ribbons of drool from both sets of lips smacking him in the face. It lacquers all over his prettily flushed face and makes a mess.

Yet, you think he’s never looked prettier. 

And the only thing messier was that smile he was giving you - dopey, and crazed. With beads of syrupy slick hanging off of his cerise lips, “You…you got my mask all dirty, sweetheart.”

“Dirty” was an understatement. 

Gojo’s black mask was drenched, soaked through until every bit of his milky skin touching it smeared with a shimmery lamination of sap. You’d done such a number on him that when he hooks a thumb underneath, it lets out the most sinful squelch!

“Hear that?” You’re watching, speechless, once he tugs it off haphazardly. Impatiently. Ethereal white locks splaying out and over like a halo, “That’s the sound of ya being eaten out reeeal good n’ proper.”

And when Nightwing takes his mask off, you have to blink. 

Because you’d fully and completely thought that Gojo Satoru could never be prettier - but when he was like this? When you could finally see his face fully?

Shit, you’re feeling your heart hammer against your ribs with a painful ba-dump–! just by looking into his summer blue eyes. The cute blush painting his features even more evident, and you’re catching his nose crinkle. 

You’re pushing back the stray twines of his bangs sticking onto his prespired forehead. A touch that makes him shiver, a touch that makes his hardened cock twitch in his supersuit. “Never put that on a-again, I swear.”

“Ate that pretty cunt out and you’ve hah- fallen f’me already, hm~?” He’s wriggling his pale brows, and the look in his eyes is so enchanted that it leaves you momentarily speechless.

If you’d fallen for Gojo now, then he had already fallen for you a long, long time ago.

You hand on his hair tightens, searing. Angling his handsomely pussydrunken face until he’s looking up at you, “And who was saying they’ve been hngh- dreaming of eating my ‘pretty cunt’ for ages now?”

“I…”

“Shut up.”

And when you tell him to shut up, he shuts up. For perhaps the first time in the twenty-something years he’s been terrorizing this Earth.

Oh, for just how famed Nightwing was for his reflexes, Gojo barely sees it coming when you’re pushing him onto the muggy floor and collapsing right on down with him. Feverish. Needy. 

He was so fucking hard that you swear you could see the zig-zag of his inflated veins through that massive bulge. Through his clothes-

Seriously, you’re ripping through the tough latex-y fabric wrapping around his inner thighs with a smirk. If he got to rip your supersuit then you should only return the favor. 

You can’t help yourself, the very tip of your mushy tongue drips with a few pearls of saliva with just how badly you wanted him in your mouth. You’d seen the way that Gojo was huffing and grinding his cock as much as he could when he was filthily making out with your cunt.

Judging by the way he was jolting and moaning at your every touch, you were surprised he didn’t cum just from-

Oh.

He did. 

And from the startled look of awe on Gojo’s face, he didn’t realize he had, either. 

“Oh?” You’re skimming the fat plane of your thumb over his leaky orifice right in the middle, bawling out thick ropes of creamy white which slipped n’ slid allll down your wrist in generous heaps. “A-and you called me ‘cute’.”

Shit, but you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know where to look.

True to his word, Gojo was big - more than big, actually. 

His cock was oh-so-pretty, standing red and proud at something near nine or ten inches. Oodles of buttery seed dripping down the side and ready for you to lick up. 

Nestled above breeder balls, he’s lightning bolted with fat, rosé veins you couldn’t wait to feel scratch up your insides. A girthy circumference that made your poor knuckles ache to wrap around, so needy that every throb made your wrist jolt. 

So…sexy.

“Satoru…”

And something in your tone of voice seems to jolt Gojo into overdrive. 

He’s letting his meaty thighs crack open, displaying you with the attractive ripples of muscle. “C’mon, sweetheart-” A large hand softly cups the back of your unsteady head, “-clean up this- this mess you made.”

If this was any other time, you might’ve snapped back something about it being the mess he made himself. If this was any other time, you might’ve teased him for the teary cracks shattering his words.

But right now, you were striking the bullseye of Gojo’s round, coral pink divot with a hefty dump of saliva. Thumbing it right over his weeping middle and lazing your tongue tenderly all down the grooves of his veins.

You could feel him throb and buck underneath you, so turned on that you could practically taste it. 

“Gods. Fuck. Fuck, girl-” He’s spitting out through lowered lashes, watching your tongue flop out to lap ‘round and ‘round his mushroomy tip like your favorite lolly. “-like that. Just like that.”

Gojo tucks a thumb underneath the curve of your chin, prying your maw to fall open just enough so that he can tap-tap-tap his blushing, thick head on your tongue. So that he can spurt out a few more gumdrops of seed and watch them glisten all the way to your throat. 

He’s watching you with an open mouth,  “Oh yeah. Oh yeah, my girl. Now you’re gonna hah- take all of me, right?”

Your pussy twitches with interest at his words — “my girl.” And the only thing you can think to do is let your digits sift underneath his tender slit, grinning. “Make me.”

It’s all the confirmation that Gojo needs to lurch open your slobbering mouth even further and plunge his veiny cock into you. Hissing at the way your tongue drags underneath his sinking shaft, he burns red to the tips of his ears. 

“N-now now, play nice and say ‘ahhh’—” Your mouth was so hot. And it was working so many wonders on his fat cock that it was forcing him to gasp out tiny sobs. “Take me- fucking- fucking take me or god help me-”

He didn’t even know what he was saying.

Never breaking sultry eye contact, Gojo’s swabbing his cum around your plumped lips like a whitish lipstain. Fucking up feverishly, his trickling tip hits the very bottom of your throat and stays there-

“Ya like that?” He’s snarling out, perfect teeth pulled back on full display. You’re moaning into his tufted, snowy-white pubes at the sight of his glinting canines. “‘Course you do, course you do. F-fuck don’t know how many ngh- time I-I’ve imagined this. All because of you, nasty girl-”

Without warning, he’s pinching your nose together and you whine in answer. Crescents of your nails clawing down red, red lines all over his toned abs, “Alright alright- ngh- mostly because of you.”

He lets go, finally. Snickering at the steady tears that fall down your cute face. 

Fighting against his flapping lids to watch the way you’re bobbing your head in a primal cadence now. Your nose brushing up against his heated skin every time. A fat few rivers of drool find themselves glazing your lips, your chin, Gojo’s shifting pelvis in a puddle. 

He was so hot and weighty inside, and your jaw was starting to ache just from the sheer bulky fatness. Your cunt leaking - bawling - at the way his ballooned-up veins rub against the roof of your mouth up n’ down.

“You and that damn suit n’ those damn eyes a-and that-” He bucks up, up, up, core tensing sexily each time. Smashing the rounded curve of his tight balls against your chin. “-damn mouth. Now mine, all mine oh—”

Your fingers just barely graze over Gojo’s plump sack, making his precious, pinkish skin wrinkle. Making him gasp- “O-oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck-” His head snaps upwards, eyes rolling to the very backs of his head. “-c’mere. C’mere.”

Maybe it’s because of the remaining aftereffects of your mind-shattering orgasm, maybe it’s because you wanted him so bad you couldn’t think; but you’re so pliable in Gojo’s big, strong arms.

He’s bending a few degrees to scoop you up in a mess of boneless limbs, all in one go. Sitting you all pretty and struggling to balance on his slender hips– his v-shape was mouth-watering. 

And your thighs fit so perfectly snugly on either side, glissading your pussylips up and down on his cylindrical shaft. You’re riding all along his bumpy veins, head bobbing at every probing spiral that pokes past your folds. 

“Fuck me.” Gojo whispers against your throat. Reaching over languidly to rip even more of his supersuit for you, all the way down his inner thighs, his chest, everywhere. For you to ruin. “Fuh-fuck me.”

Whining, “Give it- give it t’me, Toru–”

He blushes. 

You didn’t know who was yearning for it more. 

Gojo repeatedly spanks your slippery hole with the very rounded crown of his cockhead, sandwiching himself between your bloated lips. And the sight makes him grin, the sight makes him twitch- “Open. Open wiiiide, sweetheart. Tight fuckin’ thing.”

Your knobbly knees ricket as you splay them out shamelessly, “‘Nough teasing. Want it- a-and I want it now.”

Bratty girl.

Though, he always has loved that side of you. 

And it’s exactly what makes Gojo depart his hips off of the ground in a sudden rut and fill you up to your brim. Just the plump circle of his tip mazing past your entrance enough to render you stupidly speechless. 

You swear you hear him bludgeon just the few inches of his head into your channel with a wet plop! Before your ears ring with something even louder…even wetter. 

“Fucking- shit shit shit-” You’re almost letting your mouth sing with a whimper once his gorgeous eyes shutter closed, a cute pout smearing over your face. Gojo’s shifting, he’s restless, he’s planting his feet firmly flat on the floor and bucking wildly. Through clenched teeth, “This is- all- your- fault.”

Suddenly, you’re feeling something warm and thick soaking through your walls. Slathering ribbons of liquid sloshing around your wet inners and mixing with the waves of your aroused slick. 

Did he just…? Just from putting it inside? 

And, really, you felt so heavenly inside - what was a man to do?

Your gooey walls molding around his length like molten gold, it was driving Gojo crazy until all he could do was wrap his arms around the small of your back as if you were his lifeline. Panting out cloudy breaths against your face, he stares deeply into your eyes and cums-

Your eyes flap open alertly, “T-Toru– did you just-”

“Shut up.” He’s huffing, gnawing on his wobbly lower lip like chewing gum. To shut you up, he’s shoving your face between the plummy cushions of his pecs. Grunting when your tongue comes out to suck his rose pink nipples. “I’m just- I’m- ngh–”

Just fucking his globular wads of seed until you were overspilling, is what. Pumping the bottom of your pussy so full that you’re feeling him smear sticky streaks down your cervix, the gluey-texture making your back arch for more more more-

“Can’t help that this p-pussy is so fuck- filthy.” He’s trawling out syllables from the back of his hoarse throat, a thin line of saliva leaking from one end of that fucked-out grin. Eyeing the plapping of his cum pouring in bucketloads out of you and onto his skin, “That you’re so…”

Can’t help that he’s been dreaming of this since forever. 

Gojo didn’t have to say a word, because the massive puddle formulating from between your icing-topped folds was chatty enough. Really chatty, in fact, that the man finds himself nodding away blearily with every shrill squelch! from down below. 

Humming, “Mhm— real t-talkative, aren’t you, pretty girl?” His pants puncture with a few breathless titters, watery gaze flickering between your sweaty face and where he was disappearing. Depraved. “Nicer than her, too.”

Lips falling into a partially-offended, partially-delirious oh! your brows furrow, “S-so mean. Don’t make me- ngh- don’t make me g-get off, Satoru.”

“Get off, huuuuh?” He’s drawling, hands pushing you down even further along his blushing red cock. You were so insistent and fiery, it made him so much fucking harder. And it was cute, the way you’re flinching when his tip throbs even fatter. “If you wanna ngh- tap- tap out, jus’ say so, my girl.”

“Never.” 

“Never?”

Rolling those beautiful eyes of yours, “You’d tap out first.”

Fuck yeahhhhh, he was shifting his hips just a little to make you feel how much girthier you were making him. The clingy sides of your walls snatching on the way his crownhead pulls taut, stretching your innards to the very max. “No. You.”

He doesn’t know if you even realize just how much more damp you’re getting. A syrupy wet patch already formed and growing on his v-line, dribbling down to his twitchy balls. “Scared, Nightwing?”

“I’m not even trying, sweetheart.”

And with that said, only now do you realize just how true his words are. 

Two impressive hands interlace on the crown of your sticky scalp, pushing you- bullying you down like some glorified ragdoll. 

Your thighs twitch as if you were unsure whether to clench or spread. You can feel Gojo’s sweltering hot cock squeezing and squeezing his fully proud length inside of you - you didn’t even realize that he hadn’t bottomed out yet because he was simply so big.

But when he did finally fit all the way?

God, it felt like he was drilling his split-ended tip right into your lungs. 

“There we go- thereeee we go.” Gojo breathes out thickly, and it felt like something leaden in his tummy was finally unraveling after all this time. Finally stuffed inside your pussy. “Knew you could t-take me- heh. S’biiig, isn’t it?”

Really big. 

And every shallow bounce of yours made your pulse burst near your throat, stars sparking behind your burdensome eyelids when he pinpricks tiny speckles of pre on your most favorite spots. 

“Yeah yeah- ride me.” He grapples at your scalp and pulls. “Fuckin’ ride me. S’all yours n’ I wanna see you ngh- milk it.”

“Gods- ohhhh gods.” You’re shrilling out in a strained pitch when he jerks upwards and clashes into your g-spot, your nails claw ragged lines on the carpet as if you’d just been thrown to the wolves. Stupid now. Hips jerking away from his tantalizing pace-

“No running.” Gojo spits, pained. One hand curling around your throat and dragging you down to smack the backs of your thighs against his weighty balls, the other cupping your face delicately. His long, textured tongue laps up the salty pearls of your tears with looooud slurps. “Wh-where the ngh- fuck do you think you’re going?”

You didn’t even have an answer because every possible one was being fucked out of you. Brutally. 

One sharp jab. Two. Three into your tender alcoves and you feel like collapsing, your front melting into his toned one, drool spilling out in spit-loads. 

It’s all you can do to gyrate your waist back and forth in sloppy circles to meet his pace. Looong figure eights that made Gojo’s thighs shudder, and your clit scratch his creamy happy trail. There were so many thorough inches being fed into your cunt, probing deeply. Over and over and over- 

And no matter how full you were he’d keep rutting and rutting. Like he couldn’t stop. Rotund head sagging down your cervix to leave streaks of pre and he was still pushing.

Gojo bores up at you with glazed eyes, saliva-glistening lips parted ever-so-slightly while he pounded up into you as if in a daze.

You’re swearing his dilated pupils have formed into hearts- “Mmmm– love you, my girl.” He carries out a tender kiss on your forehead, and a rough squeeze on your throat. Jostling your lolling head back and forth ever-so-slightly, to dab his digits in a seeping puddle of slick and push past your lips. “Love fucking you. Being haaaaa– fucked by you…”

It’s not often that anyone can catch Gojo Satoru off guard.

But you’re not just “anyone.”

With your honed expertise, all it takes is one jackhammered thud! into the back of your pussy - two - before you’re flipping your ravenously glissading bodies over. 

“Then f-fuck me properly, Toru.”

Maybe he heard your words through the static-y buzzing in his head, maybe he didn’t. Either way your tone makes something inside him twitch, full-bodied. 

And you don’t think Gojo even registers it beyond a stuttered ohhh–! at first, you don’t think he even realizes the way he’s immediately sprawling you out flat on your back and bending you into a rude mating press. 

Still not slowing down. Still not faltering. 

Ah, you don’t know if you’re a genius or just plain stupid. Because you still manage to yelp, “S’that- s’that it?”

As if on primal instinct, he’s letting out a growl near your mouth. “Hah- haaah– Y’know…I-I’m reeeeal flexible, my girl.” Your calves burn with exertion once he throws them unceremoniously over his shoulders, core tensing in a way you can’t help but ogle. “Real flexible.”

At first you didn’t understand why he was telling you this. At first.

Before Gojo drags his large feet up, up, up until he’s planting them where you can see - sweaty thighs lugging forwards where he’s bending you in half and then some. 

It was so cute how pliable you were underneath him, manhandled to every whim and want and need-

This brand-spanking new angle was everything. 

Thrashing into your springy cervix - hard. Stretching out deeply-seated sweet spots inside you that you didn’t even know existed. It makes you feel so fucking filthy at the sting of his papping balls bruising your ass like never before. 

And his tip is so greedy, feeling the swashing splash of his own seed dripping all over your walls and still bursting to erupt with more. He could tell he was close, aligning himself to crash into his favorite target of your g-spot. 

“Fuck–” Your mindless legs threaten to close - not that he would ever let them. “So much. Fuck me, p-please.”

“What was that?”

“Please…”

“What was that?”

“Please!”

Gojo’s hunched over, seethingly red in the face. Ivory bangs half-way covering his intensely half-lidded stare, stray spatters of perspiration hit your chest like bullets. 

“Gonna ngh- fuck you properly.” He spits, hands ghosting over your tummy - namely that globed bulge he was fucking into you. A mere nudge of it with his thumb leaves Gojo’s breath leaving his lungs in a sizzling woosh! Sculptured chest vibrating, “Gonna breed you properly. Gonna…” 

You’re flinching when fingers waft over your nubbed clit, the stark volts of electricity prompting your ass to hit back even rougher against his sharp pelvis. 

“Want it, Toru.” Wobbly arms wrapping around his flushed neck to pull him in close. He looks at you lovingly, while he fucks you like he hates you. “W-want you to ngh- breed me.”

And that does it - for the both of you.

Gojo Satoru’s breath hitches with a cry, balls achingly tight. Needy. “Gonna make you m-mine.”

Running headfirst into your highs, it hits you like a tidal wave. You don’t know where you’re seeing white from; the flurries of stars speckling your vision, or from the torrents of cum Gojo pours out past your sloppy entrance. 

“Your p-pussy–!” Gojo bursts, drilling into you as if he was crazed. Fat tip swirling around your pretty insides with decorative ribbons of pure white, his cum seeps into you thickly and you swear you can feel him well up the door to your womb. “O-ohhhh your pussy your pussy your- p-pussy, takin’ me so well.”

“Fuck me-” You tug on his pink lips with your teeth and it makes Gojo empty out another few webbed streaks of sap into the bottom of your pussy with a thud! Brows furrowing, “Deeper.” Even though he was so deep you think you might burst. “Harder.” So hard you felt raw. “More.”

You were already overspilling, the throes of your burning hot orgasm just barely letting you register the splat-splat-splat of his cum pumping in n’ out of you. 

Two of his slender fingers urgently scoop those few escaping globs back through your pussylips, Gojo’s girth so wide that he doesn’t even have to try to plug you full and tight. 

“A-all safe and sound.” He’s patting at the cumflated outline on your tummy, cylindrical and round. Your walls were so plump and tight with him that just the simplest dig had you squealing. “A-all…”

And Gojo looked like he could purr if he could. 

All fucked out and satisfied, the pussydrunken grin on his face seemed permanent - and so was that tender glint in his eye. Peeking up at you through long lashes, he leans his head over to listen to your juddering heartbeat, “All mine.”

Your tummy lurches, and you find yourself smiling before you can stop. But it’s not like you wanted to stop.

In fact, you didn’t want to stop at all. 

“That last one’s a tie.” Your voice scratches the favorite crevices of Gojo’s brain; so mushy and melted that it takes a long while before his lips drop into an understanding oh! You sweetly peck his lips, “Rematch, Nightwing?”

Fuck. 

His poor, overworked cock twitches.

Fuck. 

And of course, it was a rematch with the two of you.

Of course, the one rematch turned into two. Into three. Into four. Into- you’d lost count after five, and you were sure right now that you couldn’t even do any maths past that.

After breaking Naoya Zenin’s loveseats, after splitting his desk literally in half. Eventually, you’d either forgotten about the man himself and your fate, or you just didn’t care. You were so fucked dumb that all you can cry is a broken, “Sa-to–ru!”

Because if there was one thing that Batman taught in his rigorous training scheme, it was stamina. 

Gojo was taking you from behind right now- well, that was being generous. 

He was slumped down over you until his abs were liquefying down your arched spine, head buried deep into the clammy crook of your neck. Swirling his sensitive cock all around your tenderized insides, thighs trembling where he was pinning the both of you down onto the floor. Too sloppy and fucked to even try anywhere else.

“M’here—” Gojo drawls out, heavy tongue stumbling over the sounds. He pats the cute tummy bulge that he’s responsible for first, and then your gushing pussy. Pulling you to him, he really was acrobatic, “M’here. Toru’s h-here, my sweetheart.”

Fuck- those last two words make him jetstream out a sweltering few beads of seed. He couldn’t even cum properly anymore. 

Driving into you until every voluminous mass in his body was now packed intensely between your snug walls, he shifts inside of you with a sloooow gyration and feels the knotted mess he’s made. 

“My sweetheart–” Gojo’s biceps bulge where he’s shoving your head into the soft carpet, into the pond of saliva that just won’t stop leaking from your parted mouth. His words depart in a cracked plea, “My girl.”

“Y-yours.”

Maybe you’re cumming, maybe you’re not - you don’t even know, at this point. 

Half-lucidly aware of the faint tingles shooting up your spine, and making your temples throb. Gojo himself feels out of control, hips reeling back, back, back to slam into your jiggling ass. 

He’s pawing himself a rough handful of your fleshy mounds once he throws his head back and lets his aching shaft jolt. Straight from his drenched base, all the way to his overstimulated tip- exhausting out one bead of pre. Two. 

Before Gojo cums dry.

“O-oh.” His teeth snag near your pulse, wet splatters of tears soaking your skin. Something animalistic twinging at the back of his cottony mind at the way you literally milked him until he was dry. Despite himself, he laughs. High-pitched. Crazed. “S’a- tie- s’a tie, I went e-easy on you…”

Somehow, you’re managing a grin. “My hero~”

And Gojo was just about to open his mouth - maybe to counter back something nonsensical, maybe to ask for a rematch over n’ over until he passes out.

But what happens instead is that overly familiar metallic gate explodes open.

You have to blink away the clingy fog in your eyes in alarm, and you’re embarrassed to admit that it took longer than you thought. Dammit, he really did win that last round- ah, rematch.

Still stunned, you can barely even dredge up some semblance of dignity as a towering man in a red helmet and skin-tight black suit walks in. Past his sexy biker vest, and those muscles upon chiseled muscles, you think you see- yeah, it really is. A red Batman logo. 

Red Hood. 

A low snicker sounds from underneath his mask, swiftly being taken off to reveal a man so pretty that you feel your jaw slacken. 

He runs a hand through silky, waist-length black hair, amethyst eyes glinting with amusement and something…more as he takes in the sight. Long lashes fluttering, he lets go of a specialized machine gun you assume was used to break down your cage. “Yo, Satoru.”

“Suguru.” Gojo gruffs out in a condensed gasp, though he makes no move to stop. None at all. Still balls-deep, and rubbing his tip down your spongy cervix. “Wh-what- fuuuck, don’t squeeze like that, my girl- took ya so ngh- long?”

Red Hood- Suguru, waves his other hand airily, only then do you see the knife clutched in it. The extremely…bloodied knife. “Ah, y’know~ Had to clean up some messes. Toji wanted revenge on the Zenins, the usual family drama.” Eyes flashing, “He’ll be up once he’s done to ah…join us here.”

Oh god, was the entire Bat Family here? You get the distinct feeling that this was not just “usual family drama.”

But you can’t say a word when the other man bores his piercing gaze onto you next. Tone smooth and syrupy, “So…Prowler, I’m assuming, by the ripped up costume?”

You feel your skin heat. “The one and only.”

“Geto Suguru, gorgeous.” He pulls out a tiny spherical gadget that looked exactly like the one Gojo had been toying with hours- days? ago. “I already know your name, Toji and I heard it over and over. Which, by the way, you should remind that idiot Satoru to turn his microphone off.”

Ah, that explains a lot. And wait- it was on this whole time? 

Shit. 

While Gojo only huffs out a pant of laughter, planting yet another deep jackhammer into you, you feel the apologies bubble to your lips. That is, until- 

“Unless you want someone to feel…” Geto licks his lips slooowly, bangs swooning over his sleazy gaze. You watch with widened eyes as a hand falls to his bulky belt, carnally. “-left out.”

A/N. Mhm what happens when ya let a girl listen to Nightcrawler.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[with-my-calamitous-love]

your arms are reaching / your eager heart is throbbing

k. bakugou, s. todoroki, i. midoriya x f! reader

how he reacts after learning his pretty girl struggles to get orgasms ꕥ smut 18+, timeskip characters, please read responsibly.

for the girls (like yours truly) who unfortunately struggle with this. don’t worry! communication! you deserve to cum!!!

song: couldn’t make it any harder

katsuki bakugou

- as everyone already knows, he will take any sort of test or opposition and stomp it into the ground. he’s the best, the greatest. not only is this another chance to prove how infuriatingly talented it is, but a chance to get you screaming his name and aching for him.

- the very first time he goes down on you, he’s so cocky and sure he’ll make you feel amazing. he lifts his head from your thighs and finds your face hasn’t moved an inch. “you gonna cum?” “uhm… no.” “WHAT!?”

- once you explain it to him, he’s seeing it as a challenge

- he finds communication so sexy. though 90% of the time he seems like a jackass who never listens, he’s far more perceptive than anyone could imagine. he learns not only your words but your body, the signs that you’re enjoying it or when you’re loosening up to him. as much as it is a fun challenge for him, his determination proliferates once he sees the frustrated tears boil over in your eyes.

- “calm down, babe. i’ve got you.”

he’s laying behind you, sideways on the bed while one strong arm lifts your leg up. his cock slowly pistons in and out of your pussy at a tortuous pace, his free hand rubbing circles on your clit while he has you feeling every inch of him. he’s fingered you for close to an hour before finally deciding you were wet enough to take him, all of him.

“hows this?” his voice is gruff in your ear. you know, by the scratch in his throat, that holding back is killing him. that if it were up to him, he’s have your face in the pillows wrecking your insides. but this isn’t about him. its about you, making your brain melt and toes curl from pleasure.

theres a hot coil in your stomach, about to snap at any moment. your nails dig into the sheets, clinging to anything, knowing that it could be his back you’re scratching up. you want to tell him to let go, to start fucking you rough and passionate the way he has always been, but you also know that this is the longest and most potent pleasure session you’ve had in a long time. you feel yourself gushing around his cock, sucking him in greedily. you’re buzzing, body warm with satisfaction but a lingering need to feel him ravage you.

“you can go faster.” you grit your teeth, looking back at him over shoulder. he shifts to move on top of you, placing a kiss to your cheek and forehead before reinserting himself with little resistance. your legs wrap around his legs like a magnet, whatever was left of them not reduced to jelly.

“you sure?” red eyes glint with a flicker of momentary doubt. he knows you feel good, but he’s determined to make you feel amazing. “tell me what you like, baby.”

he begins moving his hips again, faster this time, and your back arcs like the london bridge.

“like that!” you’re quick to savour it, and he fucking smirks. he feels you cumming around him, an sweet, blissful orgasm tearing through you like a bullet through paper. but he doesn’t stop, fucking you through it and promising 3 mode.

“whatever you want, baby.”

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

shouto todoroki

- maybe its because he knows a thing or two about the absence of love and genuineness in places it should exist, but he tends to know when you lie. especially if its to protect his feelings in the form of forced moans or highs.

- he’s only began fingering you, noticing that your moans are off, and he’ll immediately withdraw. he’ll blink, confused, before returning to his normal, blunt self: “you don’t like it, darling?”

- he’ll stare, gears turning in his head while you ramble to come up with an answer. he’s difficult to lie to, seeing the way he tilts his head like a god damn puppy when he knows something is amiss.

- after you finally tell him, he’s silent for a few moments right before: “well, why didn’t you say so?”

- “i didn’t want to be difficult.”

- “it’s difficult to not love you.”

shouto has stamina, thats a no brainer. he’s been trained since day 1 to endure most things. so staying on his knees, head buried between your thighs isn’t exactly hard for him.

one of your legs stays hooked over his shoulder while the other is pinned down by his hand. you can’t remember the last time he’s actually lifted his head to breathe. he’d find a new way to take in oxygen if it meant keeping you pink and needy for him, the way he has you know.

his tongue moves in a messy pattern, swirling around and in between your slit before his lips move up to that delicate bundle of nerves, wrapping around the bud and sucking all the sweet nectar. his eyes are closed, a sort of meditation for him while you melt into the sheets.

“shouto!” his name comes out like a mantra. he wants to smile, to respond, but his lips are preoccupied with spelling out each japanese logographic character on your pussy.

so instead, he smiles mentally while moving his head up and down. you’ve never actually squirted before, but you were pretty confident this would be the day.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

izuku midoriya

- izuku possesses endless patience that extends with both his arms for you. he has only ever wanted to put a smile on your face, even if that smile is sometimes an o shape and eyes rolling back.

- he is incredibly understanding, not a trace of judgement in those green eyes. he’ll simply hold your hand, with all the respect and the world, and say: “let me help you, baby.”

- that gentleness is thrown at the window as he morphs into a complete demon, pounding into you with such force you’re sure you’ll break the bed.

“fuck! izuku! shit, uhm- you’re going so fast!” you blurt out, holding his back for stability. he’s bullying your pussy with his cock, reasoning that if he was going to make you cum, he’d do it right.

“i’ve got you, love.” he mutters into your ear, lip wrapping around your nipple while his squeezes your other tit. his pace doesn’t dare slow down, stars bursting behind your eyelids as every inch of him sends shivers of pleasure down your body. he somehow still manages to whisper the most tooth-rotting sweet nothings into your ear while he single handedly orchestrates that delicious skin slapping noise.

his pelvis rubbed against your already sensitive clit, your pussy glistening with sticky juices that he salivates just thinking about. if he wasn’t fucking you with his cock, it’d be with his mouth.

he cups your face with one hand, groaning as you squeeze even tighter. “you gonna cum, sweetheart?” unable to speak, you nod profusely. he fucks you through countless more through the rest of the night.

[rosesforshoto]

everything you need

todoroki shoto x reader ᢉ𐭩 length: 10.3k ᢉ𐭩 AO3

It happened to be today when it truly hit Shoto: this undeniable greed for your love and attention, to need you by his side. The feeling was insatiable. He wanted you to rely on him—to need him, for him to show you how he could give you everything you deserved and more.

content/warnings ᢉ𐭩 fem!reader, softdom!shoto, yandere-adjacent!shoto, beefy!shoto-coded, newly established relationship, smut, pwp, switches pov, obsessive & possessive behavior, fingering, slight thigh humping, vaginal sex, oral sex both m & f receiving, dirty talk, praising/praise kink, size kink if you squint, voice kink, overstimulation, missionary, mating press, creampie, multiple orgasms, very slight undertones of manipulation, pet names

a/n ᢉ𐭩 birthday fic for sho even tho his birthday passed and the birthday theme isn’t really prevalent here LOL i felt depraved writing this and need him bad

Shuddering breaths leave your lips, soundlessly, teeth gnashing onto the poor flesh as you struggle to muffle your pants. Clouds fill your hazy mind as you throw your head back against his sturdy chest, desire burning low in your gut, shaky palms gripping onto strong forearms that spread you open. Wide open, as you teeter on the edge of control that threatens to slip.

It’s an extremely fragile edge. But one that takes two to nudge—one that tests you, more so than him.

And perhaps that’s why it’s unfair, because he knows you. He’s quietly observant and unsuspectingly relentless. Knows just how much to give and how much to take. Knows how much to corner you so that you’ll hold on to him, reveling when it works.

How unfair.

A voice filters in from your phone speaker, layering static on top of drunken slurs that you can’t bother to decipher—that you are unable to decipher. Especially not with Shoto’s large hand palming your clit, grinding firm and slow circles against it. Heat met with heat.

“Are you going to answer him?” Shoto murmurs lowly into your ear. Words that wave off the clouds in your brain for one second before they muddle again when he teases a finger against your slit. 

It’s a featherlight breach in comparison to the rest of him, and it wrecks you that this is only the beginning. That, despite him having barely done anything, your arousal already gathers heavily onto the pad of his finger. Undeniably wet. Sticky.

You remember he asked a question, and your whispers come out choked. Tight. “I- I don’t know what he’s saying—” Shoto pushes one thick finger in, smooth, sliding steadily along your walls that clench tight around the single digit. A whimper nearly breaks out before you clamp your mouth shut, the feeling of his knuckle cool stone against your entrance. 

This feels wrong. Wildly inappropriate as Kaminari mumbles to himself across the line. But it seems to barely affect Shoto as his only response is to tighten his arm around your squirming waist, pulling your back flush against his chest as he pries you open on his lap.

Two forgotten wine glasses sit on the table, barely touched. The aftermath of the party was strewn around the house: cups and stray chairs littering everywhere, a half-eaten cake on the kitchen counter, the space worn with the familiar echo of friends. 

All background to what’s playing out obscenely on the living room couch.

“Would you like my help?” he asks. A little too sweetly, as if he weren’t the reason for your fog-filled mind.

You hurriedly nod, though not entirely comprehending what he’s saying, teeth biting harsher into your lip when he slips another finger inside.

Shoto rests the side of his head against yours, red strands of hair peeking into your vision. He speaks—a low sound. A deep rumble that reverberates through your limbs, and you’re scared that you might cum from his voice alone.

You probably can. His effect on you is just that powerful.

“Tell him to go home,” he whispers into your ear, sending a shiver up your spine. Less of a suggestion and more like a command.

It comes out immediately, strained. Straight to the point. “Kaminari. Go home.”

“You’ll give it to him tomorrow,” Shoto murmurs, pumping in and out of you. Steady, strong strokes that leave you breathless, that have you wondering how he can make you feel so full with two mere fingers. Until he stills, reminding you generously, “His jacket.”

You gasp out, fighting to keep your composure, if only through your stuttering voice. “I’ll- I’ll come by tomorrow. I’ll stop by. To give you your- your jacket.”

Kaminari whines, high-pitched and noisy and clearly intoxicated. “But ‘m still nearby. We all turned back already and ‘ts cold.”

“Try again, sweetheart,” Shoto urges you.

Which makes you breathe out hotly, heart racing in your chest, words tumbling out fast. “Just go home, Kaminari. It’s late, a-and dark, and I’m tired. Sho’s tired. We’re practically—”

Shoto suddenly curls his fingers upwards, grazing a sensitive spot inside. You jerk against his hold, pinching your eyes shut, trying to dull the warmth webbing from your core.

The rest out comes weakly. “—practically in b-bed already…”

Practically.

Past the squelching of his fingers leaving and entering you, rustling can be heard from over the phone. You hear voices—people who are completely oblivious as to what’s transpiring on the other end of the line. Worried mumbles, loud complaints, whines, arguing and yelling over who knows what.

You feel Shoto smile against your temple.

Then finally, you hear your friend’s voice again, crackling like electricity in the already charged air. “Alrigh ‘right. We’ll sswing by t’morrow then. Hey, kiss ‘Roki g’night for me, won’t cha?”

An I will means to come out. It really does. But Shoto relentlessly starts his pace again, thrusting in with more force, pressing the heel of his palm onto your clit, and his other hand makes it just in time to wrap around your mouth as a moan helplessly erupts from you.

The span of his hand easily covers half your face, hushing the delicate sounds meant for his ears only.

You squeeze your eyes tight as he works you. Aloof, careful, serious; all words people would describe him. If only they also knew how shameless he could be, shamelessly unworried as he finger-fucks his lover whilst on the phone with his dear friends.

“—oh!” Mina’s voice. At least, you think it is. “And tell him happy birthday for us again! We hope he had a lot of fun tonight!”

Shoto doesn’t move from his position, though he raises his head just slightly. His thrusts are rapid now, but his voice is steady, unassuming. Dare you say it, amused. “Thank you, Mina. I will.”

Three consecutive beeps ring out, signaling the end of the phone call. By the third chime, Shoto’s hold on you releases immediately, hand unwinding from your face, digits quickly pulling out stickily. Almost too fast for you to process, if not for the instant cold washing over you.

You whip around on his lap, glaring up at him with flushed need, pants leaving your lips erratically. Your eyes ask him what you can’t seem to say. Anger and embarrassment masking plead.

What’s wrong with you? Why did you do that?

And why did you stop? 

Shoto tilts his head to the side, and you know, you just know he understands.

“You were going to come.” He states it as a fact because it is.

So, why did you stop? The words were on the tip of your tongue but unescaping. Instead, your fist lifts to thump weakly against his broad chest. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. He never does because it’s not an action meant to push.

“We have a long night ahead of us,” is all he says, eyes patient, but darkening by the second.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

You don’t nod, nor shake your head, but prickling anticipation boils in the pit of your gut. He says this as if he knows what’s best for you. And you can’t deny the flutter in your stomach at his unwavering confidence, at his own self-trust that he knows exactly what you need and how to give it.

At your silence, Shoto grabs your frozen fist against him, bringing it up to kiss your knuckles. Reverent and appreciative, how one treats something they love. Desire scorches into your bones at the sight, heart beating wildly in your chest.

And his voice clings to you, sticks to you like honey:

“Here. Why don’t I show you?”

Shoto would never deny how smitten he is with you. In fact, he knows it hit him very early on in the relationship: this all-consuming love he felt for you, this desire to be by your side, this greed to be the recipient of your attention at all times. 

You came into his life like a flurry of flames—became the center of his world, and if there’s one thing he can ever be confident of, it's that he could provide you with everything you needed and more.

If only you’d let him.

Perhaps it’s because you two have been dating for only half a year now, or maybe it's because he was high-profile in the hero world, but you still had this air of courtesy surrounding you. A distance that kept him from veering too close, a wall that shot up in favor of “taking the relationship slow.”

Shoto was desperate to break it down.

And the truth is, he wanted you to rely on him. To need him. Because while he admired your strength and independence, you didn’t need to be when he’s around. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger or ever deny yourself anything, because he’d do it for you. You only had to say the words.

But Shoto knew you were too headstrong for that, too cautious. And so, he was careful. Careful to scatter his love in ways that you’d accept it, careful not to be too forceful. He should’ve known it’d backfire on him—his patience, on his birthday of all days.

January 11th, the day was spent walking around the winter-chilled city. A date meticulously planned and led by none other than you. He thought it was cute, adorable really, with how insistent you were to celebrate his special day, perhaps even more excited than he was.

It was going great. You were attentive—practically doting on him, ensuring he was having a fun time. Giddy by his side. But more importantly, you were open: lenient when he talked about future birthdays as if he was certain you were going to be there, willing when he prodded about bits of your life that you’ve always been hesitant to share. Perhaps it was the birthday luck everyone spoke so highly of.

Perfect—it was going perfectly. That is, until an unwelcoming encounter with an old friend stopped you in your tracks. Shoto had narrowed his eyes at the sight: your childhood neighbor who graciously interrupted him on the streets with a loud yell and a too-familiar call of your name, your eyes lighting up in response to the unexpected reunion.

Shoto was silent throughout the entire interaction, save for when he introduced himself stiffly behind you. It displeased him further when the man barely acknowledged him, when he excitedly babbled about how things were going well back at home, and that everyone missed you. And his heart stopped when he heard the conversation unfold before his very eyes:

“It was nice seeing you. I was actually curious about how everyone was doing back home. It does make me miss it.”

It did?

Your friend smiled, an action that had Shoto seething inside, even more so at the faint blush reddening the man’s cheeks. It made his blood boil.  “You should move back home. Like I said, everyone misses you.”

“Ah. Yeah… maybe. I’ll think about it.”

Shoto reeled then. Not physically, but inside, his mind was racing. Were you just being polite? Or did you actually mean your words? Were you actually thinking of moving back home?

Were you going to leave him?

Shoto felt his world nearly crumble then and there.

But after your friend left, you looked at him with such a warm and beautiful smile on your face. A sight that never fails to make him want to keep you all to himself, a sacred treasure. He was deathly quiet when you pulled him along to the next planned destination, thinking—reflecting, unable to help himself when he asked:

“You’re moving back home?”

Your head whipped up to him, eyes wide, a little shocked. “Huh? Oh… No… I was just saying what I think he wanted to hear.” You didn’t offer any other explanation, but Shoto saw it, that crack of hesitation in your expression. After all, he studied you well, seared every emotion and reaction you exhibited safely away in his mind. He could tell, in a heartbeat, that you had some reservations, though he didn’t know exactly what.

Then again, it was undeniable: Shoto is smitten with you—he loves you. So, in that split second, he decided he wouldn’t be upset or angry with you. He couldn’t be.

He just had to make you see it, what he could give you.

The day continued with that notion solely on his mind, through all the birthday festivities you had planned and the warmth you basked him in. It didn’t stop when you two made it back to his place, for a chorus of Surprise! welcomed him at the threshold of his door—the presence of all his loved ones there, courtesy of you.

He was indeed surprised. Not so much because of you, that you would think to plan something like this; it was telling of your character, of how much care you put into things. It thrills him, to be the one you think so methodically of. It almost makes him forget that you hesitated.

Shoto was more surprised at seeing his family whom he couldn’t visit often due to work, and at his friends who embarked on paths different from his. It was pleasant to catch up with them, since he hadn’t seen them for a while. And that should’ve been the first sign.

If they haven’t seen him all that much, then they haven’t seen you. And for most, it was their first time officially meeting you. So, as much as everybody wanted to be with the birthday boy, they just as much wanted to be with and get to know his new beloved. 

You are easily lovable, and loved by many; it’s one of your charms. He sees that. He understands why, even if all he was itching for was you to be by his side. The timing couldn’t have been worse, the culmination of everything built up today that made this wretched spear of possessiveness stab him at the throat. That dug with each passing second.

At first, it was five minutes. Iida had pulled you away briefly, leaving him to chat with Fuyumi and Natsuo. Shoto was admittedly confused, on edge and alarmed. He counted down the minutes, listening aimlessly to their rambling, until you came back, waving off how Iida was fussing over proper first introductions.

The sense of relief that hit him was immense, a hefty arm gently wrapping around your hip that tugged you back to his side. He ignored the mildly interested looks of his siblings, just focusing on the fact that you were near him again.

Then, it was twenty-four minutes, give or take thirty seconds. Uraraka came up to you, cheeks redder than usual from the alcohol, and promptly tugged you to the other side of the room. Girl time, she said. It was frustrating because you were still in sight. So close but out of reach, laughing and spreading your love to those around you.

Shining like the bright star you were, giving undivided attention to those who craved it. 

Oh, how he longed to take you back. He would’ve, if not for Kaminari holding him hostage.

Shoto can blame it on his birthday all he wants, perhaps use the idea that your world should revolve around him on his special day. But he would be lying to himself. It just happened to be on his birthday when it truly hit him: the insatiable need to swallow you up whole. To be the center of your universe and simultaneously lead you through it at the same time.

He knew he was greedy, but he couldn’t care less.

Eventually, you came back, only to be whisked away again. And this time, it was an hour, two minutes, and thirteen seconds.

By then, Shoto was undoubtedly irritated.

Because this time. This time, you don’t make your way back to him. Mina excitedly decides to ask for your life story. Midoriya catches you in the midst of his tangents. Bakugo, for some reason, was insistent on hearing your thoughts on the birthday cake he so graciously made. And pulls you into a debate on the right amount of sweetness in pastries.

It’s not your fault.

That is, until he managed to grab you for forty-two seconds, before someone snagged you again. His hand latched onto your hip firmly, messily, a little roughly, and that’s when he felt it. Slipped underneath your shirt, the texture of familiar lace he’s seen paired with your supple skin in the heat of the night.

His eyes widened just slightly; he could even feel the blood pumping through his body.

Because you understand him well, if the knowing smile you gave him was anything. Then there you were, ushered away again like Cinderella at midnight, throwing a gaze with twinkling eyes behind your shoulder. Mouthing the words: your gift.

He barely saw you for the rest of the night. (Three hours and thirty-six minutes)

No. He was just able to get his hands on you when the last person trickled out. Yellow-haired and with one less jacket than he came with. Shoto was already by your side before the door shut with a resounding click.

“Did you have fun?” you had asked him, sweetly.

His response was instant, “Thank you for planning this for me. It was nice seeing everybody.”

Then you chuckled lightly, sighing when his hands molded to your waist, pulling you flush against his body.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I had fun,” Shoto affirmed. Then looked down with honest affection, tinged with something dark. “I admit, it’s more fun now that I have your attention again.”

You laughed, raising your arms to rest on his shoulders, wrists crossing behind his neck. “What do you mean? I’ve been paying attention.”

“No.”

His simple statement made you laugh harder, vibrating against his body. The corner of his lips lifted at the sound, as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“I love you.”

The words came out breathlessly, a forever-standing devotion. Then,

“It slips my mind at times. The reminder that other people will want to love what I love.”

You smiled cheesily, knowingly. But he can’t imagine that you can truly fathom how he really feels. “Are you jealous, Shoto?”

“It’s my birthday,” he stated back, half-heartedly, childishly. You gazed into his eyes, crinkles forming around your own.

“I want you,” he said lowly.

Not just on my birthday, but forever. I want your eyes only on me. I wish to be the center of your world, like how you are in mine.

Shoto didn’t say any of this. Instead, he lets you grasp his hands. Lets you lead them underneath your shirt, and feel the lace that’s been tempting him all night. His gift for him, or so you said.

I want to see how I affect you. I want to see you fall apart for me. I want you to rely on me. To want me. To need me. I want to show you how I can give you everything you deserve and more, that there will never be a reason for you to leave.

Shoto still didn’t say any of this, but his hands roamed. At the back of his mind, he didn’t want to scare you with his obsession. So he starts with this:

“Let me take care of you.”

Without a doubt, these were odd words to be coming from the birthday boy. But if birthdays were to revolve around his world, and you were his world, it made sense. And there is no other gift in the universe that would be greater than you.

A call vibrated from the couch when he crashed his lips onto yours, sealing the deal.

Shoto’s lips chase after you. It’s invigorating, the way they melt into yours, over and over and over again. He cradles your cheeks, trapping your head still as he moves you backwards. One step after another until the back of your knees hit the bed, and your hands instinctively clutch onto his chest.

But he keeps moving forward, his tongue dancing with yours in fervor. You pull back to take a breath, deprived of oxygen, but he keeps pushing, swallowing your yelp as you fall backwards. Big hands that help your body move upwards on the mattress, his lips never disconnecting from yours.

When you finally settle on the cushy mattress, you push against his chest again, breaking away from the kiss. “Sho– I can’t breathe–”

Shoto’s head darts underneath your chin, sucking on the spot he knows sends you into a frenzy. You whimper at the sensation, heart jumping when you feel the harsh latch of his lips. He sucks, licks, bites, devours.

Your body arches into him, squirming. Tingling with want, with need. He’s relentless, marking your neck feverishly while his hands come up to play with your nipples, brushing the pad of his thumbs against the peaks.

You jolt, sensitive from his touch everywhere. He wastes no part of him: tongue licking all over your skin, fingers tweaking the hard buds over your shirt, meaty thigh grinding into your clothed core. You bite your lip, trying to contain the moans from rolling out, but a harsh bite makes you gasp.

“I want to hear you,” he mumbles against your neck, in between licks. “Don’t hold back. Not right now.”

Hands make their way into his hair, tugging at the red and white strands. Pushing and pulling because you can’t decide if it’s too much or not enough.

Shoto doesn’t give you a choice. 

Warmth wells in your belly again. Familiar and telling. He must know, with the way you yank on his hair, and the tender smile you feel against your skin sends you into a high.

(He loves how compliant your body is with him. How reactive you are. How you never fail to respond to his touch.

He wonders how many he can coax out of you tonight.)

“Sho. Please, please—”

“Yes?” His thigh presses harder against you, firm and unyielding. You grind your hips up, moving in rhythm with him. He helps your movements, grabbing a handful of your ass as it rolls up.

The friction is delicious. Muscles trained with years of hero work so strong and hard against your core.

“Can you cum for me like this?”

He’s shameless because he knows you can, and you do, with a drawn-out moan, head buzzing, chasing after the high denied from you on the couch. Not a second later, he peels your clothes off, taking his time. It’s almost embarrassing, just how easy your body succumbs to him. Clothes on and all. Bare thighs sticking to the wet fabric in between your legs.

When you’re left in the lingerie you wore for him, his breath hitches. Marveled under his gaze.

What you would give to know what’s running through his head right now. 

Shoto kisses your forehead, breaths hot against your skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers while his hands roam your shoulders. Leaving a trail of fire as he goes down to the swell of your breasts, fondling, before tracing your hips and thighs. 

As if he can’t get enough of you. 

You tremble underneath his caresses.

And slowly, he pulls the lace off, running over the sliver he felt earlier just to lift it off your body. He kisses your naked breasts—one by one, as he pulls your panties, wrecked from your orgasm, down your legs. 

Then, he shifts, rising up before settling in between your legs, hooking the backs of your knees over his shoulders. Your eyes widen as he stares at your glistening folds, his gaze of wet stone and sea glass purposeful.

He looks up, and you nearly flinch at the raw intensity in them.

It makes you almost laugh. With the way he’s treating you, doting on you. You question whose birthday it is, really.

And without warning, without so much as a word, he dives into your heat like a starved man. One long strike of a lick that has your hips bucking up, hands immediately flying to his shoulders. 

“Wait!” you gasp. “It’s too much, just wait—”

Shoto doesn’t wait, tongue heavy against your folds, lapping at everything you have to offer and more. Your toes curl at the sensation, chest rising with deep breaths as he explores the bundle of nerves the way a lover does.

He knows what you like, what you prefer. Practiced precision of using the plane of his whole tongue on your slit before dipping shallowly inside. Alternating between licks and deep sucks that make you reel in return.

It’s obscene, hearing him gulp from between your legs. Eyes closed in focus, savoring your taste. 

Your thighs clamp around his head, unable to handle it all. But strong arms wrap around them, under and over, effectively holding them apart and giving you something to ground yourself with. To be able to push and squirm freely without losing the feeling of his tongue, his mouth that lets you both hear and feel his love.

It’s euphoria.

(Shoto couldn’t feel more delighted. He doesn’t think it can get better than this. The feel of your hands tugging at his hair. Pulling just to push his head down again when he purposefully slows down. Your moans that carry into the air, echoing his name.

This is good. Perfect. He wants you to want him, to never get enough.

It makes a smile stretch across his face. And he feels like a madman when he breathlessly chuckles into your warmth.)

You twitch at the sensation, feeling the curl of his lips and a stuttering breath against your heat.

“Are you l-laughing…?” you breathlessly ask,  shocked. He answers with another deep suck, effectively distracting you with ease as you keen.

(Because to him, he’s not trying to mock you, or be condescending. He simply just loves to see you in pleasure, to see you feel good. Loved. Because of him. Because he knows you; mind, body, and soul.)

Moonlight swimming with city lights filter in from the window, bathing you in an angelic glow, contouring all your dips and curves. You look beautiful. Other worldly with your eyes screwed tight, body shaking in intervals, chanting his name with your head thrown back.

Shoto grinds his bulge into the mattress, unable to help himself. Oh, how he can’t wait to sink inside you, to feel your warm and welcoming heat around his cock—

“S-Sho..!”

Your eyes shoot open when he pulls back just slightly, whipping your head down. For a second, you’re taken aback at the sight: your slick glistening on his mouth and chin, his tousled hair, eyes that burn and freeze you at the same time.

He captivates you in his gaze. A devastatingly handsome face that speaks in an equally as devastatingly low voice.

“Do you want to come?”

His voice sends butterflies into your stomach and you nod, shyly, hands tugging on his hair to urge him back. But he doesn’t move.

“Tell me. What would you like me to do?”

Your heart stutters at the question, lips forming into a pout. Because he knows. He knows what you want. He always does. So why—

“I want to hear you say it.”

Again, less of a suggestion and more like a command. He’s good at that, phrasing his words simply, with his tone making you question yourself. It implies something completely different; leading—guiding you the way he wants.

You huff out a shaky breath, stunned at what he’s trying to play at, with your slick covering his face so filthily.

“Shoto…” you whine, nudging him with the heel of your foot. But he is nothing if not unyielding in his desires. He only offers kitten licks to your entrance, teasing, but far from enough.

“Say it for me. Let me hear you.”

With eyebrows furrowed, you stomp down the feeling of embarrassment threatening to take over. You’re not used to saying what you want out loud, at least not explicitly. But he looks at you with private earnestness, an emotion you can’t quite understand.

“I want you to keep going…”

Shoto’s eyes saturate with desire, darkening by the second. 

You hesitate again, so incredibly shy under his heated gaze. Hard stone and freezing waters. You almost don’t want to say it, don’t want to admit how much you want him.

“I- I want you to make me cum,” you whisper, cheeks burning hot. “Please make me cum.”

And with that, Shoto wordlessly continues, neither approving nor disapproving. One hand unfurls from your thigh before stuffing you full with three fingers at once. A moan rips from your throat, hips lifting high but a big hand effectively presses you down by your stomach. His digits stretch you, preparing you for what’s to come so deliciously.

You feel the warmth in your belly rising again. Strong. His fingers don’t pump, don’t thrust. Only the pressure of them deep inside and the pads of his fingers pressing firmly into that same sensitive spot. That, paired with his hot tongue attacking your clit, swirling and flicking, sends you into orbit.

Your body thrashes, your orgasm hitting stronger than the last. He easily keeps your body pinned to the mattress, curling his fingers just slightly more to make you gush. A sob releases from your chest when his fingers leave you, right before his mouth fully covers your opening and he sucks sloppily, as if he couldn’t waste a single drop. 

Gradually, the tension in your limbs eases, chest rising and falling heavily. Shoto gives you one last lick—a gentle one, before he pulls off of you, breathing just as deeply as he licks his lips, eyes pinned on your spent figure.

He’s never eaten you out like that before. As if you were water in a desert, his last meal on earth. It both confuses and rouses you beyond belief.

And he’s still clothed.

As if Shoto read your mind, he slowly unbuttons his shirt, panting—steam billowing out the corners of his lips. And you can’t stop staring: him on his knees, one princely hand working his way through the buttons, staring down at you as if you’re the only thing that ever mattered.

It drives you crazy. He drives you crazy. Since when did your brain think of just him, him, and him?

With shaky limbs, you heave yourself up, mirroring his position: on your knees in front of him, looking up as he looks down. Shoto doesn’t say anything, barely moves a muscle. Simply watching you as he lets you pull his shirt open, sliding the sturdy fabric off his body.

His bare torso greets you. Muscular, pale, and scarred with battles. You’ve seen pictures of him when he was younger, and he’s grown larger—bigger over the years. Still with his princely charm, but more fit, a fullness to him that makes your mouth water. 

You marvel at him, roaming your hands across the plane of his chest. Delighted at him twitching underneath your palms, the slight intake of his breath.

So handsome, big, strong. And all yours.

Your hands travel: up and down his arms, his shoulders, his waist, and to his stomach. Obsessed with the way hard muscles and scars span across his body. They show years of discipline and hard work; they tell stories. Stories of the man in front of you who looks at you with so much devotion, it should scare you.

It doesn’t. Because you’re quickly seeing that same devotion reflecting back at you in his glassy eyes. 

Slowly, you pull at his waistband, the air shifting its intimacy and tenderness to include lust again. Something raw and scarily intense. You unbutton his pants, unzip his zipper, and look up at him, with thumbs that skim his skin just above his trousers. Goosebumps rise after its trail.

You wonder exactly what type of look you give him—what he sees in his eyes, because he gives in immediately. Wordlessly strips himself out of his pants before kneeling in front of you again, tender hands that snake up your arms.

Shoto gently pushes your shoulders, signalling for you to lie down, but you try not to budge, shaking your head. He tilts his own quizzically. 

Because instead, you pull him, and he lets you. Lets you move him how you like. Lets you maneuver his body until his back rests against the headboard, and you make space in between his legs.

“Let me take care of you, too.”

His eyebrows immediately furrow, already rising to get up. “This is not a favor you need to—”

“I know,” you interrupt him. “I just…”

Shoto waits, eyes boring heavily into yours. You know that he knows what you want to do, and he’s neither stopping nor urging you.

“I want to make you feel good.”

It’s true.

Shoto pauses for a second, and you question why he’s thinking so astoundingly hard about this. Yes, your relationship was still a little new, but the sex was familiar, even if you had to admit that tonight surprised you in more ways than one.

He doesn’t nod, doesn’t shake his head, doesn’t really give you any decipherable emotion. But your heart skips when he raises a hand to stroke your hair, slow and soft strokes. He then palms the back of your head, drawing you in for a deep kiss. All before releasing you and relaxing against the headboard. 

Liquid gold courses through your veins when his eyes roam up and down your figure, heavy-lidded. His cock stands upright, flushed and swollen and hard. Precum dribbling from the tip and down his length.

You sit on your knees, tucking your legs underneath as you take in the sheer size of him.

He’s so goddamn big. You could never get used to it.

Usually, he would frequently check in on you when you gave him head, during sex in general. Asking if you’re alright, if you want him to take over, that you don’t have to. But he doesn’t say anything now, and it makes you wonder why again. Why, despite being patient and quiet, is there this particular intensity to him? Why was there this unfamiliar push and pull with him tonight?

You find that you chase after him without hesitation, the desperate feeling of wanting to please him coming in full force. It’s addictive, having him look at you with such passion.

Wrapping a hand around his length, you observe him closely, hoping for any reaction while dragging your palm up and down. Starting off with slow, full, firm strokes, just the way he likes it. The only tell he gives is a tick in his jaw, as he watches you with his mouth shut.

Leaning forward, you gather spit in your mouth, dribbling and using it to aid your strokes. Your hand pushes all the up, then all the way down, meeting trimmed red and white hair at the base. You feel his legs tense when you lick the tip, swipes of your tongue that allow you to taste the salt of his precum. Then finally, the whole of his swollen head.

Shoto’s fists clench at his sides, the sheets peeking in between his taut fingers. 

(He wanted to keep going—to keep tasting you with his mouth or fill you with his aching cock. Wanted to bring you to another orgasm. But the look you carelessly threw his way stumped him.

In between the desire-saturated eyes and the pleading pout on your lips, he found elation. And he guessed this worked too. Another way to fill your mind with just him, to be the center of your world. Because if wanting to please him showed you needed him, he’d let you.)

You stretch your mouth around him. He’s girthy, and big. What you can’t fit in your mouth, you cover with your hands, the mix of his spit and precum enabling the twists of your wrists. You move up, then down; hollowing out your cheeks, taking him as deep as you can.

The sounds are obscene: the slurps of his cock entering and leaving your mouth, the gulps that follow when you reach the top, the near gag when he hits the back of your throat.

Shoto doesn’t rush you.

So you become more desperate. Because how is it that he barely has any reaction? Usually, he’d be helping you, wiping away your tears when they leak out, telling you to take breaks. But he does none of it. And it’s only when you notice his iron-grip on the sheets that it shows just how much he’s holding back.

Why is that?

Your hands venture on their own, finding his—grabbing them with his cock still in your mouth and pushing them into your hair. Letting him know that it’s okay to do so. Telling him wordlessly, I want to please you.

Let me.

And Shoto watches. Observes. Hopes that you don’t look up with your tear-rimmed eyes. For if you did, you would’ve seen the smallest flick of a smirk gracing his face. His hands tangle into the tresses of your hair, firm, but gentle in a way that he ensures it’s a clean hold.

And he pushes down.

His eyes had widened when you took his hands to place them on your head, how hard you gripped them into your hair in hopes that he’d do the same. It filled him with exhilaration: seeing you try so hard, seeing you perk up with the pressure of his hands on your head. The rise of emotions rivaled the sensation of your mouth taking him whole.

Shoto loves to see you indulge yourself, even if it is in this way.

So, he pushes more. And not in hopes of making you gag, but because he can see the way you rub your thighs together when his grip tightens, desperate for relief. It surprises him for a second, right before a thought forms in his mind, one that makes his chest swell with curiosity and molten lava heat.

“You’re so good for me,” he praises you lowly, cock twitching when you stutter around his length. He watches your eyes promptly fly up to his. Shocked, but eager.

Shoto’s throat is so dry that it hurts to swallow, but he fights through the desert in his mouth.

“It’s what you wanted, right? To make me feel good?” he rasps out, jaw aching from how hard he clenches it. “You’re doing so well for me, so pretty when you suck my cock.”

The words feel foreign on his tongue; he was never one to be talkative during sex. But his mind buzzes when he sees the effect it has on you. You squirm, thighs pressing impossibly close together. So tightly that he nearly wants to wrench you off of him, just so you can get that relief you so desperately need. For him to be the one to give it.

Shoto leans down closer to your ear, holding back a groan when your pace wavers and your hands either grip him too tightly or too loosely. Then, it all tumbles from his lips, honey velvet:

Keep going. Good girl.

Yeah, just like that. There you go. I know it’s big.

You make me feel so good. So, so good.

There, that’s it. God, I could just—

Shoto barely recognizes what he’s saying, only spewing whatever comes to mind. It’s intoxicating, finding that it encourages you. Bobbing your head up and down faster, slurps that become louder, deeper, messier. 

And it feels incredible, truly. It always does. But he can’t help but marvel more at the way your legs twitch from underneath you, jolting when the friction grazes closer to where you need it to. An odd thrill mixed with fascination swirls inside him when he realizes the effect his words have on you. Or rather—

“You like my voice,” he states it as a fact. He knows it is now. Your face turns bashful, twisting in embarrassment as your lips leave the tip of his cock with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting you to it before it snaps. It’s adorable the way you shy away, unable to meet his eyes but clearly so aroused. 

And you’re still stroking him like the good girl you are. The sight makes him unbelievably harder, makes him want to give you everything you deserve and more.

He can’t help but ask, “Have you always liked it?” Rough and strained.

You nod again, slowly, eyes flitting up to meet his and then back down to your hands. In a small voice, you say, “From the day I met you.”

“In that way?”

“Yes.” You fidget underneath his stare. He doesn’t know what prompts this—what urges you to reveal this special piece of information, but his cock jumps when the words roll off your tongue:

“I-I’ve used it to get off before. Those voice memos you send me.”

And that carefully woven thread inside him, the one he’s been delicately weaving, the one that’s been wringing taut the entire night—threatening to break, finally snaps. Breaks with a sharp crack, its fibers ruined in the aftermath.

Shoto rises, up on his knees with swift movement as your hand releases from his member in shock. He grabs the back of your head again, palms it with urgency, and meets you halfway into a kiss that consumes. 

To think that his voice would have such a powerful effect on you, to think that the sound of him would be enough to get you off. For a split second, he imagines the perfect picture of you lying in bed, home alone and needy, listening to his voice while thrusting your pretty little digits in and out of your wet folds. With fingers that would never be as good as his. 

He groans into your mouth, pushing you back with such force that you two fall and thump onto the bed. Lips breaking apart for a needle of a second before crashing into each other again.

Shoto wants you, so badly. Just as badly as he wants you to want him. It’s all he can think of as he nudges your legs apart, settling in between them. The sound he makes is carnal, roused deep from his gut as the length of his cock meets your bare, warm, wet folds for the first time tonight.

He can’t help but move, sliding his length along your folds, your warm pools of slick easily allowing him to grind back and forth. Back and forth. Broken moans fall, echoing in the bedroom. A symphony of you two. 

And it all happens so suddenly for you: his mouth practically swallowing yours whole, his hands traveling everywhere from your cheeks to your breasts, his feverish grinding that pulls a needy whine straight from your head. He’s so thick, so impossibly hard, but you can’t help but feel despairingly empty as your walls clench around nothing.

Then comes Shoto’s voice again, gravelly, right into your ear. It sends an electric bolt to your stomach, the vibrations running straight to your core. 

“What do you think of when you listen to them?” he rasps out.

“Y-you. Inside of m-me,” you manage to get out, bucking up to meet his rocking rhythm, already wound up when he’s not even inside of you yet. The head of his cock grazes your stomach, his balls—hot and heavy—meeting you flush before drawing stickily away again.

It takes all that you can to not do it yourself, to reach down and angle him where you want. To have it finally sink into the place that’s been aching for him all this time.

Shoto doesn’t let up, not quite yet. “What? What inside of you?”

God, he’s being so infuriating tonight. Can’t he already see how wrecked you are from him? Can’t he tell just how much you want him? 

You relent, still finding the words hard to say through the slicked grinds. “You. Y-your….” 

“You’re hesitating,” he states, to which you quickly shake your head, heart plummeting to your feet as his torso rises off of you. Your hands hastily grab his arms, legs immediately wrapping around his waist, and words tumble from your lips faster than your mind can catch up.

“No, please,” you nearly sob out, and you feel embarrassed. So incredibly embarrassed, but you still try. “Please, I want it. I want you now, Shoto.”

Your eyebrows furrow—distraught, and you think he’s never been so unfair as his movements abruptly halt, hips lifting up despite you saying what you think he wants to hear. 

Why does he keep pushing just to pull back?

(Shoto can only feel so bad when you’re so, so close to where he wants you to be.)

“Don’t be embarrassed.” A hand strokes down the side of your hair. Patient. Too frustratingly patient. “I’ll give it to you.”

Shoto braces a forearm beside your head, the other snaking its way down to grab his length, heavy in his own sturdy hands.

And he whispers, calm and low. “You know I’ll always give you what you want. Won’t you do the same for me?”

Your face scrunches as he shifts the head of cock to your slit, biting your lip when he shallowly sinks it in before pulling away. Then he does it again, and again, and again. Teasing you before greedily taking it away, even tapping your clit with it, watching as you jolt from the contact.

You squirm, raising your hips because you want more. More. But he moves in sync, away from you, and you have half a mind to think he’s being hypocritical. It all becomes too much to bear. 

“I want you. Your cock.” you desperately say, small as ever. “Please, I want it so bad.”

Shoto plunges in only slightly deeper. Unmoving as an iron wall to your legs that fail to pull him closer despite using all your might. He holds the base of his cock tight, stopping himself from sinking more of it in before pulling back again.

“No, please,” you sputter helplessly. “I want you to fuck me. W-Want you deep inside me. Want you. Shoto—”

And finally—finally, he pushes in again. Slow, shushing you when you cry out as he doesn’t stop, when he stretches your pulsing walls apart, making way for his thickness. Your mouth drops open, hands clawing against his back—no doubt leaving marks as he fills you, sliding each throbbing ache away inch by inch.

His words are faraway, barely reaching your ears as he murmurs into your ear again, in between rough groans:

Need to take it slow. Don’t want to hurt you.

You take me so well, you always do.

Do you feel it? My cock inside you? It’s what you wanted, right?

(Shoto watches your expression as hard as he can, forces his eyes to stay open, and watches your own roll to the back of your head. He’s not even sure if you recognize yourself speaking: “you feel so good inside me”, “you’re so big”, “yesyesyes” spilling from your lips.

And when he finally bottoms out after what felt like eons, he drops his forehead onto yours, panting out thick puffs of steam. Not thrusting nor moving, just feeling each addictive pulse and clench of your warm walls around him. It’s sporadic, absolutely telling to him.

You’re about to cum again.)

He’s so deep that you can feel him in your stomach, throbbing thick and heavy. Can feel him pulsing as if his cock had its own heartbeat. And you know it's coming. The buildup of his praise, of his coaxing voice, of him finally stuffing you deep, leading to a steady high again.

It’s a done deal when Shoto grinds up once. One firm motion that hits deep inside your walls. One hard hump that shakes the bed.

And you cum for the third time tonight. 

You thrash underneath him, the wave of your orgasm making your body arch into his, moans breaking prettily from your lips. Shoto’s eyelashes flutter against yours, feeling you squeeze his cock like a vice. Muscles taut when he humps into your warm and wet heat again, and that's all it takes as you suddenly feel him spilling deep inside, moaning low, his cum releasing in hot spurts.

You breathe in each other’s pants. And only seconds had passed, did it hit you:

You both just came. And that’s all it took. Just like that.

It’s a short revelation because before you can fully comprehend it, Shoto shifts, and you whimper at the sensitivity blossoming from your core. And through it all, somehow, you can still feel him. His hard cock, even after cumming, pulsating in your walls that seem to have molded themselves around him.

“S-Sho– I don’t know if I–”

You whimper when he moves again, pulling just barely the tip out before filling you up. Going all the way out, then all the way back in. Slowly, with purpose. And it fucking wrecks you. That, despite the overstimulation and sensitivity jolting your insides, another heat crawls its way back into your stomach, catching the last embers before igniting again.

He burns his way into you, sears himself on your mind—on your body. And you want to let him, want to wrap yourself around his flames that devour.

So you do. You fall into him hopelessly.

Shoto’s voice comes out hoarse, and you can’t completely tell if he’s talking to you or to himself. He thrusts. “You feel incredible.” Another thrust and a groan. “My love. You’re so perfect.”

He knows you. Body, mind, and soul.

“We were made for each other. I know it,” Shoto lowly says, this time with half-lidded, trance-like eyes boring into yours. It enraptures you: the tiny scrunch in between his eyes as he bottoms out again and again, the low and quiet moan that seeps through gritted teeth.

If the entire night was spent coaxing you—pushing you just to pull you back in, then this was unrelenting. Unyielding. Fully swarming your senses that you can’t think of anything else besides him. Besides what he’s pounding into your body and purring into your ear. And you find yourself letting go instead of trying to hold on, because despite falling apart at the seams, you can trust that he’ll always carry you to the end.

You truly don’t know—don’t know what he sees in you that you can’t seem to see yourself. But you bask in it. Embrace in his all-consuming love that scorches.

It’s a raw feeling. Both inside and out. Both inside your heart and out your core as he drives into you with vigor.

And it keeps building up, that coil he’s been springing all night, pulling you this way and that. It feels good, too damn good because you love the sensation of him overwhelming your entire being. It causes tears to start rimming your waterline, the overstimulation breaking you.

“Shoto–! S-Sho–!”

Shoto pulls away for a fraction of a second, and you’re almost about to protest—about to fire out how unfair he’s being despite how sensitive you are, before his hands slink down and around your thighs. Big hands palm the underside of it, and your heart nearly lurches out of your throat when he pushes your legs up, folding you into a brutal mating press.

You’d throw your head back if you could, if not for his warm hands cradling it to his. Your mind blanks as he sinks into you deep, the lines between pleasure and pain blurring so wickedly sweet. All you can do is hold onto him as you soundlessly scream, barely able to catch a breath.

“One more,” he coos against your face. Not a suggestion, and not so much as a command either. It’s as if he’s simply stating a fact, a path that he knows will run its course.

Shoto pounds into you, the bed creaking under all the weight—under all his vigorous effort to bring you to your climax again. Sweat-soaked skin slapping against each other as he rams his cock into you as if his life depended on it. 

You can feel your tears trickle out of your eyes, a wobbly path down as your body shakes from his thrusts. Shoto gently licks them away with his tongue, leaving a lingering kiss on your temple so tender that it tugs at your heart despite him fucking you deep into the mattress, his weighty body nearly suffocating you under him.

Hot. Your belly feels hot, core tight and exhausted but still craving him. Still craving more with each powerful split of his cock and each dampening kiss to your temple. 

(Shoto feels his body burning with so much desire that he fears flames might erupt from his skin. The line between pleasure and pain blurs for him as well. A murky river that borders on the high of seeing your blissed out face paired with your wrung out body, and the prickling sensation of needing you so badly. In every way possible.

It almost hurts, the extent of his hunger for you. 

He needs you. And he also needs you to need him.)

“I–” you gasp through stuttered breaths, “I-I’m going to—”

“What do you want, my love?” Shoto pistons in and out of your contracting walls, his voice thick and rough. “What do you need?”

“I want you,” you squeeze your eyes tight, legs shaking in the air, but Shoto makes sure to hold them tight against his body, leveraging them. “I need you.”

“Need?” he asks. A voice that becomes hazier in your mind. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” It comes out slurred and reliant. “I need you. I need you, please, please—”

“Yeah?” Shoto spreads his legs outwards—further apart, allowing him to drive into you deeper. Harsher. Rougher.

“You’re going to let me give you everything you need?”

You nod, though you don’t know if he can tell, don’t even know if your nods even come out as nods. But his name leaves your mouth over and over again, the only thing grounding you as you feel yourself peaking. Right at the edge of toppling over.

“Say it, my love. Let me hear it,” Shoto coaxes, with finality.

Your voice shakes, desperate and longing. Desperate to cum and longing for him.

“I need you,” you wail. “Give it to me, p-please. Everything.”

And Shoto rejoices. Heart flying to the crown of his head, heat burning in his being, rejoices. Voice so low that it comes out as a near growl.

“I can give you that. I’ll give you everything you want, anything you’ll ever need. What you deserve. I’m the only one who can.” Shoto keeps thrusting, erratic but anchored. Tinged with a profound urgency that aims to crumble. 

“You sound so pretty when you say my name. You deserve this—deserve to cum. You deserve everything.”

He knows your body like the back of his hand. Knows where to angle and that the storm is at its peak when your walls start convulsing around him and choked sobs leave your lips. It tells him to find that spot again—that sensitive spot he has to curve into that would make you writhe wildly. A knowing smile graces his lips when you do, with smug pride he’ll never admit to your face.

You feel the pressure of him everywhere. On you. In you. His mouth that crashes onto yours, muffling your cries and kissing you hard. You feel him inhale deeply, taking even the breath that escapes your nose.

Shoto drives into you, grinding harshly when his cock stuffs you to the hilt. Then does it twice. Three times. And with one final grind, you fall apart for the fourth time tonight, a dark sea full of stars behind your eyes.

Chanting: I want you. I need you. I love you.

You tell him to cum inside. You tell him you want it and need it. You tell him you need him. And it all goes straight to Shoto’s head, then his cock. Drives him to insanity as he buries himself inside, shuddering, balls tensing as he spills rope after rope of cum into you. He milks you of your orgasm as you squeeze him through his, tremors wrecking you both. 

Shoto fills you to the brim, both heart and body, its essence spilling at the edges.

Your chest heaves under his, exhausted as you fall dead weight into the mattress. Minutes pass, and only then do you finally take in your surroundings, bleary eyes blinking their way through the moonlit bedroom. The air is thick—humid with the smell of sweat and sex. But it hardly bothers you, fatigue quickly taking over your mind.

You vaguely note how the white wash of the moonlight shines onto Shoto, sweat glistening on his skin from the aftermath. Beautiful in every light.

You want him. You need him.

You love him.

Your lover slowly rolls your legs down, kissing the inside of your ankle softly as it passes him, massaging aching limbs as you wince from the released pressure. A small whimper vibrates from your throat when he pulls out his softened cock, limp as you both watch the mess that oozes from your hole.

“Stay here,” Shoto says gently, stroking a tender hand through your hair. You nod wordlessly, still panting, throwing your head back against the damp pillow as he rises from the mattress. The bed dips then bounces back when he gets off, heading towards the bathroom with a certain grace in his stride.

Your gaze falls to the ceiling, eyelids getting heavier with each passing second.

In the quiet of the bedroom, your hand drifts to your neck, pressing on the tender love bites created by him. You tap lightly on your skin, feeling a slight sting that brings a bashful smile to your face, not needing a mirror to know the many marks blossoming across your body.

Then your fingers travel: to his stomach that he pressed down, to the hips that he gripped, to the thighs that he held onto. Each graze across your skin reminds you of Shoto, reminds you of the devotion he speaks and shows with his heart. It makes you giddy—makes your chest swell and thrum with such warmth that you physically have to put your hands over yourself to quell it.

“You know I’ll always give you what you want. Won’t you do the same for me?”

“You’re going to let me give you everything you need?”

“I can give you that. I’ll give you everything you want, anything you’ll ever need. What you deserve. I’m the only one who can.”

“You deserve everything.”

Your vision blurs with those words on your mind, promises that wrangled its way into you so deeply that you would remember them even in your dreams.

When Shoto returns, he finds you on the edge of slumber, drowsiness and vulnerability cradling you softly. It’s with this in mind that he treats you carefully, satisfaction and ache warring in his heart. 

He brings a warm, damp towel to the bed. Gentle strokes that clean his spent and sweat off of you, loving hands that knead at parts of your body that he knows will be sore in the morning. You grumble at the tenderness in your limbs, and he soothes them without hesitation, laying kisses across your skin.

Shoto changes the sheets, the blankets, even the pillows. Soft silk, the ones he knows you like best; doing anything to make you more comfortable. All before sitting on the edge of the mattress, with fingers running through your hair tenderly, diligently working out the knots.

“Should I head home soon?” you lazily mumble, though you don’t move a muscle.

Shoto’s heart ascends, his motions pausing before continuing. 

Because normally, you’d announce you were going home—claiming it’s late, refusing his offer to stay over time and time again. And he’d let you go, a dip in his eyebrows as he watched you pack your things and drove you home, all because he thought it best to ease you slowly.

But things are different now. You were asking him if you should leave. Almost as if you knew what he was going to say.

“No,” he murmurs lowly, trying to keep his tone steady, his excitement at bay.

“Stay here,” he declares. “With me.”

“Yeah?” you say softly, a noise of contentment leaving you as his hand cards through your hair.

“Yes,” he responds. “Move in.” You should.

You giggle, and the sound makes him restless. Shoto watches as you slowly shift yourself, moving your head from the pillow to his lap, looking up at him with shimmering eyes. Wordlessly, he drapes the sheets back over your bare body, admiring the way you tuck into his embrace.

“Jumping the gun, don’t you think? You’d get tired of me.”

His palm cradles your face, thumb swiping across your cheek delicately. “Never.”

Your face softens, a worried glint in your eye. It’s astounding, he thinks to himself, how you can still doubt his feelings. “Never?”

“No. Never,” he affirms, his hold on you tightening ever so slightly.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

You look at him—look at the way he’s gazing down at you with enamored eyes, a hint of something private lurking underneath them. It causes goosebumps to rise on your skin, but it only makes you huddle closer to him—aching for his warmth.

Then willingly, you place your heart in the palms of his hands that cradle you, whispering without an ounce of hesitation,

“Yeah. I do.”

And a smile stretches across Shoto’s face, a quiet, pleased curve that spoke of a million words. Words that he wouldn’t dare say out loud as he thinks:

The greatest gift in the world just fell right into his hands.

[hunnieisdying]

I kid you not I literally just bust-💦

[velaenam]

❛ mythological gf .ᐣ ❜ — 18+ SMUT ⤷ pro hero!shoto todoroki x reader (wc 10k)

synopsis: sooo you're telling me, you've been dating pro hero!shoto todoroki for 4 years now, hes the literal perfect partner/gentleman/person, but his friends think you're not real?! tags: nsfw, smut w/ plot/plot w/ porn,drunk sex, p in v, creampie, slightly ooc?, fingering, doggy, use of quirks during sex, temperature play, kinda rough todoroki a/n: shoto n u are 25 in this! plz this is my first time writing shoto so i can get used to him. also idk random plot w/ random smut lol ikik. enjoy!!

the weather’s cold, the sort of cold that creeps up your sleeves and makes your eyes water, and you’re slumped against the little table in the apartment kitchen, fiddling with a mug. you can hear the kettle boiling, the sound of traffic in the street, the distant thump of someone dropping weights upstairs. shoto’s by the window, looking at his phone trying to decipher his wordle of the day. he glances at you, then back to the window, then back at you—he’s never been good at pretending he’s not interested in what you’re doing, especially when you’re in one of your moods.

“are you going to drink that?” he asks, voice as gentle as the steam billowing from the kettle, and you shrug, pushing the mug away, watching it spin in a lazy half-circle. it bumps the bracelet box, the one you somehow never got rid of—some ritualistic relic now, a paperweight for love’s lost and found.

shoto crosses the kitchen, socks nearly slipping on the floor, and sits down next to you, all neat and careful, his hair as ridiculous and perfect as the day you met him. “you’re thinking about that day again,” he says. not a question. he always knows.

you groan, dropping your head to the table. “why did i just hand you a random jewelry box and run away. who does that? you must’ve thought i was out of my mind.”

he hums, tilting his head, that little smile of his threatening to break. “i thought it was some sort of secret club invitation or a love profession.”

you snort, hiding your face in your arms. “and yet, five months of silence later, you actually asked me out—of course in like our way... you waited longer than most people serve in jail for petty theft.”

he leans over, nudging your shoulder with his. “i was… thinking about it. i was waiting for the right time.” shoto’s ‘right time’ is the lunar eclipse, the first snow of the year, a sale on strawberries at the market. a rare occurrence, almost mythic, but worth waiting for.

he dangles it in front of you, grasping it clumsy with one hand but determined. “i like it,” he says, turning his wrist this way and that so it catches the light. “i like that you gave it to me before i even knew your name.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s a flush on your cheeks you can’t quite hide. “you’re such a sap.”

he grins, the kind that always starts in his eyes, soft and wide, and suddenly the room feels a little less cold. “well, you did start it.”

he catches your hand, thumb tracing slow circles against your knuckles, and the rest of the world fades, his lips press soft against your temple, his voice is low as he murmurs, “your new shampoo smells nice.” you barely catch it, and the compliment lands. “thank you,” you mumble, almost shy. you never get used to how natural this feels, the way his affection sneaks up on you in the middle of a tuesday morning.

you tilt your head back, watching him pour two mugs of tea, the steam rising like tiny ghosts. “how’s work?” you ask, nudging his leg with your toe under the table.

he sits, sets your mug in front of you. “it feels good to be out there again,” he says, a rare glint in his eyes, the kind that only comes from a day spent chasing purpose, all fire and frost and the pride he carries so quietly. “i missed it.”

you nod, understanding exactly what he means, because it’s how you feel when you step back from a patient, exhausted but alive. “mine’s exhausting,” you admit, rubbing your eyes, “but… i love it. you know i do. even when i want to set my desk on fire.”

he smiles, soft, and reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering, “then it’s worth it.”

you sit in comfortable silence, sipping tea, until shoto taps his mug and clears his throat in that awkward way he does when he’s about to bring up something important but has zero clue how to do it without sounding like he’s announcing the start of the olympics.

“so… uh, my friends want to do a meet up. they said we should come. it’s this weekend. i think they just want to see if you’re real and not something i made up.”

you laugh, nearly spilling your tea. “should i be worried? am i about to be interrogated by the hero league’s social committee?”

he leans closer, bumping his nose against your cheek, “probably. but i’ll protect you.” his words are teasing, but there’s a real thread of comfort there, a promise woven in between the lightheartedness.

your hands smack the table in a burst of excitement and the mug rattles, nearly toppling, but you catch it at the last second. “yes please!” you say, maybe a bit too loud, but you’re beaming and there’s no one here to judge you except shoto, who thinks the sun rises and sets just to light up your smile.

there’s this secret you both keep, heavy and precious—your relationship, tucked away from the spotlight. most days, you like it that way. you’re not a pro hero, you’re not famous, and you definitely don’t have the energy to argue with rabid fangirls who would probably riot if they saw you holding his hand on the street. it’s always been about safety first, but it’s also about preserving something that’s yours, untouched and undisturbed.

he’s got his arm around your waist before you can blink, drawing you close until you’re both squished against the back of your chair. he buries his face in your neck, nuzzling at the spot just below your ear, his breath sending a shiver up your spine. “shoto—what’s the matter?” you ask, trying to sound exasperated, but the laughter bubbling in your chest gives you away.

he doesn’t answer, not really. he just mumbles something unintelligible against your skin, kisses your neck, your jaw, then your collarbone—so soft and slow it’s almost lazy. his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, tracing circles at the small of your back, thumb brushing the edge of your waistband. it’s not even scandalous, just possessive in the way only he can manage—protective, loving, his whole world funneled into the curve of his palm.

you giggle, squirming a little, but you don’t pull away. “you’re such a baby,” you tease, brushing your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and he just sighs, a deep, content sound, like he could live right here forever.

he finally pulls back enough to meet your eyes, and there’s that softness in him that nobody else gets to see. “i just… missed you,” he whispers, even though you’ve been together all morning, like every second is one he’s desperate to keep.

you keep your arms wrapped around him, chin tucked over his shoulder, the soft fabric of his shirt warming beneath your palms. his cologne lingers, just sharp enough to remind you of those rare, expensive nights out—something clean and woodsy, but there’s always a little hint of smoke beneath it, like the echo of his quirk refuses to be left behind.

his hair is damp at the tips, sticking a little to your cheek where it brushes you, still cooling from his shower. he’s dressed like he always is at home: basketball shorts, that battered black compression shirt with the slightly stretched neckline, looking so entirely unlike a top-ten hero that you have to bite back a grin. you both ended up grabbing the same silly striped socks this morning, and every time your feet bump under the table, it makes you want to laugh all over again.

you lean your head into the crook of his neck, letting your eyes flutter shut, just listening. shoto’s breathing is slow, steady, almost meditative. he keeps pressing gentle kisses along your jaw, down your neck, his hands drawing patterns over your back. he always does this after long days—melts into you, no words needed, just touch and presence, unwinding in the hush that’s only yours.

sometimes he’ll murmur something under his breath, little apologies for getting home late or thank-yous for putting dinner in the microwave. but most nights, it’s just this: the two of you tangled up together, his thumb tracing slow circles at your waist, your heart matching his rhythm, the exhaustion bleeding away as he lets himself just be, safe and real and so achingly tender, only for you.

you breathe him in, let the quiet settle over the kitchen like a blanket. the outside world is still there, just beyond the thin apartment walls, but right now, it’s nothing more than white noise—background static to the soft hum of two lives pressed close, perfectly matched, a little ridiculous, a lot in love. your laughter comes out light you mumble, “you’re so sweet,” voice half muffled against his neck.

before you can finish the thought, his hand slides lower, bold in that sneaky way only he manages, and gives your ass a firm squeeze. it’s gentle but just cheeky enough to make you squeal, the sound bubbling out of you before you can even think to stop it.

shoto smirks, barely lifting his head, and in that low, velvet-soft voice, he mutters, “you’re too kind.” like it’s some private joke the two of you share, a secret language woven between the spaces of all your late nights and lazy mornings.

he presses a kiss to your jaw, lingering, then nuzzles your cheek, his hand not moving an inch. you swat at his arm playfully but don’t really want him to let go.

as he finally pulls back, his gaze lingers on you—quiet, unwavering, that peculiar todoroki brand of attention that makes your heart flutter and your skin prickle with goosebumps. he takes you in like the way the morning light lands across your cheeks, the way your hair’s all mussed from his touch. it’s that kind of look that makes you squirm, that says more than he’d ever dare out loud in front of anyone else.

then he drops it, plain as can be, not even a hint of a smile tugging at his lips—“you’re so beautiful, you know that?” he says, his tone as dry as ever, but his eyes are impossibly soft. you choke out a laugh, shoulders bunching, heat flaring up your neck.

you wave a hand at him, flustered, half hiding your face. “oh my god, shoto, you can’t just say that with such a straight face! you’re so sweet.” you place a hand on your red cheeks and look away, huffing a small laugh. 

he blinks, completely unbothered, as if he’s genuinely confused why this would be funny. “i’m just being honest,” he says, as though it’s the most logical thing in the world, and the corners of his mouth twitch just the slightest bit—he knows what he’s doing, and he’s proud of himself for it, the little menace.

your laughter rolls between you, soft and bright, filling up the tiny kitchen. he leans in, plants another kiss on your forehead. his hand finds its way to the back of your neck, fingers weaving into your hair with that steady, tender pressure that always leaves you weak in the knees. he pulls you toward him, eyes flickering down to your lips before he ducks in, brushing his mouth along your jaw in a trail of gentle, barely-there kisses.

“you’re really… just, ridiculously cute,” he mumbles, lips skimming your skin, the words almost lost in the space between breaths. he’s got that wild look in his eye now, the kind he gets when he’s overtaken by cuteness aggression like he can’t decide if he wants to squeeze you or just keep kissing you until the world runs out of mornings.

you can’t help it, you giggle, trying to twist away, but he’s relentless, dotting kisses from your jaw to your cheek, nose bumping yours, his arms wrapping you up even tighter. every time you laugh, he kisses you harder, until you’re both half tangled in each other and the kitchen chairs nearly go toppling.

he pulls back, barely, just enough to look at you, his cheeks a little flushed. “i love you,” he blurts, suddenly, out of nowhere, and it’s so honest, so raw, it knocks the wind out of you for a second.

your hands find his shoulders, fingers curling in the soft fabric, your smile so wide your cheeks ache. “i love you too, ya big lug,” you say, still a little breathless, and he grins back, the rare, real one that’s only yours.

somewhere outside, a car alarm goes off, a dog barks, the city stretches awake—but in here, you’re safe, you’re held, and shoto is kissing you like he’s just remembered how lucky he is that out of everyone in this enormous, loud world, he gets to have you.

few days later 

the car smells like lemon-scented air freshener and old hero gloves, and shoto is sitting behind the wheel, staring blankly at the group chat on his phone like it’s a bomb he’s being forced to defuse. he grimaces at his own reflection in the rearview mirror, fixing a strand of hair that’s somehow both too white and too red for this world, then sighs so hard the windows fog up a little. he loves his friends, truly. would probably let them crash on his couch, eat his snacks, maybe even borrow his favorite shirt  if they were really in dire straits. but in this moment? he would sell every single one of them for an extra hour of bed-rotting with you.

he scrolls up in your texts, all hearts and thumbs-up and one very tragic selfie you sent him of your work badge hanging off your tired face, captioned; the city needs me. im sorry that your emotional support gf isn’t there.

shoto types;  you hate me and my friends. confirmed.  then, before he can think better of it, he follows with: you’d rather save lives than hang out with us.

midoriya sends seventeen rapid-fire texts about how excited he is for tonight, how he can’t wait to see everyone, how he made homemade cookies, how he’s bringing them to share, how he hopes everyone likes them, bakugo responds with, shut up, nerd, and then, ominously, don’t bring any of that green stuff again. he slumps over the steering wheel, texting you again: actually… i could just say im sick.. my only comfort in this cruel world is knowing i have matching pajamas with you.

he scrolls up again. your last text: kick bakugo for me. twice. on the shin. xoxo

he cracks a smile, drags himself out of the car, and heads for the door, already planning his next excuse to duck out early. in his head, he’s picturing you at home, probably already in pajamas, curled up with a cup of tea and that blanket you keep stealing from his side of the bed. maybe, if he’s quick, he can sneak back before you fall asleep, pretend the hero world is just a place he visits for the paycheck, and real life is the sound of your laugh echoing in the kitchen and the way you always, always leave the hall light on for him.

well...

it’s only been fifteen minutes and shoto’s already realized he might’ve been a little dramatic in the car, sulking like a man whose true love had been stolen by—well, by u.a alumni’s, honestly. seeing everyone in person, all talking over each other, izuku accidentally elbowing uraraka in the chest (they both turn beet red and try to pretend they haven’t been holding hands under the table), bakugo already complaining about the snacks, it actually feels… pretty nice. comforting, like wearing an old sweater that smells like safety and a little bit like satos cakes.

except, of course, that he’s been stood up. by you. the love of his life, the reason he put on his nice shirt and actually tied his tie the right way, just for you. now the only one paying any real attention is iida, who beams so proudly you’d think shoto just invented the concept of nice clothing.

“todoroki!” iida booms, eyes shining behind his glasses. “splendid choice of tie! a fine knot, and very suitable for your complexion. may i ask where you acquired it?”

shoto clears his throat, fighting the urge to text you: ‘iida likes my tie, please marry me before he does.’

he looks over, catches izuku and uraraka’s hands twined together under the table. he blinks, tilts his head like a confused puppy. “so. when did that happen?” he deadpans, and everyone stares at their food for a second like it might answer.

then, from across the table, mineta pipes up, nearly bouncing out of his chair. “see! i told you! they’re real! unlike todoroki, whose so-called girlfriend is still hiding in the shadows! what’s next, todoroki, she lives in canada? only comes out at night? she’s a cryptid?”

the table explodes into laughter. bakugo rolls his eyes and mutters, “bet she’s imaginary, just like his social skills.”

shoto’s face doesn’t even twitch, but his phone is already halfway out of his pocket. he texts you, they’re bullying me. mineta thinks you’re a government cryptid. iida’s in love with my tie. help.

he glances up, catches iida still admiring his tie with a kind of wholesome yearning. he sighs, already planning to steal a cookie and escape as soon as humanly possible—preferably before mineta tries to verify the existence of you.

the fluorescent lights of the emergency department flicker overhead, doing nothing for your mood except making your exhaustion look twice as dramatic in the reflection of the break room window. you’re clutching the iced latte shoto sent you off with—he shoved it into your hands with that look, the one that says he’s suffering in silence, the world’s most beautiful kicked puppy.

as you clock in, your friend leans over, her eyebrows already arched high. “rough night?” she asks, eyes flicking from your face to the cup in your hand. you’re already sagging against the monitor, ready to melt right into the floor.

you groan, thumping your head back. “i was supposed to meet my boyfriend’s friends tonight,” you whine, voice pitched low so no one eavesdrops. “finally. after, like, years. and i got called in. again. by that evil gremlin—” you jerk your head in the direction of your supervisor’s office, “—who hasn’t moved from her desk since the feudal era.”

your friend snorts. “tragic. you gonna at least eat some of the free pizza in the breakroom, or do you wanna keep suffering on an empty stomach too?”

you open your mouth to answer, but your phone buzzes with a text. it’s shoto. you already know from the way your heart skips that it’s him.

they say hi. i miss you. mineta’s convinced you’re fake. iida keeps asking about you. i hope your coffee’s still cold… love you.

you sigh, feel your entire chest deflate with the weight of how much you want to go home, crawl into bed, and listen to him complain about mineta in person. you pull your mask up, scrubs perfectly wrinkled, hair barely wrangled into a ponytail, and snap a quick photo: you, coffee in hand, mask hiding the worst of your despair, eyes wide and pitiful. 

outside, sirens wail, the automatic doors slide open and closed, and you steel yourself for the rush—just another night, another round of chaos, but at least you’ve got shoto’s ridiculous texts to keep you tethered.

shoto barely cracks a smile as he flips his phone around, holding out the picture of you in your scrubs and mask for mineta to see—he doesn’t say anything, just lets the evidence speak for itself. mineta squints, leans in like he’s searching for the hidden watermark, and scoffs. “nice try, todoroki! you found that on the internet, didn’t you? probably searched ‘cute doctor girlfriend aesthetic’ or something. you can’t fool me.”

bakugo chokes on his drink and mutters, “she’s real, all right, she just doesn’t want to hang out with you.”

iida immediately begins analyzing the hospital ID badge in the corner of the photo, squinting through his glasses, probably about to launch into a diatribe about privacy and digital safety.

shoto just shrugs, his expression cool as ever, already sliding the phone back into his pocket. “well, okay,” he says, unbothered, reaching for another one of izuku’s cookies. “you’re welcome to believe whatever you want.”

izuku gives him a supportive nod, drinking his water, and ochako is trying not to laugh behind her hand. shoto turns his attention to their conversation, every so often glancing at his phone, where your message still sits, glowing at the top of his notifications.

in the corner, mineta is grumbling something about deepfakes, but the rest of the group’s already moved on, discussing which pro hero agency has the best staff lounge snacks. shoto’s just quietly proud, knowing that you’re out there—braving emergencies, making faces behind your mask.

izuku, ever the golden retriever in human form, perks up as soon as the laughter dies down. “so, uh, todoroki, how long have you been together?” he asks, almost shy, like he’s expecting the answer to be “a few months” or maybe “oh, we just started dating.”

shoto, who’s in the middle of deciding whether to go for another cookie or another handful of chips: “we’re actually celebrating our four year anniversary soon.”

the table goes silent. necks crane. forks freeze mid-air. bakugo’s jaw drops, cookie halfway to his mouth. iida’s glasses practically fog up. then, in a beautifully synchronized outburst, everyone shouts, “YOU’VE HAD A GIRLFRIEND FOR FOUR YEARS AND DIDN’T TELL US?!”

shoto just blinks, unimpressed. “but... you don’t even believe me when i had said it thirty seconds ago,” he deadpans, his face as flat as a cutting board, sipping his drink with all the nonchalance of a man who has not just blown their collective minds.

ochako’s staring at him in disbelief, mineta is close to losing it, and izuku looks both amazed and a tiny bit betrayed, like someone just told him all might was actually two raccoons in a trench coat.

shoto just shrugs, “you never asked after i told you all the first time.” bakugo snorts, already muttering under his breath, “guy’s got more secrets than AFO has quirks.”

and somehow, now they all believe him—mostly because nobody could keep a straight face for that long if they were lying, and also, because who else but shoto would think a four-year relationship was just background noise?

everyone else at that table could think you were some mythical girlfriend from a parallel universe, but to him?

you were the sun that graces his eyelids, the moon he measured his nights by, the quiet tug of the stars pulling him home.

you were the penelope to his odysseus, except he would cross seas faster, burn boats if he had to, swim continents if it meant getting back to you. shoto todoroki, who barely knew how to smile in public, had entire folders on his phone labeled with your name. every selfie you ever took, every blurry picture, every accidental voice note of you humming in the car—archived, backed up, cherished like national treasures.

if he ever woke up with a quirk that let him terraform the earth, japan would become a shrine dedicated to you. he’d carve your name into mountains, redirect rivers so they spelled out confessions only you’d recognize, plant entire forests shaped like your initials. dramatic? absolutely. beneath the stoic? always.

but it didn’t start with poetry. it started five years ago.

the day was gray with rain. shoto was walking down the steps of a university he wasn’t even attending, hoodie on, hair a mess, visiting a friend who kept skipping lectures anyway. he was minding his business, thinking about nothing in particular, until you came barreling around the corner.

you—hoodie pulled up, scrubs peeking out, eyes tired, cheeks flushed from either crying or running or both. you marched right up to him like fate shoved you forward and shoved a box into his hands.

“take this please,” you mumbled, voice cracking, words spilling out like they were too heavy to hold. before he could ask a single question—before he could even blink—you were gone. sprinting away. disappearing into a crowd of students.

he opened the box on the steps. inside sat a ridiculously nice chain bracelet—expensive, clearly meant for someone who mattered. the lid had a tiny embossed note: i love you so much.

shoto stared at it for a long time, thumb brushing the metal, wondering what kind of whirlwind of emotions you were lost in. wondering why it made his chest feel oddly warm. wondering why your face stuck with him long after.

and because he was shoto—earnest, unaware of normal social cues, painfully straightforward—he decided this was an… attempt to court him!

he came back to campus the next day. and the next. and the next few weeks, just to see if he could return your gesture properly. maybe ask your name this time. maybe ask why you looked so sad. but fate kept playing dodgeball with him. he stopped after a while, convincing himself he’d imagined the whole thing.

five months pass.

he comes back on a whim, stepping into the same hallway—and there you are. hoodie up again, balancing coffee and textbooks, hair a little frizzy, eyes a little brighter. you bump into him again and go, “oh, sorry,” because you don’t even remember him.

so he says, out loud, with no preamble whatsoever:

“i accept.”

you blink. “haha… dude, accept what?”

he pulls the box from his bag—yes, he carried it with him for months, like a talisman—and opens it in front of you. the bracelet gleams in the fluorescent lighting, the little i love you so much tag sitting like a confession in his palm.

you stare. hard.

in that one second your brain does cartwheels.

am i falling in love at this man’s gesture or am i delulu?

meanwhile shoto stands there patiently, looking at you like he’s already made his choice.

and from that moment on—well… the rest is four years of soft mornings, hidden kisses, and a love so steady it could knock the earth off its axis, all because you handed a stranger a bracelet and ran for your life.

one rainy night, movie playing in the background, you’re curled up with shoto on the couch—feet tangled, popcorn bowl wedged dangerously between you two, the world outside soft and distant. he’s got the bracelet on, always does, flicking it back and forth absentmindedly as the main character gets into some melodramatic romcom trouble onscreen.

you giggle sheepishly, half-hiding your face behind a pillow. “hey, you know that bracelet i gave you?”

he glances down, dangles it in front of your nose, the chain catching the glow of the tv. “this one?” he asks, with a little smile.

you nod, taking a breath, deciding to just rip the band-aid off. “i, uh, actually saved up for a long time, working part time, to get that for my ex-boyfriend.” you swallow, cheeks burning. “i found out he was cheating on me at a party… so i never got to give it to him. then i just—well, i gave it to you.”

he pauses the movie, turns toward you fully, the bracelet still swinging between his fingers. you let out a listless sigh, “they uh— didn’t take refunds… so i was kinda stuck with it.” 

“i couldn’t bear to look at it— so i gave it to the first person i made eye contact with…” you poke your fingers into his chest, giving him another laugh, “then i had to go away for a couple months for my semester abroad…and i didn’t even get to enjoy it as much because i bought a stupid bracelet for a guy who didn’t even love me! so i couldn’t buy stuff i wanted!” you playfully pout but soon dies down to a resigned sigh. 

that explains why he hadn’t seen you since that day then. for a second, his eyes flash—a quick, dark little fire that disappears as quick as it came. you look away, embarrassed, but before you can say anything else, his hand finds yours, fingers warm and sure.

“you don’t ever have to worry about that again,” he says, voice quiet but so steady you feel it in your bones.

your brows knit, still a little unsure. “what do you mean?”

his thumb traces slow circles over your knuckles, and he leans closer, his hair falling over his eyes. “i’ll take care of you from now on. so you can chase your dream without any burden. you deserve that.”

your eyes go wide, a tiny, disbelieving laugh caught in your throat, and suddenly you feel lighter—like someone just unlocked all the windows in your soul. his gaze is so open, so genuine, it makes your chest ache in the best way.

you lean your head on his shoulder, your voice all soft and sparkly. “you mean it?”

he just nods, turning your hand over and pressing a kiss to your wrist, the bracelet cool and reassuring between you. and outside, the rain keeps tapping against the windows, but you swear the world feels warmer, hope blooming slow and steady, happiness shining in your eyes like you never thought it could again.

lol

so of course, after that conversation, shoto’s whole brain short-circuits for a bit.

that bracelet? the one he’d worn like some knightly vow, cherished and guarded like a national treasure—well, the next morning, it’s nowhere to be found.

you’re brushing your teeth, humming to yourself, when you peek out of the bathroom and spot him rifling through his drawers, a suspiciously blank look on his face. the bracelet is missing from his wrist.

“shoto, where’s your bracelet?” you ask, still half foamy and adorable.

he doesn’t look at you, just grumbles, “must’ve misplaced it,” as if he hasn’t worn it every single day since you gave it to him.

the truth is, he saw it in a whole new light after that movie night. no way is he wearing a hand-me-down from your cheating ex—he’s got pride! but mostly he’s got you, and now he wants something that’s only yours and his.

the next weekend, he drags you out, doesn’t even bother pretending it’s for groceries or new socks. “let’s go,” he says, grabbing your hand, “i have an idea.”

before you know it, you’re in the jewelry shop downtown, that little place with the sparkly glass counters and the faint smell of vanilla candles. shoto is dead serious, eyes scanning every bracelet, anklet, and charm in the display like he’s looking for the holy grail.

“we’re getting new ones,” he says, matter-of-fact, already picking out a set. “matching. for us.”

you try to tease him, poking at his side, “what if i want something with a dinosaur charm?”

he doesn’t blink, just shrugs, “then... we’ll get dinosaurs.”

fifteen minutes later, you both leave with shiny new bracelets—yours with a little flame, his with a little heart, a private joke tucked between the links. you slip yours on right there in the shop, and he does the same, holding his wrist up next to yours with this smug, satisfied look.

“these are better,” he declares, grinning for real now. “they’re ours.”

and from that day on, you never catch him without it—your wrists always matching, a secret promise, one that started with a little heartbreak and turned into something stubborn, dazzling, and utterly, perfectly yours.

your pager goes off mid-yawn, and you nearly drop your iced coffee on your own foot. it’s your supervisor—gremlin queen of the fluorescent-lit jungle. you brace yourself for disaster, but her voice cracks through, unexpectedly chipper: “hey, you’re off early. found someone to cover the rest of your shift.”

you don’t even hesitate, don’t try to act polite, just blurt, “hell yes!” loud enough that half the night staff turns around.

your best friend, who’s already pulling her hair tie out and plotting her escape, looks at you with raised brows. “what’s got you in a good mood?”

“i’m out early!” you say, scrambling for your phone. “can you drop me off at a restaurant? i need the address from my boyfriend. it’s… complicated.”

she grins, “it always is.”

you shoot shoto a quick text: babe, miracle—i’m out early. can you send me the address?

he responds within seconds—maybe he was just staring at his phone, maybe he’s got the notification sound set just for you.

fantastic. here you go.

he pastes the address, adds a i’ll meet you outside, and then another: hurry. mineta’s trying to ask me about kissing technique. save me.

you show the address to your friend, who whistles, “fancy place. you two got a secret billionaire life you’re hiding from me?”

“if we did, do you think i’d still be at work?” you shoot back.

shoto is sitting at the table, half-listening to bakugo and kirishima bicker over appetizers, when your text comes in. his phone buzzes and he glances down, the tiniest hint of a smile pulling at his lips. he nudges izuku, who’s the only one still nodding along to his “i really do have a girlfriend, guys” speech.

“she’s coming,” shoto says quietly, almost as if he’s afraid if he says it too loud, you’ll vanish into the ether. “i’m gonna go grab her.”

izuku’s eyes light up, practically glowing with excitement and righteous best-friend energy. “really? that’s awesome, todoroki! should i tell everyone?” he’s already half out of his chair.

shoto just nods, standing up and smoothing his shirt, grabbing his jacket. but izuku, sweet little rumor-mill that he is, blurts, “guys, shoto’s girlfriend is coming. he’s going outside to get her!” and the energy in the room spikes.

mineta stands up so fast he nearly knocks over a water pitcher. “no way. if he comes back alone, i’m never believing a single word he says ever again.”

iida is immediately straightening the cutlery and napkins at the table, “we must present ourselves properly!”

ochako and tsuyu exchange bets on whether you’ll actually show or if shoto will just come back with a stray cat in his arms and call it even. there’s a sense of suspense so thick you could cut it with a butter knife. even the waiter pauses to see if this mysterious girlfriend is real, or if shoto’s about to walk back in and claim you “had to leave for urgent, top-secret, medical reasons."

outside, shoto texts you one more time—i’m right outside. can’t wait to see you.

he opens the door for you, gaze dipping down and up in a blink—yeah, he always did have a thing for you in those ridiculous baggy pants, the way the pockets bulge with pens and snacks and that one weird keychain. there’s a little tingle that travels up his spine, the kind he files away for later, when you’re both alone and he can tell you all the ways you drive him crazy.

he greets you with a soft kiss to your forehead, the gentlest press, careful not to mess up your hair any further. “how was your shift?” he asks, genuine, voice low and soft as always. you’re already talking before he finishes, words spilling out in a breathless, animated ramble about cranky patients, spilled coffee, your friend’s epic breakroom meltdown, and how your supervisor nearly ruined your life before miraculously letting you off early.

he listens, nodding, smiling at all the right parts, opening the next door so you can step into the warm light of the restaurant. you barely notice the way his thumb traces circles on your lower back as you walk in, too busy recounting your day in dramatic detail—complete with hand motions, exaggerated sound effects, and a full reenactment of how you almost tripped on the iv stand.

inside, the air is thick with anticipation. the table full of pro heroes, all craning their necks, jaws dropping as shoto ushers you in, his hand never leaving you. and you? you just keep yapping, too thrilled to notice the sea of wide eyes and slack jaws, not realizing you’ve just single-handedly broken the shoto todoroki does not have a girlfriend myth.  

shoto, unfazed by the mounting circus, keeps his hand at your back, calm as can be. he looks over the crowd, deadpan but with that quiet pride lighting his eyes, and announces, “everyone, this is my girlfriend—”

he says your name, slow and clear, like it’s something he wants the world to remember.

a hush falls, then mineta absolutely loses it. “no way! he got a girlfriend and she’s hot and a nurse?!” mineta’s wailing now, clutching his napkin like a lifeline. “that’s it, i’m retiring! i’ve seen everything—someone hold me!”

ochako’s hiding a smile behind her hand, izuku is beaming so hard you’re worried his face might crack, kirishima’s already congratulating shoto with a thumb’s up, and bakugo just rolls his eyes and mutters, “figures. leave it to icyhot to overachieve at everything.”

iida, meanwhile, is standing up so fast his chair screeches, ready to shake your hand and welcome you to “the friend group,” as if it’s some secret society you’ve just unlocked. you can feel your cheeks heating up, but shoto squeezes your waist, keeping you anchored.

he’s nonchalant, but his thumb rubs slow, reassuring circles on your side, the proudest man in the room. “see? i told you,” he says to no one in particular, but mostly to you, like this moment—this official, hearts on the table introduction—was worth the wait.

it’s chaos the second you sit down. you barely get your coat off before questions start flying across the table, everyone talking over each other, eyes sparkling with curiosity like you’re a rare cryptid finally spotted in the wild.

“what’s your favorite color?” ochako asks, leaning in, eyes bright.

“favorite food!” izuku chimes in, notebook halfway out because of course he wants to write this down for ‘research purposes.’

kirishima grins, “how’d you guys meet? did you confess first or was it todoroki?”

iida is already halfway through, “do you enjoy your profession? it must be rewarding to save lives every day, truly exemplary—”

but then, mineta, ever the menace, pipes up, “what’s shoto like in private? and, uh, what’s he like in private?” he waggles his brows, and bakugo nearly flings a breadstick at his head.

your brain is spinning, and for a second you just sit there, blinking, wondering if this is some secret hero interrogation technique. you laugh, a little breathless, and try to answer the easy ones first—you met in college, and yes, he actually does talk when he’s comfortable (even if he sounds like he’s reciting the morning news).

“he’s sweet,” you say, smiling at shoto, who’s sitting beside you looking like this is the best day of his life. “he’s… well, honestly, he’s quieter at home. but really thoughtful.”

you grin, feeling your exhaustion melt just a little at the sound of everyone’s laughter. “and … in private—” you start, but bakugo barks, “don’t answer that! nobody wants to know about icyhot’s bedroom voice!”

the whole table dissolves into giggles and fake protests, someone shoves another plate of appetizers your way, and suddenly you’re just another friend at the table, swept up in the wild, messy, wonderful energy. you lean into shoto, whispering thanks, and he just smiles, proud and quiet, finally getting to show off the person who means more to him than any hero title ever could.

the night stretches longer than you expect, laughter and questions blending with good food and a hundred little jokes you’ll remember later. you and shoto linger after the others have filtered out, waving and hugging, promises to meet again echoing in the doorway.

outside, the city’s cooled off, the air smells faintly of rain and traffic, and you and shoto walk hand in hand beneath the restaurant’s twinkling lights. you’re beaming, cheeks rosy, fingers laced with his, the memory of everyone’s warmth still buzzing under your skin.

“that juice was so delicious,” you announce, nearly bouncing on your toes, your words just a little wobbly. there’s a foam of happiness in your voice, unfiltered and bright.

shoto glances down at you, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “yeah? you had like five of those…”

he pauses, unlocking the car, steadying you as you try to get in—his hands gentle, patient. “they all had alcohol, my love.”

you hiccup, swaying a bit as you plop into the passenger seat, fumbling with the seatbelt. “nuhuh,” you protest, dragging out the word. “it was juice. it tasted like a fruit salad. a really good one.”

he can’t help himself, leans down to buckle your seatbelt for you, lips brushing your temple as he clicks it into place. “it was a cocktail, sweetheart. five cocktails.”

you just blink, grin wide, “you’re a cocktail,” you say, very serious, like you’ve cracked some great mystery.

shoto chuckles, smoothing your hair back, the sound low and fond, “if you say so.”

you barely make it through the door before your crocs go flying—one lands by the entryway, the other somewhere under the coffee table, and you’re already giggling, swaying a little as you toe them off. the apartment smells like home, soft and safe and tinged with that faint, clean cologne shoto likes best.

you stagger ahead, wriggling out of your jacket, and shoto lingers in the doorway for a second, just watching you—like he’s trying to commit every bounce and sway to memory. he has every reason in the world to behave, to play it cool, but tonight? it’s just not happening.

he follows, eyes glued to the way your scrubs hug your hips, the loose waistband doing nothing to hide the fact that, yeah, he’s hopeless for you—every curve, every soft spot, every little jiggle that has his brain stalling out entirely. he’s no better than any man (he is a man), but he’s got a one-track mind and a criminally attractive girlfriend making it ten times harder to focus.

the closer he gets, the more he debates with himself—shouldn’t, shouldn’t, definitely shouldn’t… but the way your scrubs ride up as you bend to pick up your bag, the way you look over your shoulder with that tipsy, dazzling grin? it’s too much. usually, he tries to play it smooth, wait for you to make the first move, but tonight, patience is slowly leaving the building.

he comes up behind you, hands sliding to your waist, grip firm but careful. you squeal, surprised, but your laughter only eggs him on. he tugs you back against him, head dipping to your shoulder, lips trailing the barest of kisses up your neck.

“you’re extra cute tonight,” he murmurs, voice low and a little rough, “you have no idea what you do to me.”

he lets his hands drift down, finally giving in and grabbing a handful. your legs part for him almost instinctively, the feel of his fingers brushing the inside of your thigh making your skin spark. his touch is slow, patient, never rushed—a gentle contrast to the heat that’s starting to pool in your stomach. the pads of his fingers ghost over the fabric between your legs, barely teasing, making you whimper and mumble, “i’m sensitive, shoto…”

he doesn’t miss a beat, his breath tickling your ear as he murmurs, “that’s perfect for what i’ve got planned then.” the promise in his voice is enough to make you shiver, equal parts thrill and anticipation curling through you.

his other hand drifts up, cupping your breast, thumb rubbing slow circles over the fabric, and the soft groan that escapes you only makes him smile, all smug and quiet. he’s got you pinned, your back flush against his chest, the pressure of his body a reminder that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. his lips claim yours—hungry, coaxing, stealing every little gasp you give him.

you press your ass back against him, the heat and want between you simmering to a slow boil. there’s something playful and needy in the way you move, drunk off the night and the five “juices” that definitely weren’t tequila sunrises. he moves with you, gentle but unyielding, the way he always is—his touch, his mouth, his words, all deliberate, all meant for you.

he makes love to you every day, tender and soft, always making sure you’re cherished. but sometimes, when the world feels too heavy and the night is thick with unsaid things, you wonder what it would be like if he let go completely, if he pressed you down and just took what he wanted—if that sharp glint in his eyes meant more than slow, measured patience.

you feel that curiosity now, the ache of it in your bones, as you groan into his mouth and press closer, silently asking for something a little rougher, a little wilder—wondering if tonight’s the night he finally lets himself unravel, just for you.

his lips never leave your neck, slow and hungry, open-mouthed kisses that leave a trail of heat up to your jaw. you shudder, breath hitching, and manage to whisper, voice trembling, “shoto… c-could you… fuck me rough tonight?”

his hands still, just for a moment, as if your words pulled every last ounce of air from the room. he draws back just enough to see your face, his own flushed and a little stunned, eyes searching yours for any hesitation. his breath is warm on your cheek as he asks, low and a bit hoarse, “is that what you want?”

you nod, honest and eager, eyes shining up at him, heart pounding loud enough for him to feel. the tiniest, pleased hum vibrates against your skin as he presses a kiss under your ear.

“alright,” he murmurs, voice firmer now, hunger threading through every syllable. his hand slides down your body, grip tightening, his other hand tangled in your hair as he pins you back against his chest. you can feel the shift in him—less hesitation, more urgency, the tension that always simmers beneath finally rising.

he nips at your neck, lets his hand slip between your legs, all teasing forgotten. his body cages you in, his mouth greedy, claiming every gasp and whimper you give him, finally letting himself unravel—rough, possessive, all that quiet fire breaking loose just for you.

he’s always been bigger than you—broad shoulders, long arms, the kind of strength that you feel in every touch, every time he holds you a little tighter in his sleep. he’s careful, always. he knows what it means to be gentle, to keep himself in check. he’s spent years learning restraint, and sometimes you catch him watching you like he’s making sure he doesn’t ever break what he loves most.

but tonight, when you give him that nod, that permission, something shifts in his chest. he laughs softly against your neck, the sound husky, a little raw. “you sure?” he teases, but his hands are already moving as he tugs your scrub top over your head, then his hands go to your waistband. he leaves your pants on, just enough for his fingers to slip inside, seeking out the warmth and softness he’s grown addicted to.

his fingers slide beneath the band of your panties, callused fingertips gentle at first, then more demanding as he finds your clit. his touch is rougher than usual, less afraid of making you squirm, more intent on wringing those breathless sounds out of you. he circles your bud, presses down just enough to make your hips buck, and when you yelp, twisting against him, he only tightens his grip, holding you flush to his chest.

you can feel how wet you’re getting, the slick heat building as he works you with focused precision, his breath steady in your ear. he’s unyielding, not letting you move away, not letting you set the pace—his palm heavy on your belly, his other hand working you until your nerves sing, until your voice is all broken moans and desperate pleas.

he kisses the side of your throat, teeth grazing your skin, and hums, “that’s it… good girl…” and you feel yourself unraveling, melting into his hold, aching for more of that roughness, more of him, letting him take you apart piece by piece.

your moans spill out, thick and shaky. you press back into him, desperate for more of his touch, your hips rolling up into his hand, chasing every spark he sets off under your skin. his fingers move just right, rubbing and circling, coaxing out every gasp and cry he can get from you.

you can’t help it—you say his name over and over, breathless and pleading, “shoto… shoto, please…” it feels so good, it feels so so good.

he presses a kiss to your shoulder, voice gentle even as his grip is firm. “that’s it. you’re doing so well for me…” his words are soft, but there’s heat under every syllable, every praise winding you up tighter. his thumb never lets up, his other arm holding you close, grounding you as you come undone in his arms.

he murmurs in your ear, “so beautiful… i love hearing you like this…” every word is a caress, warm and steady, and it just makes you fall harder, body arching into him, needing all of him, every rough and tender part.

his breath is hot at your ear as his fingers work you, the familiar warmth of his body pressed behind you—then, suddenly, you gasp as heat blooms where his fingers circle your clit, a flood of gentle fire making you shiver and keen. the pleasure deepens, your thighs trembling as the heat rolls through you, tightening every nerve.

you barely have time to catch your breath before his other hand finds your chest, palm pressing against your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple—except now there’s a sudden, biting chill, a cold so sharp it almost aches. your nipple hardens instantly under the icy touch, the contrast with the heat below sending a bolt of pleasure through you so strong you cry out, arching helplessly into his hands.

shoto hums, smug and quiet, loving the way you moan for him, the way you squirm and writhe and call his name, every sound fueling the fire in his eyes. “sensitive tonight, aren’t you?” he teases, warm fingers stroking just right, his cold thumb circling your nipple, every switch in temperature a new way to unravel you.

you cling to him, rolling your hips in rhythm, drowning in the pleasure and the sensation, your breath stuttering as you feel yourself climbing higher, his mouth is still pressed to your neck, his breath turning ragged as your scrubs slip off your hips, pooling around your ankles. you’re left in nothing but your panties, skin flushed and tingling under the push-pull of his quirks—heat blooming low in your stomach, that sweet ache in your chest where his cold fingers teased you moments before.

he hooks his fingers at the band of your panties, pulling them aside just enough to slip one thick finger inside you. he groans quietly at the way you squeeze around him, the wet heat drawing him in. his finger begins to pump, slow at first, then a little harder, a little deeper, each thrust sending sparks shooting up your spine.

your moans spill out, helpless and hungry, hips rocking in time with his movements. his hand cups your thigh, anchoring you against his chest, not letting you shy away from the pleasure building inside you. his finger curls just right, finding that perfect spot again and again, drawing out every shaky gasp and every whispered plea for more.

he murmurs praise against your skin, soft and hot—“that’s it, baby… let me hear you… just like that…”—and you’re gone, all reason lost, all that matters is the way he fills you. his pace quickens, fingers moving faster, pressing deeper, the slick sound of your arousal filling the room as you gasp and tremble in his arms. he slips in a second finger, stretching you just right, and the pleasure tips from sweet to overwhelming, your hips bucking desperately into his hand. every muscle in your body tenses as you choke out, “shoto—please, i’m so close—please—”

and then, just as you teeter on the edge, he pulls his fingers out, leaving you empty and aching. the sudden loss makes you sob, a needy, broken sound spilling from your lips. you whine his name, squirming against him, but he only hushes you with a gentle kiss on your temple, his restraint tinged with something wild.

he doesn’t give you time to protest, just sweeps you up into his arms, carrying you down the hall with that effortless strength—princess style, pressed to his chest, your bare skin prickling with every step. he lays you on the bed, his eyes dark with hunger, and you watch him as he starts to undress, each piece of clothing hitting the floor with purpose. his gaze never leaves you, a storm of affection and want blazing in his mismatched eyes.

he climbs onto the bed, body looming over yours, strong hands pinning your wrists above your head, lips meeting yours in a deep, possessive kiss. he makes it clear—tonight, he’s done holding back, and you melt beneath him, more than ready to be completely, utterly undone.

his body hovers over you, lean muscles and flushed skin, eyes flicking down with a hunger you haven’t seen in him before—not quite like this. you catch the glint of precum beading at his tip, a raw need that tells you just how much he wants you, how much he’s been holding back. your chest tightens with heat, arousal blooming low and bright, every inch of you aching for him.

he pauses, meeting your gaze, and asks softly, “are you okay?”

you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you, breathless and a little wild. “yeah. i’m more than okay.” you think, for a split second, that this will be one of those nights—gentle, sweet, his usual quiet worship. maybe rough shoto is just a fantasy. and maybe that’s enough, because god, he loves you in ways that make the world spin—

you barely finish the thought before he’s got your ankle in a firm grip, yanking you toward him, the strength in his hands making your breath catch. with one smooth, unyielding motion, he flips you onto your stomach, guiding you up on all fours—leaving you bare, exposed, the sheets cool against your knees and elbows. the shock of it sends a thrill up your spine, your heart pounding as you realize—maybe you were wrong!

his palm presses at your lower back, pinning you in place, and you hear the rough edge in his voice as he leans in, lips brushing your ear: “don’t move.”

there’s nothing gentle now—not with the way his hands grip your hips, the way he settles behind you, all heat and tension and want, about to finally show you just how deep his need for you goes.

he drags the thick, slick head of his cock up and down your entrance, teasing, making you gasp and arch back into him—every nerve in your body strung tight, desperate for more. the anticipation has your pulse pounding in your ears, hips wiggling, breath coming out in little broken huffs. he holds you steady with those big, strong hands, the weight of his grip promising you’re not going anywhere.

for a moment you almost laugh, your mind racing—so this is it, the thing all those spicy romance novels go on about. rough shoto. god, please let him break your back only in the figurative way. not in the actual way that requires a hospital trip, you didn't sign up for insurance! not everyone gets a big beefy boyfriend who can manhandle them like this. please give you strength!

you push back onto his tip, shameless and needy, and he groans—a deep, raw sound that vibrates through his whole body. his hips jerk forward instinctively, the head of his cock nudging just inside, stretching you open so perfectly your toes curl. his hands tighten on your hips, holding you in place as he grinds forward, just enough to make your breath catch.

“you feel so good,” he rasps, voice all rough and greedy, and you can feel him trembling, barely keeping himself in check.

then, finally, with one smooth, rough snap of his hips, he buries himself inside you, the stretch and heat making you cry out, your hands clutching the sheets as he fills you—every inch, every throb, every slow, relentless drive of his hips. you clutch the sheets and let him take you, his thrusts rough and relentless, making the bed creak and your breath stutter out in ragged sobs of pleasure. every push stretches you wide, every pull leaves you empty and aching for more, the rhythm hard and fast—enough to have you tearing up, tears pricking at your lashes from the overwhelming sensation, the perfect fullness, the way his body fits yours like you were made for this.

your moans spill out raw and hurried, broken up by hiccups of laughter and gasps, each thrust wringing out a new whimper, a new plea. you don’t even try to hold back—“shoto, oh god, you’re so deep, so good—i’m your slut, i love being your slut—”

his hips stutter for a split second, and you feel the twitch of his cock deep inside you at the words, the effect it has on him obvious. his voice comes out strained, low and heated as he snaps, “don’t call yourself that…” but there’s no bite to it—just the way his fingers dig into your hips, his pace somehow getting even rougher, every movement desperate to fill you, claim you, drive you both out of your minds.

you sob his name, babbling, breathless, “shoto—please, more, don’t stop—” and he grunts in response, the sound torn from his chest, sweat dripping down his back as he fucks you like he’s never wanted anything more in his life. and god, you’re not sure if it’s the drinks or the man or just the way he loves you, but you know one thing for sure—nothing in the world has ever felt this good,

you push back to meet every thrust, hips rolling in time with his, both of you moving in sync—messy, wild, desperate. his body covers yours, chest pressed to your back, his breath hot at your ear as he drives into you, deep and rough, his control fraying with every needy sound that leaves your lips. your skin sticks together with sweat, the air thick with the scent of sex and perfume.

he leans over you, one arm wrapped tight around your waist, the other braced by your head as he kisses your cheek, your jaw, swallowing every broken gasp and moan you offer up. his hips snap against you, the sound sharp and obscene, the feeling enough to have your legs shaking beneath him.

you can’t help yourself—every time you cry out, you tell him again, “i’m your slut, shoto, i love it, i love being yours, want you to fuck me like this forever—” and each time, he groans, hips slamming harder, his cock twitching inside you, the effect making him lose the last bit of his composure.

his voice is ragged, shuddering, “yeah? you like that? you want me to fuck you like this—” he punctuates each word with another deep, punishing thrust, leaving you gasping for air and clawing at the sheets. “all for me, all mine…”

he kisses the side of your face, thrusts never slowing, and you realize you’re both so far gone, bodies burning and moving as one, losing yourselves in each other—nothing outside this bed, this moment, his hands on you, his name tangled with every moan you give him, your world reduced to his touch and the dizzying rush of being ruined so good by the only man you’d ever let see you like this. his hips don’t let up, pounding into you with a rhythm that makes your mind blank and your whole body tremble. suddenly, his palm presses between your shoulder blades, and you feel that familiar, almost electric cold radiate from his skin—his quirk sparking to life.

the cold pulses through you, your muscles going liquid, the pleasure doubling as every nerve ending lights up. just as you’re about to lose yourself in it, he slides his hand down your body, and where his fingers graze your waist, there’s a sudden warmth—heat blooming in teasing, dizzying lines over your skin. your breath hitches, then breaks into a cry, the wild contrast of hot and cold making you arch back, writhing under him.

shoto hums, deep and smug in your ear, loving every sound you make. he toys with you, heat stroking your inner thigh, icy fingers pinching at your nipple, the temperature play pushing you higher and higher. every new touch has you sobbing his name, not knowing whether to shiver or melt, your senses tangled up in the way he handles you, worships you, ruins you all at once.

his thrusts only get rougher as you fall apart, pleasure sharpening with every wild wave of warmth and cold, and you know you won’t last long—not when he’s using everything he is, everything he can do, to make you his.

he can’t hold back anymore—your body clenching around him, the heat of you, the way you call his name, it pushes him right to the edge. with a broken groan, he buries himself deep, hips grinding in tight, desperate circles as he cums hard, spilling himself inside you. his mouth finds yours, catching your gasps in a hungry, messy kiss, his body trembling as he rides out every last pulse, cock twitching, the pleasure wrung from him so completely he feels weightless.

he stays pressed close, hips snug against your ass, his arms curled around your waist, holding you tight as if letting go would send him drifting out to sea. you feel him soften inside you, still twitching with aftershocks, and the hot mix of you both begins to slip down your thighs, making a sticky mess on the sheets beneath you.

your breathing comes in tandem, ragged and slow, sweat cooling on your skin as the world finally settles around you both. you manage a soft laugh, half-delirious, and shoto buries his face in your neck, mumbling something about how perfect you are, how much he loves you, words muffled against your skin. you both just lie there, tangled and sated, letting the comfort of each other and the soft hush of the night carry you away.

after you both finally peel yourselves from the wreckage of tangled sheets and sticky skin, the shower is nothing but giggles and soft kisses—shoto pressing your back to his chest under the spray, hands gentle, almost reverent again, as if he hadn’t just made you see stars ten minutes ago. by the time you’re both clean and swaddled in towels, your bodies ache in that sweet, sleepy way that means you’ll sleep well tonight.

but shoto is in a mood, buzzing with a quiet, excitable energy. he’s the first to flop into bed, sheets rustling as he tugs you close and arranges you right where he wants you: head pillowed on his chest, one of his arms tucked beneath your shoulders, the other presenting you with your drink and a bowl of snacks like he’s some champion waiter.

he’s already flicking through streaming apps with the remote, pausing only to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “so,” he says, voice soft but full of curiosity, “how did you like my friends?”

you snuggle in, drawing lazy circles on his chest, your heart light. “they’re amazing. i love them. i was so nervous, but they made me feel like i belonged.” you grin up at him, teasing, “and now they know you’re not a pathological liar who made up a girlfriend.”

he snorts, smile crooked, brushing his lips against your forehead. “mineta almost fainted... izuku still looked like he was going to cry.”

the night settles in soft around you, movie menu glowing blue in the dark, your bodies warm and tangled beneath the covers. it’s quiet and perfect, shoto humming under his breath as he picks a film, your world shrunk down to the two of you and the sound of the ac kicking on, snacks scattered among you, laughter, and a hundred more nights just like this!

.

im sry i ran out of ideas at the end @_@

[kominigiru]

You don’t leave Phainon’s side while the fever keeps him tethered to the bed.

You coddle him—check his temperature, cool his skin, brush damp hair back from his forehead, have him drink his medicine—and he seems half-asleep most of the time, heavy and pliant beneath your care.

At some point, your world shifts. One moment, you’re seated in the chair; the next, you’re beneath him, your wrists pinned high above your head. The bed dips beneath your combined weight, and heat radiates off him in a way that has nothing to do with the sheets or his illness.

A shaky exhale leaves his lips as he looks down on you.

“You’ve been fussing over my temperature all day,” he murmurs, eyes dark with something far more lucid than a fever. “If you’re so worried…”

He juts his hips just enough for you to understand.

“…want to check how hot it is inside you instead?”

[my-dailydreams]

[mewnbuns]

NIE WYWOŁUJ WILKA Z LASU ( DONT CALL THE WOLF OUT OF THE FOREST ) | BLADE

⸺ ⟢ the winters are harsh in your hometown, so you know it’s never wise to venture into the wood before a storm, especially knowing that whatever inhabits there is known to be even harsher.

pairing. wolf hybrid! blade x fem reader | wc. 13k. | genres. hybrid au, slight horror / folklore themes, eventual smut, minors do not interact. | warnings. hybrid x human. blade’s speech is broken at points. kidnapping (blade doesn’t see it that way). blade has ears, fangs, claws and a tail. animal death + associated themes such as blood etc. eventual knotting. blade saves reader from a harsh storm + keeps her in his nest. lots of drool, teeth, a bit of rough play. tongue baths. I return to masterlist.

notes. i am apologising in advance for the ending of this …. i have slaved over this for the greatest part of two weeks so please give me grace my friends ily all! i hope someone out there enjoys this :-)

The winters are cruel and unforgiving in your village. And along with the season comes its own special set of superstitions. You’ve heard about them since you were a child, warned of them, the things that live in the woods. The things that monitor the edges of the forest in the hopes of luring an unsuspecting child or lone civilian too close to its domain.

They’re never seen again should they fall for it, or so you’ve heard. The ones lucky to survive such encounters have described their own personal run ins with such things, no one story ever the same as the last; voices that mimic loved ones, already years dead, luring you onto foliage or bright eyes honed on you from the shadows, lurking. A body far too big and tall to be an animal ever sighted before, but the sounds they make… the throats bitten out from your village’s goats or the claw marks found decorating the bodies of the fiercest of wolves… far from human.

"That’s what happened to a girl around two streets over." The store assistant says from where she sits at the table across from you, swallowing the remnants of her breakfast before tapping on her temple. As if reciting the rumour from memory. "Her parents were never quite right after that. Driven a little mad by it." 

"They never found her?" You ask. 

"No part of her," She says, "Not even her body." 

"But what if she's still out there?" 

"Nobody's stupid enough to go looking." She shakes her head, matter of fact. "Not in the woods." 

There's a stillness to the atmosphere after that. And you take that as your opportunity to finish packing the last of your groceries. Non-perishables are favoured around this time of year, things that will last indoors without waste— to keep you fed, lest you risk venturing out past the woods more than necessary.

It's not that you're afraid of it, just wary. Raised to be that way more than anything because you learn fairly quickly that being reckless is for the stupid, and not many stupid people tend to make it the whole season. 

You refuse to be stupid. 

Even when your cabin in stashed somewhere a bit further away from town, thirty minutes walk without the storm— fifty if you're unlucky. But you've made this trip enough seasons for you to lose count and you're not one to start acting out of character and taking chances now. 

It's just you out there after all, enjoying the serenity of your own company. So you tend to stock up on what you can before the real, harsh part of it hits. Firewood, food, blankets. Things to see you through and keep you from having to pass by places that may have you seeing things in the storm. Especially when the odds are something is staring back. 

But thankfully, most things tend to stick to their side of the road.

Most. 

You finish packing up the rest of your groceries into your bag pack and secure it over your shoulder, along with a few extras in a grocery bag and give the assistant a curt nod as she passes you your change before finishing off the rest of her breakfast. You refuse it with a wave, and she shrugs before pocketing it. 

"You should be careful, stick to the path, no shortcuts. Not in winter." She says, emphasising the advice following your previous conversation. 

"I know, my cabin is hardly far. I was just picking up the last of my supplies before heading back." 

"It may not seem it but in the cold," The store assistant appears to ponder, then shakes her head, ridding herself of the thought. "Things have a funny way of getting into your head, be wary." 

"Got to be." You reassure her with a knowing smile, and the assistant gives you a nod that's equal parts sympathetic and understanding. But then as if she can pick up on her own softening of heart, she rolls her eyes at herself, scoffing. 

"You better be. I don't want all my goods going to waste," She says, folding her arms over her chest. "I'll replenish them by the end of next week, best stop by early before they're all gone and then you'll have more important things to worry about when you're starving. Nothing in the wood will want you if you're just a pile of bones." 

I better see you here and alive by the end of next week, is what she probably means to say, but that's not quite the reputation she likes to keep around here. So you simply turn around to give her another reassuring smile, and the bell above the store entrance rings as you push yourself out of it. 

"Thank you. I'll see you next week then." 

Her words make you feel a lot better than she probably thinks. 

— 

When you take your first step out of the generously warmed village store, the frost in the air immediately steals your breath, catching in your throat as a bone-chilling gust rolls over your padded jacket. 

It makes your face pinch up, hugging your arms around yourself like you're manually trying to keep your body heat intact and you bury the lower half of your face into your scarf with a huff. But once you're adjusted, you dig your feet into the snow and begin your journey back home. 

You've still got a few hours of daylight, and considering how easy this walk is for you, and how many times you've made it, you wouldn't consider yourself to be particularly worried or needing to rush.

Your first mistake perhaps. 

The town feels most alive at this time of the day, the bustling of people preparing for the storms, families reinforcing their homes and bringing in as much supplies as their hands can carry. Here, the sky is bright and blue, scrubbed clean of clouds and the snow that coats the gravelled dirt beneath you glitters. 

But you're not from here. Not from the heart of the village anyway, as often as the atmosphere of it all makes you wish you were. 

The bare-branched trees look soft and friendly as you continue to walk towards the parting in the wood, like something out of a winter postcard. Still. Inviting. 

But as soon as you cross that threshold, when the bustling of the village dies off into an eery, misplaced silence and you're only left with the sound of your own bated breaths and your steady footsteps, you know it's all a careful illusion. 

You keep your eyes forward as you begin the quick, easy route back to your cabin just off of the path. To either side of you is a sea of black branches, the dark woods beckoning in whoever of those are easily swayed enough to give up their sanity to explore it. 

There's always a feeling that comes with this trip. Even now as you bury your face deeper into your scarf and try to ignore it, you can never quite shift the feeling that you're being watched. From between the humps of hedges and the skeletal trees, that something is waiting for you to take a wrong turn or lose your edge for a second too long for it to be forgivable. 

You shift your extra bag of supplies onto your forearm so that you can stuff your hands in your pockets, and you keep your eyes straight ahead as you venture deeper down the marked path. 

You're only half paying attention. You want to keep yourself calm, the people around the village know that whatever lives in these woods is known to be able to smell fear and unease, like they're not the masters of creating it. 

But in the silence, in the wake of the winter hum, you can hear something breathing. 

The dark wood to your sides looks deeper than it should— a shadow that's not a shadow. A crack of a branch, an odd shift of greenery and bushes, like something is mimicking your pace and journey. Like something's watching and following you from over that unmarked territory, simply out of sight.

You can feel your teeth begin to chitter, and you blame it on the weather. On the bone-splitting cold. Not whatever you're convinced you can hear. The desperate pant of breath, the feeling of something behind you. The fog is too thick for you to be able to see your cabin from where you are, and you can feel yourself beginning to panic— like you're being made to feel that way, convinced you've taken a wrong turn and you should turn back. But which way is back? Which way is left and right? Are you lost? 

No. It's the woods. They're trying to get into your head, they're trying to convince you that's the case. But by the time you realise this, you don't know where you are, the snow is so thick beneath your boots that the threshold to the wood is no longer marked by the indent of gravel and greenery. It's just white, soft, all-concealing snow. 

So instead, against what you know, you begin to run. 

And you hear something behind you begin to do the same. 

The wind is harsh against your features as you take off, every inhale feels like it coats your throat in ice and your eyes are beginning to grow wet as they bare the brunt of the cold. You squint, trying to peer into the fog, hoping to catch even a glance of your cabin in the distance, willing yourself not to look back to see what's chasing you. Afraid you might lose your edge.

There's a fork in the path infront of you, one you don't remember from all of the times you've taken this route, so you know you're lost. You let your will take you, taking off to the right and losing yourself in the thick, dark trees. You're too desperate to think sense, and your mind keeps flickering back to the store assistant words; Things have a funny way of getting into your head, be wary. 

You're not wary. You're not smart. You're as good as dead. 

You half-stumble over a rock, losing your footing for a second when it's concealed by the snow and those footsteps behind you grow closer. The sound of breathing picks up, the branches feel like they're grabbing for your legs and arms, like they wish to hold you in place; string you up for your massacre like an animal to slaughter.

You squeeze your eyes closed as you find your footing again, running with your head tucked beneath your scarf, your groceries tight in the crook of your elbow and your backpack bouncing on your back, hoping that the next time you open them you'll be at home. You'll be in bed, infront of the fire, your feet tucked into a warm blanket and hot cocoa in your lap. 

But before you even have the chance, your body collides into something solid and hard— the impact sending you off kilter and flying onto your back. Your head smacks against something blunt as you fall, blurring your vision, your body in the snow, freezing aside from the thick, tar-like warmth that now trickles down your temple. Red over white. 

Everything hurts. You can't move. Can't run anymore, and when you open your eyes and squint up at whatever you just knocked into, there's something staring back. Something tall and brooding, leaning over your body— bleeding into the snow. With devouring red eyes, the bleary swish of a tail; a mixture of midnight and crimson, a guttural sound— a growl perhaps.

And then suddenly, everything goes black. 

— 

You wake with a sudden start, flopped on your back, squinting up at the sharp edges of a roof with a thumping headache. The ceiling is stripped in shadows, and it only takes you a few steadying blinks to realise it's barely a ceiling at all. Not the type you're used to; it's made of rock, damp and cracked, and the hard winter sun from what you can only assume is the opening to a cave makes you wince when you roll onto your side and push yourself up to sit. 

That's when the panic begins to set in. Because you're not alone. 

There's someone, something opposite you. On the other side of a makeshift fireplace, poking at the embers with a long stick as those same deep, red eyes rove over you. He's huge, occupying space like he owns it, every muscle broad and strong and cut like stone. 

But then you look harder, and you see the scars on his skin, the bandages wrapped around his exposed midriff and huge arms. A long tail rests by his side— those same bleeding notes of crimson and midnight, matching the fur along two pointed ears that twitch and peek out from long, shiny hair. 

Your heart begins to rabbit in your chest and immediately, you lunge your body back— kicking at the pelts of fur that have been tucked over top of you with a shriek. And your back collides with the cool cave wall behind you until you can't shift back anymore, all while he watches you. 

Whatever he is, it is— isn't human. Not as you know them atleast. He doesn't move, doesn't shift. He's too still, like a creature hunting, and you can sense the violence in him waiting. Like he's moments away from lunging over the fire and ripping out your throat with his teeth.

"Hello?" You say, your voice a breath. Weak. Scared. 

He doesn't respond. His slow blink like a countdown. 

There's another surge of pain in your head and you wince, your hand rising up to press against the throb but then you notice there's fabric there. You thread your fingers at it, realising that it's a bandage similar to the ones wrapped over your company's body, messily—and a little too tightly—knotted around your head and seemingly soaked in what you can only assume is your own blood. 

What the heck happened? Fear grips you, the scent of uncanny radiating off of the man opposites you's body in waves. Where even are you? Had he brought you here? Bandaged you up? But why? 

Suddenly, the man across from you pushes to stand and you notice that he's dressed in only black pants and those bandages when he immediately crosses the space between you both in three big steps. His presence makes you cower, his sheer size more obvious now that he's standing upright and you squish yourself back against the cave wall like it'll let you sink into it. 

But then he leans his huge body down, snatches your hand from your head and glares at you. 

You feel like you want to cry, ensnared in his gaze. 

"Why… why are you doing this?" You say, his fingers digging into the skin of your wrist, and you can feel claws at their tips. "Please, let me go." 

"Hurt." Is the first thing he says, his voice like gravel. Broken and growling, but his eyes motion to your head and his huge tail swishes behind him. "Heal first." 

"You did this?" He ignores the question, but he lets you go and his wolf-like ears turn out like he's listening to something. For something. The hackles of his tail stand to attention as he offers the entrance to the cave a glance. Like he's aware of something you're not. 

You're frozen rigid, going through the notions of convincing yourself he's only patching you up because nobody likes their food to be bruised and bleeding out, and then half slipping into insanity and thinking this is just a dream. You rub your hand over the skin of your wrist, soothing the part that's now free from his tight grip and only then do you realise that you've been stripped of your winter layers, leaving you in just your pants and shirt. 

“Where are my things? My clothes, my…. my supplies. Where are they?”

You panic again, try to push yourself up to stand but then he's whipping around to glare at you once more, growling when you almost stumble off of the pile of pelts you've been placed upon. And you easily crumble back down onto your knees when he storms over towards you again, scaring you into submission when you see a glimmer of his sharp canines. 

"Please…" You try to reason, beg. 

He doesn't use words to respond to you. Doesn't say anything at all, his hackles still raised and shuddering. But his ears twitch at the pathetic sound of your voice. 

"Can I go home? I won't tell anybody I saw you, you'll…" You swallow, "You'll be free to stay here. Just please let me go, I can leave and I—"

"Stay." He growls, cutting you off. His frown right now feels much harsher than winter. 

Your lips open then close again, your words failing you. Maybe you're afraid, maybe you've lost too much blood. Your head still thumps, the pain making you feel dizzy and your ability at making a sound argument feels lost with the dryness of your throat. 

"Do you have a name?" You say, hoping your wavering voice and a little faux-friendliness may save your life— it being the only survival instinct you're left with out here. 

It atleast settles the raised hackles on his tail, "Name?" He mimicks your cadence, chewing on the words, like it's a language unknown— or long forgotten. 

"Yes, a name. How others may refer to you? Should I call you something in particular?" 

"I go by… many names." He says, turning his back to you and trudges back over to his spot by the fire with a low grunt. His tail thick and swaying behind him.

"Well you either tell me one of them or I make something up on the spot," You say with a dry laugh, feeling bold with your own fear— half lucid from your injury, "And considering my circumstances I can't promise you'll like it." 

"Careful." 

"You haven't killed me yet and that counts for something." You mutter beneath your breath, not sounding nearly as confident as you wish to. "Unless you plan to eventually." 

"Blade." 

"Blade?" You tilt your head and he huffs back, affirming you heard it right, "very fitting." 

You wonder if Blade, considering what he is, can pick up on your almost sarcastic tone and maybe that's why he half growls at you. Just enough to get the whisper of a smile wiped off of your lips, and you pull your knees up against your chest as you attempt to get comfortable. 

The conversation dies after that, and you don't attempt to get it going again. You stare at the embers of the fire infront of you, Blade tending to it with that same stick from earlier. A quick glance towards the front of the cave shows you the depth of the thick snow that's fallen since you've been out cold, and the storm is wailing and loud, obscuring your vision and any plans of escape. 

You won't get far without freezing to death, but then again, maybe that would be better than being stuck in the den of a half-wolf hybrid, who no doubt will soon have you roasting on a spit in preparation for his next meal. 

And there, in that damp, forgotten cave in the middle of the thick wood that surrounds your village. You rest your bandaged up forehead against your knees, and you finally begin to cry. 

— 

In the days you’ve been here— how many exactly, you’ve lost count, the passage of time seemingly creeping by in odd turns of the sun that you’ve fallen out of habit of tracking— you’ve learned a few things.

First, you’ve learned that Blades not much of a talker. 

His grasp of the human tongue is sparse or mostly forgotten, something you can only assume is due to his still unknown origin, but you think he has the ability to atleast understand some of what you're saying. Even then he chooses to leave you with little response, or ignore you entirely. Sometimes he'll do you pleasure of grunting out a "No." his favourite word, you've come to learn considering how often he uses it. 

So youve spent most of your time in his abandoned and damp nest catching up on sleep, finding it the only thing you're left with, considering he's also not letting you leave here either. You're only ever roused when it's time to change your bandages and even then, you find yourself being manhandled like an exhausted child being dressed for school by their mother. 

(If your mother was a half-wolf, half-man monster who was holding you hostage in his nest for the winter that is).

Secondly, you've learned that Blade's fast, faster than most men— which better emphasises the point that he’s no normal man. As if the wolf-like features were already anything to go by. 

You’ve tried to escape on days where you've managed to scavenge up what's left of your bravery, more times than you could count on one hand— you’ve went from trying to race right past him on unstable legs to trying to sneak out while he’s hunting, both opportunities have ended the same way. The outcome is Blade’s always been there, to race up right behind you and snatch you by the collar of your shirt before dragging you right back to where you started.

He doesn’t use force with you—not more than necessary anyway—he doesn’t hurt you or threaten you past the odd guttural growl or the show of his canines when you’re acting out. But that alone doesn’t make for a happy existence, and you’re not happy here because this isn’t where you belong.

But no matter how often you scream, cry and beg for Blade to take you home, to show you the way or else you’d rather take your chances and die out in the wood, he doesn’t, and you've given up hoping he ever will. 

Third and last, you've accepted that he has no intention of eating you. Not yet anyway. He hunts twice a day, returns back to you with pelts to keep you warm alongside a bloodied mouth and hands. 

You can't remember your last meal, can't remember the last thing you tasted that wasn't water he brings you from the lake or the taste of your own saliva, but you won't eat what he brings back for you either. Raw meat, massacred carcasses of forest dwelling animals and your lack of appetite for his kills has become apparent in your increasingly weak state. 

But you won't eat it, even when the stench of rot from what's offered to you begins to settle in the atmosphere of the cave, turning your stomach, leaving his efforts to go to waste. You refuse to lose the parts of your humanity that you desperate clutch to. 

Blade's noticed it too, and his temper has become increasingly thin in response to your stubbornness. 

Today, he returns back to you with the small carcass of a rabbit, his huge hands making the meat look much smaller as he holds it by its feet. You're a lump in his nest, exhausted, starving, buried beneath the numerous pelts of fur and kills— yet still unable to keep yourself warm. 

There's a thump at the edge of your makeshift bed, and when you weakly roll onto your side you notice that Blade's shrunk down to his knees opposite you. His mouth is red and bloodied, the crimson trailing down the length of his chin and neck as his devouring eyes hold your bleary gaze. His thick arms are much the same; deep, thick blood extending from palm to elbow, he truly is the picture of the creatures you once heard about in those village stories, the ones that you're taught to avoid. 

He's placed the rabbit on the floor between you both, the blood beginning to pool on the rock. 

“Eat." Blade says, the first word he's spoken in days. 

You give the corpse a glance, feel bile rise in your throat at the rancid, metallic smell, and then turn back to face the wall again. 

“No.” You say, "I’m not hungry.”

The growl that Blade responds with is low and fills you with dreaded unease, though before you can turn back around to speak again, you're already moving. His huge hands grabs roughly at the back of your shirt, staining it red, and he drags you back over towards the corpse on the ground, shoving you above it with an easy force that makes the whole word feel like it shifts. 

"Eat." Blade growls again, louder, forcing you to hold your face above the kill that he's so graciously offering you. 

"I'm not eating that," You spit, desperately trying not to vomit. "I'm not some animal like you are, so unless you're going to feed me something edible I'll sooner starve." 

“Foolish girl.” He barks at you, and then with one final shove on the back of your neck, he lets you go. Leaving you to crawl back beneath your pelts, in favour of walking back over to his own space by the fire. “Starve then.”

"I will!" 

And at this rate, you actually might. But atleast now you're too weak to keep running. 

— 

You don't know how long passes before you wake up again, but when you do, you think that you might actually be dead. There's a pleasant scent in the air, one of cooking meat— similar to the foods you would enjoy during breakfast at home or bbq's in the village. 

You really must be dead, or hallucinating atleast, because when the delightful smell urges you to push your weakened body up from beneath your warm shelter, the sight your met with is surely unreal. 

Blade's still there, in his usual spot by the fire, his ears twitching and tail swaying in big back and forth swipes behind him. But infront of him, rests meat, cooking and sizzling upon a makeshift hot plate of iron resting atop the flames. 

Blade watches you rise, what's left of your energy being used to drag your body over to the edge of the bed as drool begins to collect in your mouth. A meal, something edible, assuming he even offers you any of it considering how you've treated him. 

But still, you're far too hungry to be stubborn right now. You even consider beginning to beg, but before your mouth opens to begin your pathetic little pleas, Blade points to a pile of already cooked meat at the edge of your bed and you're too quick to grab at it. Like you're afraid he'll change his mind and snatch it away. 

All of this time you've been so concerned with losing your humanity, but right now you probably look more animal than ever, shoveling still warm— perfectly cook rabbit hide into your mouth. You're not quiet about it either, too hungry to remember manners or etiquette; it's delicious, tender and juicy. Blade just watches you, and you wipe your mouth on the back of your arm before finally talking. 

“You can cook?” You ask, swallowing a mouthful. 

Blade huffs in response, poking at another piece of cooking meat on the fire before leaning over to add it to your plate again, and you accept gratefully. You assume his answer to be a yes. 

“Then why do you eat them as they are?” You continue, watching Blade add another strip of raw meat to replace the last. His huge muscles flex with every movement as he carefully tends to your meal and you think he looks more man now than he ever has. 

But you can tell he's sifting through his vocabulary in his head, reminding you of the reality— chewing on his words before deciding on how to respond. 

“Convenience.” Blade eventually says, shrugging. "It makes no difference to me.”

You shove another freshly cooked piece of meat into your mouth and moan at how good it tastes, the sound makes Blade's ears turn out. His tail swishes behind him, that same hue of midnight and crimson catching your eye before he tucks it away behind him when he notices you staring.

"Where did you come from?" You ask, seemingly more talkative now that you're eating. 

Blade glances between you and then the meat, “My origin,” He pauses, thinking, “It has no story.” then shaking his head, he shrugs, “No satisfaction.”

"You don't know?" 

Blade grunts, meaning no. 

"And you're okay with it?" 

He shrugs again, indifference. And you stop asking questions after that, not wanting to lose out on your delicious meal knowing his unwillingness to talk. So you sit and eat in a comfortable silence, Blade filling your plate back up with an easy motion everytime you get close to finishing and you take what he offers you, until you're completely full and satisfied. 

He continues to cook for you after that, and you decide to stop being as difficult as you have been, blaming your prior attitude on not only being kidnapped but also being hungry (which you would consider to be valid reasons worthy of a little troublemaking). But now, you've atleast stopped complaining nonstop about it, learning quickly that it will change nothing of your circumstances. 

Your priority is just to survive the winter. 

There's still times where you and Blade have the odd disagreement, but now that he's got you eating and the wound on your head has healed, there seems to be an unspoken agreement between you both. 

One that says, do not make my life any harder than it already is. 

But now that you're eating, you've begun to focus on the rest of the problems that had been drowned out before by your once overwhelming hunger. 

The most important of those being: your embarrassingly sparse collection of clothes, the wood unfortunately not homing any boutiques amidst the array of wolf-hybrids and other monsters it seems. But also, you have become hauntingly aware of just how long it's been since your last bath. 

Unfortunately, going off of Blade's appearance and the fact that he only ever seems to wear black pants and wrapped bandages as a makeshift shirt, you think borrowing something to wear is out of the question. But, everytime you've tried to convince him to atleast take you back to your cabin, you're either met with silence or silenced by the loud rattle of a growl in his chest as a response. 

Which is no surprise, considering he barely lets you go to the bathroom without him standing a few feet off to make sure you don't make a run for it. (The last time you tried this, he barely let you fasten your pants before dragging you back to the cave, and almost didn't let you go again for a whole day afterwards— so it's safe to say you learned your lesson). 

But even with your growing desperation, and your now prickling unease when it comes to being in such close proximity to Blade given your current state and his strong sense of smell. Nothing could have ever prepared you for how your day begins this time around. 

You're still wrapped up in the thick layers of pelts that Blade had collected for you previously, enjoying a dreamless slumber considering there's not really much else you can do around here. Not without your own doggy chaperone anyway, and you don't really have plans to try running from him again anytime soon, lest you end up ripping the only shirt you own with how roughly he picks you up. 

But you find it strange when you're awoken suddenly, considering how comfortable you are in your current position and with the still thick dark of night outside the cave, you assume it can't be anywhere close to sunrise. The fire is out, and Blade's not at his usual post— leaving you to assume he's perhaps out hunting or doing whatever else half-wolf hybrid men do around the forest at night. 

You'd rather not know now that you think about it. 

You stretch your arms over head in a yawn, and then you feel something tickle just above your hip as you begin to drift off again— one of your hands shoving it away while you get comfy. Your feet kick out a bit, hit against something hard but you don't think anything of it. 

Until again; that sensation comes back. It's almost relentless, repeated; a wet lap at your hips, travelling across your lower stomach and up beneath your ruined shirt. It tickles, making you half-giggle in your still drowsy state of mind. You're barely awake, not fully aware of what's going on but your hands shove at it again and you begin to laugh. 

But there's a growl that follows this time, low and long, snapping you awake. And you feel a squeeze at your hips, something rough and unrelenting and it jostles you slightly— wakes you up a bit more, squinting into the darkness as you try to wriggle away out of instinct. Your heart begins a pace as if out of habit, rapid in your chest and by the time you realise what's happening— you're horrified. 

Blade's huge body is looming over yours in his nest, his hands keeping you pinned to the surface beneath you as his tongue laps and licks big, long stripes across your skin. You watch in utter shock at first, at the way he frowns up at you before returning back to what he was doing— pushing more of your shirt up so he can reach more of your body, drooling all over you as he cleans you up. 

Maybe it's because you're half-awake, and that's why you don't push him off immediately, maybe you're scared at how easily this huge man is pinning you to the bed, or maybe you just don't want to admit how good it feels.

It's gross when you think about it. Pinned to the surface of a nest of skinned animal pelts, Blade— a half-wolf man bathing you with his tongue as he holds you down. Your breath stutters when his mouth rolls over your ribs, and you accidentally arch up into the next wet, lap of his tongue as he shoots you a curious look. 

"That…. that tickles. That's all." You say, trying to play off your reaction. 

"Filth." Blade grits back, his lips at your abdomen, teeth grazing the skin as he begins to lower himself down again. You're still drowsy, but find enough energy to push yourself up on your forearms— eyes widening as you watch Blade's form press down lower on your body. 

You can't help the way your mind begins to drift off, the delightful feeling of Blade's hot, wet tongue on your bare skin already feeling like too much at once and the bleary drowsiness that still blankets you only makes it feel so much better. You begin to think of how the sensation would feel in other places, swiping back and forth over the perk of your breasts, the inside of your thighs, over the fabric of your panties. 

It makes your body begin to twitch and heat, your breathing coming faster than you'd like to admit and when you cast Blade a glance, you notice his tail has taken a wide sway behind him. The colour of crimson and midnight wagging back and forth as he cleans you with his mouth. 

His hands are still at your hips, squishing the skin there as he noses at the waistband of your pants and without thinking, your hips try to rise to the touch. Your mouth drops open to gasp, and then suddenly, Blade's fingers begin to yank down the fabric— making you squeak out of surprise as his movements suddenly freeze and you come to your senses. 

"Wait! What…" You jolt up, coming face to face with Blade— making his ears twitch. "What the hell are you doing? Get off of me!" 

"Clean," Blade growls, as if it's obvious. "Which other way?" 

You kick your feet out from beneath him, shoving at his heavy hands on your body. "Surely there is something other than this, I'm not letting you undress me naked and lick me clean. What the hell is wrong with you?" 

You eventually manage to rid yourself of Blade's hands, but only because he wills you to by pulling them back. He doesn't move though, he stays hovering over top of you, his ears turning out as if to make himself look more intimidating. And you're not sure if you're just seeing things but he does look much larger than usual, more animal and wild— his earlier efforts leaving drool dripping from his chin. 

He begins to growl, like you're some disobedient pup. Like he's sure that'll work. 

"I'm not scared of you." You say, hoping your voice doesn't betray you with a waver. But then Blade's eyes glint, and you think the racing of your heart might, because he leans in like he can hear it, like he's going to reach right into the hollow of your chest and rip it out for himself. 

The guttural sound of his voice makes it skip over the next beat, "You should be." 

It's tense inside of the cave. Blade hovering over top of your body as you rest on your forearms, your body coated in drool and spit from his earlier grooming. The silence is chilling, dangerous— if you were to look at your hands you're sure they would shake.

Until suddenly, Blade lunges for you. His hands drag you across the mattress until you're completely beneath him, and you're unable to do anything but scream when you feel his claws tease at your supple skin. His teeth are by your throat now, his jaws snapping— serving as a reminder. 

"Soft skin…" Blade growls, bearing down on you. "Easy to slice." 

"G-get off of me!" You shout, pushing at his chest with little pay off. He doesn't shift. "Get off! You stupid hound!" 

"Hm?" He drawls again, and your blood runs cold. The tone is dripping with something sinister, his tongue licks a warm stripe beneath your ear and you feel your body begin to tremble. "Fear, I smell?" 

You take a breath. Hold it for one second, then two. Then you stop your struggle. 

"All of this to prove a point? You're a monster." You respond this time, voice carefully neutral. And Blade draws some of his weight back from you— not entirely, but enough for you not to feel the sharpness of his claws so much. 

"Monster?" He hums, "Am I?" He seems to think on it. Taps one sharp finger on your hip as if to punctuate the thoughts. "Maybe." 

But then suddenly, Blade's off of you again. And for the first time since you've woken up, you feel like you can finally breathe. You will yourself to begin to move away, keeping your eyes on his form while you inch yourself further towards the wall incase he comes back, thinking that will save you— but he barely casts you a glance. 

Speaking to you over his shoulder with a low, "Rest." and it takes everything in your body to settle your heart rate before you reply. 

"Don't clean me without permission next time." 

Blade doesn't respond to that, he goes to the edge of the cave and takes a seat there instead, curling his tail beneath his form in one swift, fluid motion. And you tuck your still quivering form back beneath the pelts of fur as you try to settle back down. 

You lie facing the entrance, like you're afraid he's going to come back— wait until you're asleep before coming to wrap his jaws around your throat and rip. But he doesn't move and he doesn't speak, leaving you to stare at his shadowy silhouette and admire the broad, cut muscles of his back with nothing else to do. 

You try to swallow down the memory of his hot tongue on your body, and for a moment how good it felt. Blaming the fleeting moment of pleasure on your sorry circumstances and the fact it's the only affection you've been shown since you got here. 

It makes something between your thighs begin to burn, a trick of the mind perhaps or even a lack of sleep. As soon as you begin to think about what would've happened if you let him yank down your pants you know you've gone too far, and you breathe out a long sigh before closing your eyes. 

The sound makes the shadow of Blade's ears twitch, once then twice. 

And you barely sleep a wink for the rest of the night. 

— 

It's been awkward between you both since then, to no fault of Blade's and entirely you're own, but who can blame you? You can barely look him in the eyes now without thinking back to that night; how his mouth felt on your body, the weight of his hands on your hips. 

It's humiliating. Not only that, but this is still the man who kidnapped you, you shouldn't be thinking such unsavoury things about the very person who's condemned you to a winter under his consistence watch. Without even offering you a say or a choice. 

Even Blade's been doing his own part at avoiding you, opting to spend most of his time curled up at the opening of the cave, like he's keeping watch or keeping distance— you're not quite sure which one. And as much as you know that most people would probably be happy about that fact, it's hard to ignore the perpetual, unsavoury feelings of lust and disappointment that still coil inside of you. 

You put it down to the simple fact that you're used to his company by now, you're sure there's a name for it. It's simple human nature to crave the touch of another person, especially when you've spend the most part of recent days living with him, but then again you're not sure if Blade would even be considered that… 

A person. 

He's humane in some aspects, yes. But he's still animal at his core. Not only in physical traits but in instinct, the way he lives, the way he hunts, kills. So why do you find yourself yearning for someone who is only half man to keep you company? 

You assume that you must lose yourself to the tendrils of sleep again while thinking about it, exhausting your mind while trying to justify your distasteful feelings for a man who is denying you of your humanity. 

But when your eyes next open it's brighter than usual. Cold. Strange. 

It takes you a few moments to realise what you're looking at before you're pushing yourself up with a jolt, realising that your mind is indeed not playing tricks on you, but you're really looking at it. The sky, clouds, those same bare, frost-covered trees that once marked the entrance to the wood that you'd grown so familiar with. 

You're not under your usual pelts, instead curled up in the snow— like a baby lamb abandoned by its mother. All alone as your body shifts against the thick layer of white that's began to blanket over top of you. But for some reason, you don't feel particularly cold. 

"Blade?" The sound of your own voice surprises you, not because you're surprised you can still talk but because your first instinct is to call out for him. Of all people. 

You cast a glance over your shoulder, examining what feels like the endless stretch of woods that surround you; like you're trying to make rhyme of their pattern, piece together where you are and how to find your way back. Did Blade leave you here? Did he finally grow tired of your discontent and give up trying to take care of you? 

But why would he drop you in the middle of the wood with no survival instinct? A mere human without a place, no food or warm clothes. He would have been better slaughtering you himself; he atleast owed you that much. 

Then again, did he really owe you anything at all? 

The thought makes something in your gut turn, and it's sooner replaced with a familiar feeling of unease and dread when you realise just how quiet it is. There's no subtle gusts of wind or sounds from the animals you would expect to hear, there's nothing but a stillness that feels manufactured and deliberate, like the wood itself is afraid of something. 

Which is why the distant crack of a branch is so startling. 

Your head whips around to look for its origin, and you can see your own breath given the low temperature. The small clouds come fast from between your lips as something settles, and you feel that same ill-realisation return to you in a wave; the feeling of being watched. 

You open your mouth to call out again but then something smart inside of you decides against it. 

Your lips form a name but they don't speak it aloud, Blade? Your eyes try to narrow in on what you believe you can see, a shadow behind a particular thick tree or a body crouched behind a stretch of shrubbery. 

The snow crunches when you push yourself up and take a step back, and then you hear something move with you, towards you. Another shift out of your peripheral vision and another grating, subconscious order from your own mind. 

Run. 

And so you do. You feel right back to where you started again, all those weeks ago as you try to manoeuvre your body through the unending twists of trees and branches. It feels like they try to reach out for you, snagging at your cheeks and ankles; making you trip and stumble over your own feet in an attempt to stay upright. To stay moving. 

You offer a glance over your shoulder this time, and part of you wishes you didn't— you catch a fleeting, fast glimpse of something in the shadows following you. Limbs too long, faces contorted and inhumane. You see eyes in the trees, teeth in the bushes, a presence on your heels. 

But then you turn back to continue forward and you see him. In an opening of the woods, a stretch of white snow littered with red. There's a deer by his feet, a gutted and slaughtered carcus as he stares at it unwaveringly. 

Blade. 

"Blade!" You call out shrill and high, and your joints feel like they scream along with it. His ears twitch and immediately he's able to find you, his heckles raise and his lips draw back to reveal sharp, blood-stained teeth. Yet, you don't falter, you should, but you don't. You run straight for the predator in the woods until you're slamming against his warm, broad chest. Much like you did that day. 

"Blade? Somethings out there," You say, desperate as you cower into his chest. Clawing at the bandages in his skin. "S-save me, take me back please!" 

"Foolish girl." A voice responds, masculine, slippery—poisonous—speaks straight into your mind. "You’re prey." It ricochets in the trees, as if there were many voices, not his alone. 

You snap your head up, and you quickly come to realise that this isn't Blade. Not as you know him anyway. 

As he is now, he appears much more than just half-animal. His mouth remains covered in blood, but to an extent you've never saw it before. The crimson drips and seeps into the bandages on his chest, turning them a deep shade of red and his eyes bore an emptiness that you would consider unfamiliar. You feel your hands begin to shake. 

"What? Blade it's me." You try to reason, voice meek and small. But when you try to pull away you feel claws on your back, close to puncturing the skin. 

"Me?" Blade—The wolf mimics. His voice like a serpent slivering over grass. "A girl who has lost her way?" 

Alarm bells begin to go off in your mind, but gaining distance is impossible. You push at his chest, instinct screaming at you to get away. Your chances were better when you were running. 

"Sto—stop it! I'm sorry, I'll go back. Just…" You try to reason, but those same claws clack at the base of your spine. Taunting you. "Stop!" 

"Now you listen?" Blade's laughter twists through your mind like a ghost combing a corridor, near and far at the same time.

"Take me back." You say, voice shaking. The smell of rot from the corpse at your feet beginning to make you feel sick, but when you step back your legs catch in it's hooves. It sends you to the ground, right at Blade's feet as he stands above you. 

"Fear," He drawls, teeth clacking. Eye's honed on you before he lowers himself down to your level. His heckles stand up and your body turns rigid. "It suits you." 

"No! Wait." You cry as Blade suddenly lunges at you, jaw at your throat, sinking into flesh and bone like it's made of silk. 

And then suddenly, you snap awake. 

You're covered in sweat when you do, clutching at the base of your neck like you're surprised to still find it intact. Your chest rises and falls desperately, and you swear you can still feel the pressure of teeth on your jugular. But when you pull your hand away to make sure— you're clean. 

There's no blood. No sign of anything. 

Your eyes quickly adjust to the darkness in the cave, finding the familiar cracks and dampness of the ceiling to be strangely comforting. But you only find yourself to be truly awake when a looming shadow at the edge of the nest startles you back, and you gasp at the crimson gaze that pours over you.

"Danger?" Blade asks, voice boreing the depths of dark water, smooth, unwavering. 

For some reason, you find the tone settling, much different than it was moments ago as you examine the relaxed lines of his face. "Nightmare." 

"Hm." He hums, like he's unimpressed or maybe even disappointed. He even turns to leave, no doubt to return to his usual post but before he can travel too far your voice brings him back, and his body stills. 

"What else lives out there?" You ask, hand still at your neck. "In the woods. It's not just you, right?" 

"Curious girl." Blade doesn't turn, but his tail swishes. As if suddenly amused by the question. "It's best you don't know." He says, unyielding. "For both of us." 

"Is that why you've kept me here?" You press regardless, remembering those figures from your dream. Wondering if that's what he's protecting you from. "Atleast answer me that." 

"No." His voice is slow, idle. 

"What other reason would you have then? Why can't I go home?" 

"Mate." Blade says, and his voice clings to you, as if made of wax. 

You stiffen. Overfilled with a fleeting, momentary pause of dread and you feel your body flush. 

"What?" 

He goes to walk away. 

"Wait." 

You don't know why you say it. But Blade turns this time, and in the moment his gaze meets yours, you realise his eyes are full of you. The pelts, the hunts, the tongue baths. It suddenly makes sense; he wasn't protecting you in the humane sense, but he was preparing you in another. He has no intentions of letting you leave this cave. Ever.

Blade looks at you like he can read you, and he takes a step forward, bringing him back by the side of the nest. And the tendrils of heat begin knotting themselves over and over deep within you. 

"Blade?" You say again, tasting his name as you push yourself up to your knees and even now he towers over you. But still you reach out, and for the first time since you've been here, you willingly touch him. 

Your palms press into Blade's cheeks and his ears appear to flatten themselves against his hair, your fingers stroking at his jaw while his eyes remain fixed on yours. It's strange to consider, such a gentle touch being used against a wolf's best weapon for killing. Such a place that's honed for hunting, ripping through flesh, grinding through bones. It leaves a silence between you.

But maybe this is your instinct, that of survival. The only chance you've got. 

You guide Blade's face down towards you and you lean up to meet him, your lips sliding against his in a gentle, first caress. He doesn't respond to it at first, and you wonder if it's because he doesn't know how to, but he seems to pick up on what you want easily enough when you part his lips with your tongue.

And then suddenly, it comes all at once. Blade's hands are on your hips within the next second and he begins to lap at your mouth with little rhythm. It's messy at first, slick with drool and teeth but you simply let him; opening your mouth wide to allow him the space to taste and he groans like he's pleased with it. 

Blade bares more of his weight down on top of you, and it's enough to send you back onto the plush surface of pelts as he follows you down. His hand slides over your jaw to the nape of your neck, and the lick of fear that the touch ignites in your stomach makes you feel even hotter. 

Your mouth opens wider and Blade's tongue touches yours, hot and unfamiliar, tentative at first, then greedy. And you try to meet his pace, his drool on your lips; dripping down your chin as he presses you into the nest and his huge body weight squishes you beneath him with ease. 

"Is this what you wanted?" You say through a gasp for air, Blade's mouth leaving you little room to breathe. 

"Mate." He mutters again, and this time, you press up into him. 

"Take it then." 

And Blade does. You feel a small pressure on your chest, a ghost of a touch before it's replaced by the sudden brush of cold air; making you gasp when Blade carefully slides a sharp claw along the front of your shirt. The fabric parts for him easily, and your now bare breasts quickly find purchase against his own half-bare chest, making him groan against the warmth of your mouth. 

"More." He says again, continuing to drool and lap and lick into your mouth. And then suddenly, he pulls away, making you gasp for breath and sanity alike. 

Blade's eyes appear wicked as he lowers himself down to his knees. The position feels familiar, much like how it was the night he bathed you with his own mouth, but you're much more agreeable this time when his tongue curls around the base of your jaw. 

You ease yourself up into more of Blade's kisses, making space for him to mouth at you, the tips of his teeth edging over your skin. The pleasure it brings you is rampant and unending, it feels like you've not been touched like this in decades and the same as it was that night, his tail begins to sway again, his ears standing upright and attentive. 

With a sharp breath, you feel Blade push your thighs open, wide enough to accomdate his huge size before his weight is pressing down between them. 

His mouth trails lower at the same time, tongue and teeth giving attention to your breasts as he bathes them in dizzying lavs of his tongue. Your hands grab at his hair, feeling him suck one of your nipples into his mouth while the other falls victim to his palm, and you arch yourself against those same soft pelts as he flicks them back and forth until they're raw and hard. 

You feel far too hot, already feeling absolutely ravaged beneath Blade's animalistic urge. You feel like he's feasting on you, in all of his rough intimacy— pouring his instinct into the promise of ruining you in a way no man ever could. 

"Too much?" Blade's word hum against your intimate skin and you shake your head faster than you should.

"No," You gasp, "Not enough."

"Very well," His ear twitches, and his tail takes a sway so harsh you hear it begin to clap. "More then." 

Blade's mouth trails down your stomach, leaving a trail of drool and spit in it's wake. You're soaked in more ways that one, discarding the ruined fabric of your shirt until you're left in just your pants and even then, there is little they can do to keep you from Blade's touch. 

Just like your shirt, the fabric gives to him so easily. His claws slice through the seams, disappearing in shreds with one sharp tug, and you should feel dread—terror even, realising what would become of your skin should he turn himself on you. But instead, you're helping him pull down your ruined underwear and finding yourself wanting him even more. 

"Scared?" Blade hums after a second, teeth clacking over the trembling and now bare inside of your thigh. It's like he can smell it, fear radiating from you in waves, but you don't falter. Not when your brain is so fuzzy with something else. Even when he presses his nose up against you and inhales, long and loud, before exhaling along the glistening sight of your bare pussy. 

Right now, lust is much stronger a feeling than fear will ever be. 

"No," You say, because in this moment it's true. "Something else."

And your answer makes Blade's ears turn out, his hands squeezing at your hips. "Still such a foolish girl." But then he buries himself between your thighs and you can't focus on anything else but that. 

His mouth is hot and rampant, drool dripping down his own chin now as he smears it along the warm spread of your folds with animal eagerness. There's no rhythm to Blade's movements, just big, long laps of his rough tongue splitting through your pussy while his tail swings wildly behind him. 

You feel every pant from his mouth buried straight between your thighs and there's an inkling of shame swirling in your gut when you let your eyes flicker down to watch him. It's like the realisation comes over your suddenly, his tail and ears, his drool and teeth and claws, and you're just letting him lick and kiss at your cunt while wrapped up in his own nest. 

You should feel ashamed of yourself, disgusted perhaps— imagining what the other people in the village would think. But then Blade cuts through the glistening petals of your pussy with his tongue and your mind goes blank, the damp, quiet cave suddenly filled with the overwhelming sounds of his suckles and smacks at the mess he's already made of you. 

"G-good boy, good wolf." You try to praise him, shaky hands petting at the sharp ears on his head, and you're not sure if the growl it earns you means he likes it or not.

But it feels good buried in your cunt so you can't find it in yourself to stop, and to your delight Blade doesn’t either. You scratch at his ears, pet at his hair and he drools even more spit all over your pussy— drawing circles with his tongue, pressing it in and out of your sweet hole. 

His hackles raise as you get wetter and wetter, and it's like Blade can pick up on the inklings of your orgasm, like he can taste it on your folds or feel the way your walls are beginning to squeeze and tremble. 

You feel so pliant beneath him, completely nude and exposed, and your cunt continues to squelch lewdly as Blade slurps and laps at the slick his movements seem to press out. He's pushing himself so close against you, you're almost curling in on yourself; his body so big and brooding it feels like he's weighing down on your chest. 

"I'm gonna cum," Your lips part, moaning beneath another big, strong lick of Blade's mouth and you feel his ears begin to twitch beneath your pets. As if he can tell something changing, something's coming. 

"Cum?" He asks, as if he doesn't understand it, but every syllable gets buried into the place where his mouth wraps around you and it makes you keen. 

"Y-yes. That means it's— it's good," Your voice shakes when his movements don't stop, "So, so good." 

"Do it then." Blade murmurs before busying himself with you again, lips mouthing at your clit in a way that's similar to how he was kissing you earlier. He suckles at you, drools and growls and rolls his tongue all over you until you're soaked and within the next few seconds your back arches, and your thighs begin to clamp tight around Blade's cheeks. 

Your orgasm makes your whole body shake, but it takes Blade little strength to hold your thighs open for him; growling at the idea that you'd try to take his meal from him as his mouth moves hungrily against your pussy. Every swipe of his tongue is greedy, slurping up the cream that your clamping walls push out of you and you're just left to lay there and take it. 

Your body feels under fever, overheating and warm beneath Blade's palms and he only pulls away when you begin to twitch, your breaths coming in a frantic pace. Your eyes are bleary when you peer them back open, barely able to make out the looming silhouette of Blade as he pushes himself up to kneel between your thighs. 

You can still make out the glow of his gaze, his ears perked up and watchful of you, leaving your sticky hips alone only to haphazardly rip at his own pants. 

You're too slack and limp from your orgasm to realise what's happening, even when Blade's now free, hard cock swings between his legs with the force of his wagging tail. It paints the fat of his scarred thighs with leaky precum, and you're next full breath is interrupted when his huge frame leans over you again. Closer this time. 

"Good—" Blade clicks, "good mate." His teeth at your jaw again, and you feel the weight of his palm bare down on the top of your head in the moment. Like he's mimicking your praise from earlier, he noses at your cheek. "Breed."

"Wait… I'm still sensitive, just give me a second." You say, eyes widening at the realisation when his arm reaches down between your bodies. Blade shakes his head, baring his teeth at you. 

"Mate, now." He says, absolute and you suck in a frantic and panicked breath once he finally brings a wet and sticky head to you. 

Blade keens, tail wagging in a wild sway behind you and he begins to pant at the way your pussy feels along the swollen, thick ridge of his cock. Your body jolts when the head meets your twitching clit with every sticky pass, swiping back and forth before he finally lines himself up and begins to push inside of you. 

He's so thick and long it makes your legs kick out, your body almost denying him out of fear you won't be able to take it. Too human to take an animal so big, not made for the weight or the push of a cock like his. 

But Blade goes against all of that, and it makes your eyes roll back at his insistence, feeling his teeth catch on your jawline when he's finally able to push the head inside. His hips jolt suddenly, frantic and unpracticed and you realise that wild animals are never really taught the act of patience. 

You realise a bit too late to stop him, because Blade's already giving you weak thrusts to ease his cock down, and your body is already clamping up and seizing in pleasure. Every inch he forces inside of you makes your mind go slack, the slow sinking torture aching in a way that makes you cry and grab for him. 

But Blade doesn't relent, he licks at you again— long stripes up the column of your throat, leaving you with growled words of "Good," and "Take." high and eager, as drool already starts to form and drip down his chin. 

You can imagine how this must look, were it not winter and some innocent hiker were lost out in the woods, they'd surely be horrified to see you. Your body buried beneath Blade's larger one, human cunt stretched to it's limit around his huge cock as he fucks you atop the pelts of his previous kills, buried in his nest with his nose on your pulse. 

But why does that make you feel even better? Blade's cock fights to fit inside of you, nearly obstructed by the way his fat balls are already twitching, squeezing up into his body with what is most likely his own eagerness. His instinct to breed and mate is encompassing, and you can feel your own slick begin to dribble down your ass, soaking the fur that he's got you spread out on. 

He's almost got you split in half, but you can just keen and whine, feeling Blade's hand turn harsher and rougher the more he sinks inside of you. His teeth are so close to your throat, his claws at your stomach and the slight tendrils of fear make your cunt squeeze around him, a shiver of pleasure running all the way through you. 

Until finally, Blade bottoms out and you can't believe how full you feel, you cling onto his large shoulders, his wet, drool-slick lips pressing into the muscles of your neck and then there's a shift. 

He doesn't wait like most humans would, and maybe it's because he can't. 

Not when he's so deep inside your warm cunt, and he's spent so much of his efforts on opening you up for him— he can't help but rely on the more animal part of him. So he does, he suddenly draws back and then without so much as a breath, Blade swings his hips down onto you over and over again. 

He's gives you no time to adjust to his cock as you’re suddenly made to take the force of him so ruthlessly, and for a second you even try to push him off. To let yourself breathe and give yourself some air, but the moment that your arms come down on his chest and try to push; Blade's lips peel back on his teeth, fangs bared and he dares you to try. 

Even when his hips are still messily pumping in and out of you, you feel that fear begin to trickle its way back into your gut. You shouldn't feel yourself getting wetter, but when Blade's gaze flickers with something dangerous, you feel your thighs begin to twitch. 

Quickly, the fleeting expression of dread on your face quickly turns slack with pleasure, and Blade's ears twitch back with every rushed snap of his hips. His cock buries itself into you even deeper each time, slamming down into you with growling, ineligible sounds of ecstasy. Your hands claw at his back, musing the bandages wrapped around his chest and tearing them from his skin but not even this causes his pace to falter. 

"Y—you're going too fast," You try to gasp, voice almost lost beneath Blade's heavy weight. "slow down! I…. I can't take it all at once." 

"Learn to." He says, sharp at your throat. "Good mate. Soft and warm. Wet." 

"B-Blade…" Your fingers dig into every bulging muscle made available to you as you try to grip onto some level of semblance. But it doesn't last long until your voice is lost to high and messy noises of pleasure, your pussy meeting the cushion of Blade's heavy balls slapping down on your ass. 

It makes your thighs twitch even more, spreading wider to allow him a harder thrust and it almost makes your legs thump down onto the bed with his near viscious pace. It's like your body is begging for more despite the way your mind dreads the idea of taking it. 

Blade's soaked your throat in drool now, his lips hanging open to smear it along your chin and jawline and his tail is wagging behind him in large swings. 

It all feels so messy and hot, and you're so consumed by Blade and his being that you can't help but try to drag him closer. He's lost control by this point, and you're in no position to try and slow him down. Like you ever had any power over him to begin with, like you weren't the one at his disposal, wrapped up in his nest while he waited for his opportunity to breed you. 

And now you've never felt better, you're letting Blade lap and lick at your pulse, panting heavier the closer to your scent he gets and your fingers dig into the fevered shake of his marred shoulders. His sharp nails pinch at your skin to keep you pressed beneath him, and it feels like there's no stop to his movements. 

It's like there's not even a hint of tiredness to Blade's body, and perhaps it's the hunting or mating instinct that allows him to barrel through exhaustion but it keeps his hips fast and unrelenting. His ears pin back onto his head as he tilts more of his weight forward onto your chest, and your cries turn even sweeter as your human body fights to keep up with him. 

But it's impossible, already you can feel yourself get closer to the edge again, your body still clinging onto its earlier sensitivity as you're thrown into another mind-bending orgasm. And your eyes squeeze closed momentarily as you will the tears that gather along your lashes not to fall, pussy fighting every single unending thrust that Blade buries past the squeeze. 

But Blade doesn't relent, even when he can feel your body growing limp and tired; instead he reaches for your thighs and he picks them up. He bends you so easily with his strength, barely faltering in pace as your muscles contract and squirm, right up until he's got them pushing up to your chest and you feel like you can barely breathe with how deep Blade feels like he reaches. 

You can't even speak now, you're just left to gasp and scream and cry, you're so full and spent but Blade's cock continues to bury itself into you— thoroughly fucking and molding your cunt to his shape as pure instinct takes holds of him. 

"So easy to break," Blade grits his teeth, nipping at your cheek before pushing even harder onto your legs, and it makes you yelp. "More." 

You nod, nod— despite the way he squeezes all the air from your lungs, cock driving into the swollen walls of your pussy as it wets itself in cream and cum. And Blade's growling at how small you must look under him, legs dangling limp in his hold until his cock begins to swell. 

You feel it, the way it begins to grow thicker, heavier. Even when you think you're already stretched to your limit, he pushes even more inside of you, his hips snapping down harder as he begins to growl and huff. A mantra of "breed-mate-more-soft-break." as he gives way to his own pleasure. 

“Take more of it.” Blade huffs, leaning his chest forward against the weak pushes of your hands. But your voice betrays you, a meek and raw sound.

"O-okay." 

Blade's movements begin to turn frantic at your permission, his cock swelling almost painfully at the base as his sloppy mouth attempts to kiss you again. You open your mouth to let him, clashing teeth and spit meeting your lips as he drools between them and you whine out at the desperation of it all. The movement only suddenly overcome by the warm rush of him creaming inside of your cunt over and over and over as your legs shake and tremble at the way you struggle to take it. 

Blade's nose presses into your cheek when those tears finally break and trail down the skin, and he laps at them, body grinding with yours as he breeds you. The swollen base of his cock grinds hard into your tight walls as you cry out soft words, and your hands feel weak on his shoulders as his cum stretches you out.

By the time Blade finally stops, your body can barely move, and he does most of the work after that, or as much as he can while still being stuck to you. It takes you a while to realise what's happening, the acceptance that comes with your body realising it's being bred- unable to move with his weight pinning you down. Leaving you to just take it. 

But again, your own instinct to survive answers. Your hands move to Blade's hair and you pet there, watching his ears twitch as he turns to lap at your sticky hands. 

"Good, good boy." You say, voice breaking with exhaustion. "Is that what you wanted?" 

He just huffs at you, doesn't answer, like his display has reverted him back to being more animal than human. But then with a small twitch of his nose, and a full wag of his tail— it's like he remembers. 

"Good?" Blade asks, more of a question to you rather than an acknowledgment of your previous compliment. 

"Mhm," You say, "It was really good. But now I really need that bath." And then you giggle to yourself, Blade doesn't seem to know how to respond to it, but as if driven by the sound he reaches back down for another round of sloppy kisses. 

His ears begin to twitch excitedly as he bathes you in his scent, already drenched thanks to the heavy cum he's plugged you up with, but he claims your mouth in a thanks. And you lie there until he's satisfied, allowing yourself to take it until you both fall asleep on the warm surface of pelts. 

— 

The next time your eyes open, it appears to still be night going by the darkness that greets you outside the opening to the cave. And it almost scares you when you feel the unfamiliar heat of Blade's body wrapped up by your side. It seems now, he's taken to sleeping beside you, given the fact he's already mated and bred you- this is probably the tamest of things that could follow. 

You turn around to give his body a look, and you admire the strange, handsome appearance that greets you. In sleep, he appears to be much more gentle than in wake. Even by human standards, Blade was beautiful; if it weren't for the ears and the tail, you're sure he would be quite popular in the village. You're sure the others would swoon over him given the chance, the long length of his hair and the colour of his eyes, his strength and reliability were other unmistakably valuable qualities. 

Ah, the village. Your village.

There's a heavy weight in your chest as you remember it, you wonder if the shop-keeper has been wondering where you've been, if she's already signed you off as another missing girl or if she's still waiting around for you. Supplies stowed away in wake for your arrival. 

Instinct is a funny thing. In the same way animals must feel that same longing to hunt and kill, there is something they still have in common with humans.

Survival. 

Maybe that's why you think about killing Blade as he rests by your side, you didn't think for a moment that he even slept to begin with. So you think it's an unfamiliar sight, and you almost feel guilty for even considering taking advantage of it. But even now, you still toy with the idea of being misplaced, your inability to settle and commit your life to the damp corners of a cave is not what you want for yourself. 

You cast your eyes towards the entrance of the cave again. And then you remember your dream, those other things from the woods, the things that were everywhere but nowhere at once. Blade isn't the only thing that inhibits these woods, but he's the only thing that will protect you in them.

Then why are you thinking about how far he’d be able to track you, how much of a head start you’d gain if you left right now? 

You cast another glance at his hulking form again, this time to the muscles in his legs that would send him barrelling behind you, honed from years of hunting in these same woods you’ve avoided for probably only half the length of time that he's lived in them. The twitch of his ears, the way they’d surely hear your escape, your feet slapping against frozen rock, the crack of a branch beneath your bare sole.

Not to mention, your body aches from his earlier efforts and your clothes are shredded, you'd sooner die from the cold and the elements before making it a few metres and that's assuming that the world would do you the kindness of taking you out that way. Before something else finds you and draws out a more terrible, horrifying demise. 

But before you can think more on it, before you can weigh up your possibilities of success and consider the idea that you would be betraying the loyalty, the kindness that you have earned over these past few days, weeks with little chance of pay-off….

You’ve already started running.

[33550336stories]

NASTY DOG(S) !

╰┈➤ summary ; you were nervous to say the least. Your dearest owner, idrilla insisted on you staying at their friend, nanook's place for 3 whole months while they are away for a business trip. Kinda suspicous dont ya think??? You would've been fine by it, but the problem is... nanook owns 3 dog hybrids.

( ! ) Phainon triplets au + hybrid au , Gn! Reader , cat hybrid reader , reverse harem, slight yandere themes , NSFW , smut , slight crack , fluff , comfort

( @ ) Triplets au inspired by @box-artist and hybrid au from @podokrys

( ✎ ) My horny ass has been fantasizing about phainon and his other version of himself, and I haven't seen many fics about them, so I'm gonna write a fic WITH MY OWN TWO HANDS.

CHAPTERS

CHAPTER I — ❝I DON'T WANT TO GO!❞ CHAPTER II — ❝FIRST MEETING❞ CHAPTER III — ❝IS IT JUST ME OR IS IT GETTING HOT IN HERE?❞

CHARACTERS (SEPERATE ENDINGS)

I. PHAINON samoyed — submissive phainon , knotting , breeding , mating press , marking , slight yandere behavior , cockwarming II. FLAME REAVER wolf dog — soft sex , slight angst , knotting , breeding , lots of kissing , comfort , marking , aftercare III. KHASLANA great pyrenees — brat taming , marking , rough sex , knotting , breeding , different sex position , possessive khaslana , cockwarming

SPECIALS

❝AT THE SAME DAMN TIME !❞ — foursome , NSFW , Double penetration , double knotting , blowjob

LORE & ART

Roles of the dog hybrids — Yandere themes , fluff , reaver and khas being creepy , alone time doesn't exist in phainon's world , crack short fic How Nanook got the hybrids , Are they related or not? Nanook's reaction to the situation — Yandere themes , mentions of violence Who gets hissed/swatted the most? — Yandere themes , attempted declawing Phainon's crime against color theory (+ COOL ART)

( ✎ ) Well as much as I love all 3 of them being a samoyed, I kinda want to change it a little. ALSO, keep in mind, there might be some changes in this post, especially the description of each characters! EXPECT SLOW UPDATES (SORRY)

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dog with No Teeth // Simon “Ghost” Riley x Female Reader

Like deer meat picked off by carrion birds, you are plucked up during a scavenging raid by tactical-clad men all in black. There is no possibility of returning to your old life. You’re forced to assimilate, to conform to the remaining dredges of society. With that comes a choice: select someone to marry or the government will do it for you. You make the rash choice, selecting the skull-faced stranger that snatched you in the first place.

Overall Warnings: Post-Apocalyptic AU, dubcon, forced marriage, forced proximity, eventual lovers, breeding, pregnancy, canon-typical violence

Chapters: Ongoing

One // Two // Three // Four ** // Five // Six // Seven // Eight // Nine // Ten // Eleven // Twelve ** // Thirteen // Fourteen // Fifteen // Sixteen // Seventeen // Eighteen // Nineteen // Twenty // Twenty-One // Twenty-Two // Twenty-Three // Twenty-Four // Twenty-Five // Twenty-Six // Twenty-Seven // Twenty-Eight // Twenty-Nine // Thirty

** indicates a Community Label

ao3 // main masterlist

[qoins]

(not proofread) making subby satoru cry from how tight you are hehe 😋😋 / a/n: hes so down bad look at my lawyer dawg im going to jail 😫🤯🤣

"hnnuhh, b-baby, wait—!" then you're sinking down, just an inch further, he's gripping your waist, and instead of trying to thrust into you, he's trying to pull out to no avail. he'd already came twice just from pushing the tip in. you're a succubus. smiling down at him devilishly, hands gripping his shoulders, pushing him past his limits just for your entertainment.

satoru's teeth are gritted, his back arched, thighs clenching and shaking from how good you feel. "hah—hon-honey, light of my—ungggh, fuck, p-please." you've barely moved. you're not sure why he's so sensitive really. every other guy you've been with has obviously loved your pussy, but not like how satoru does. he loves it so much he's pulling away from it.

his head tips back, body arching as you slide down just a little more, maybe two inches. he's so hard and overstimulated and needy, so much it hurts. you're evil for this, he thinks. yes, you're beautiful and amazing and everything else perfect. yes, you are an evil witch for how good your pussy is.

"you feel so gooood, satoru, baby," you purr, grinning so hard your teeth might break. he could just cum from you talking. "ngh, please don't say that," he practically pleads, so pathetic and cute and flushed. he doesn't even want to look at you. he's so close to cumming again he can't even bear to see how pretty you must look right now.

soft tits out, body arched forward with your chest almost touching his. "will you look at me?" you ask softly, running your hand over his head and smoothing his snowy tufts of hair back. that's it, that's all it takes and he's shooting another load in you.

you should've expected it honestly. he's so sensitive right now if you had moved your pussy an inch he probably would've shot his load anyway. may as well get it out of the way now. he can barely react, only able to cry out hoarsely, trying to pull out of your impossibly tight cunt.

you don't let him. instead, you slam down on his cock, forcing him to bottom out. the pleasure is numbing now, white hot and so powerful that it takes over. his cum fills you, leaks down his cock as it spills out, just as the other few times hes busted just from a slight move or a touch or a kiss.

"look at me, satoru," you coo, hands sliding into his hair, gently lifting his head. his eyes are squeezed closed, lips quivering. "eyes open." he obeys because its you and you own him. you own his moans, his cock, his mouth, his entire body, his soul. his eyes are glossy, tears slowly sliding down his cheeks. christ, he's so pretty.

"your eyes are so pretty, my love," you hum, using your thumbs to wipe the tears from his eyes, "you're so handsome too, mm." he whines, eyebrows pinching together, so pouty and teary-eyed.

"will a kiss make you feel better?"

he can only nod, body arching at just the thought. your lips find his, soft and sweet and glossy, pussy squeezing just a bit around his still-hard cock just a little bit, and he cries out, whimpering against your lips. a little giggle escapes your mouth at how sensitive he is.

"maybe i should suck you off instead, satoru, because i'm not done with you yet."

[sugurusbadhabit]

mdni 18+

cw: impact play

You’ve been riding Satoru for god knows how long now. Load after load of frothy cum pours from your cunt, coating your cramping thighs and mixing with the sheen of sweat that coats your body. 

His hands grip your waist, urging you to go faster but your hips falter, no strength left in them to keep going. Your body sags into his, chests heaving and sticking together. 

“I-I can’t,” you mutter, breathless. 

“Slap me,” Satoru requests plainly, like he’s asking you to pass him something you’re closer to. 

“What?” You ask, his request shocking you into sitting back up and unintentionally taking him deep again, the sensitive tip of his cock hitting your cervix just right enough to have you both groaning. 

“I said, slap the shit out of me.” He pats your hip and gives you a small nod of encouragement. 

“Toru,” you sigh, shaking your head. “I’m not going t-” 

“Scared you’re gonna hurt me?” he teases at your hesitation. “C’mon, baby, do your worst.” That stupid smirk spreads across his stupid handsome face and well... 

Might as well cash in all those times you’ve wanted to smack it right off his face. 

His hips jolt up into you when your hand connects with his face, red blooming under his already flushed skin. 

“Fuck, baby.” His pupils are blown wide with the sudden surge of adrenaline, his thighs trembling as he tries to fuck up into you. “Again.”

“You’re sick,” you giggle, but oblige him nonetheless, the smack! of your hand landing echoing off the walls. 

[targetedknowledge]