A Protocore throws you and Xavier two years into the future. You end up on his balcony. Your future selves end up against the glass door 😏.
CW: Smut. Jealousy. P in V 🔞MDNI🔞
Huge thanks to @stardustsirens for helping me with this series! 🧡🧡🧡
Caleb's part here. Sylus part here
"Please tell me that's the last one"
The air reeked of burned grass and dead wanderers. You let out a long breath and let your shoulders drop as the last Wanderer dissolved into light that flickered once and went dark.
A few paces away, Xavier had a few hair strands stuck to his forehead and a thin sheen of sweat at his throat, and that was the extent of the damage. Meanwhile you looked like you'd been dragged behind a truck.
"Perimeter's clear," he said, quiet, like nothing in the world could rattle him. He crossed the debris toward you, boots crunching over glass and rubble. "You're bleeding, though."
You looked down. A chunk of crystal debris had opened a gash along your calf and you hadn't even noticed.
"Huh. Didn't feel that happen."
"Let me look at it." He dropped to one knee, taking a bandage roll out of your hands before you'd even fully pulled it from your pouch.
His hands were warm. Warmer than it made sense, given the cold. When he folded the torn fabric of your pants back to get at the wound, his fingers grazed bare skin and something jumped straight up your spine. You bit down on the inside of your cheek so you wouldn't make a sound about it.
This was the problem with Xavier. Some days he fell asleep against your shoulder like it was the safest place in the world. Other days he kept a careful distance between you and answered everything in a polite, unreadable tone, and you were left wondering if you'd imagined the whole thing.
"Does that hurt?" his thumb pressed against the unbroken skin just above it — the touch was not necessary to wrap the bandage.
"A little," you said, watching the top of his head, how the moonlight caught the color of his hair. "Xavier. Can I ask you something?"
His hands didn't stop moving, but his shoulders went still. "Yeah."
"Why do you do this?" You asked flatly, too tired to dress it up. "Sometimes I think we’re... I don't know, really close. And then other times, you look at me like I'm just another Hunter from the Association. It's confusing."
He finished tying off the gauze, stood up and finally looked at you "I just think about things. More than I probably should."
He reached out to help you up, hands closing firm around your forearms.
"Think about what?"
You went to test your weight on the bandaged leg and the ground chose that second to be uneven. You pitched forward, right into him, your chest hitting his. His hands slid from your arms to your waist to catch you.
Neither of you moved.
You could feel his heart going fast under his uniform, which didn't match the calm on his face at all. His eyes dropped to your mouth, came back up.This is happening, you thought, a little dizzy with it. He's actually going to—.
His grip on your waist tightened. Something cracked open behind his eyes, just for a second "You shouldn't stand this close to me"
"Xavier—"
He stepped back before you could get anything else out.
Crunch. Something snapped under his boot.
A white protocore.
He picked it and it suddenly went off with light, a white light expanding outward faster than you could track. The air got sucked straight out of your lungs. Your ears popped hard enough to hurt, and then the ruins, the sky, and everything else was sucked into a roar of wind that yanked you forward like the world had grabbed you by the throat.
You hit something solid and warm.
"Oof — sorry —"
A grunt came from underneath you. You blinked against sudden dark, hands slapping down flat against Xavier's chest. You were sprawled on top of him, legs tangled, face mashed against his neck.
"Oh my god." You scrambled back so fast you scraped your palms on the floor. "Sorry — are you okay?"
Xavier sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, hair falling into his eyes. "Fine. Are you hurt?"
"No, I— " You stopped. Looked around. "Wait."
You weren't standing in the ruins anymore. You were standing on a balcony with black wrought iron railing and a view of city streets that looked oddly familiar.
"Is this our building?" You turned in a slow circle, "Xavier, did you just teleport us home?"
"I didn't teleport us anywhere."
"You definitely did something..."
"I didn't" He was already moving past you toward the railing, scanning it like it might answer a question you hadn't asked yet.
"Okay, well, something got us here," you said, following him. "So if it wasn't you, what was it?"
He didn't answer right away. He crouched by one of the plants, fingers brushing the soil. Damp. Recently turned. "I don't have an explanation for this."
"When did you get so many plants?."
He moved to a small table near, where two mugs sat, both used, one rimmed faintly with lipstick.
"This is kind of freaking me out."
You spotted a newspaper folded beside the mugs and reached for it before he could stop you.
The date on the header didn't make sense. You read it twice.
"Xavier." You held it out to him, throat tight.
He took it, scanning it fast, and for the first time all night something like real alarm broke through his usual calm. "This is two years out."
"Two years." You said it slow, testing the weight of it. "Okay. We're just —somewhere else. Somewhere with your exact view, which is a really specific coincidence, but fine, sure, this is wrong, so so wrong—"
"Calm down."
"Xavier."
"What."
You pointed, wordless, toward the far corner of the balcony, where a lumpy, badly painted bird feeder hung crooked from its hook, one wing chipped clean off. You'd have known it anywhere.
"That's Fatso"s" you said.
Xavier followed your finger, and whatever he'd been telling himself died on his face.
You grabbed for your communicator on reflex. Dead screen. "No signal," you said, more to yourself than to him.
"Mine's the same. Clock's not even holding steady." He pocketed the device "We need to see what's inside. If someone's living here, we ask them what year it is."
"Oh yeah because that is a completely normal question to walk in and ask a stranger."
"Stay behind me," he reached for the handle on the sliding glass door, testing the weight of it without committing to opening it yet. Behind the curtain, something moved.
You froze. Your fingers found the sleeve of his uniform and held on.
A hand pressed flat against the glass from the other side of the curtain, fingers spread.
Xavier looked ready to run.
A second hand appeared beside it. Bigger. Scarred across the knuckles. Something in your chest went cold with recognition even before your brain caught up. The second hand moved to close over the first, fingers lacing through.
There were two people on the other side of that door. And from the way the curtain was moving, they were not just standing there.
"Xavier," you whispered, barely any air behind it at all.
He didn't answer. He didn't move his hand off the door either —just stood there frozen, staring at those hands through the glass like his whole nervous system had collapsed.
Then he moved. His hand closed around your shoulder and pulled, one smooth backward motion that tucked you both into a narrow space where the balcony wall met the building's outer brick. The spot was tight —barely enough room for two people to stand without touching —and the angle it gave you was merciless. The glass door sat directly in your line of sight, lit from inside.
You should have looked away immediately.
But you didn't.
The curtains moved a bit. Two bodies, pressed close. The woman's face was hidden, her head tipped back behind the line of the man's shoulder. His face was visible. Hair catching the light. That jaw.
Xavier
The anger came fast and hot and settled behind your sternum like coal. Months of warmth and then distance. Months of patience that felt like it was always just about to become something and never did —and here was the answer to all of it, pressed against a glass door in an apartment that was still his, two years from now, with someone else.
He was kissing her the way someone kisses when they've stopped being careful about it. Deep, his hands dragging her back against him, the movements of his lower body slow and unmistakable.
You looked away. Focused on a crack running through the middle of the wall beside you. Breathed through your nose.
Beside you, Xavier was still looking. His face was flushed.
"Is that—" His voice came out wrong.
"Yup," you said. The bitterness in it sharper than you'd intended. "That's you"
A sound came through the glass.
The impact of skin against the glass door followed immediately by a broken moan, the sound dragged your eyes back to the glass door against your will.
The curtain had been pulled aside all the way.
The view was now unobstructed.
The woman was pressed flat against the glass, her bare breasts against the cold pane, her hands finding the frame for something to hold onto. Her face was fully visible now.
The anger in your chest went out like a light.
It was your face.
Your shoulders, your hands, the sound of your own voice coming through the glass in pieces, breathless and nothing like anything you'd heard from yourself before. Your future self's cheek was pressed to the glass too, eyes half closed, lips parted around sounds that weren't words.
Future Xavier's teeth found her shoulder and bit down, not gently, leaving something that would be visible tomorrow. His hand came around the front of her, sliding between her thighs to line his beautiful cock against her entrance.
Then he drove forward.
The sound she made came through the glass loud and clear and a small involuntary noise started building in your own throat.
Xavier's palm came over your mouth.
Fast. Firm. His fingers sealing the sound in before it could escape. His hand was shaking.
The glass door shook with the next impact. And the next.
Xavier had his mouth at her ear saying something you couldn't hear through the glass but could read in the way her expression changed when he said it.
Xavier made half a sound against the back of your head and he immediately swallowed the other half.
You felt it anyway. Felt the way his arm tightened across your chest, felt the unsteady rhythm of his breathing where his chest pressed into your back.
You couldn't look away from his face —the future version of the face that was currently breathing against your temple— wearing an expression you'd never seen on him before.
"Xavier," you said, against his palm. Muffled.
His arm tightened.
"Xavier." Louder this time, enough that he could feel the shape of his name against his hand.
His mouth dropped to your ear "Don't move." The words came out rough "If they see us—"
Inside the apartment, your future self pressed her palm hard against her lips.
Future Xavier's hand closed around her wrist.
He pulled it down. He held her hand at her side and kept it there, and when she turned her face toward him he was already looking at her.
He wanted to hear her.
Below you a glass door scraped open.
One floor down, a man stepped out onto his balcony. Cigarette unlit between his fingers, head tilted slightly, listening to the night.
You pressed further into the shadow.
The rhythm inside the apartment changed. Not slower. The opposite. The glass shook in its frame and the sounds coming through it stopped being something that could be mistaken for anything else, and the man one floor down stopped trying to light his cigarette.
You looked at future Xavier's face.
His eyes were angled down and to the left.
He picked up the pace.
She tried again, her hand came up toward her mouth. Future Xavier caught her wrist without looking and his mouth moved against her ear again.
Whatever it was, she stopped trying to be quiet.
You thought about what you'd just watched him do. The escalation. The man on the balcony below. The reason your future self's hand kept getting pulled back down.
Was he jealous of that stranger?
Inside, her feet left the ground. Xavier had both arms around her, her arms caught under his, breast bouncing with every thrust.
You saw it first.
An unmistakable pressure beneath the surface of her stomach. Moving with every thrust. A belly bulge.
Your mouth went dry.
She was dripping. You could see it even through the glass —the inside of her thighs slick and glistening where his movements had worked everything down, coating her skin, catching the apartment light every time he pulled back. The glass had a faint fog to it from her breath, small clouds appearing and disappearing with each exhale.
The deep flush running from her chest to her throat made something in your lower stomach pull tight.
The Xavier beside you tracked every place her body responded to him, her hardened nipples, the way her toes curled against nothing, the flutter beneath her skin that mapped exactly where he was.
Crash
A flower pot.
It hit the floor and you both stopped breathing.
Inside the apartment, silence.
Immediate and total.
Through the glass you watched future Xavier's head come up. No panic in it. No confusion. Just a slow turn toward the sound, his eyes moving through the dark until they found the spot where the two of you were standing.
He couldn't see you. The angle was wrong, the shadow too deep.
He knew someone was there anyway.
His expression went cold and your future self said something against his chest. The curtain moved slowly across the glass from inside and the light behind it went out.
You had thirty seconds. Maybe less.
Xavier crouched beside you. The Protocore looked small against his palm, throwing a faint white pulse between his fingers for just a second.
The glass door began to slide open.
The air changed, the balcony, the broken pot, the man with his unlit cigarette, all of it collapsing into white noise and rushing dark.
You hit the ground hard. Your knees met broken stone, the air was knocked out of you on impact and you spent the first few seconds just existing on the ground.
Xavier landed beside you.
You pushed yourself up to sitting. "So..."
Xavier said nothing.
"That was weird."
Still nothing.
"We were—"
"I saw it" he opened his hand and noticed the Protocore was gone "I was standing right next to you."
"So we're both aware of what we watched."
"Yes."
"And we're not going to talk about it?"
He looked at you. "Are you going to be able to not talk about it?"
"Probably not."
He made a sound that wasn't quite a sigh, stood up and offered you a hand. You took it and he pulled you to your feet and didn't immediately let go.
"That man on the balcony," you said.
Xavier's jaw moved. "What about him."
"Future you saw him and then—"
"I know what he did." He dropped your hand. Turned to look at anything that wasn't your face. "You don't need to walk me through it."
"I'm just—" You pressed your lips together, trying very hard not to smile, it felt inappropriate and also completely unavoidable "Was he showing off?"
"We're not talking about that."
"Xavier—"
"Not yet." He said it quietly. Just a line in the ground, clearly drawn. "Not tonight. There's—" He exhaled. "There's a lot I need to sit with before I talk about any of it."
You nodded. That felt fair.
You started walking, picking your way back through the rubble toward the gap in the wall where you'd come in, and Xavier fell into step beside you like he always did —slightly behind, slightly to your left, a position that meant he could see everything around you before you could.
The walk back was quiet. You were almost at the gap in the wall when he spoke.
"Can I ask you something."
"Go ahead."
He was quiet for a beat. Just long enough that you glanced over at him.
"Future me?" he said. "Or me?"
You stopped walking. "What?"
"You heard me. Who do you like more?
"Xavier, that's not—you are the same person—"
"Future me is two years ahead and has information I don't have and he was doing—" a small pause, "—things to you that I have not yet done. So. Future me or me?"
You stared at him.
He stared back.
"That is the most ridiculous question you've ever asked me"
"Humor me."
"You"
Something in his face changed.
"Good," he said.
"But future you did have his—"
The not quite smile disappeared. "We're going home," he said, and turned toward the gap in the wall.
You followed him, and you were very glad he was walking ahead of you this time because the smile on your face was not something you were ready to explain.
Almost immediately, he panics. Fear strikes his chest as he sits up, searching for your figure. Sure, you'd had an argument before bed, but you hadn't left, right?
Right?
When he stumbles into the living room, about to run out the door and see if your car still sits in the driveway, the figure on the couch makes him stop dead in his tracks. Were you really so upset that you couldn't even bear to sleep next to him?
He doesn't want to wake you, but he can't allow this, seeing your hunched form on the not-great-for-sleeping couch, tucked under a too thin blanket. Crossing the room quietly, he scoops you into his hold, lifting you from the couch.
You stir, but miracously don't wake, relaxing as he takes small steps up to the bedroom.
He's made it up in his mind to sleep in the guestroom once he lays you down on your side of the shared bed. Zayne wants to respect your wishes after all, even if he knows he won't get a minute of sleep being apart from you.
But when he goes to pull away, your grip on his shirt tightens. Before he can unclench your fingers, you tug, and he finds himself climbing into the bed beside you.
The pinched expression on your face eases, shifting closer to him. He can't bring himself to move away, and instinct has his arms wrapping around you. Something in his chest eases the moment he holds you, the tension leaving his body.
"I don't like going to sleep mad." Your words nearly make him jump. He'd believed you were asleep this whole time, but of course you were awake.
"Me either." He murmurs, holding you a little tighter. You relax into him, melding your body against his in a way that sends butterflies through his stomach.
With your warmth pressed close to him, he can finally sleep.
Warnings. NSFW🔞 MATURE content, smelly college au nerdjo, HE SUCKS HIS OWN DICK, childhood friends, accidental breeding, virginity loss, voyeurism, idiots in love. Part 1 but you don’t rly need to read it.
“Honey,” SelfSucker!Gojo’s mom pauses her conversation with your mother to call to you from the stove, “will you go get Toru down here?”
A few minutes ago his mother called for him to come down from his room because dinner would be ready soon but he hasn’t, despite shouting that he’d be down soon.
“That boy is always playing that animal game on his cpu,” she tuts, making your mother chuckle. You think she’s datedly referring to Digimon, but you’re no expert on things like that— not compared to nerdy Satoru anyway.
Every Friday since you were toddlers, you, Satoru, and your mothers eat dinner together while your fathers go off to wherever. They tell their husbands it’s to catch a break every now and then, but it’s really for your mothers to gossip and drink wine all night while the ‘kids,’ you and Satoru, keep each other company. Many, many Friday dinners later, and their house feels like a second home to you.
You pause your movie and stand from the couch, humming a polite affirmation to the request. You know dinner likely won’t be ready anytime soon since both moms always get distracted, but you still heed her call and begin walking up the stairs to relay the message.
You pass pictures hung along the walls as you make your way down the hall, some portraying Satoru’s little family along the years, a few of your mothers, and too many of you and Satoru as children.
Satoru’s door. The ‘No boys allowed’ sign that 15 year old Satoru deemed hilarious and profoundly clever still hangs crooked on his door. The idea of a girl other than yourself and his mother ever crossing this threshold voluntarily is a stretch, considering his less than subtle lack of hygiene and messy tendencies.
You don’t knock before opening his door since he’s —more often than not— slouched over his bright monitor and keyboard with bulky headphones on full blast.
The stuffy, unventilated air of his room fans your face as you swing the door open and begin your automated message, “Your mom wants—”
You stall immediately, your bored eyes widen drastically when you catch sight of Satoru, who’s not in his usual spot at his desk.
He’s attempting to suck his own dick, to put it bluntly. The incredibly tall man is curled in on himself atop his messy Pokémon sheets like an armadillo, ass up. His deeply hued pink, lengthy dick is hanging over his own open mouth while his lanky hands push into his mid back in attempt to stretch it enough to get his tip past his lips.
He’s immediately and visibly panicked at your sudden presence. His reaction plays in less than half a second: His desperate tongue snaps back into his mouth, retreating from its endeavor at uniting with his sensitive tip. Owlish blue eyes lock on you, fast, as his brows knit together to show off utter embarrassment. You gasp sharply, surprise still stuck on your face, when he falls off of his bed and onto the floor awkwardly.
“Y-You— knock! You have to—you have to knock!” He’s shouting at you as he poorly recovers from his tumble, making sure to shove his sweatpants back up before standing up with a stumble.
His panicked, confrontational voice directed at you makes you feel defensive and just as frenzied.
“Sorry! Sor— I never knock— I never— sorry!” you defensively squawk, yanking the door shut mid yap as if giving him privacy now will do anything.
The sign on his door topples to the ground with the strength behind your swing. Your face burns dangerously hot as you scramble to pick it up and fumble it back onto the hook before racing away from his room.
You almost trip hurrying down the stairs and sink into the couch, seeking solace in a throw blanket you pull up to your nose with your knees to your chest.
“He coming?”
You almost choke. Your eyes snap away from the tv screen that feels much further away than before, over to Satoru’s mother who’s looking at you in question, casually.
“W-What?”
She cooly repeats her question, “is Toru coming down?”
“Oh— yeah, he’s— I think so,” you nod aimlessly before turning back to stare blankly at the tv. You honestly aren’t sure if he’s coming down or not, considering.
Satoru’s mother nods and returns her attention to plating dinner with your mother.
A few minutes later, you gulp as you hear muffled footsteps coming down the stairs.
You don’t dare to openly glance at him as Satoru’s mom acknowledges his arrival.
“Look who finally decided to bless us with his presence,” you hear her tease him rhetorically, followed by your mother asking Mrs. Gojo what serving utensils she wants to use.
Satoru doesn’t say anything as your moms chatter on, but you can assume based on the noise that he’s grabbing some glasses for drinks to help out.
You’re just so distracted with the movie you absolutely are watching, that you definitely don’t notice when Satoru’s heavy gaze focuses in on the side of your head. That’s what you’re pretending anyways. You don’t even have to look to feel it, but it’s brief, like he’s hoping you don’t notice his peek. It’s half of a second of observation that affirms to him that you are just going to ignore and ‘forget’ what you saw.
Dinner is filled with your mothers cackling to each other about some reality romance tv show while you avidly avoid any possible eye contact with Satoru. There’s a clear, awkward tension in the air as you sit beside him and poke at your food, but your moms aren’t perceptive enough of your dynamic to notice.
You help out after dinner, picking up plates to take to the sink and Satoru’s already making an obvious move to go back upstairs.
“No, no, no you don’t mister,” Mrs Gojo chides, making him pause and slowly turn his head to look at his mother with the lenses of his bulky glasses gleaming, blocking the sight of his eyes. “Help out and then you two can watch your little movie.”
She says it as though Satoru was just trying to skip cleaning so he can watch a movie with you sooner, when that can’t be further from the truth and you both know it. You haven’t held up that- movie after dinner- tradition since you were twelve. Satoru grumbles to himself, but inevitably starts helping.
Eventually, one thing leads to another and you’re washing dishes while Satoru dries beside you. Other than the running water, you can distantly hear your mother’s boisterous laughing and loud chatter coming from upstairs in Mrs. Gojo’s room where they drink wine and girl talk every Friday after dinner.
As you wash a plate, you notice the suds are growing less and less. You need more soap. You glance over at the bottle that’s closer to Satoru than yourself.
“Could you—”
He almost drops the bowl in his hand. “I wasn’t doing anything— ! I just— I just had a scratch on my back and— and I know what it looked like but it wasn’t anything weird or something.” Satoru interrupts you, nervously like the defense has been waiting at the tip of his tongue. His hands are shaking where they grip the drying cloth, an incessant squeak can be heard throughout his speech from drying the bowl that’s already much too dry, frantically.
You pause washing to blink up at him.
“Uh—” you clear your throat and point to the bottle, “I was gonna ask if you could hand me the soap.”
A beat of silence. His cheeks are flaming pink and his lanky torso is tight, straighter than his usual slouch.
“Oh.”
He awkwardly wraps his long fingers around the bottle and squeezes some soap onto your sponge.
You gulp at the silence and continue washing, eyeing the few dishes you have left.
“I—” you begin, eyes locked onto the sudsy dish, “I’m sorry for just—for just coming in without knocking. —Whatever you were doing.”
You continue.
“It’s just, I never knock. I just thought— I never knock and— fuck I don’t know— sorry.” You’re not trying to make an excuse but you feel the need to defend yourself after seeing what you did, like it’s your fault.
In the many years you’ve known Satoru, it was never a problem when you’d barge into his room without warning. He didn’t seem to care, until now. Clearly you lost the silent memo that privacy was necessary now.
He clears his throat and uses an awkward hand to shove his glasses up, instinctively. “I know. I accept your apology, but you don’t— you don’t really need to say sorry. I was just scratching my back anyways.”
You hum a quick, high-pitched affirmation, side eye flicking at him briefly. Right.
You finally finish up. Satoru awkwardly stands in place, watching you dry your hands as if he’s not sure when or how he should make his leave.
You glance at him and speak hesitantly, “Wanna— um, watch a movie?”
You’re almost expecting socially stunted Satoru to bluntly tell you no and leave. Instead, he nods in one harsh affirmation— like a soldier formally addressing their colonel.
“Sure. Yes. I wanna.”
You huff in amusement when he doesn’t make any move to lead in his own house.
His socked feet shuffle behind you until you’re plopping down onto the living room couch.
Satoru throws in the DVD that’s worn from your past uses without having to ask you what you want to watch as you adjust to get comfortable on the sofa.
Then, he scratches the back of his head lazily as he moves towards the light switches and turns them off so the large TV is the only source of dim light fluttering over the living room. It’s like he’s on autopilot because when you were young, you’d always beg Satoru to get up and turn the lights off as you watch your movie together so you didn’t have to.
The couch dips as he sits beside you, he likely didn’t even think twice about it because he’s not leaving too much space between you— not that you mind.
You’ve practically had this movie memorized by now, and your thoughts drift to more interesting things as it drones on.
You tilt your head towards him and part your lips, just to hesitate and brush it off. You think it was subtle enough to slide past Satoru’s perception but you’re wrong.
Satoru blinks repeatedly, his gaze flickering from you to the screen and back.
“What?”
“What?” You repeat, feigning ignorance.
“You were gonna say something,” he points out. Anyone else would get the hint and give up, but not Satoru.
You shrug, “Just thinking, I don’t know.”
He angles his body to face you a bit more, his leg bending and the couch adjusts with his weight.
“About what?”
You exhale and glance at his obvious focus that’s alternated completely from the movie, to you. Satoru has seen you go through your aggressive side part phase, the time you got grounded for a month at fifteen and ugly cried while you screamed for an hour, and the entire year you truly believed you were a vampire and would scream in agony any time the sun touched your skin. He’s seen some shit, and vise versa.
It’s not too difficult to abandon the movie and turn your body and attention towards him with intent to indulge your curiosities.
“Have—,” you glance at the opening of the living room that leads to the stairs where your mothers are and lower your voice a bit, “Have you actually done it before?”
“Done.. what?” He blinks at you, confused.
“You know,” you murmur shyly, whispering the next part, “sucked your own dick.”
Satoru eyes widen and he freezes. “I- I don’t— I don’t—what are you— I’d never—”
You shove his oddly sturdy shoulder and your cheeks warm. “Come on, Satoru. I saw you.”
His hands protectively slap over his flustered face, glasses and all like it’s his last defensive measure. He’s murmuring to himself, but it comes out as muffled noises. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was calling you stupid defensively.
“Hey.” You poke his hand but he doesn’t budge.
You huff, slightly amused, and after a beat of stillness, you gently pry two of his fingers away until it uncovers an eye.
“Look, I’m not judging you, okay?” you explain, and then shrug, “I’m just curious. It’s not like I’ll tell anyone.”
His adams apple bobs. He slowly places his long hands into his lap.
“Curious— um— about what, exactly?” His white lashes flutter as his eyes travel from his fidgeting hands to your face.
You chew on your bottom lip as your eyes flick to the side, thinking briefly.
“Have you ever succeeded?” You question eagerly and in a hushed tone.
“Like— it looked like,” you clear your throat, “you couldn’t reach.”
He glances over his shoulder at the entryway to the stairs to confirm you’re alone before pushing his glasses up.
“You won’t tell anyone?”
You shake your head and pull his hand up to force his long pinky to curl around yours. He can already tell you’re trying to pinky swear the way you used to when you were kids, with kisses.
“Swear,” you say definitively before twisting your interlocked hands until his fist is in front of you. You press your soft lips against it. He stops breathing.
Satoru’s in shock until you gesture dramatically for him to hurry, snapping him out of it enough to awkwardly press his puckered lips to your hand.
You smile into his fist at the sight of your locked-in promise, noses close to brushing, and pull your hand away.
You adjust in your seat enthusiastically, scooting closer to him until your knees are brushing his as you both sit with criss crossed legs.
“Now spill.”
He nods with a swallow, scratching the side of his head.
“It reaches,” he confirms with pink tinting his cheeks, “not all the way, but— enough.”
You inhale deeply while blinking, amusement and intrigue sitting on your chest as you process.
“Like your— uh— tip goes in?”
His eyes flick to the left briefly. “Just about.”
“Woah,” you exhale, “you’re flexable.”
He shrugs, “I think it’s because I’m so— long?”
Your brows raise and your eyes can’t help but trail languidly down to his lap.
He immediately shakes his head. “No, no, no I meant my body— my back, my stomach. Not my penis.”
“Oh.” You press your lips together to poorly hide your amusement and his face drops into a deeper red.
“We’re missing the movie—”
“So you suck on the tip or lick it?” You interrupt him curiously as if he didn’t even say anything.
“Uh— sucking hurts my neck so only for half a second,” he rubs the back of his neck, “so— so mostly licking.”
“Does it actually feel good?” You’re analyzing his every facial expression, intrigue hiding a splash of arousal. Every question feels more extensive than the last, and his heart is thrashing.
Satoru abruptly drops his face into the head rest cushion beside him and groans into it. His system is going into overdrive.
You huff a laugh. You’re not used to seeing him in this position, genuinely embarrassed having been caught in such a vulnerable state. Satoru is usually mean before he’s ever embarrassed or shy.
“I’m waiting,” you prod in a sing song voice and he slightly whines before sitting back up— slouching— but still.
“Do I have to answer that?” Despite his glasses, you can tell his gaze is down and off to the side.
“Absolutely.” You nod definitively with a proud tight- lipped smile, as if what you say, goes. Suddenly, he feels like his younger self being bossed around by you everywhere you two went.
“I don’t want to,” he mutters stubbornly under his breath.
“Come on,” you whine annoyingly, pushing even closer to him until your knees are slightly overlapping his shins, “I wanna know. It’s just me.”
“Yeah, it’s just you. And you’re a girl.”
You squint at him and lean back a bit. “What does that mean?”
“That this feels— wrong— weird—I don’t want to be talking to you about this,” he mumbles with a hint of irritation.
“Just because I don’t have a dick, doesn’t mean—”
He shakes his head, immediately and cuts you off with an authoritative ‘nuh uh,’ and you let out an amused scoff.
“What?” You urge him to explain, curiously. “Come on, why is it any different with me?”
“Because you’re hot. Seriously?” He grumbles and rolls his eyes at you. “And you saw me trying to suck on my own penis and your face when you walked in—” he ends the sentence with a groan, face falling right into his hands.
Honestly, you already thought he was a little weird before you caught him self sucking, but you’d never admit that and potentially hurt the smelly, awkward boy for no reason. You certainly didn’t know he cared what you thought of him, considering he’s usually unapologetically himself. Apparently, he does care what his childhood friend thinks.
“We all do weird things sometimes, that doesn’t make you weird.”
He shakes his head, face still shoved into his hands. “Not you.”
You huff through your nose, “I didn’t know you had so many opinions about me, Satoru.”
“I don’t. It’s a logical analysis from a scientific perspective. I have eyes.” His tone is more nasally than normal due to his face in his palms.
“You don’t know what I do when I’m alone. Me being weird or not is irrelevant,” you say looking down at his fluffy head that’s a bit greasy, “I get horny too.”
In a split second, his head shoot’s up desperately, almost knocking the back of it into your face on the way.
You don’t think you’ve ever seen Satoru sit up so straight in his life. You’re forced to look up at him now, reminding you of how tall he really is. His glasses were left behind when he jolted up, and you can suddenly see the full intensity of his wide crystal blue eyes piercing into you with full focus.
You slightly adjust in your seat, borderline uncomfortable under that sharp gaze that’s roaming your entire persona as if he’s a computer collecting every piece of data in your soul at a high speed. Those eyes used to scare you straight out of bed with a scream when you were small and having little sleepovers with him— they still give you chills.
“You do?”
You cower a bit, not expecting such a reaction to what you thought was an obvious fact. “Um— yeah? Of course I do,” you murmur, brows furrowing.
He swallows and slides a pillow into his lap, gripping it.
You glance down at it. You blink at it. You glance back up at him.
“Did that make you hard..?” you slowly ask, voicing the obvious in hesitancy.
“A little.”
“Okay,” you pause, “why?”
He pushes up his glasses. “Because I thought about your vagina being wet. And then I started speculating about what your vagina looks like. And then how it tastes, because online—”
“Satoru,” you quickly interrupt him, flustered, pushing a palm to his lips, “shut up.”
He blinks and nods, making you take your hand off of his lips hesitantly. He reaches under the pillow and, you assume, adjusts his boner.
“Okay,” you change the subject, shaking your head of the imaginary vision of his hardening cock, “We’re getting off track. Don’t avoid the question.”
He rubs an eye, like it’s sore from having been using his glasses for so long before they fell off.
“It feels good enough,” he mumbles, spine already returning to his natural slouch, “but I have to kinda— like— focus.”
“On what?”
“On anything but the fact that I’m sucking dick, what do you think?”
You accidentally let a snort pass, and he sighs deeply to himself.
“Sorry sorry,” you shake your head, holding back a laugh.
“Are you done yet?” He murmurs in a whiny tone, eager to stop answering questions.
“Has it ever made you cum? And do you like— bust in your mouth? Or all over your face?”
Satoru suddenly bursts into a coughing fit, choking on his own spit and your brows furrow in concern.
“You okay?”
He nods as he coughs, brushing off your concern as you rub his back soothingly and briefly. He gasps for air as the fit calms.
“I’m fine,” he massages his throat and glances back at the opening to the stairs, “why do you want to know that?”
“I’m curious.” You shrug, although you’re ignoring the subtle throb in your clit.
“Curious about my cum.” He says it like it’s more of a statement than a question.
“What? No,” you defend yourself quickly, “No, I mean— kinda but— No, stop it. Don’t twist my words.”
Now, he snickers, wiping his nose against his sleeve.
“Shut up,” you shake your head with a small smile, pushing his shoulder. “Answer, freak.”
He chews on the inside of his cheek, “It’s not like I mean to cum on my face. It just happens.”
You can’t help but drop your jaw in astonishment, unable to ignore the tingle in your lower abdomen.
He whines, “stop,” as he grabs your jaw with warm, shaky fingers and manually closes your mouth.
You gulp, subconsciously grabbing a few of his fingers from your face and pulling them down to your lap to hold onto like you need it to ground you. You’re not holding his hand, you’re more so awkwardly grabbing parts of it. Satoru glances at the connection, but you don’t seem to notice that you’re even holding it because you’re so focused on his words.
“So you’ve,” you blink rapidly, “tasted your own cum?”
He chews off a chunk of his inner lip and grumbles under his breath, “Yeah, I wish I didn’t— tastes nasty.”
“Like what?”
“You know wha—” Satoru almost slipped and confessed that you’ve tasted his cum before. On that fucking strawberry donut. You tilt your head at him, wondering why he stopped talking.
He clears his throat. “Skip.”
You blink. “Skip?”
He nods, definitively. “Skip.”
You squint at him for a beat, he doesn’t budge. You move on.
“Okay, How many times have you done it?”
He exhales in thought and shrugs. He holds up two fingers.
“Why did you do it in the first place? Like what was going through your mind?”
“Uh— That my hand doesn’t feel that good anymore.” He scratches his chest with the hand you’re not keeping prisoner in your lap.
You hum a short confirmation, huffing at his reasoning, and adjust his hand so it’s palm up. You silently ponder as you begin to trace his skin absently, the lines and ridges. Goosebumps race up his veiny, pale arm.
“You know, when a guy gets tired of their hand,” you smile in amusement, “I don’t think their first thought is their own mouth.”
He shakes his head. “Every guy has done it or tried to do it at least once,” he defends, “and if they say they haven’t, they’re lying.”
You giggle and he can’t help but breathe a little laugh with you.
“Still, why not just ask a girl out from class or something?” You continue to trace down his long fingers.
He snorts loudly and wipes his nose against his sleeve again. “Yeah, right.”
You glance up at him with furrowed brows, “Huh? I’m serious. Why not?”
He sniffs and shrugs, “I dunno. Whenever I’m around, they just..” he trails off.
You blink. “They just what?”
He looks down at your fingers trialing his palm. “Go away from wherever I am.” He doesn’t seem bothered, just stating facts.
You hum, tongue prodding your teeth in thought for a beat. You imagine it has something to do with his smell, his unkempt appearance, and honest-to-a-fault demeanor— he’s unapproachable. Even you’re guilty of this too, and you know it.
He continues in the face of your silence. “I’m not stupid, okay? I can tell girls don’t like me, I just— I don’t know why.”
An opportunity arises.
“Maybe,” you place his hand back down and coincidentally into your lap. He tries not to react to the fact that his palm happened to land on top of your clothed, warm inner thigh, “Maybe, I could help you with that— I mean, if you want.”
He blinks at you. “Help me with— help me with girls?”
You shrug. “Yeah, why not. Girls.”
He’s silent for once with his eyes trained down to your lap, and you tilt your head at his hesitancy.
“If you’re so desperate that you literally shove your own dick in your throat then what do u have to lose, huh?” You’re teasing him, clearly getting off on this new advancement in your ‘friendship.’ His face jolts into the human embodiment of an exclamation point.
He explodes, “It doesn’t even reach my throat, stupid— I don’t shove anything down my throat. I knew I shouldn’t have told you!”
You can’t hold back the laughter that bursts out of you before he even finishes speaking. You clasp your hand over your mouth but it continues to spill out. Satoru refuses to take his hand off of your inner thigh, even despite the embarrassing topic of conversation, because game is game, but he does use the other to cover his one of his hot ears because he just knows they’re probably the deepest shade of red.
“How exactly are you going to help me?”
Just as Satoru grumbles the question, both of your fathers waltz in. “Hey kids.”
Satoru jumps in place like he’s been caught, ripping his hand away from your thigh so dramatically that it makes each of your father’s brows quirk. You hadn’t even heard them open the front door.
You hide an amused smile at Satoru’s reaction and rise to your feet.
“You ready to go?” Your father asks, and you nod as Satoru’s father ruffles his son’s hair briefly in greetings. Though you just live next door, you still like to walk back with your dad.
As your father walks over to the front door, knowing your mother will likely stay longer, Satoru’s father walks upstairs to greet his wife. You bend down to whisper into Satoru’s ear.
“I’ll come over next Friday when my classes end.” You flick his forehead with a teasing grin and he rubs the injury with a grimace as you walk away. “Bye!” you shout just before his front door slams shut behind you.
Friday. 3:05 pm.
You let yourself into the Gojo front door with the key copy you received years ago.
Mrs. Gojo chirps, “Oh hi honey! Toru and the others are upstairs,” as you pass her to get to the stairs.
You pause at the bottom of the stairs and blink at her. “Others?”
She hums and nods her head with a smile before continuing to sort through her documents at the kitchen table.
You curiously climb the stairs and the closer you get to Satoru’s door, the sounds under it grow louder. Definitely more voices than just Satoru’s, as well as the loud music of a video game playing.
You stop yourself before you just barge in, again, and choose to knock instead.
Satoru’s voice answers your knock. “We don’t need anymore snacks, mom! We have chips and—”
You push open the door and the sight of you, instead of his mother, makes him shut his mouth.
Satoru and two other fellow college boys sit on the carpeted floor, facing his flatscreen hanging on the wall, playing some kind of mortal kombat style game with their sides to you. Bags of chips, drinks, video game cd cases, and controllers litter the floor around them.
Satoru is the only one looking at you while the other boys mash their controllers with focus on the game as their characters fight against one another.
Satoru pushes his glasses up instinctively as he says your name, even though they’re already pressing deeply against his face. “What are you doing here?”
Your name in Satoru’s mouth makes the boys turn their heads to look at you. Their jaws drop at the sight of a girl.
You give the- blunt as ever- Satoru a look and sigh. “I told you last Friday that I’d be coming over next Friday. It’s next Friday.”
“Oh yeah,” he scratches the back of his head. “Okay, come in then.”
You step inside before closing the door behind you.
“You gonna introduce me or what?” you ask as you drop your bag onto the floor and sit. They’re in a half circle; Satoru faces you while the other two are half turned towards you and half on the tv.
“Yeah— okay,” he says awkwardly. He gestures at the long, jet black haired one sporting a very uncoordinated, greasy bun on his head. “This is Suguru.”
Suguru peeks at you while continuing to expertly mash buttons on the controller. “Hi,” he says in a tone that seems naturally soft.
Satoru gestures at the blonde one with a long side part covering half of his face next. “That’s Kento.”
Kento looks at you and stops playing to raise his hand briefly in greetings.
You give them a polite smile. “Nice to meet you.”
They both seem a bit geeky, exactly the type you expected Satoru to be friends with. They probably met playing an online game or something. There’s a very specific musky smell in this room.
“So,” Suguru begins teasingly as he concentrates on the game, “she your girlfriend, Gojo?”
Kento scoffs lowly at the idea.
“Nope,” Satoru says freely, throwing a chip into his mouth to rudely chew while he speaks, “she’s lived next door since we were like two and our moms are friends.”
“Have you guys kissed?” Suguru easily questions before taking a sip of his soda while his other hand continues to operate his controller.
“No way in hell,” Kento answers the question meant for Satoru in a matter of fact way, “Gojo kissing a girl like that is ridiculous.” Kento glances at you briefly.
Your brows raise and you huff to yourself. You almost expected them to be shy and quiet but they’re talking about you like you’re not right in front of them. You can tell they don’t have bad intentions, they’re just a bit socially unorthodox.
“Actually,” you butt in casually, reaching over to snatch a chip from the bag in front of Satoru, “we kissed when we were six.”
Suguru and Kento ‘oo’ simultaneously without taking focus from their game, slightly monotoned and unfazed.
“Hey, you’re a girl,” Suguru murmurs, “What's it like being able to see boobs any time you want? Does it ever get old?”
The chip making its way into Satoru’s mouth delays and falls to the floor as his eyes lock on you.
“You can’t just ask a girl about her boobs five seconds after meeting her.” Kento’s tone is judgmental but you can tell he’s just as curious if you’ll answer as the others are, just better at hiding it.
You take a deep breath. “It’s okay. Umm— the boring answer is I’m pretty used to them, they’re just part of my body. But, I won’t deny that half the time I pass a mirror in my house I lift my shirt and look at them. I think every girl does.”
“Really? You flash yourself?” Satoru questions, flabbergasted at this information. The other boys completely desert their controllers and tilt their bodies to face you with criss crossed legs and a matching ring of Cheeto-type dust around their mouths.
You shrug.
“What’s it like seeing a dick all the time?” you counter and pop a chip into your mouth.
“Gross, probably.” Suguru says, making you chuckle.
All of their eyes comically trail down to your chest at the same time— as if you can’t literally see them do it.
“You’re so lucky,” Satoru murmurs.
“Do you—” Kento clears his throat, “nevermind.”
Suguru’s mouth opens and closes, like he’s hesitating to say something.
You sigh. “Get it over with. Come on.”
Satoru blinks up at you, finally breaking his eye contact with your tits. “What?”
“Ask your questions, it’s fine. Hurry up.”
Their eyes light up like dominos.
“We can’t just—” Kento begins, as the voice of reason, but is cut off by Suguru who doesn’t give a fuck.
“Do your nipples get hard when you’re horny?” Suguru asks eagerly, not wasting a moment.
“They usually just react to cold temperatures, but sometimes when I get a tingle or something, they get hard, sure.”
Satoru’s mouth hangs open, mouth-breathing. Kento gulps and Suguru breathes out a ‘sick.’
“Does— um— does it feel good when they get sucked on?” Kento timidly asks, a pink tint to his cheeks. He keeps his head tilted down a bit, a shy habit, but he’s still staring at your chest with the eye that’s not covered by his bang.
You can’t help but slightly grin in amusement. “Depends on the girl and her sensitivity. But yeah, I’d say it does. It’s kind of comforting.”
You wouldn’t be surprised if they were to drool. There are obvious tents in each of their pants.
You’re playing the ‘bored, pretty girl casually answering horny, ridiculous questions like an angel’ part well but your abdomen tingles seeing Satoru use a long, veiny hand to pull at the uncomfortably tight fabric over his hard cock to adjust.
“Do you ever,” the skin between Satoru’s brows slightly pinch and his eyes flick up at you while his friends ogle your breasts, “play with them?”
“Jesus,” you snicker with amusement and tease, “you guys are so horny.”
“Yeah, do you pinch your nipples or flick them?” Suguru adds on to Satoru’s inquiry, as if he didn’t even hear your remark.
“Is it possible to suck on your own nipples?” Kento’s question follows Suguru’s quickly. Their eyes are practically swirling and you swear you can see their heads spinning.
It doesn’t end there. They don’t even wait for an answer between slurred questions. You’ve had to have already missed more than ten of them. You can’t help but tune it out eventually, lidded eyes blinking at the ceiling as they ask every diabolical thing you could think of back to back without leaving room for a reply.
You sigh.
In one fell swoop, you yank your shirt up to your collarbones, successfully shutting them up.
Their eyes turn into large, bulging hearts that boing like a spring and their tongues roll out onto the floor while steam comes from the top of their heads.
Things like, ‘holy shit,’ ‘oh fuck,’ and even, ‘holy bazingas,” bounce through the air as your bare tits glow within their perspective.
“No more questions,” you decide, making all of them nod eagerly. They’d probably agree to anything you say right now.
“Woah. They’re so— they’re so beautiful,” Satoru whines, glasses wildly crooked on his face as they all subconsciously start crawling towards you.
“I think I’m dying,” Kento breathes before slurping a bit of drool that threatened to escape his lips. “Is this heaven?”
“My mouth is so empty,” Suguru groans, licking and smacking his lips.
Thankfully, they stop crawling when they’re close enough to get a better look but not so close that you can feel their breath on your skin. It’s not hard to conclude that this is the first time they’re seeing tits in real life.
Your lips press together as you hold back a laugh, but when your eyes meet Satoru’s face, your expression falters. He looks wrecked, pinched brows, cheeks and ears a deep red, messy glasses, wet swollen lips, and glazed eyes— he looks sexy. You’re apparently finding out many interesting things about yourself, ever since you saw him in armadillo mode.
“Okay, shows over.” You lower your shirt, and their heads comically tilt lower and lower until the material is covering your entire torso once again and the sides of their faces are smooshed on the floor.
Just then, a knock at Satoru’s door comes, followed by his mother asking if you guys want more snacks.
She opens the door and the two boys hop up to their feet, scrambling.
“I— I gotta go home,” Kento says frantically before grabbing his bag and placing it over his crotch. “It was really nice to meet you. Thank you— um— for— yeah. Okay bye,” he stutters to you on his way out.
“Oh yeah, me too. My mom is expecting me for dinner.” Suguru nods quickly and scrambles to follow Kento out, pulling the hem of his baggy shirt down until it covers his boner. “Thanks— you’re cool— yeah thank you,” he says to you on his way.
Satoru’s mom looks a bit confused with a plate of apples in hand as she let them pass her to leave. “Okay, bye boys! Be safe driving home!” she shouts after them.
The front door slams behind them and she turns to you. “You want some apples, honey?”
“Oh, sure. Thanks, Mrs. Gojo,” you say politely and she smiles as she places the plate down on Satoru’s desk.
She brushes her hands together and rests them onto her hips as she stands in the doorway. “I have to say, it’s so nice to see you two together again. Just shout if you need me.”
“Okay, thanks.” Satoru has always been polite to his mother.
“Of course.” She smiles at her son before leaving, shutting the door behind herself.
You take a beat to look around his room as Satoru fixes his crooked glasses with a balled up blanket in his lap he must have grabbed when his friends were leaving. Action figures, comics, video games, the usual. It looks eerily similar to when you used to hangout with him everyday after school when you were younger.
You glance at him, you can’t see his eyes clearly from this angle due to a gleam on his lenses.
“Are you thinking about how badly you want me to go so you can put your dick in your mouth again?”
“Wow, that was fast,” he says bluntly and flicks something in the carpet absentmindedly, “I thought for sure it’d take a full sixty seconds before you made the first penis joke.”
“Was debating between that and a Where’s Waldo one. Sorry, I’ll be quicker next time.”
“Oh thank god,” he sarcastically says.
You obnoxiously lay back on his carpet, eyeing the ceiling as if there’s something interesting up there.
“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” he sniffles loudly, telling the whole room that he has mucus. You sit up just as quickly as you laid down.
“Yeah, well,” you sigh deeply and lean back on your palms, “couldn’t abandon a friend in need, could I?”
He deadpans at you. “And.. why am I in need again?”
“Wahh— I’m horny and girls hate me,” you mock his deep, blunt tone as you bring your fists to your eyes to dramatically act like you’re crying, “I have to fuck my own face to cum because my hand sucks— wahh.”
Satoru is not amused. “So, you came here to flash my friends and bully me.”
“Woah woah, just giving you a little recap, Satoru, don’t get your Pokémon panties in a twist.” You point at him dramatically with a squint in your eye, “and hello? I flashed you too, you’re very welcome.”
He pushes up his glasses. “I see your point. I’ve come to the conclusion that I can agree that what you did was very generous. Carry on.”
“Oh, good.” Your sarcasm is laced with amusement. “Anyways, back to what I was saying.”
You lean over and pop another chip into your mouth.
“I’ll let you fuck me.”
For a second, all that can be heard is the muffled munch of the snack in your mouth and the background music from the abandoned video game.
“What?” Satoru enunciates each letter in the word drastically. “What— What did you just say?”
“Oh sorry, when two people love each other very much—”
“Shut up,” Satoru interrupts your obvious teasing by throwing one of his plushies at you.
You catch it with a laugh and hold it in your lap like you’d asked him for it in the first place.
“Are you being serious?” He questions you hesitantly, aware of how poorly he is at speaking with and understanding women.
“Mhm,” you affirm, casually with a nod.
His brows furrow and he almost looks around his own room for cameras like he must be getting punked right now.
Slowly he asks, “Why?”
You chew on your lower lip as you hum in thought, eyes trailing the ceiling, briefly.
You land on, “I want to help you.”
He looks at you with skeptical, squinted eyes.
You sigh.
“Look,” you regard him genuinely, “all jokes aside, when I saw you doing what you were doing, and then when you were telling me why you do it in the first place, I just felt like, I don’t know, I wanted to help you.”
“So, I’m a charity case?” He questions insinuatingly, making you sigh in slight frustration with yourself for not expressing your feelings correctly.
“No. It’s more like—” you chew on your lip as you gather your thoughts, “I wanna be useful to you. Remember when we were younger and my ice cream fell on the floor because that annoying kid kept pinching me and you gave me yours? And then when I asked you why, you said that you have to take care of the people you love?”
Satoru’s eyes bulge and his lips part. “You’re in love with me?”
You deadpan at him. “Really? Thats what you got from that?”
“You literally just said you love me and that’s why you want to let me have intercourse with you,” he passionately defends his conclusion, like he’s trying to show you logic.
“Oh my god you’re gonna make me say it,” you sigh to yourself, “Fine. Of course I love you Satoru, I’ve loved you since I was like five. I’m not confessing my love for you, okay? It’s like a childhood friend love, like—”
Satoru interrupts you quickly with a long pointed, accusing finger. “Don’t you dare say family after you just said you want me to put my penis in you.”
You rub your eyes briefly in frustration with your pointer finger and thumb. “My point is, I care about you and I don’t want you to suffer with a hard dick. I have your solution between my legs, so, here.”
“No,” Satoru immediately denies, “Intercourse is a two person activity where both parties have a desire for it. I don’t want you to just give me your vagina to use like a fricken fleshlight because you feel bad for me.” —No matter how much he might want to.
Your brows raise and your speak slowly. “You’re worried that I don’t want it?”
“Obviously?” He looks at you like you’re stupid.
“Satoru, there’s a reason I’m not just offering you a handjob,” you huff and shake your head, amused that he’s worried about you, “I want it.”
“You do?” He asks you like you’re crazy and not even aware of what you’re saying, loudly and enunciated dramatically.
“I do,” You confirm, definitively.
“Like, you’re attracted to me?”
You squint at his overall appearance for a beat and then crawl up to him until your nose is brushing his sweaty neck, making him jerk back hesitantly, but ultimately allowing you to get way too close.
“What are you—”
You take a big sniff of his skin and he shuts his mouth with an alarmed expression. You take a few more inhales of different patches of skin on his neck and then sit back down, criss crossing your legs in front of him with your knees overlapping his shins like last Friday.
“Yeah,” you nod absolutely, as if you’re speaking to yourself, eagerly, “I definitely want you inside of me.” What you aren’t saying is that his musky smell, the one you usually avoid getting a whiff of, is now triggering a primal response within your reproductive system.
“Holy shit,” he breathes under his breath, chills racing down his spine. “You want me inside of you.”
“Are you attracted to me, Satoru?” You repeat his question back at him, a little smile and tilt to your head.
“Um,” he picks up your hand, “do you want to feel it?”
He tosses the blanket in his lap to the side, exposing his hard on.
“Your dick?”
“My attraction for you,” he corrects.
You nod.
He lays your palm flat on his warm, beating chest, making your brows raise in surprise.
His heart is thumping at a steady pace, a little fast, but it’s to be expected with you so close to him.
“This is,” you blink, “your heart.”
He nods. His heart picks up pace and you can feel the rise and fall of his breath.
“The blood that it’s circulating,” he uses a large hand to guide yours on a slow journey down his hard chest, “is reacting to the ventral tegmental area of my brain.”
Your eyes are locked onto his hand on top of yours, silently gasping when it reaches his tent. You don’t miss the deep ridges of yummy abs on the way down either.
“And it sends that blood,” he lets out a barely noticeable grunt, ‘guh,’ under his breath when your hand caresses his bulge, “here.”
My attraction for you starts within my heart.
You can’t help but let out a sharp breath, an airy, amused scoff, despite the little tingle in your own heart. “Oh, wow, you’re good. I underestimated you, you little geek.”
He doesn’t answer you, just gives you proud twitch at the corner of his lips. He’s breathing heavy, hazy eyes already lidded in pleasure, simply due to your warm hand on his clothed cock.
“You’re so hard,” you breathe as you gently squeeze around the stiff base, making him grip the carpet beside him, “You already thinking about how it’ll feel to be inside me?”
He groans, tossing his head back. “Of course I am. Can we do it now?” He looks at you with impatience and then down at your lap, “Are you lubricated?”
You grin at him, “Am I lubricated?”
“Yeah, it’s a word in the dictionary, stupid.” His grumble is a little too breathy to be cruel. The insult makes you nostalgic, it was practically your assigned nickname when you were kids.
“Maybe you should try Urban Dictionary,” you tease, hand still resting casually on his bulge like its normal, “because wet is what us regular earthlings use.”
“Okay,” he speaks bluntly, “Are you wet?”
You shrug. “I might be.”
He squints at you. “What do you mean might? You have to be properly prepared before we can do this.”
“You know what? Yeah, you’re right. And now that you mention it,” you say like a performance, “I know exactly what will ‘properly prepare’ me.”
“Okay,” he says expectantly and slightly suspicious, “What?”
Satoru almost throws a fit when you take your hand away from his cock and lean back on your hands.
“I want you to self suck again and I want to watch.”
You must have learned that phrase online in the time you’ve been apart since last Friday, but that’s not why his face scrunches up in judgmental confusion.
“What? No fucking way,” he immediately denies passionately, “Are you serious?”
“I barely got to see it before,” you whine, leaning towards him with your hands up in prayer and an exaggerated pout on your face, “Please?”
“That’s what’s gonna make you wet?” He’s in disbelief.
You shrug, dropping your hands. “Something about it is hot. Don’t judge, self sucker.”
Is this what girls are into?
“You think putting my own penis in my mouth is hot?” he asks you judgmentally, overly enunciating as to get his point across, “Why??”
You sigh, glancing up at the ceiling in thought.
“I don’t know. Something about the desperation you have to feel to do something like that,” you bite your lip and flick your gaze down at his bulging tent, “Like you’d do anything to feel the pleasure of a blowjob.”
Oh. Okay, no. It’s just you that’s this weird.
“I don’t even know what to say right n—” he cuts his own astonished remark off, “You’re a freak, you know that? Like you’re weird.”
You huff and shove his shoulder. “You’re the dick sucker.”
“Getting off on watching it is worse,” he shakes his head at you, but he’s unable to hold back a flicker of a smile.
“Oh c’mon,” you tilt your head at him, “seeing you feel good makes me horny, doesn’t that do anything to you?”
He knows you know the answer to that, if his cock jumping at your words says anything.
“Then why can’t it be in your mouth and not mine?” He grumbles, trying to avoid your powerful stare— the one where you make your eyes all big and gleamy; you’ve been manipulating him with that look since you were young.
You light up seeing his resistance breaking down by the second, your words coming out quicker now.
“You don’t have to do it for a long time, I just wanna see you actually lick the tip,” you gush, as if begging at a fast pace will make him more likely to agree.
He rubs his nose against his sleeve and glances at the closed door with a sigh. “Okay.”
“Yes,” you say to yourself in victory as you thrust your elbow downward with your hand in a fist. Satoru deadpans.
You stare at him expectantly with a smiling bite to your lower lip.
Satoru sniffs and nudges your knee that’s on top of his leg. “You have to back up a little.”
“Oh,” you chirp, scooting back a tad so that your knees aren’t touching.
Satoru’s awkwardly maneuvers his lanky body to lie on his back, and you’re facing his side. You stop him.
“Wait, you have to actually walk me through how you’re doing this.”
He turns his head to blink at you. “You’re such a freak. How do I know you’re not just messing with me and I’m doing this for nothing? I’m not—”
You sigh, sharply, and with determination, you lean down and shove your face onto his.
Your lips connect abruptly, and Satoru gasps as his hands twitch, mid air. A peck. Your lips stick together as they part, making a ‘chu’ sound before you begin to lay multiple dense pecks onto his. He’s fighting to return the kisses with panicked hums, not understanding why you’re doing it but too enthralled to care.
You finish it off with one long, pressurized kiss, even shaking your head back and forth a few times to really imprint the feeling onto his nerves before pulling away just enough.
“You kissed me,” Satoru breathes, clearly trying to process what just happened. He doesn’t get far though, because you start laying wet, open mouthed kisses onto his jaw and down to his neck where you start suckling on it. Satoru’s making all kinds of hisses and gasps. His desperate hips jerk into the air instinctively in one harsh movement.
You slide your lips off after one final self indulgent lick to his protruding Adam’s apple and he’s exhaling audibly in euphoria.
“It’s not for nothing. Please show me how you do it,” you beg him in a soft tone, brows pinched. You nudge your nose into his like a cat yearning to bond, and he just melts.
He nods and lets out a shaky ‘okay’ as you lean back to watch with an excited smile.
He gently takes his glasses off and folds them, eyes blinking and squinting to adjust briefly.
“Why are you taking your glasses off?”
He glances at you as he places them aside. “I don’t want to get them dirty,” he explains and clears his throat.
You lick your lips and nod, enjoying the topic of conversation too much.
“It’s kinda hard to,” he grunts as he kicks off of the ground with one leg to push both over his head, “do this part.”
You’re sort of astonished at how he’s able to put such a long body into this position.
“Uh— I’m gonna take my penis out now,” he glances at you awkwardly but you just nod encouragingly.
He pulls his sweatpants down enough to let his cock hang out and keep his balls and ass within the confines of the material. He places his focus on the act itself so he doesn’t psyche himself out of this ridiculous situation. His true eyes are on the prize, he’d do anything to fuck your pussy.
Seeing his cock this close up is a whole nother experience compared to the panic of barging into his room and happening upon it. It’s a light pink color, and it’s quite lengthy as it bobs over his face. It gets thicker towards the middle and up to the tip, sort of flared— as if it’s begging to be encased inside something. It feels as though it’s already anticipating his warm mouth.
“Just— just a lick, right?” He asks you, face a deeper pink than his dick is.
You hum an eager confirmation and he sighs to himself in slight preparation.
He uses two hands to nudge at his back and his tip slowly reaches down to brush his lips.
He drops his jaw and hesitates to let his tongue out. But ultimately, he slowly slides it out and you can see the muscles in his tongue twitch as he gives the top side of his tip a nice, wet lap— incidentally collecting a small dribble of pre.
“Did that feel good?” You quickly question, biting your lower lip with observant eyes.
He swallows. “A little. Can I stop now?”
“Does sucking feel better?” You ask instead, and he releases the pressure he’s pushing into his back just a bit so he can answer you more comfortably.
“I guess, but not really, I can tell it’s my own mouth.”
“I have an idea,” you scooch in closer, “try sucking.”
Despite this being kind of lame compared to the idea of you stimulating him instead or the promise of sex, it’s clearly entertaining you so he pushes into his straining spine again until his desperate tip greets his mouth again. Satoru has stuck his dick inside of crazier things in weirder situations just to get off, this is nothing.
He opens his mouth wide enough to allow his cock inside and sucks his lips closed around half of the tip. His white lashes softly flutter shut at the dull tingle growing through his dick.
His eyes shoot right back open when he feels a long, warm, wet sensation run across his mid shaft. You start licking at his reactive cock like an eager kitten, making that dull tingle erupt into much more as bitter pre oozes into his mouth in reaction. His wide eyes roll in pleasure once he realizes you aren’t stopping and he uses his tongue to suck a little better at his cock head, unable to resist the need for more stimulation.
When your tongue starts wetly tracing the edge of his tip where it enters his mouth, even licking at his lips a little, he can feel his balls tighten up. He thinks he can handle it, hold back his orgasm, but then you latch onto the side of his upper dick and suckle.
He doesn’t want to cum in his own mouth so he eases the tension his hands are putting on his back to let the tip slide out but not enough to pull his legs back and lay flat because he doesn’t want to lose the pleasure your mouth is giving him. “Wait— hng!— I’m gonna cum!”
You hum happily and, faster than he can blink, your warm mouth is enveloping his entire throbbing tip. His abs clench and his eyebrows shoot up with tension, moaning loudly with parted lips as you slide your tongue all around his sensitive skin. He’s never felt anything like this, it’s not even comparable.
You’re coaxing his cum to build and build, and Satoru swears with a burst of excitement within his chest that he’s finally going to ejaculate inside of a woman’s mouth. That is, until you suddenly let his cock go with a pop and the next thing he knows, cum is shooting all over his face. His cock spasms and pleasure bursts all the way into his toes, he’s overwhelmed by it for a long blissful moment.
Pure bliss until he comes down enough to realize that warm splooge is streaking down his cheeks, forehead, nose, and chin. He slowly maneuvers himself to lay flat and blinks at the ceiling for a beat. He’s about to sit up and do the whole irritated-at-you thing, but then your thighs are suddenly on either side of his hips with only your shirt and panties on, sweatpants no where to be found, only soft bare legs. He gasps.
“That was so fucking hot,” you groan as you quickly shove your panties to the side and ease down enough to rest your warm, wet labia against the bottom of his soft, twitching dick.
He hisses in sensitivity, hands shooting to grip your thighs to cope as he tilt his head up to look at you. You’re a little blurry without his glasses but he can still see how flustered you look.
“Think you can get hard again?” You ask, out of breath as you begin to slowly grind your pussy against him with eager hands on his chest.
He groans in overstimulation, “Oh god— wha—? I don’t know— oh fuuuck.” His fingers tighten around the flesh of your flexing thighs.
“I have cum all over my face,” he groans, refusing to make you get off of him because he’d rather die, but still complaining about it.
“It’s okay,” you say quickly and lean down and begin to lick the cum off of his face casually, making him slightly grimace.
“Just grab a shirt,” he basically slurs when your licking abruptly stops and you pull back enough to look him in the face.
Your hands are on either side of his head now, hips unfortunately stopping all movement, and you’re suddenly blinking at him like you’re realizing something.
“Oh my god,” you slowly express, a disbelieving smile on your lips, “you came all over that fucking donut! I knew you were acting weird, you sick freak.”
His eyes widen and he doesn’t even know what to say, you clearly recognize the taste enough to place it, so he just blurts, “What are you talking about?”
“Why didn’t you stop me?” You still question him with furrowed brows, not buying his feigned ignorance, “Your mom was right there!”
“I don’t— but, you said it tasted good! And you only took one bite.”
You huff and shake your head. And then you lean down to lick a long lap up his cheek, gathering a bit of very bitter cum on your taste buds. You swallow it and press your lips to his ear, “You’re lucky I’m throbbing because otherwise, there’s no way I’d fuck you knowing that, you pervert.”
Whether that’s a lie or not, doesn’t matter, all Satoru can hear is the subtle squelch of your pussy lips rubbing against his hardening cock as you begin to grind again.
His toes curl and twitch. He breathes, “You made me cum— agh!— on my face, we’re— we’re even.”
You huff and sit back up while your hips work. “Fine. We’re even.”
He brings a shaky hand over to his discarded glasses and throws them back on before yanking the hem of your shirt up enough to see your pussy.
“Ohhh my goodness gracious,” his voice shakes but he’s very sturdy in his words, astounded by the sight of pretty pussy in real life— especially those folds against his own penis, the folds connected to his beautiful childhood friend.
He can’t help but eagerly buck his hips once, making you gasp at the direct hit to your clit and grip onto his shirt over his chest.
“You’ve never had sex before, right? You’re a virgin?” You breathe out, humping increasing in speed.
His mouth hangs open. “Never. Mhm, yeah, virgin.” He nods quickly.
You lean in and your lips brush his as you speak. “I’m gonna be your first, baby?” you egg him on.
He whines into your mouth. “I always— I always suspected you would.”
“What?” You breathe in amusement, pressing a kiss to his jawline, “Why?”
“Because,” he moans beautifully as you suck on his earlobe, “You’re the only girl that talks to me.”
You lean back and jut your bottom lip out into a dramatic pout. “Aww, so it’s not because you’ve been in love with me since we were kids? You’re breaking my heart.”
“No,” he hisses when his tip almost gets caught on your entrance that seems to be attempting to suck him in every time it passes by, “I’ve definitely been in love with you since we were kids.”
Your hips stutter to a painful stop and you blink at him, playful expression slightly faltering. You can barely tell when Satoru is joking, the ease and blunt manner of the way he speaks doesn’t help.
“Wait, are you being serious?”
He sits up to lean back on his elbows and nods. “I thought you knew that.”
“How could I know that?” you ask him like he’s an idiot, “The most you say to me in a week is that I have something in my teeth.”
He sniffles his runny nose obnoxiously, like always. “Because you do. And, you don’t talk to me either,” he says factually and defends himself.
“That’s—,” you exhale sharply, reaching down to grip his base, ignoring his little ‘guh!’ as you raise your hips a bit, “because we got older and— I don’t know— grew apart.”
You rub his head against your opening and his eyes lock onto the movement like it’s glowing gold. Drool dribbles out of the corner of his lips. “Holy shit. It’s finally— ngh!— happening. You’re finally going to have sex— oh my god— it’s so soft. It’s so slimy, woah.” He’s talking to himself like a little weirdo, but you don’t mind, it’s actually creating more slick to join the rest.
You bite your lip and slowly push down against his head until it pops in with a painful little stretch.
You hiss out a strained, “Fuck,” and Satoru pushes through his overwhelming desire to just moan and whine and succumb to his own pleasure like a limp fish to ask you, “Are you okay? Does— hahh— does it hurt?”
You nod with a shaky exhale, eyes closed in concentration. “A little, your tip is— mm— almost as big as your head is.”
You’re clearly not in enough pain to ignore an opportunity to tease him, it seems. You take a deep breath and attempt to calm your muscles.
But then, your head snaps down to make sense of the sudden stimulation against your clit to see Satoru’s long lanky fingers rubbing it sloppily. “Oh— mm!” Your abdomen and thighs clench as you grip his shirt harshly, breathing choppy.
“Does that help? Your clitoris should ease the pain,” Satoru bluntly expresses with clear concern, focus flicking from your clit to your expression, “I read it.”
You whine and grab onto his wrist connected to the lanky fingers moving in a ‘dj’ motion against your ultra sensitive skin. “Try— hah— little circles.”
He immediately complies with upmost focus, fingertips and knuckles rotating. “Like that?”
You moan and your cunt answers his question for you, squeezing his tip nicely. Before he knows it, you’re dropping all the way down till he feels your plushy cervix kissing his slit. It feels like you just punched him in the gut with how abrupt the feeling of being enveloped whole is.
“Oh god, holy shit! You’re so wet and tight and,” he’s wailing like an animal in the jaws of a predator and he’s physically unable to stop himself from gripping the carpet harshly to ground himself, “it’s bumpy inside, the perfect— perfect balance between—ngh— stimulation and plushy, soft, gooey— ahh it’s like clouds.”
“Yeah? Keep going Toru.” You’re clearly trying to mock his ramble but your tone is anything but a tease as you sit still, cockwarming him with reactive walls.
He’s lucky that he busted recently because he wouldn’t have been able to last this long otherwise, movement or not. But you’re fighting your own battle too. You’re so full, there’s a pang of radiating pain pinching your cervix that refuses to stretch to make room for Satoru’s lengthy cock and you’re trying your hardest to hold on until your body adjusts the way it’s meant to.
“Fuck!” You blurt after a long moment of trying to push down the feeling overwhelm, “I don’t think I can do it. It’s— It’s too much. It hurts.” You’re speaking in a completely genuine way for once, not even a small teasing comment about why his dick has to be so long; he can tell you’re actually scared.
Satoru immediately sits up and grabs onto your waist, eyes flicking over your expression quickly. “It hurts?” he repeats softly, clearly concerned and attempting to console you, “Okay, breathe. You’re okay, I’m here, I’m with you, I’ve got you. Your body can stretch, it’s made to stretch for this.”
You take a deep breath and nod as he speaks, brows pinched as you attempt to hold your focus on his coos and not the invading, pulsing flesh within you.
“I can feel you twitching,” you whine, head thrown back briefly, “stop it.”
“I can’t control it,” Satoru defends, using his thumbs to gently rub circles into your waist, over your shirt.
“It’s your dick,” you whimper, dropping to rest your forehead onto his shoulder, “Tell it to stop hurting me.”
He hums, entertaining your words and the next thing you know, a lanky hand is snaking under your shirt to lay flat and warm on your lower tummy.
“Stop hurting her,” Satoru scolds his mounted penis, “Or I swear I’m gonna take you out of this amazing, warm little pussy and you’ll go right back into your boxers. You hear me?”
Your pussy involuntarily convulses around him, hearing him indulge your little sillies in such an oddly sexy way. You both breathe out a groan at the delicious feeling.
You lift your head, breathing heavily with lidded, hazy eyes. “That helped,” you mumble as you shove your lips onto his eagerly, nudging his head back slightly at the force and making him hum.
He locks his lightly dry lips onto your soft ones as immediate as possible, not allowing the risk of missing out on your sweet pecks like before when he could barely keep up.
But this isn’t a peck, you’re tilting your head, side to side as your lips smooch, keeping them interlocked between ‘chu’s.’
Your eyes peek open because, your intuition was right, his intensely blue irises are staring at you through his lenses. You unlatch as you push his shoulder, lightly, not keen on accidentally making his hips jolt. “Why are your eyes open? Close them while we kiss,” you scold, feeling a light heat rise within your cheeks.
He licks his lips to taste you instinctively. “What’s wrong with that? I want to look at you, you’re pretty.”
You roll your eyes half heartedly and slide your hands onto his shoulders to hold. “Open your mouth.”
You don’t give him a chance to respond because you’re shoving your wet tongue into his mouth, making him moan directly into yours. His hands tremble around your waist as they tighten their grip, using all of his will power to not listen to instinct and rut up into you.
“Wait wait—” he says between licks and you know he’s scared to accidentally hurt you.
You shake your head and hum a denial. “It’s okay, you won’t,” you breathe before latching back on.
He tastes like lingering traces of sugary soda and a hint of tic-tacs, but mostly like natural saliva. His tongue is sloppy and a bit odd in how it meets yours, but it’s his and you can’t help but desire for more of it as it lathers and lathes yours.
“Okay,” you pull back impatiently, “Let’s fuck.”
“Fuck— fuck,” Satoru grunts frantically, face clenching, “don’t say that, I’m gonna ejaculate too quick.”
“No, you won’t,” you soothe him, almost like you’re speaking it into existence, ignoring the instinct to make fun of his word choice.
He whines, but then gathers his determination and nods. “Okay, okay— mhm— should I move?”
You shake your head. “No, me first.”
You softly raise your hips, using your knees on either side of his body for grounding, until half of him is glistening and exposed. His mouth hangs open and his eyes have glazed over where they lock onto your connection.
You take a deep breath and drop all of your weight down until he’s sliding right back into his little nook within you. “Nngh..!” he moans on impact, brows pinching aggressively into a defensive pout. “Was that okay? Are you okay? Did it hurt? Because I think you stretched a little more—”
You cut him off by rubbing your nose into his with closed eyes, humming in affection as you squeeze his shoulders lightly. “I’m okay,” you dismiss, resting your forehead on his, “How does it feel? Good?”
“You,” he pauses to shakily breathe out deeply and slowly as his hands start massaging your waist in primal instinct, “You feel like heaven. I love you.”
You huff and lean away with an amused look. “Tell me when you’re about to cum,” you warn him suddenly, and you don’t leave any room for him to answer because your hips begin to ride. His thick head is immediately slamming against all of the sensitive parts inside you, nudging your g-spot deliberately with each embrace.
“Oh shiiiit,” his voice undulates with the pace of your thrusts, and his glasses are already lying crooked on his face due to the recoil his body is taking. “Oh my god— nngh! oh!”
“Yeah?” you breathe out with pinched brows, “Does my pussy feel better than— mmh!— your mouth, Satoru?”
His eyes are threatening to roll continuously, but he’s trying so hard to keep them straight and on your blissed out face. “Your pussy is— oh fuck— so much better. I want to live inside of you— please keep going.”
“I’m not stopping, I’m not stopping.” You’re cooing at him, sloppily, and as if you’re desperate for more, you transition to start bouncing. The impact of the change in positioning and the force of gravity aiding in your movement makes Satoru absolutely keen. His toes curl and his abdomen clenches painfully. The squelch of your connection is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard and felt.
“Oh no, oh no,” Satoru grits pleadingly and his surprisingly strong hold on your waist subconsciously tightens to the point that it’s tough to continue to bounce through it at the velocity you are. “I’m gonna cum— I’m gonna cum— I can’t hold it.”
“Are you sure? Right now?” You question him through moans with hope that he’ll be able to hold it.
“I’m sure! Fuck! Don’t get off, just stop moving.” He’s biting his lower lip so hard that he could very well bite it clean off.
You stop at the next bounce, whining like you’ve been stabbed once you settle. His cock whimpers within you too, like it’s threatening to bust at any moment, begging to make this amazing place inside you it’s new home, decorated with little Toru’s DNA and a welcome mat. His dick doesn’t have to know English for Satoru to know that it won’t be accepting anything less than your pussy from now on; he can say goodbye to the makeshift pocket pussy made out of a Pringles can, gloves, and tissues already dusting in his cabinet.
“What’s wrong? Are you gonna cum?” you question, you were already preparing to hop off and jerk him onto your face or into your mouth.
He gulps between deep breaths, trying to catch it and calm down. He massages your hips and waist and ribs, up and down, affectionately. “I don’t wanna cum until you do,” he explains with a gleam of a heart within his eyes. “How do I do that?”
You smile and exhale deeply at his question. “I don’t think I can cum unless you do something to my clit.”
It’s obvious to the both of you that he won’t be able to maintain that if you start bouncing again.
“Oh!” You grab onto him reactively when he suddenly flips you over onto your back with his large hand protecting the back of your skull and the other wrapped around your back.
You let out a gasping moan at the new angle the second your back hits the carpet when his cock wetly sinks all the way back into you. Gravity. “Oh,” you whimper at how deep he is, socked feet and thighs twitching mid air beside his ribs.
His breath fans your face, hands on either side of your head. He’s holding himself together, brows drawn in. “I’m gonna make you orgasm,” he pledges to you like a knight on his knees, eyes digging their way into yours.
“You are?” Your response shakes out airily as he falls down to rest on his forearms beside your head, face inches from yours and white hair leaning down with gravity. His boxers are showing over the expanse of his covered ass and his sweatpants are halfway down as he lies in between your bloomed legs.
He nods with determination as he shoves his glasses up, but they fall back to the lower part of his bridge just as fast. “Can I start humping?” His intention within that geeky phrasing is so pure that your heart can’t help but flutter into little butterflies.
You lift your head at a snails pace, eyes refusing to stray from his pink lips until you connect in a soft, caress of a kiss. “Go ahead,” you smile into his mouth.
Yearning for the life between your thighs, forced to pull the distance just to regain closeness again, his hips gradually pull back until he’s almost completely gone, and then he’s thrusting back inside, experimentally.
Your lips part with the drive of it in perfect synchronicity, sharing the experience of deriving pleasure from one another with a shiver.
He repeats it, this time brisker, and his eyes roll. “Oh that’s so good,” he expresses, and getting lost in the sauce, his isolated thrusts turn into a sloppy, inexperienced pace of its own, your legs brunting the force with every collision. You’re sucking him in with every draw back and milking him when he’s fully seated.
His soggy cock sadly slips out when his focus flickers and his desperate hips lose direction; pleasure like this is blinding for an eager virgin. He takes the opportunity to breathe and recenter, slouching down to press his forehead to your collarbones as his bobbing cock jumps and pulses in yearning over your sloppy pussy.
You rub the back of his head soothingly while the other kneads his alarmingly muscular back.
He exhales against your skin. “‘M still gonna make you cum,” he mumbles and you hum with a warm smile, eyeing the ceiling as you soothe him. “Just need a second.”
“Take a second,” you hum and lazily rub the inside of your calf against his side. “But I’m so empty,” you whisper against the top of his head like you’re casting a sultry spell, “and so ‘lubricated.’ It would be such a shame if your cock didn’t fill that space inside of my gooey—”
“Jesus fuuck,” he moans and shivers, whining at your words that seem to be just fucking right. He picks his head up to level with yours again, “Okay, okay. I’m good. I’m ready.”
He reaches down without looking, grasping his shaft to lead it back into you. He pokes your lower hole and you squeak, “Wrong hole! Higher— higher, Satoru.”
“Oh,” he breathes a huff into your face, a geeky smile on his lips.
He pokes your clit. “Too high. You need some help, Satoru?” You’re teasing him, but you’d still gladly do it for him if he needed you to.
He shakes his head and you nudge his glasses up for him before they potentially fall all the way off. “I got it, I got it.” He sticks his tongue out of the corner of his lips in concentration as he takes his hand off of his cock to search for your pussy, blindly.
Your abdomen clenches inward in a jolting fashion when he lays his long fingers over the entirety of your pussy. “Just need to see where..” he trails off with focus, eyes locked on nothing in particular over your head.
His bony fingers start pawing, groping, and spreading your folds, probing them like he’s trying to memorize the anatomy. Your hips and abdomen muscles are jerking with his rough touch, letting out a few whines as you writhe. “What are you doing?”
“There it is,” he breathes, ignoring your gasp as his fingers poke at the clenching entrance to your insides, “See, baby? Got it.”
He hurriedly shoves his dick into you to the hilt, while he still remembers where it’s at, with a deep, loud, throaty exhale of relief you’d only hear from a forty year old man. Your hands snap to grip his back, nails pushing into the cloth as your spine arches into him. “Satoru— nngh!” you groan in shock at the sudden impaling of your guts.
“Yeahh,” he sighs, nudging your face to the side with his to nose at your neck, “My name, keep saying that.”
Your jaw drops as he brutally begins to thrust deeper than before, like he’s stabbing you with every hit, he sucks and licks at the side of your neck unsteadily. He reaches between your bodies and finds your beating clit while you squeak on every thrust like you’re a sharp-teethed dog’s stuffed squeaky toy.
You can literally feel the tendons in his forearm undulate against your tummy as he swipes electricity through your clit and into your legs, down to your curling toes. Now that he’s destroying you, it’s clear that previously, inexperienced Satoru was striving to grasp an understanding of holding a steady pace before he could attempt at multitasking his focus onto your clit as well.
He pulls back from your neck to search your expression with upmost curiosity. He can see the clear change in your every expression at the new advancement. “Ohh, oh— that feels good, huh?” He’s almost taunting you and cooing at you simultaneously.
You nod eagerly as your arms scramble to wrap under his arms to hold onto his sweaty shoulder blades from behind for balance; since he’s so tall, you have to reach a bit. The gymnastics your mind would have to go through to tease him back is shut off and being bypassed completely as he manipulates an orgasm to appear within the distance.
“Little magic button,” Satoru huffs as drool seeps out of the corner of your parted lips, moaning like you’re being hurt.
“I’m gonna cum,” you warn him, nodding again like it’s your job, “don’t change pace. Don’t stop— please.” He hisses when your nails start clawing down his back muscles, but he couldn’t care less about pain right now, there’s a wicked, domintating look of euphoria on his face.
“Cum, please, cum— I need you to cum. I’m not stopping,” he confirms into your ear before slobbering all over it. He’s been holding back the need to burst within you for too long already but he’d sooner pull out and continue to rub at you in hope of maintaining the build of your peak and then diving back in when his high dissipates than cum before you.
“Oh my god, it’s happening!” You cum with a shuddering, pathetic whine that turns into a silent cry, overwhelmed by the burst of white love and the piercing of his teeth into your soft neck.
He’s in bliss knowing he’s finally pushing you over the edge, but the feeling of your cunt squeezing in convulsions he’s only read online about happening when a woman experiences an orgasm and her body instinctively goes through the primal motions of milking the penis within of all the sperm it can offer, he falls over the edge. He wouldn’t have been able to cut off his high even if he yanked himself out this very second.
His hips slam one last jack hammer as deep into your cunt as as he can penetrate before he holds still in your guts, making you, ‘guh!’ like you’ve been stabbed.
“Thank you! I’m sorry— fuuck! Thank you!”
He can’t help but abandon your clit as he falls of the cliff, though you don’t even need it anymore. That first spurt of cum travels through his convulsing cock and shoots into your cervix, bullseye. His leg muscles shake as he repeats those slurs of gratitude and apologies into the skin of your cheek with slobbery, drooling lips.
You can feel the violent pulses of his cock, indicating he’s spurting cum into your tummy, but all you can do is hold onto him in a deep embrace as you catch your breath, coming to the conclusion of your orgasm.
You’re spent. He groans as his lips smear down your cheek, over your jaw and then down to tuck his face into your neck, leaving a trail of drool in their wake. Suddenly, his extremely tense body turns to heavy deadweight and drops fully on top of you. He’s now a starfish, arms and legs flailed out while his softening cock is still snug inside your continually massaging, convulsing walls. He’s sweating and you can smell his specific musk more potently, though most of you is instinctively comforted and weirdly domestically affected by it.
“Satoru,” you whine and writhe underneath him, air knocked out of you due to the 300 pound fish on top of you, “you’re heavy.”
Satoru blurts a tired noise, making you groan and squeeze your legs together around his hips.
He noses at your neck and starts kitten licking it, making your insides squeeze and twist around his sensitive cock. His ass clenches. “Oh! Oh! Tight!” he hisses as if he’s touched a hot surface but refuses to pull out.
“It’s your— ngh— fault,” you mewl, hitting his back weakly. “Don’t lick me like that!”
He lethargically pulls his face out of your neck to smirk at you. “I made you cum so hard.” Proud. Cocky. Borderline sexy— and then he ruins it by sniffling with obvious mucus.
You squint at him accusingly. “And you came inside me.”
He huffs nervously and shoves his glasses up. “Yeah.. I’m sorry.”
You sigh. “You know I can’t take plan b, right?”
He blinks at you and his face pales a bit. “W-What? Why? I can buy it— ”
“Because it’s really bad for your body,” you flick his forehead, “I told you to tell me when you were going to cum for a reason, stupid.”
“Fuck.” He drops his forehead down onto the carpet beside yours. His, already half hard, cock twitches against your walls.
A long pause. You’re almost suspecting that he’s turned on by the idea of impregnating you.
He lifts his head, brows pinched. “We’re having a baby?”
“No, Satoru.” You sigh and rub the top of his head comfortingly, “I’m not ovulating so hopefully it just.. doesn’t stick.”
He immediately shakes his head as if that just won’t do. “No, it’s gonna stick. Gojo sperm always makes it home on the first try.”
You blink and your face screws up as you attempt to process his words. “What are you talking about? How could you possibly know that?”
“My dad told me when I hit puberty,” he adjusts his body so he can lean on his forearms and you both emit a soft sound at the incidental movement down below, “Grandpa told him the same thing. He was a first try baby, my dad was too, and so was I. All boys too.”
He grabs onto the sides of your head in a caress, then sniffles causally and smiles down at you like he didn’t just drop a bomb on you— more accurately, inside of you.
“Satoru,” you say his name like it should trigger some kind of common sense in this scenario, “We are not having a child while we’re still in college and live with our parents.”
“Your intentions don’t change the very real science of my sperm traveling within your uterus, right now.. You know that, right?”
You grab onto his biceps and glare at him while his dick is still plugging your cunt that’s filled to the brim with Gojo sperm. “I’m not joking. I am not getting pregnant Satoru— I mean fuck! We just had sex for the very first time ever.”
He leans down and smooshes his arrogant lips to yours, ignoring your fists hitting his arms stubbornly. His tone lowers to a whisper as he speaks against your lips.
“Does that mean we’re gonna have sex again?”
“Oh my god, I need to get out of here,” you start squirming and shoving at his chest futilely, “I can’t believe I let you put your dick in me.”
“Okay, okay. Look, it’s useless to worry about hypotheticals,” Satoru calms you logically and gives you a serious look. “Okay? We’re okay. You’re okay.”
You exhale and nod, minutely, hands stilling against his chest.
He leans in close your lips, breath mingling. “Your insides feel so fucking good. I wanna stay in here forever.” He slides his tongue against the seam of your lips before kissing them like it’s natural.
“Yeah?” you hum into it with hands sliding down to his chest and bumpy abs and then up again. Satoru is weirdly muscular and eerily strong, a sleeper build if you will. You hadn’t realized due to the continuous long sleeves and pants covering him— he also usually wears the same clothes everyday since he barely does laundry unless his mother does it.
You squeak when you feel his cock begin to stretch your insides out as it hardens. “You’re already hard again??”
“I told you,” he muffles into your mouth, refusing to part ways enough to speak coherently, “Gojo anatomy is just different.”
He leans down and starts licking your neck like an affectionate cat, again. “I’m never gonna be able to look your dad in the eyes again.” You cringe at the idea of Satoru’s father being a good cum shot.
“Hey,” he nips at your neck with sharp teeth, making you hiss, “you’re not allowed to think about anyone’s penis but mine right now.”
“Why do you say it like that?” You giggle as his nibbles tickle your skin and you mock his tone dramatically, making it extra nasally, “Penis.”
“That is it’s proper title.” He pulls away to eye you with judgement, like you’re the stupid one.
“I don’t think I’ve heard you say cock once.” You snicker at him, grinning in amusement as you eye his expression. “Say it.”
“Cock.”
You blink.
You giggle.
You mock him, quietly. “Cock.”
“Oh yeah? Okay, how about this,” he hums and his voice drops into a warm, sultry embrace, “I’m gonna fuck my cock into your fucking heavenly cunt. What’s one more load, hmm?”
The tingles that spark in your abdomen suddenly erupt into an explosion and you let out a shuddering gasp when Satoru suddenly starts grinding thoroughly into you again with a fully erect ‘cock.’
Maybe walking in on your childhood friend sucking his own dick was meant to be <3
at first, you thought he was just being mean, hogging the highest-tech thing you’d ever seen all to himself. then, once you got old enough, you wondered if all the secrecy was for…nefarious reasons. but every time he smiled and ruffled your hair, you just couldn’t bring yourself to think he’d ever watch that kind of stuff.
plus, the thought made your stomach hurt.
eventually, you grew old enough to value your privacy just as much. gone were the days of you sneaking glances over his shoulder and trying to guess his password while he wasn’t looking.
*his password wasn’t your birthday. why wasn’t it your birthday? was it someone else’s birthday?
**it always was your birthday. just typed backwards.
in all that time, you never would’ve guessed the thing he’d tried so hard to keep from you was his own sims fantasy land.
he’d spent hours designing both of your appearances and outfits, chasing accuracy down to the pixel. once he was satisfied, he moved your household into an empty world, so that you were free to live as you were instead of who you should’ve been.
he’s an astronaut, you’re a secret agent. you have a garden, but he always hires someone to tend to it so the plants don't command too much of your attention. his cooking skills are maxed out, as is your relationship level. and there’s a shiny silver band around your left ring finger.
you have a mansion with a motherlode of things to entertain you: hot tub, cupcake machine, karaoke station, rocket ship. and rest assured, there’s a trusty cowplant in the back to deal with anyone who disrupts your peace. over the years, it has lured and devoured multiple incarnations of a certain black-haired, green-eyed, sweet-toothed genius who you could never seem to stop gushing over.
and when the grey hairs come in for both of you, and your time starts winding down…well. he already has twin burial plots mapped out in the backyard, right in the middle of the apple orchard.
not that he’s dreamed about a life with you, or anything.
Warnings: NSFW🔞, inmate!Sukuna, anal sex, reader is Sukuna’s prison bitch, he uses you like a toy, reader is a fem woman disguised as a man in prison, power play, dub con-ish (he’s quite rough), overstimulation, idk this is a very long fic
The guard guiding you to your cell snorts when you ask if you’ll have your own space. You can’t exactly explain to him that you’re a woman disguised as a man and need your privacy. Perhaps you’re in over your head.
You gulp as you peek around the loud prison. Large men stare as you pass by. It’s clear they’ve made this place like home, clothes lines full of laundry, some playing card games, comfy slippers, lounging on the tables or mingling about.
“Here you are,” the guard stops in front of an open cell, rolling out his hand, “your penthouse suite.”
It looks like a stale dorm room for the most part. Two metal single beds, a metal toilet, two desks. And zero privacy.
Your supposed cellmate is doing pull ups on a makeshift bar in the middle of the room. His large bare, tatted back faces you, bulging arms, baggy sweatpants, and a head of pure pink hair. He’s grunting with every pull up, but they still seem chillingly effortless.
The guard leans his shoulder against the doorway. “Ryomen,” he whistles loudly as if to get a bull’s attention. “Got a new friend for you.”
Your eyes flick from the amused guard to your new ‘friend’ who gets one last pull-up in before dropping two socked feet to the ground with a grunt. You swear the fucking ground rumbles. He turns towards you and your knees wobble as his shadow over takes you.
Red eyes. Half of his face is mutilated, marred by a fire from long ago, you can surmise. His face tattoos match his body. He’s tall, you wouldn’t even be able to reach the height of his makeshift pull-up bar on the tips of your toes.
You stiffen as he sizes you up like the other inmates did on your way in. You hope you wrapped your chest tight enough. A woman in an all male prison? Not a good idea for too many reasons.
“Hi—” you clear your throat of the high pitched tone, adopting a fake, deeper one, “Hey, bro. It’s uh— cool to meet you— or whatever.”
You could slap yourself. Who are you kidding? You don’t know how to talk like a guy. You should have told Gojo ‘No, no amount of money would make me spend a year in a male prison.’ You shouldn’t have drank so much and stupidly agreed that night at the bar, because now, the best case scenario here is that the guard takes you away and they throw the real you into a women’s prison for trying to ‘fool the system.’
The man takes a step forward, and you’re already tensing for a blow— but he just shoulder checks you on the way out. You stumble a little, immediately going to rub your shoulder.
The guard looks properly amused, holding back a laugh. “Here,” he kicks off the wall, pushing some supplies into your arms. Another guard must have handed these over to him as you greeted your cellmate.
“Have fun,” he makes his brows jump and moseys away.
You deeply exhale through the nerves in your chest, walking towards your bed, if you can even call it that. You drop the supplies onto the thin mattress. Sheets, blanket, toothbrush, etc.
You’ve never been one to pray, but you’re considering it right about now. You shake your head and give yourself something to do: put on your sheets, organize the few toiletries you have on your desk.
After fifteen minutes, some kind of bell rings through the prison and you watch inmates filter out of their cells.
You stand and lean out of the cell curiously. You catch one of them muttering about ‘green beans’ and you realize it’s dinner time.
You enter the crowded mess hall and you’re immediately overwhelmed, clattering trays and chaos. The smell of old meatloaf and sweaty man fills the room.
You keep your head down as you get in line, adopting a slight slouch in hopes to avoid accidental eye contact that could be perceived as a threat. The second you’re pulled into something like a violent altercation, you’ll likely be exposed as a woman quite fast.
Dinner is slop with a side of slop on a metal tray, and you’re realizing why Gojo wanted to avoid this place so adamantly. A fucking paid vacation, he’d said.
You scan the mess hall with the tray in your hands, heart racing.
You spot two guards leaning against the entrance, watching you with amusement— like they’re waiting to see what happens to you, who will pick the runt of the litter. You’re the entertainment. You must look like a little meek boy, shaking in your boots.
It’s packed. Big men in little stools. It reminds you of highschool clicks but worse. You spot your pink haired cellmate, sat alone at the only empty table, but one mean glance up with those red eyes and you’re searching elsewhere.
“Who do we have here?” A deep voice sings as a heavy arm drops around your shoulders.
You glance up at him to see a blue haired man with scars all over his body, like he’d previously had poorly done stitches. He smiles at you with dead eyes.
Some of his friends surround the two of you, bored and idle— but their bulky presence only makes you nervous.
“Need somewhere to sit?” he hums tauntingly, tilting his head down to your level. “My name’s Mahito.”
“Oh, I—”
“Shhh little pet, I’ve got you now. I’ll take you under my wing! You don’t even have to thank me or anything.” His smile makes your spine tense with chills as he moves to stand in front of you.
Do you have another choice? You’re afraid of offending him and his scary friends if you decline.
Mahito continues, as if your acceptance is a given. “Let’s just get some things straight before—”
He’s interrupted by a large fist slamming into his jaw, knocking him right off his feet and onto his ass. Your hands tense around your tray, eyes wide as your gaze snaps to see who just punched Mahito into a limp, dream state.
It’s your pink haired cellmate, looking down at his victim while ringing out his fist like it’s just another Tuesday.
Fights must be common around here, because when you look around, no one seems surprised. Most of the men just mind their business and continue eating their food. Even the two guards are whistling, turning the other cheek.
You gulp. Mahito’s friends don’t even try to defend him, they just back away— like hyenas in the presence of a lion. You hear one of them mutter a name, ‘Sukuna.’
You wonder if anyone is even going to bring Mahito to the infirmary, but when Sukuna’s roaming gaze sweeps over you, all thoughts freeze in fear.
You hold his gaze a beat too long, unsure, until you see a flicker in his expression, a subtle tightening of the corner of his eyes. In a breath, you fold inward, chin dipping down to your chest in retreat.
He breaks the tension first, adjusting his neck as he turns away. He settles back into his seat with his meal, relaxed and borderline bored.
You have no clue what his intentions are, or what saving you signifies. Regardless, you’re relived to not sit with Mahito.
With no other option, you inch your way over to the only empty table where Sukuna sits. He remains focused on his food, ignoring your presence completely as you sit as far away as possible— on the literal side edge of the seat.
You cautiously take a bite, peeking at him defensively, but he remains indifferent.
__________________
Lights out, 9:10 pm.
You lay in your uncomfortable little bed, staring at the dirty ceiling. The cell door clanged shut at exactly 9 pm and when the guard made his final round, flashlight shining through the corridor— he passed by with a slow, deliberate glance followed by a wink that made you feel uncomfortable.
You can’t sleep, tossing and turning for 10 minutes. You shift on your side, unable to lay in one position for longer than two minutes due to this stone of a mattress.
“Quit. Moving.”
You freeze at the demand coming from your cellmate, who probably hasn’t been able to sleep with all of your loud movement.
“Sorry,” you chirp quietly, pressing your lips together between your teeth.
He exhales, deeply. You peek at him and he’s facing the opposite wall, naked back towards you.
You don’t know prison etiquette, are you meant to do something specific if someone saves you from a group of scary individuals like he did earlier? Maybe give him half of your lunch from now on or he’ll take you into the back and beat the teeth out of you?
“Um,” you whisper, practicing your ‘boy’ voice.
You feel the energy in the room shift, like when you were a child sharing a bunk with your sibling and you’d start spouting nonsense to each other after 3am.
“Thank you.”
You feel relief when a silent moment passes, maybe he’s asleep and didn’t hear you, because now that you’ve actually said it, you regret it. How stupid and naive could you be? You reckon gratitude like this may not apply in prison.
He grunts as he adjusts his position, and you cringe at the ceiling, subtly inching your thin blanket up to your chin. Oh. He definitely heard you.
You nod off after too many minutes of silence and you wake in the morning to the sound of the breakfast bell. You all but squeal opening your eyes to see your sweaty cellmate looming over your bed.
You quickly clear your throat, sitting up and glancing around at your surroundings. You kick your ‘boy’ voice up, trying to recover from your girly scream. “Morning.”
He throws a small towel over his shoulder and walks off, unbothered by the strangeness of standing over someone’s bed before they’ve even awoken.
Your breast wraps are still in tact when you peek down under your shirt, so you don’t think he saw anything he wasn’t supposed to.
Breakfast is uneventful, thankfully. Mahito, who has fresh dark bruises along his face, doesn’t even look your way. You sit alone at Sukuna’s table, the same acceptable distance as before.
Things are just okay, you think.
That is, apart from the whole using the bathroom thing. You’ve been putting it off. But, it’s unavoidable.
After breakfast, you peek into your cell where the shared toilet is, only to see Sukuna casually reading a scroll with one hand and doing one armed push ups with the other. The image of using the toilet in here makes your face sour. That’d be a type of humiliation you’d rather avoid, and that’s not even accounting for keeping your gender a secret.
Instead, you settle for the shared bathrooms connected to the showers in one large tiled, communal room.
Standing in front of the toilet stall, you curse Gojo’s entire family line. Because of course the stalls don’t have doors. Somewhere far away, Gojo suddenly feels shivers race down his spine in the middle of his little mochi date.
Apart from the unsettling experience of using the bathroom surrounded by large men shaving and brushing their teeth, you overheard interesting information as you did your business. You had to translate male prison gossip lingo, but apparently Sukuna and Mahito’s little altercation yesterday wasn’t random.
They have history. Something about ‘daring to touching his soul’ — whatever that means. You think soul is code for a drug supply, maybe.
Yesterday’s incident was a ‘checking’ as your fellow inmates say. Mahito was trying to force you, someone weak and new, into his group, which made him look strong among the lower ranks. But when Sukuna stepped in, punching his lights out in front of everyone, it was a show of power.
Mahito dominates people like you, small and submissive by nature, to stay on top, but Sukuna operates on a whole nother level. In that simple act, he showed everyone that you’re on the bottom, people like Mahito are in the middle, and Sukuna reigns on top.
You’re already cringing at your naivety thanking him last night, like he was some knight in shining armor.
Once you get back to your cell, Sukuna’s still reading, this time, sat on his bed all glistening with sweat having finished his workout.
You ignore your nerves walking past him to sit on your own bed with your back against the wall.
You’d scored a notebook and pen from the recreation room, and begin idly drawing the time away. Seeing how he’s the only thing there is to draw in this place, you start sketching Sukuna’s profile.
His nose is particularly a unique shape, reminiscent of the Greek God statues. You glance up for the millionth time to get the particular slope of his bridge committed to memory, and startle to see him looking back at you with a glare.
You slouch into yourself, your face growing hot having been caught staring and you force your eyes back down.
“You keep thinking you’re allowed to do that.”
Your heart rate kicks up at his scary gravelly tone, like a demon having come back to life in the form of his vocal cords. You naively thought he didn’t notice your glances, since he never even spared you a look.
“Sorry,” you mutter quietly.
“Look at me,” he demands in a way that you wouldn’t dare consider disobeying. Fuck. You were hoping he’d just let it be.
You clench your eyes shut for a brief moment, squeezing your pen in your palm before slowly sitting up and peering at him.
“Pitiful. Truly.” He scoffs, looking at your entire form with disgust. “Do you have no honor? Stand.”
You hesitate, gaze flicking, feeling like you’re playing a game of simon says.
“I said,” his tone rumbles as he moves to sit at the edge of his bed, chin resting on his fist, “stand.”
A passing inmate side eyes your open cell, but he minds his business as if it holds a sleeping monster within.
You gently toss your notebook to the side and your brows twitch as you push yourself up to stand, socked feet meeting the cold floor.
You aren’t even sure if you’re meant to be looking at him still, gaze uncertain.
“Now kneel.”
A flashback of how hard Sukuna’s fist met the bone of Mahito’s jaw makes you slowly bend and drop to your knees.
You spot a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes before a judgmental expression takes over, like your obedience is simultaneously sickening and mandatory to him.
“You hold your head quite high,” he hints at your lack of respect, and if putting your forehead on the dirty floor is all he makes you do for disrespectfully staring, you’d probably be lucky.
Your brows pinch in a pout, grossed out with the prospect of it but still, you inch your head down.
“Good,” he drawls the word out with a whispery rasp, “Go on. All the way down.”
Once you’re in a fully seated bow, like a servant in the old ages, he exhales slow and deep. Cathartically.
A long moment passes with his red eyes on the back of your head. The floor smells like dirt and a trace of bleach. You’re completely vulnerable in his position, with the back of your neck exposed and blinded.
Honestly, you’re wondering if Sukuna is still there. It’s so quiet, all you can hear is the subtle mumble of the others outside of the cell in the main area and the tick of the clock.
You prepare to speak by taking in a small breath, and that’s all it takes for Sukuna to snap at you.
“Did I say you could speak?”
You gulp.
“You’re new,” he complains, “The next time you disobey me, you won’t enjoy what I do.”
You hear the bed creak from him standing, but he doesn’t take a step in any direction. Just stands above you.
“Lick the floor.”
Your lips part in shock, blinking at the floor in confusion. You can’t even begin to imagine the disgusting things that line this floor after decades of men coming in and out. You’ve seen the guy who cleans the floors, he’s blind— literally. Humiliation is the only benefit to making someone do something like this, to knock them back into their place. You don’t have another choice.
“Show me,” he snaps, making you flinch. “Your tongue.”
Fuck this place, you obey. Slip your tongue out and slide it against the floor, eyes clenched shut to cope with the taste of everything horrible and bitter.
Pushing your palms to the floor, you lift your head, giving him the pathetic display of your twitching tongue.
The light above halo’s his pink head like a dark angel, and you see his lips curl into a diabolical smile. Pleased with your submission.
He squats, lining his mouth to your ear— not touching, but close enough to hear. “The hell are you looking at?”
Your eyes clench shut as fast as his words come out and you almost flinch when you feel the tip of his finger brush against your clavicle. Your breast wrap is right there—not impossibly close, but too close for comfort. It’s like he’s bringing attention to how frail your bones are, brushing the bone so lightly.
“Speak.”
“You— I’m sorry,” is all you know to spit out around the taste of the bitter floor in your mouth.
He tuts like your answer is just average, a boring C- at best. It seems to be all you know how to say, that and thank you.
“I don’t want trouble— I didn’t know I couldn’t look at you,” you stupidly explain.
“Have a little crush on me?”
You gulp, shaking your head. “N-No.”
He stands. “Why are you here?”
“Because you told me to—” your uncertain gaze flicks around his face but never connects to his eyes.
He interrupts you, repeating himself in a rougher tone, “Why are you here?”
You realize he’s asking why you were locked up.
“Speak. My impatience is not passive you’ll soon find out,” he snaps at you when you don’t immediately answer.
“I— I lost a bet. I needed money.” Technically not a lie, but you can see how your words imply that you robbed someone or something.
He uses a socked foot to nudge at your tummy, and you tense, praying he doesn’t lift it or lower it in either direction.
You’re bracing for a kick, a shove, something. Instead, he simply runs his foot down your abdomen until his toes brush the clothed skin above your pussy. You shiver in anticipated worry, looking up at him through your lashes like he’s a god given the right to deciding your fate.
Just when you think this is it, he’s going to push just an inch lower and notice your lack of dick— he loudly sniffles and walks out like nothing happened.
________________
Later, 11:25 am.
Your one reprieve after your humiliating morning is the library. Everyone has a job in prison— a 0.25$ paying job— but it’s better than nothing. You’d been lucky to land a job sorting books. Pushing a little cart around, organizing the collection of educational texts, self-help, religious, even things like the hunger games— it was nice.
That is, until your heart drops down to your ass when Sukuna pushes you against the shelf, chest pressing into your back.
You gasp, dropping the book in your grasp. Your mind immediately flicks to movies you’ve seen, involving a homemade shiv and a lot of blood, people who have nothing to lose and kill just for the hell of it. You’re an easy target too, smaller than the rest.
“You’re welcome,” he says casually into your ear. He’s not even pushing into you in an overtly sexual manner, just pinning you to the shelves.
You knew he was awake last night. But, he definitely didn’t intentionally protect you from Mahito, no, it had nothing to do with you. He’s taunting you.
You let out a shaky breath, daring to speak just above a whisper. “F—for what?”
“This is how it’s going to work,” he explains, hard hand gripping the back of your neck, “I’m going to fuck your ass, use you until that gratitude dries up and in return— no one will touch you.”
Oh shit. Your face pales. He’s explaining the concept of being a ‘bitch’ to you because it’s your first time in prison. Was it that obvious? (Yes.)
You let out a fearful whine under your breath, so quiet, but being so close, he hears it.
“What’s wrong? Thought you wanted to thank me,” he mocks you, hot breath fanning your ear. Maybe in another universe, you’d beg the domineering man fuck you— as you. But if you want your gender to remain a secret in here, you have no choice but to get out of this.
“I— but,” You grip the shelf harshly, thinking of any excuse, “I’m a virgin!”
A pause. Did that actually work? You’re not an actual virgin, but you’ve never done anal— technically not a lie.
Your bated breath halts when he lets out a boisterous laugh. “Oh?” he drawls like a king on a throne.
You can almost guarantee he feels your heart thumping through your fucking back.
“You’re just a hole. Meant for use. Doesn’t matter to me, I truly don’t care.”
“I— please, I can’t do that for you. I want to— I really want to! But I can’t,” you breathe, hoping you haven’t offended his ego— which you assume is larger than this building. You want to be able to say yes, just so that you don’t have a target on your back.
“Tch,” he clicks in distaste, “I won’t injure you. Is that enough to address your concerns?” You think he mutters a ‘loser’ under his breath but you aren’t sure.
The fact that he’s even trying to quell your fears is surprising, and gives you a spec of hope. It also allows you to consider the idea of what his protection in exchange would mean. Everyone clearly fears Sukuna, you’d get through this year untouched— aside from the obvious.
“Uh—uhm,” you gulp, side glancing back at him as much as his grip will allow. “I’m insecure about uh.. my dick.”
His brows lower into a furrow, looking at you with judgement. “Fine,” he rolls his eyes, “your little cock won’t come out of its confines. Satisfied?”
Are you actually going to do this? Can you even pull this off? The fact that this man even wants to fuck you in the first place is completely out of the blue. You knew things like this happened in here, but from this guy?
You shift. “Why do you want this— with me?”
“I’m not gay,” he scoffs, “Fool. I simply need a flesh light.”
“Oh, and,” he pushes his nose into your head, behind your ear, and sniffs, “you smell nice, like a woman.”
You shiver. It’s horrifying that he can actually smell that on you without knowing it.
“Deal?”
You clench your eyes shut and nod.
He finally pushes off of you and mutters a ‘good’ before walking away and out of the library.
___________
You’ve never been one for the concept of anal. You’d glare whenever a boyfriend would even bring it up. It’s always felt inconsiderate, like you’re just being used when a more pleasurable hole is right there. You’re kind of nervous, but part of you is relieved.
Since you made the deal, Sukuna has ‘claimed’ you. He makes you grab his meals for him, sit across from him in the cafeteria, visible signs of ownership. The other inmates avoid you completely; even a minor bump into your shoulder in passing earns an apology. You’re his now, and everyone knows it. Off limits.
As for your end of the deal, you aren’t sure when Sukuna is going to be in the mood to fuck. You’ve been stealing peeks at him, watching too closely, hoping for a signal, but Sukuna noticed. After that time you practically jumped when he stood up from his bed, he gave you a glare that made your knees weak. Instead, you’ve decided to just wait for him to tell you when he’s ready.
A few days after your library talk, Sukuna finally gives you the signal.
It’s morning, and you wake to see him hovering over your bed once again.
You startle, sitting up quickly as you rub your eyes. “Wh— what happened?”
He tosses you a little bag of chips, the type you can only get from the confectionery, and your brows furrow down at it.
“Um,” you glance at him, unsure, “thank you.” It sounds more like a question than a statement.
“Library, 12 pm. There’s a spot with no cameras in the back.”
Your eyes flicker in recognition, and your heart races as you nod. “Okay, I’ll— um— I’ll be there. That’s great. Sounds good.”
He deadpans at your pathetic attempt at speaking and walks off.
You can’t help but feel a weird affection placing the bag of chips under your bed, rolling your eyes at yourself. It’s a bag of chips, and you have more to worry about than catching feelings for this guy.
You have to prep.
The communal showers are sectioned by half walls and curtains. You’ve been able to shower, dry yourself, wrap your breasts, and get dressed all inside of the little shower section without anyone seeing your important body parts since you’ve been here. Still, you’d rather some privacy as you do what needs to be done today.
Thankfully, it’s empty when you check the showers while breakfast is taking place.
You stand there naked under the water, toes curling in nerves as you slowly bring the empty bottle up to fill it with water. A homemade douche. It’s mildly humiliating shooting water up your ass but it’s a necessary evil.
About a few hours later, you’re sorting books like your job entails, while anxiously glancing at the door and wall clock every two minutes with anticipation.
At 12:03 he pushes the door open, and you immediately turn your head back to face the shelves.
You hear him snap at the only person reading at a table, forcing them to leave. Your heart races when you hear him lock the entrance door behind them.
You stupidly pretend you’re deciding which shelf the book in your hands belongs on as his heavy footsteps close the distance between you.
He settles right beside you and you peek up at him.
“Come.” He nods his head, gesturing you to follow as he turns and leads you to the last isle, all the way to the back of the room.
“Right here?” You glance at the camera in the corner.
“Right here.”
You gasp when he grabs your hips and manhandles you over to the very corner of the isle, pressed into the shelf with your back to him. “It’s a blind spot.”
“Okay,” you lick your lips nervously, fumbling with the hem of your sweatpants. “I— how do we— should I just—?”
He squeezes his big hands over your shaky ones, stopping you. “Relax,” he snaps. “Ass fucking is not that difficult. It’ll be a lot easier for you than it is for women.”
You gulp at that, his (rude) reassurance means nothing considering the obvious.
He swats your hands away and you squeak when he pulls your sweatpants down enough to expose your ass to the chilly air.
You curiously glance back when you hear a click of a cap opening. He squirts an ungodly amount of lube into his palm and tosses it aside. (How did he even obtain lube in here?)
“Pretty fucking ass,” he says as if it’s an insult, using one hand to spread your cheek and slide a glob onto your hole with two fingers.
You cringe at the cold feeling of the gel as he rubs your hole, anticipating him shoving his finger in there.
“It’s gonna hurt,” you say wearily, “right?”
He rolls his eyes, using his middle finger to push at the resistance of the rim.
You gasp when it pops in. He slowly massages your insides in a manner to loosen the very edges, preparing the most taught of the muscles to stretch. It’s more weird than uncomfortable feeling something wiggling around in there.
“You’re lucky I’m doing this,” he rasps, “Virgin.”
“Thank you,” you squeak. He uses his free hand to shove your hips out a bit more.
He whispers as he pulls his finger out, “How’s it feel knowing you’re about to get fucked in the ass? Feel the shame yet?”
You gulp and clench your eyes shut when you catch a glimpse of his hefty cock being pulled out of his sweats. A large, scary winding vein catches your eye.
“Slow,” you chirp as he presses the tip to your ass, “please go slow.”
He notches his chin over your head, wrapping one arm around your tummy to push your back into his chest and grunts, “I will.”
His large body envelops you, like a hard hug. If it weren’t for his tip forcing your asshole to open up, you’d probably enjoy being held by a big man like this.
You hiss, unable to keep your hands from snapping back and digging your nails into his hips. The intrusion is uncomfortable, so odd and unnatural to have something this big pushing into your backside.
He doesn’t seem to mind your nails, undulating the tip around in circles within the very inside so you can get used to the feeling.
“That’s it,” he drawls, “open up.”
You let out a high-pitched whine and your ‘boy’ persona is thrown out of the window, completely irrelevant as he inches the rest of it in. He’s fully seated.
“Okay, okay,” you gasp, frantically tapping his hip and toned back, “don’t move yet.”
He exhales deeply, like he feels relaxed having finally mounted a warm hole. His warm huffs of breath calm you as they steadily fan the side of your head.
“Tick tock,” he hums after a minute of your hole pulsing around him in attempt to cope with the intrusion. “It will hurt less if I move.”
“Fuck,” you whimper, shaky hands moving to brace against the shelves. “Okay, fine.”
“Good.” He wraps one hand roughly around your mouth and his other arm holds your midsection taut to his front.
You squeal behind his hand when he pulls out and barrels back in with one hard rut. It hurts, but somehow, his large dick has reached your g-spot through your ass. You likely have a bulge in your tummy from the way his tip is angled to push down against your vaginal canal through the back door.
“Ahhh.” He tilts his head and rumbles an exhales right into your ear, like he’s dipping into a nice, warm hot-spring.
It doesn’t take long for him to set a rhythm, rocking his hips in short, hard thrusts. The contact of your cheeks meeting his hips creates a loud ‘plap,’ bouncing off the books in lewd repetition. His harsh breaths are the most you receive from him in terms of vocalized pleasure, but sometimes he offers a grunt.
Your feet shuffle with every hit, toes barely touching the ground as his strong hold keeps you up in the air like you’re just a human sized flesh light. He’s using you, and you can’t deny his incidental abuse of your g-spot feels good.
“You moan like a fuckin girl,” he hisses into your ear as he pounds your ass.
You can only moan under his palm, confirming his what he thinks is an insult. The jackhammering is short and mean, barely a few inches of his base exiting your puckering hole before stuffing it back inside.
“This ass is mine,” he grunts as your clit throbs with need, “Pathetic fuck. Letting a guy bend you over.”
Your legs shake as he grows frantic and mean, putting horrifying strength behind each thrust. You’re fucking like bunnies, your body frantically jostles up and down and you’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for how he’s completely dominating you. A few books fall right off of the shelf and clatter to the carpeted floor with the force of it all. You wonder if he’s fucking you this hard because he thinks you’re a man, that you can and should be able to handle it.
You exhale sharply out of your nose, eyes clenched shut as you take his last few slams.
“Fuck!” He grunts, throwing his head back as his grip on you grows so harsh you’ll have bruises on your waist later. You feel his dick pulse as he dumps his load as deep as he can go into your ass, keeping his hips still against your irritated asscheeks.
Finally he sighs as he slides out, making your hole clench shut the second the intrusion is gone.
You practically stumble for balance as he lets you go, knees buckling. Pussy dripping and confused while your ass aches.
You want to just collapse right here, take a much needed rest, but you can’t risk an accidental flash of your pussy. You pull your sweatpants up, out of breath.
He tucks his dick back in, glancing down at you with a glow of physical relief on his face. “You took me well,” he licks his top teeth, tilting his head. “Did you enjoy getting your cherry popped?”
That was almost a compliment. Your insides are still screaming for an orgasm and a break simultaneously. You feel your face rise in temp, pathetically, and you can’t help but tuck your chin to your chest.
“Just fucked you and you’re getting shy.” He snickers with a look of disgust. “I think i’ll play with you again and again until I tire of this.”
He doesn’t even give you a chance to respond before moseying out of the library, adjusting his dick in his pants as he goes.
Somehow, you’d gotten away with the first fucking without revealing your secret. Aside from not having a chance to finish the job and rub yourself to a much needed orgasm, you’re quite proud of yourself.
Sukuna doesn’t speak to you more than usual following the act, he’s just not the type. Does one speak to their flesh light between uses?
That night, you almost believe you’re dreaming when you wake up to Sukuna’s weight lying directly on top of you. You couldn’t sleep comfortably on your sore ass, so you’d had to sleep on your tummy, giving him a perfect opportunity.
“Again,” he rasps into your ear, grinding against your ass. You must have done well earlier if he’s already back for more, or he’s fond of how your asshole feels.
You tiredly whine and lower your groggy tone to say, “But the guards will hear— and the others.”
He ignores your concerns and crawls down your body, yanking your sweats down. You squeak, pushing a hand under yourself to keep your pants up at the front.
You glance over your shoulder. “What are you— oh!”
He spreads your ass and licks a stripe up your asshole, terrifyingly close to your pussy. So close your pussy clenches in anticipation, having a sweet mind of its own.
He pauses as he looks down at your hole with furrowed brows. It’s dark enough that he won’t be able to see the feminine parts of you, you hope.
He doesn’t say a word about his pause, just brings his face back down and pushes his tongue into your ass. He wriggles it around and you cringe, gripping the sheets as he stimulates your sore hole. You can’t even tell if it feels good to have your ass ate, or if it’s the concept of this man with his face in your ass, or the fact that you’re just fucking horny and begging for scraps.
After one last lick from your hole all the way up to your lower back, he crawls up to lay on you with his lips to your ear.
“Why the fuck is your ass sweet?” he asks as he lifts his hips to yank his cock out. Your brows raise, almost letting out a snicker. It must be due to your pussy leaking wetness down to your ass all day since the library.
“I— I don’t know,” you mumble as he holds one of your cheeks open and slides his tip against your hole.
“Just,” he grunts as he pops the tip in, not even waiting before pushing in to the hilt, “stay quiet and I’ll be done in a second.”
You whine under your breath, fisting the sheets as your toes curl. His legs surround the outsides of yours as his arms wrap around your neck in a loose headlock. You aren’t sure you can stay quiet if he pounds you like he did before without his hand covering your mouth. Getting caught with his dick in your ass doesn’t sound so great.
But fuck, you suddenly don’t care because his abs clench as he lifts his hips and slides back in, already gaining a stead rhythm. It’s slower than before, but hard. Your eyes roll back at how passionate it is, fingers pressing into his pulsing arms around your neck. You can’t remember the last time a man truly put his heart into fucking you.
You think you may be able to enjoy this little arrangement after all, considering his dick is big enough to pound into your g-spot with every hump. Maybe his claim on you, the free use of it all, is charming too.
But then, he begins to slide a hand down under you and you freeze.
He’s reaching for your nonexistent dick.
You snap your hand down to grip his wrist, stopping him, but you know that he could bypass your frail hold if he really wanted to.
“D-Don’t touch,” you breathily murmur through his continued thrusts.
“Tch,” he grunts in distaste, “Won’t see your ugly dick. You should be thanking the gods that I’d even try to touch you.”
You wish you could allow him to touch, rub your clit, finger you, fuck you the proper way. But no matter how horny you are, you have to have a clear head about this. If he knew you were a woman, he could tell the guards— or worse, tell the other inmates and let them have a turn with you. That’s just the tip of the iceberg of the horrible things that could happen to you if you’re exposed.
“I know, I know,” you gulp, lips parting as he manages a particularly nice thrust, “just— next time. Okay? Next time.”
He huffs, exasperated and gives up, moving his hand away and instead uses it to dig into your hip to get a better angle.
“Fuuck,” you breathe in a particularly girly way as he reaches deeper, and he hisses in your ear in obvious pleasure. He seems to enjoy the way you ‘moan like a woman.’
“Good,” he thrusts, “little,” thrust, “hole.”
He cums with a last few pitiful humps and rubs his hips against your ass in a circle as if to make sure his cum is deeep in there.
You feel utterly spent when he pulls out, two loads in your ass just from today and you’re clocking out.
He doesn’t even give you another look as he gets up and stretches with a yawn, wet dick still hanging about his thigh.
You pull your sweats up with a grimace at how sore your asshole feels. If you weren’t so horny, you might be annoyed how beat up your insides feel.
You exhale in relief when he passes out the second he flops down into bed like any average man does. You’re already thinking of some way to fool him into thinking you have a cock by the next time he wants to fuck.
_______
You’ve stolen a cucumber from the kitchen. It wasn’t easy, but you managed.
Sukuna has you up against the cell bars and has grown quite confident in his ability to fuck you within an inch of your life. He doesn’t seem like he’s all that invested in you, after all, he still thinks of you as some boy he’s using to get off. But you’re still enjoying it as much as any woman can reasonably enjoy anal.
He definitely seems to enjoy fucking you too, because you can feel his thighs shake as he pounds into you.
He kicks your feet wider and reaches around you to grab at your ‘dick.’ “Gonna let me touch it now?”
You gulp, peeking down at his hand that finds the cucumber and grips it.
“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking hard.”
You would laugh in his face if he wasn’t obliterating your insides with heavy humps.
He slowly begins to knead your ‘cock’ and the only way you know that, is because the tip of the cucumber incidentally rubs against your clit with every one of his strokes.
“Oh shit,” you breathe, brows raising and blinking into an eye roll of surprise pleasure. The stimulation to your clit and g-spot is like heaven after two days of being pent up.
“Don’t— don’t stop,” you beg, making his brow quirk.
The second you start fucking back into his cock, like an auto-masterbater, Sukuna’s eyes roll and his orgasm appears in the distance.
He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, indifferent to the pain he could be causing and meets your thrusts half way. There’s no way you’re not waking the entire cell block with the slapping sound bouncing off the concrete walls.
You sigh in disappointment when he lets go of your ‘dick’ and uses both hands to grip your hips, thrusting harder than ever.
He hisses an inhale like it hurts, a string of saliva connecting your shoulder to his teeth— and cums as his feet slightly shuffle.
“Phew,” he exhales, pulling out and tucking his dick back in. He crashes right into bed, just like before, and leaves you throbbing and needy. Again.
_____________
Sometime in the middle of the night, Your cell.
Sukuna has turned ravenous, he wants to fuck everyday, at least twice. It’s a bit much because you have to prep the same day before anal, and you’ve had to turn him down. Not without worries of how he’d take the rejection with little explanation, but thankfully, all he did is tsk and walk off.
One day of no sex, and he’s been staring at you through the entire day. When you wake up, in the cafeteria, on walks, while you draw on your bed. It’s frightening since you can’t read his expression that’s always resting in a threatening way. Would it be stupid to ask what he’s feeling?
Honestly, you just wanted him to wait until you could prep, and then he could have at it— but he didn’t get the message. And it’s not like you can just tell him, ‘Hey Sukuna, you can fuck my ass anytime now. Clock’s ticking!’ That’d mean you’re actively seeking anal, and that’s ridiculous. Right?
You shrug it off and decide to ignore his stare, focusing your attention on the book in your hands. He’s a big boy, if he needs something, he’ll ask for it.
And ask for it, he does.
You gasp when you’re suddenly pushed down flat to your bed, strong hands spreading your legs so Sukuna can rest between them as your book clatters to the floor. You hadn’t even heard his footsteps, or the creak of his bed as he stood.
“Jesus Christ,” you breathe, looking up at him with your heart racing out of your chest. “You scared me.”
His clothed bulge is hovering just above your pussy, but if he rested his weight down a few inches, you’re fucked. Maybe literally.
He must have just showered, his hair is damp and dark pink. He looks down at you hungry, like you’re not a person but a fucktoy with a timed lock on it that’s almost ready to use again, licking his bottom lip. “Does this fix your problem? Can I fuck you now, princess?”
Your brows furrow, an obvious question mark on your expression. You ignore the pet name meant to taunt you, because you’re not a man with toxic masculinity.
He rolls his eyes. “I’m not kissing you. Missionary is as romantic as I’ll get. Take it or leave it.”
What? He must have misinterpreted your rejection as a desire for more intimacy and affection when you have sex. The idea of missionary with Sukuna makes your tummy flutter— but you can’t.
You press your lips together, concealing a laugh. “Oh. Um— no,” you gently press against his chest, “I like how we usually do it.”
“You know,” he leans into your face, “I’m getting real tired of you bossing me around.”
“I’m sorry,” you say, recalling your excuse for keeping your dick out of sight, “I just feel— uh—insecure.”
“Fuck that,” he grunts, grabbing hold of the hem of your sweats, “Only way to get over that shit is to face it.”
You grasp his wrist, nervously. It’s not like you don’t want Sukuna to know you’re a woman so you can fuck the way you want to, it’s just too complicated and risky.
“I— really, let’s just do it against the wall, like we always do!” you attempt to convince him as he pulls against your hold.
He doesn’t say a word, just squints at you like he can smell bullshit in your words.
Suddenly, he yanks your pants all the way down until they fall to the floor and you immediately cup your sex, trying to hide from him. You twist your lower half to lie on your side, legs bent around his side so they can stay together.
He glances down at your lower half and grips your thigh. “Show me,” he snaps, more suspicious than warranted if he actually believed your lies of insecurity.
You shake your head stubbornly, clenching your eyes shut.
“Now,” he allows the word to reverberate against the walls of the cell, and you swear you can feel the vibrations in your chest.
That domineering tone is like a frequency that emits a wave of submission in timid people like you, like a lions roar to a cornered bunny.
Still, you don’t open your legs.
He scoffs a huff of air, like he’s in disbelief of your sudden ability to grow balls. Pun intended.
You peek your eyes open when you feel him shift to crawl down your body until his breath is fanning your hand covering your pussy and naked asshole.
You squeak when he slides his tongue against your fingers. “Open up,” he taunts, giving your asshole a little lick as well.
You whimper as he begins licking at your hand and your thighs, resolve dissolving with every warm, wet touch.
“I’m— I’m scared,” you admit with panic, though you’re being too vague for him to actually console you even if he wanted to.
He takes a big bite out of your thigh and you gasp, pussy clenching in need from the sting. Your wetness has made your hands slippery, and the second he takes another bite, this time a deep one on your fingers, your hand slips away with a sting and a hiss.
He takes the opportunity to yank your legs apart, spreading them over each of his thighs till you’re on full display in front of him. Like a plate.
Your wide eyes flick from your exposed pussy, to his red eyes trained down between your legs. You quickly reach to futilely cover yourself once again.
“Aht!” he scolds, pinning your wrists to the bed on either side of your body before they can cover your sex again. “Don’t fucking move,” he snaps, inches from your face.
You must have the expression of a small animal being prepped for slaughter as he closely eyes you because that’s exactly how you feel. You watch his face shift as he realizes your features aren’t just girly, you’re a fucking girl.
“Please.” You plead him, but for what exactly?
He exhales into you, ignoring you to observe your body. He lets go of one wrist to slowly raise the hem of your shirt up to your collarbones, revealing a tightly wrapped chest.
As if he needs to make sure, he rips it away and blinks at your bouncing tits. One last look at your pussy and he huffs harshly, gazing into your eyes like he just won the lottery.
“Holy shit.”
You’re mute, afraid and frozen in place as your legs clench around his hips, trying to close them around him even though it’s impossible.
“Why are you here?”
He watches you with equal parts curiosity and amused awe.
“I— I made a deal. A stupid fucking deal,” you breathe in your natural feminine voice. It’s not hard to assume the deal was money for time in prison.
He shakes his head, laughing airily like he can’t believe his eyes. “Now this is so very interesting. A woman in my cell.”
He leans into your ear, making your chest and tummy erupt in goosebumps. “I knew your little asshole was too good to be true.” He nips your ear and you whine.
“Don’t— please don’t tell anyone.”
Your quiet request makes him burst out laughing, head tossing back as he hovers over you territorially.
“Tell them?” A vein in his forehead pops as his gaze manically flicks back and forth from each of your eyes, “No, you foolish little thing. You’re all mine. You’d have to fucking kill me to share this pretty pussy.”
You aren’t sure if you should feel relived or scared. You’ve grown fond of Sukuna’s cock, but that look in his eye is downright diabolical.
“You’re,” you begin with a swallow, “not gonna hurt me?”
“Ohhh,” he breathes cathartically like he’s battling aggression seeing something so small and delicate beg not to be broken. “No, no. I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re safe with me.”
You aren’t so sure, if that glint in his eye and tone in his deep voice tells you anything. Like mouse encountering a perfect piece of cheese suspiciously sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, begging to be eaten.
He leans in and lays a soft kiss to your cheek, making you blink.
“See?” he hums smiling, “I know exactly how to handle with care.”
He presses his nose to your neck and starts sniffing you loudly, like a dog— down to your breasts, your tummy, and finally he takes a good long sniff of your pussy.
You slap your hands to your face in embarrassment and he groans loudly on an exhale, jaw pinching as he clenches his teeth. “Fuuuck. Nothing quite like it. Your pussy smells very nice,” he trails off with a manic laugh, licking his lips.
His eye catches on your pinched brows once you hesitantly pull your hands away to grip the sheets and he leans into your face with a careful kiss to your jaw. “Deal still on, baby?”
You absolutely have no choice, you need his protection now more than before. Without this deal, there’s no telling what he’d do— no matter what he says. And even if he keeps his word, who’s to say no one else will find out your secret? It helps that he’s hauntingly sexy with a big dick he knows what to do with.
You gulp, nodding. “Yes, please.”
“Goood,” his lip curls as he drawls the word out, “That’s very good.”
He licks a wet stripe up the side of your face, making you grip his biceps.
“Are we going to have sex? My— You want my—”
He interrupts your stutter by humming against your cheek with amusement. “Oh yes. I want your pussy. I’m gonna take it over and over again.”
You exhale a sigh, eyes slightly rolling back, enjoying his words a little too much for the situation at hand.
“I’m not on birth control,” you warn him weakly as he begins to suck on your neck.
He hums nonchalantly, slowly sliding his hand down your tummy.
Your hips jerk when he cups your entire sex, long cold fingers pressing into your warm folds that are just begging for love.
“We don’t have condoms,” you add, biting your lip as he uses two middle fingers to carefully brush from your slippery hole up to your clit.
He chuckles against your neck, wickedly, like he’s enjoying every aspect of this conversation.
“No, we don’t,” he agrees with a smile you can literally hear on his voice.
Your jaw drops as he starts rubbing leisurely circles against your throbbing clit, back arching to press your abdomen into his hard abs.
“You have to pull out,” you whine in a broken moan.
“Okay,” he agrees with ease, moving to press his lips to yours.
You barely kiss him back, as his lips slide and suck on yours.
“I thought you said you didn’t want to kiss me,” you say, muffled as your legs tremble.
He moves his middle fingers down and slides one into your core, making you gasp into his mouth.
He abruptly shoves his tongue into your mouth, sliding and flicking against your tongue. He peeks the tip of his pointer finger in to join his middle inside you, and once your initial ring of resistance gives, he shoves it in like a glove.
“Oh,” you whine, brows pinching and toes curling. “Your fingers are so— fuck— they’re big.”
“Oho,” he breathes as he unhurriedly rocks them in and out, “You’ve been so unsatisfied, haven’t you? Getting ass fucked with not one touch to your pretty, crying little pussy.”
You nod erratically, “I was just so scared if you found ou— oh god.”
He gradually puts weight behind his thrusts, fingering you at an angle to abuse your g-spot.
“You thought I would want to hurt you,” he assumes with a pitying smile, “No, no. I just wanna fuck the shit out of you.”
You reach down and grip his wrist, but his hand in motion makes it difficult.
“Please make me cum,” you beg, “I’d be really— so grateful.”
“Yeah?” He presses a peck to your lips and crawls down to stuff his face between your legs. “Finally,” he sighs to your pussy.
He glances up at you and pecks your jumping clit. “Gonna eat your pussy. You want that?”
Your eyes roll back and you nod pathetically. “Oh my god, yes.”
He doesn’t waste time. He makes a pursing motion with his lips and basically sucks your clit into his mouth like a vacuum, gently suckling on it with his eyes blissfully closed. His free hand rests around your hip and flat against your lower tummy.
Your brain is fucking buzzing, toes curling in the air as you breathe short, pathetic breaths. You’re delightfully surprised he knows you need your clit stimulated to cum; a man in prison just isn’t the type you’d expected to know what most women need.
You use both hands to gently curl into his pink hair, watching his lips envelop your clit as the motion of his hand rocks into you.
“That feels good,” you affirm, voice shaky, making sure he knows he’s going a good job so he doesn’t feel motivated to stop.
He doesn’t answer you, just flicks his tongue against your clit with horrifying stamina, like his tongue is as trained as the rest of his body. You don’t feel a second of lag in his force behind his tongue and that yummy suction.
You melt when he transitions into thorough, flat tongued licks, the kind that nudges your clit in a way that’s not too overstimulating— but genuinely pleasurable in a sustainable way. You could actually cum like this. You rub his head like a masseuse, kneading the skin affectionately, making his brows and forehead slightly move with your massage.
He eats you like he hasn’t eaten his favorite meal in a long time, and considering the slop in the cafeteria, your delirious mind thinks it makes perfect sense that he’s probably soo hungry. It’s not his fault he’s so eager.
Your toes curl as your abdomen clenches inward, honing your focus to find an orgasm in the distance with every specifically pressurized slide of his tongue.
He tilts his head idly, side to side and the second he finds that perfect angle to the left, you gasp and yank his head impossibly closer.
“Right there, huh?” is the last thing he says before repeating the motion perfectly, over and over and over while his hand continues at ample speed. It’s about 27 licks in when the white blinds your sight and you give in to the ecstasy of an orgasm.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you— fuck!” you stupidly babble the one phrase you can’t seem to stop repeating to the man ever since you met him, voice strained and slurring as your brain short circuits and cuts off the connection between your motor skills and brain signals.
Even when you fall limp with fading euphoria, frailly whining, ‘no more,’ his big mouth attaches to your entire slit like a fucking milk pump, despite acknowledging your orgasm passing by discarding his wet fingers to join his other hand on your hip/tummy area.
It’s an interesting sight— your weak, spasming body jerking in overstimulation as he blissfully hallows his cheeks and enjoys your cunt with all kinds of tongue techniques. The type of techniques a stupidly rich man has learnt after so many wine tastings to get the full taste profile of every berry inside to layer over his every tastebud. Getting his full money’s worth of this favorite thing.
But fuck if it doesn’t feel good to be licked, even with the ultra sensitivity of an after glow.
“Sukuna— please,” you whimper, “Aren’t you gonna fuck me?”
That’s what makes him pause, flicking open his relaxed, heavily lidded gaze.
He unsuctions your warm folds, letting go in one popping motion and you exhale sharply when the cold air hits you.
He crawls up your body like a predator, more than twice your size. He slides his arms under your back to hold you flush to his body, hugging you in a possessive hold. One hand wraps around the back of your neck, fingers almost meeting at the front, and the other massages your lower back.
“Am I popping your pussy cherry too?” he hums, lips brushing yours as he speaks into your mouth.
“No,” you huff, “Is that a deal breaker?”
He nips your lower lip. “I’m gonna eat you whole,” he expresses how deeply he wants to fuck you— how small a concern like being a virgin would be to him.
You shiver, and maybe even start to consider why he’s in prison in the first place. Eat you.. whole..?
“Can we fuck first?”
He licks his teeth as his metaphorical tiger tail flicks behind him— like a bunny has triggered a tigers instinct to play while in the midst of a chase. If he could purr, he would be right about now.
Interrupting your little moment, the breakfast bell rings. Sukuna must have made his move an hour before six while you were reading the night away and neither of you noted the time. Sukuna had thought it’d be a 10 minute ass fuck, but now that he’s stumbled upon gold in the form of a woman, he’s gotten distracted.
You’re expecting Sukuna to be frustrated that you have to stop before you even reached the main event, but surprisingly, he just helps you get dressed and then stands lazily by the cell bars to cover you while you wrap your chest so no one eyes his plaything.
The guard just passes by boredly, doing morning checks, nodding at Sukuna in brief greeting.
Once the guard is out of sight, you huff in exhaustion and sit up on your bed. After all the fear of being exposed as a woman and having an orgasm like that, all you want is to sleep. You literally nod off as you sit there, listening to the ruffle of Sukuna throwing on some new clothes.
Two taps to your cheek makes you startle, slurping up some drool as you open your eyes. Sukuna squats in front of you, holding your knees.
“Breakfast,” he reminds you, “get up.”
You pout at his tone, having hoped he’d soften up to you after learning you’re a woman. A woman he desperately wants to fuck and protect and own.
“Can’t you bring it to me?”
He blinks at you, deadpanning. “The fuck did you just say?”
You flinch a bit, chin tucking into your chest. You grow even more alert as he stands and pushes over you, making you lean back in bed with your palms behind you, supporting your weight right beside his own larger ones.
“Does this pretty little thing want to be punished?”
You immediately bite your lip, smiling as he pushes his head into your neck to nip at it.
“Mhm, keep doing that,” you encourage his panty dropping neck kisses.
Oncoming footsteps leading closer and closer to your cell make your heart jolt, and suddenly he roughly pushes you down flat with a veiny hand tight around your throat.
“Begging for a beating so early in the morning are we, boy?” he rasps, menacingly, as the inmate walks past, peeking at your altercation briefly before scurrying off in fear of becoming involved in Sukuna’s business.
You smile.
Oh. This’ll be fun.
______
SORRY edged you there, didn’t I?
Also not sure if this counts as gender bend? Lmk if I should add it to the warnings!
Huge thanks to @specialgradefckr for giving me soo many ideas that I used for this fic— I love yew sm I wanna eat you. Please check out their page. They have delicious writing
Warnings: somnophilia, dub con, non con? (you don’t know who’s actually between your thighs), nsfw🔞 (megumi is aged up to 19) this is a long one~
dating a man in his early fourties’ who has a nineteen year old son can be difficult, being that you’re in your early twenties and closer to megumi’s age than his dad. but when toji wakes you up with his head between your thighs, you think maybe it’s not so bad.
you can feel his shaky, deep, hot breath fan against your bare pussy, he likely yanked your panties to the side before you woke. but oddly, he’s not even touching you or licking at you. he’s simply lying between your legs with his two flat palms pressed softly into your inner thighs to keep them open, you blink your tired eyes open at the buldge of his head under the blanket with confusion.
“baby? what are you— ” you question tiredly, cutting yourself off with a soft gasp when you feel a single finger press against your nub. he doesn’t even swipe it or circle it, he just presses down on it like a button.
your brows furrow a bit and you grip the blanket to see what he’s doing but before you can lift it, his finger starts to circle your clit agonizingly slow causing you to let go of the blanket and breathe deeply in soft pleasure, eyes closing and brows raising slowly
“mmm— so gentle” you coo at him with a slight teasing to your tone, grinding your hips into his finger which seems to motivate him to add another to swipe slowly against your throbbing nub. toji’s never so gentle, usually ravishing you with his tongue or slamming you against his fingers or cock. not to mention, he’s being so quiet, normally he’d be teasing you by now
“why are you being so quiet— f-fuck!” as if he’s intentionally cutting you off, he quickly presses his flat tongue over your clit in place of his fingers. but he doesn’t move it, he simply adds pressure. you feel so pent up, likely because he’s been toying with you long before you awoke, that the soft natural shake of his tongue is driving you crazy
“stop teasing me, toji,” you whine pathetically, still half asleep, attempting to grind your hips against his tongue. but you don’t get far because he wraps his arms around your thighs and holds you down with such strength that it hurts
you sit up with a hiss, leaning on your elbows and adjusting your hips as much as he allows, to get more comfortable
his unmoving tongue begins to make slow basic licks up against your clit, ignoring your attempt to adjust your position. it seems like he’s not using any technique, like he’s just gliding his tongue over the entirety of your clit instead of targeting the underside of it or the side. it works to stimulate every nerve within your little bundle softly, and gently.
“s-shit— that feels really good,” you coo between deep breaths, head tilting back and hands gripping the sheets. little moans start to escape your throat, your legs beginning to subtly shake in need. it’s like he’s teasing you intentionally, that or he doesn’t know what he’s doing. but forty-one year old toji is experienced to say the least so it can’t be the latter.
you whine after minutes of this taunting, wanting more. “toji, baby, this is sweet and all but i need more.”
and as if punishing you, he nips at your clit, causing you to jolt and squeak in surprise. it’s as if he’s silently saying, ‘you’ll take what i give you.’
you pout and whine dramatically in protest, but that quickly turns into a confused tilt to your head, eyes peeking open at the bulge of his head when he pulls his tongue away and uses one hand to spread your lips apart. you wait for some kind of touch, his tongue or his fingers but it doesn’t come. it’s as if he’s analyzing your pussy, he’s most definitely just looking at it because he’s not even stimulating you now.
you’ve only ever been insecure with toji when you first started getting intimate, but that quickly changed as toji praised your body relentlessly the entirety of your first time together. but now, heat arises on your cheeks as he just stares at your throbbing pussy. it definitely doesn’t help that you can’t even see his expression or know why he’s doing this
“what’s gotten into you, toji? quit it,” you whine, reaching to pull the blanket up once again but before you can, he harshly takes hold of your wrist with the hand connected to the arm wrapped around your thigh and holds it against your lower belly as to stop you from moving. it’s so dark that you can barely see his hand around your wrist
you tsk, pouty and irritated as he continues to stare. before you can say something else, he suddenly closes your pussy lips until they touch each other with the same fingers that were holding them apart. you gasp softly in surprise, only becoming more confused when he opens your lips again, it feels weirdly good and extremely teasing. he continues to slowly repeat the motion a few times over, and you can’t help but feel awkward and embarrassed as your squelching fills the room. it’s like he’s curious how pussy folds and lips work. you aren’t sure if this is due to his age, maybe something guys of his time used to do? but it confuses you
“toji, i swear to god,” you groan at him, impatiently. and it’s like he just doesn’t care because even though he stops opening and closing your pussy like an accordion, he starts to brush his fingers through your small patch of hair above your pussy instead. he does it like he’s brushing his fingers through the hair on your head. and it’s just too weird to feel pleasing. toji had told you he liked when you grew out a lil patch for him because when he sheathes his cock completely inside, your pubes combine and he thinks it’s romantic. you don’t question it, he’s an older man after all, there’s a lot of things he prefers that you don’t quite understand.
you pull against his grip on your wrist frustratedly and when he doesn’t relent, grip instead becoming harsher, you use your free hand to reach under the blanket in attempt to grip his hair and push his head down to -get to work, so to speak.
frankly, you’re exhausted, it’s gotta be something like one or two am and you had a long day yesterday. it seems like he just woke you up to toy with you and you genuinely have no idea how he has the energy to pull this shit when he’s been working his ass off at work recently. you guys hadn’t even had the chance to fuck the last few days.
just when your fingers feel the tips of his hair, his hand that was brushing through your pubes snaps up and brings it down to join your other hand in prison. it happens so fast that you feel like you have whiplash. he transfers both of your wrists to one hand, his one hand being large enough to encase both. he uses his now free hand to keep your thigh open for him.
“so mean,” you whine loudly, “you know i like to touch you.” you grumble, pulling sharply against his hand holding your wrists in resistance. it’s not unusual for toji to be controlling or demanding in a ‘mean’ way but he’s never kept you from touching him, especially when he’s between your thighs. and though your intention was to push his face into your folds, it’s not like you don’t wish to simply touch him too.
then, you feel a cool breeze of air blow against your wet folds, causing you to shiver and hiss in mild relief. your chasm clenches and your nub twitches from the stimulus and after a moment of seemingly watching your pussy react, he does it again.
now, you’ve never growled in your life and why would you? but you find your fed-up self growling in annoyance. your growling threat does make him move on, but not to what you need. you gasp as he uses two fingers to pull the hood of your clit back to expose your sensitive nub.
embarrassment is bursting at the seams but not as much as confusion is. and just when you’re about to say fuck this and utter your safe word so you can finally go to sleep, he lays his tongue against your exposed clit. it feels as though electricity shoots through your body. a shockingly loud whimper strangles out of your throat and your eyes clench shut when he starts to kitten lick it.
“w-what the fu- what are you doing- too much!” you shout at him, head tossing back and forth with eyes clenched shut as your toes curl. it hurts just as much as it feels euphoric, half of you wants him to stop and half hopes to god he doesn’t. your thighs close and open around his head sporadically in futile attempt to cope. if you weren’t in such a distraught state, maybe you’d have noticed how his hair feels a bit different on your thighs, shorter layers on the top that are sticking out in all different kinds of directions.
after he seems to have his fill of torturing you, he lets go of your hood and allows it to cover your exposed nerve again. you sigh deeply in relief, taking deep breaths and relax your clenching eyes into gently closed, relaxed ones. you throb painfully as arousal leaks from your hole, trials down your ass, and pools on the sheets— it’s as if your pussy is crying and if it could cry, it would be.
then, after just a breath of a break, you feel one of his fingers make contact with the lowest part of your pussy. your brows twitch in confusion as he attempts to push it inside, quickly realizing your chasm curves up a bit when his fingertip push against your bottom wall as your other walls cling to him
he twists that finger into you slowly and awkwardly, opening you up and working you open as the room fills with gasps and wet mushing sounds
but even though you’re moderately wet, it still stings when he tries to add another finger before even getting the first one in all the way. you hiss, hips attempting to jolt away from his insertion.
“ngh—hurts,” you whine, hinting to stimulate your clit while he fucks his fingers into you to ease you into the intrusion but instead, he freezes. a beat passes as you await his next move. but he doesn’t do anything.
it’s not the craziest idea that toji is just teasing you intentionally but something feels off. but you’re so tired and he’s been taunting you this entire time, so you help him.
“your tongue, wan’ your tongue,” you coo at him, impatiently. instantly, he takes your advice.
but you aren’t prepared for the speed he fucks his fingers into you when he finally starts sloppily making out with your clit. you practically scream at his force, back arching off of the bed, it’s not harder than he’s ever fingered you but its definitely faster. and it’s odd because the way he’s finger fucking you is so sloppy, no direction and no technique. it reminds you of your high school boyfriend when he finally got his fingers in you, toji can be so impatient sometimes. you assume he’s just fingering you to prep you for his cock and not for your pleasure.
so when one of his jabs push against your top wall where your sweet spot is, you moan loudly.
“there! right there! please!” you beg, whining and legs now shaking something violent.
you can’t help but babble ‘thank you’s’ over and over like a prayer when he listens, immediately focusing on your g-spot.
you get so loud that you start to bite harshly on your bottom lip in attempt to stay quiet.
“m-megumi! he’s sleeping, can’t stay quiet— s-slow down!” you slur out, eyes rolled back and thighs basically crushing his head with force. the morning breakfast with megumi after an intimate night with toji is always awkward to say the least. he’s kind enough to act as though he didn’t hear anything but you know he did
and for the first time all night, he moans against your pussy from your words. you can barely hear it over your desperate moans and squelching. the only reason you know he did is because the vibrations of it rip through you.
your high sneaks up on you so harshly and quickly that you feel as though you black out for more than a few moments as tears fall from your eyes.
“c-cumming!” is all you can grit out, and it’s not like you had to tell him that, he can feel your pussy tighten around his fingers like a vice. somehow you’re not so out of it as to not notice the stutter in his movements, the way the bed creaks where he lies on his stomach, and how he pathetically groans louder than ever. you’re not an idiot, he just came in his pants.
and maybe it’s the fact that he jizzed his pants from just eating you out, his sounds, the abuse of your g-spot, or the painfully annoying teasing he conflicted on you leading to this but you cum harder than you have in weeks. your orgasm lasts minutes and you see fucking white.
as you come down, you whimper as you grind your hips against his face. he catches onto what you’re doing and sticks his tongue out eagerly, slipping his fingers from your sticky, slippery hole to allow you to focus on his tongue.
“oh baby, you’ve gotta start teasing me more often. that was— fucking amazing,” you praise, catching your breath and slowing your grinding. even though it was a little too slow sometimes, it was nice to feel toji being so gentle and taking his time with you for once.
he again, stays quiet to your dismay but he collects the cum escaping your chasm with his eager tongue, making you whimper in overstimulation.
“jesus. you really missed me, huh?” you breathe out deeply in relief and he pecks your clit one last time in affection, as if silently saying ‘your welcome,’ before letting go of your bruised wrists and readjusting your panties to cover you again.
and though it’s a bit odd that he’s been so silent tonight, when his silhouette crawls out of under the blanket and slips out of the dark room, you think nothing of it. toji’s always getting up to get water or a snack after you fuck. “hurry up— wan’ cuddle” you slur out, groggily as your heavy eyes fall closed
you’re so tired from the day before that you allow yourself to close your eyes and drift to sleep, the post orgasm relaxation taking over. toji will wake you up if he wants to fuck or cuddle when he comes back, you assume he will so it’s no big deal
waking up the next morning, you turn on your side and cuddle into toji’s bulky body lying beside you, nuzzling your head into his chest before opening your eyes to look up at him.
“wow~ goodmorning, little one. what did i do to earn such a cute greeting this morning?” toji’s deep voice inquires as he wraps an arm around you and squeezes the fat of your ass, he’s likely been awake for a few minutes before you.
“can’t a girl just be happy to wake up next to her sexy boyfriend for no reason?” you tease with a playful smile, big doe eyes gazing up at him, subtly grinding your panty-clad pussy into his thigh. the gusset of your panties are still a bit damp from having not changed out of them last night
he smirks down at you and lays a long kiss onto your lips, humming into you before parting and peppering your neck with kisses that make you giggle as he holds you deep into himself.
“how lucky am i? you still find this old man attractive, sweetheart?” he mumbles into your neck and you giggle.
“i don’t know.. you’re getting a bit slow these days, old man.” you tease, biting your lip as you smile up at him playfully.
you squeak when he flips you over and pins you down by your wrists. he leans into your ear and nibbles on it. “careful, this old man is getting real close to fucking that attitude right out of you, girl.”
you nudge the side of your head against his affectionately and hum, seductively. “oh yeah? you all talk or are you actually gonna do it?” you wrap your legs around his hips and lift yours to grind against his hardening cock through his sweatpants.
he chuckles and pulls away from your ear to look you in the eye, gaze flickering down at your unrelenting hips with a clench to his jaw. “fuckk, i wish i could baby.”
and immediately you whine, a pout forming on your lips. “noo, again? you’re really gonna go to work now?”
you love being toji’s little housewife but he’s been so busy lately. the only company you have is megumi and his friends while he’s away and it gets so awkward since you’re all around the same age
he gives you one last peck to your lips and you chase his lips as he parts from you. he sits at the edge of the bed before stretching and grunting, loudly.
“sorry, sweet girl. wish i could say i’d be back later but ‘fraid it’d gonna be a long one. i’ll be back in a few days.” he sighs as he stands and enters the master bathroom to brush his teeth
you groan to yourself dramatically, pouting as you lay back with your eyes closed. “shiu might as well be your girlfriend at this point.”
“i’ll make it up to you when i get back, baby.” toji shouts to you as the faucet turns on. you know he hates leaving you like this too but someone’s gotta pay the bills, he’s got you and a kid to support after all
you sigh, there’s no use in making him feel worse than he already does so you put on a playful smile and press your thighs together.
“oh really? i’m still sad you didn’t wake me up to fuck last night after you ate me out like that.” you sing at him, seductively causing him to chuckle deeply.
“last night? you want this old man so bad that you’re dreaming about my tongue now? i was at work last night sweetheart, didn’t get back till late.” he shouts back at you, you can tell he’s speaking with his toothbrush in his mouth.
you immediately shoot upright with blinking eyes, suddenly wide awake. you chuckle, nervously as your face drains of blood. there’s just no way that was a dream, it was so vivid. you quickly check your wrists and sure enough, you have slight bruises forming on them of finger prints— but they’re not prominent enough to be sure.
“a-are you sure? it felt so real,” you gulp, almost speaking more to yourself than him.
“very sure. got here like three hours ago, was wondering why your panties were so wet. naughty, naughty girl.” he teases you, thinking nothing of your dream
you look down at your panties and your brows twitch in confusion. your pussy feels all kinds of sensitive, like it always is the morning after getting sexy with toji. can wet dreams get that vivid to where you can feel the after effects of it?
you shake your head and stand up before changing your panties and slipping on some sweatpants. there’s no use in dwelling on it, it’s not like someone broke in last night to eat you out and then left, right?
“pancakes this morning?” you inquire as you open the bedroom door.
“eh—too sweet, toast? kind of in a hurry,” toji calls back as the shower turns on.
“okay, baby.” you call back before leaving your bedroom and entering the kitchen.
as you put on the coffee pot for toji, you hear megumi walk in with a yawn behind you before he takes a seat at the kitchen table. you clench your eyes shut briefly in embarrassment. you aren’t sure if he heard you having a wet dream last night or if you even made any noise at all
“good morning, megumi.” you greet him, kindly as you lean your back against the counter to face him.
he hums groggily and offers a small smile. you exhale in relief, usually megumi won’t make eye contact after a night of hearing you and toji fuck so you figure you’re in the clear.
“i’m making toast for your dad but i’m down to make whatever if you’re craving something specific.” you cheerfully offer as you throw some bread in the toaster.
“uh- no it’s okay. i’ll make my own.” he voices as he turns on his phone to scroll on it. megumi’s always rejecting your offers to make him food, do his dishes, or his laundry. you can tell he thinks it’s weird that you’re only a year older than him and acting like his mom while fucking his dad. but still, megumi is hard to read, he’s even more bitch-faced than his father is.
you sigh and put on a small smile. “okay, let me know if you change your mind.”
and then it’s pretty silent until toji comes in, showered and holding his work bag.
toji downs the coffee you offer him quickly and shoves a piece of toast in his mouth before he pulls you in and slaps your ass then grips it, making you squeak and blush with megumi just feet away on his phone.
“t-toji!” you gasp at him, futilely pushing his chest away as he chuckles and finally lets go of your ass but he still holds you close.
“oh hush. he doesn’t care, do ya, kid?” toji nonchalantly asks megumi as he takes a long wiff of your neck.
megumi simply sighs, clearly annoyed with his father like usual.
ignorant toji kisses you deeply before reluctantly letting you go and snatching the other piece of toast you made him.
“be back soon,” you pout lovingly, following him to the front door before he opens it and turns to you.
“i’ll miss you too, sweet girl. i’ll call you.” he looks down at you with affection and sighs as he finally exits with a wave.
you watch him pull out of the driveway and leave as you chew on the inside of your cheek.
you fiddle with the lock on the front door and it seems to be working fine.
once you’re back in the kitchen, you sit at the kitchen island and lean your chin onto your palm as you watch megumi cook for himself, back facing you by the stove. you just can’t drop the idea that your ‘dream’ wasn’t just a dream. the way toji poked and prodded at you like a teenage virgin was so odd— not to mention how he didn’t speak or let you touch him.
“how’d you sleep?” you inquire and megumi stops moving the spatula around in the pan when you speak briefly before clearing his throat and then continuing.
“good. why?”
“just wondering, do you know for sure if i locked the door last night before we went to sleep?” you ask, obviously not wanting to scare him into thinking someone broke in— but at this point it’s a possibility.
“uh- i think you did, what happened?” megumi inquires, not even turning to face you as he stirs his eggs
you sigh and blink down at the counter top, “nothing, nothing.”
now, he turns to you with his natural lidded eyes and indifferent face but he seems more observant of you right now.
“you think someone broke in or something?” he huffs out of his nose but he doesn’t even smile, as if he’s more focused on how you react.
you gulp. “i- probably not. i’m being ridiculous.” you wave him off.
and he simply hums before turning back to his eggs.“something happen?” he asks after a few moments of thinking to himself.
it’s not like you can just flat out tell your boyfriend’s son you think someone broke in to eat you out and left.
“just didn’t know when toji came in last night.” you utter, as if that’s a plausible explanation for thinking someone broke in.
“think it was four.” megumi hums, turning back to face you once again with his natural, bored gaze.
you blink at the counter and then up at him with a confused twitch to your brows. “you.. you were up last night?”
and you gulp as you gaze at his hair that sticks out from all directions, unlike his father.
he hums in confirmation, the smallest hint of a smirk on his lips as his gaze flicks down to your bruised wrists, his smile so faint that you’d believe it wasn’t actually there. lips that make you think about if you ever felt toji’s scar on your pussy last night.
your breathing begins to quicken but you’re deep in denial, your mind protecting you by forcing yourself to deny the idea that megumi could have been the man between your thighs last night.
“o-oh, couldn’t sleep?” you inquire, attempting to steady your voice and hold a normal looking smile. honestly you couldn’t care less that he couldn’t sleep, but at this point, you’re trying to continue the conversation like normal so he doesn’t suspect that you know anything.
The day had been exhausting and the delayed bus only made it worse.
While waiting for the bus, you and Megumi sat on the cold concrete in the middle of nowhere, hungry, freezing and, as mentioned before, tired as hell.
Still, Megumi couldn't help but find it adorable how hard you fought to stay awake. Every few seconds, your head would droop before you forced yourself back up, determined not to fall asleep.
Eventually, the bus arrived, and the two of you managed to grab seats at the back. It hadn't even been a minute before you were fast asleep against Megumi's shoulder.
He didn't know what to do.
It wasn't like you were some random stranger leaning on him. You were his lover, goddammit. And yet he still couldn't shake off the nervousness.
It had always been like this. He'd never been good at expressing himself, especially when it came to physical affection. He figured you didn't want to overstep his boundaries, which was why you never initiated a hug or maybe even a kiss. You'd once told him you didn't mind because your relationship wasn't built on physical affection alone.
And he appreciated that. Truly.
You'd been together for so long and not once had he ever felt uncomfortable around you. You were always so considerate, always making sure he felt at ease. Even so, moments like this happened.
Suddenly, the urge to pull you into his arms and never let go became almost unbearable.
But he held himself back. Initiating physical contact had never come naturally to him.
As his thoughts continued to spiral, his hand moved on its own. Without even realizing it, his fingers found yours. He gently slipped his hand into your tired one, giving it the smallest squeeze as warmth spread between your palms.
His eyes widened.
He would've never expected himself to do something like this. Yet somehow the thought of letting go felt far worse.
So he stayed still.
Without noticing, his head slowly rested atop yours as it lay against his shoulder.
When he heard your usual stop announced over the speakers, he knew this quiet little moment would soon come to an end.
And to be honest, he couldn't bear the thought. When would you guys get another moment like this?
He didn't move and simply sat there, watching your intertwined hands as the bus rolled right past your stop.
The ride continued.
Unconsciously, he began matching your slow, gentle breaths until the two of you breathed in perfect sync.
Your perfume lingered in the air, filling his senses, while the warmth of your body rested comfortably against his side.
If Megumi were to die right then he was certain he'd do so completely at peace. His long lashes lowered as he looked at the peaceful smile on your sleeping face, wondering what kind of dream had brought it there.
Just as he considered closing his own eyes, the bus driver had other plans...
"Ladies and gentlemen, please make sure to exit the bus. This is our final stop. Thank you for choosing our service."
You jolted awake at the announcement, blinking in confusion as you looked around, clearly forgetting where you were. Then your eyes landed on Megumi, panic immediately washing over your face.
"Shit! We fell asleep! Oh my God, we actually missed our stop!"
Startled by your sudden burst of energy, Megumi simply nodded.
The two of you thanked the bus driver before stepping off into the quiet night.
"Ugh, what are we gonna do? It's too late for public transport, that was the last bus! And we can't just walk, it's way too dark! Should we call a taxi or..."
Megumi quietly watched as you rambled through every possible solution.
A pang of guilt settled in his chest. He had purposely let the two of you miss your stop.
But at the same time he couldn't bring himself to regret it. Holding your hand had been worth every second.
Wait...
Holding your hand...
His heart nearly stopped.
You were still holding hands.
"Let's just call Gojo," you continued. "I don't wanna spend my last bit of money on a taxi. Seriously..."
You finally looked over at him.
"Hm? Megumi, what's wrong? Why are you so stiff? Are you worried about how we're gonna get back to the dorms? Don't worry, Gojo will be here in no time and-"
"Hey..."
His voice came out quieter than he intended.
"I... really like this."
His thumb brushed gently against yours.
"Holding hands... I mean... we should do it more often."
You’re bouncing on his cock, hips slamming down hard enough that the wet slap of skin on skin echoes through the bedroom, when Satoru lets out a muffled sound.
“Mmmfgh-!”
His head is thrown back against the pillow, snowy hair sticking to his damp forehead, eyes rolled halfway up in pure bliss. Your worn black panties are stuffed between his lips, the crotch pressed right against his tongue so your scent and taste flood his senses with every desperate inhale. He’s lost every ounce of composure, he's a whimpering, trembling mess beneath you.
It had started barely twenty minutes ago in the laundry room.
You’d walked in absentmindedly, only to freeze at the sight of Satoru hunched over the hamper, face buried in the same pair of your dirty panties he’s gagging on now. His blindfold was pushed up, cheeks tinted prettily, cock rock-hard and twitching visibly in his sweatpants as he inhaled you like he’d die without it. He’d startled when he saw you, pulling the fabric away with a quick, surprised blink of those striking eyes.
“Well… fuck,” he’d said, a low chuckle slipping out even as his cheeks stayed faintly warm.
“Didn’t expect you to be back so soon...”
You’d felt your own face burn, surprised and a little embarrassed by the scene before you. Instead of scolding him, you’d stepped closer, plucked the panties from his fingers and dragged him to your shared bedroom.
Now he’s paying for it in the best way. You brace both hands on his broad chest, nails digging into pale skin and ride him harder, lifting until just the fat head of his cock stretches your pussy, then slamming back down, again and again.
His muffled moans vibrate against the fabric in his mouth, drool slipping from the corner of his lips. His hands clutch the headboard above him exactly like you ordered, knuckles white, veins standing out on his forearms as he fights the urge to grab your hips and fuck up into you.
“Such a needy boy, sniffing my dirty panties like a pervert.”
He whines loudly around the gag, hips jerking helplessly beneath you. His cock throbs violently inside your clenching heat. You don’t let up, grinding in tight, nasty circles that rub your clit perfectly against his base while your walls squeeze him tightly.
His whole body suddenly goes rigid. A desperate cry tears from his throat, muffled by your panties, as he starts to squirt, hot clear fluid floods deep into your pussy. It’s filthy, warm and slippery, leaking out around his shaft with every frantic twitch of his hips. He shakes hard through every spurt, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes, moaning as he’s completely lost in the pleasure.
You keep grinding on his cock, hips rolling desperately as the warm, messy load he squirted inside you pushes you right over the edge. Your pussy clenches hard around him, thighs shaking as you cum with a soft moan, slick gushing out to mix with his own fluids and dripping down his balls on the sheets.
Panting, you slow down and gently pull the soaked panties from his mouth. He gasps for air, chest heaving, lips swollen and shiny. You brush his white hair from his forehead, still seated on his cock.
“You knew I was coming,” you murmur, watching his face. “You let me catch you on purpose.”
Satoru meets your gaze, still flushed and breathing hard. A little smirk tugs at the corner of his swollen lips.
“Yeah… I knew,” he admits, voice rough and smug.
“Wanted you to walk in on me like that. Wanted you to take over and fuck me stupid.” He lets out a breathless chuckle.
Smiling, you lean down and kiss him.
“You're so dirty...” you whisper. He shivers under you, that smirk still on his lips as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer.
frat!kuna wants to hear your pretty noises (shy!reader)
even though sukuna wasn’t very vocal, that didn’t mean he didn’t want you to be. when you randomly went quiet underneath him, he wasn’t pleased. his thick cock split you open, causing your gummy walls to flutter around his length. you were squirming underneath him with your pupils blown wide as you took him. sukuna was in awe—you looked beautiful under him just as always—but something was missing. aside from the sound of skin on skin, it was quiet. too quiet.
“don’t go silent on me,” he leaned in to whisper in your ear. “i need to hear you.”
you were flustered. you turned your head away in embarrassment and shook your head. he snapped his hips again, tip nudging your cervix. you bit your lip to suppress the moan threatening to escape from you.
“are you embarrassed?” sukuna asked. “there’s no need to be, i promise.”
you hesitated, moved by his reassurance. he felt good and you wanted to show him that. but, you were shy. plus, it wasn’t like he made any noise other than his praise and a few low grunts here and there. you didn’t want to do it alone.
“taking me so well,” sukuna groaned. “so fucking tight you’d think i didn’t take good care of you.”
you let out a quiet moan, back arching. it was so hard to keep quiet, especially with the way he buried you to the hilt. you were so full of him you couldn’t think straight. heat pooled in your stomach as he fucked you, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.
sukuna was close too, how could he not be? your warm walls hugged his length tightly, practically sucking him into your tight cunt. the sight of you under him was enough to get him off. but without the sound of your broken cries, he wasn’t sure if he could finish just yet.
sukuna decided instead of telling you you weren’t alone, he’d show you. the groan he let out snapped you out of it. you clenched around him immediately at the sound.
“‘kuna,” you whined without even realizing it. “feels s’good.”
“there she is. my pretty girl, don’t hide from me. let me hear how good it feels, yeah?”
you nodded and spread your legs even wider. sukuna angled his hips slightly to where his cock reached your sweet spot with each thrust. the delicious stretch was blinding. you cried out his name as you took all of him. his balls slapped against your ass, the lewd sound filling the room and egging him on even more. sukuna groaned into your ear and whispered to you.
“you’re close? come for me, need to hear it and feel it.”
you weren’t as quiet when you came. your orgasm shattered over you at his words. you cried out his name and gripped his bicep. as you came down from the high, you panted, lip quivering as you caught your breath. sukuna followed you right after. he buried you to the hilt with his cock, thick ropes of cum spilling deep inside your pussy. he groaned softly before collapsing on the bed beside you. his arms found yours, pulling you close to his chest. you put your ear to his chest and listened. his heart was pounding so hard like it was about to burst. you looked up at him with a small smile. he mirrored it and pressed his lips to your forehead.
“to be honest, i don’t think i can go again without hearing you,” he admitted. “don’t be afraid, i got you. always.”
The most vulnerable you’ll ever catch Megumi is completely naked, stretched out on top of you with nothing between your bare skin and his, just like right now.
His weight feels perfect, heavy in the best way, chest pressed flush to yours so you feel every breath he takes. One of his hands cradles the side of your face, thumb stroking slow circles over your cheekbone, while the other grips your hand tightly. His cock is buried deep inside you and he rocks into you with these slow thrusts that drag against every sensitive inch. He’s never in a rush. Never.
“Megumi…” Your voice comes out shaky as he pushes in again slowly. Your walls flutter around him and he lets out this quiet breath against your neck.
“Shh.. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice low and a little rough. He pulls back until just the tip is stretching you open, then sinks back in so deep your toes curl. Every thrust is thought through, his hips rolling in this steady rhythm that grinds his pelvis against your clit on every downstroke. He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, breath hot against your skin.
“Look at me.”
You do. Those dark blue eyes are half-lidded and locked on yours. He squeezes your hand harder and thrusts a little deeper, angling his hips until he hits that spot that makes your back arch. A soft, needy sound slips out of you, he swallows it with a slow kiss, tongue brushing yours like he’s tasting how good you feel.
“Fuck, you’re... so perfect,” he whispers against your lips. Your thighs tremble around his waist, yet he doesn’t speed up, he just keeps that same devastatingly slow pace, grinding in circles while he’s buried into you, letting you feel every inch of him stretching you, worshipping you. Your free hand slides down to grip his ass, pulling him closer and he makes this low sound in his throat.
“Yeah… just like that.” He presses his forehead to yours, breathing with you as the pleasure builds heavy in your belly. Every time he pulls out, your pussy clenches like it doesn’t want to let him go. Every time he pushes back in, you feel so full it borders on too much. You’re getting close, your legs are shaking, your breath is coming in short gasps. Megumi notices, of course he does. He shifts just a fraction, changing the angle and starts rocking into that perfect spot over and over, still slow but firmer now.
“Come on,” he says quietly, voice strained. “Let me feel you. I want to feel you come around me.”
It hits you hard, waves of pleasure crashing through your body as your pussy spasms tight around his cock, soaking him. You moan his name into his shoulder, nails digging into his back as he keeps moving through it. Only then does he let himself chase it. His thrusts get a little deeper, a little less controlled, hips stuttering as he buries his face in your neck.
“I love you,” he breathes. “Fuck… I love you.”
He comes with a quiet groan, cock pulsing inside you as he fills you up. He stays there afterward, your bodies still locked together and breathing hard.
Because Megumi never fucks. He loves. And when he loves, he makes sure you feel every single bit of it.
𓂃✍︎ 18+ mdni · giyū makes you forget about the thunderstorm
Thunderstorms are never your favorite. You scarcely remember why, but whenever someone asks, you give the same answer: they are loud, powerful, and every rumble leaves you more terrified. You cannot exactly say when they may start or end. They just happen.
There were times when you thought you had found a pattern, that it moved in a certain way, punctuated by carefully timed pauses. In those moments, you began to delude yourself into thinking it was like music, following a tune you tried hard enough to understand. Then nature would remind you otherwise: thunderstorms were meant to be volatile and unpredictable. No human, today or tomorrow, would ever truly know the course of its path.
But what makes this weather most unfavorable to you is how you usually wind up alone.
And today should have been no different.
Until you realize that nothing ever escapes Tomioka Giyū, whether you made it abundantly clear (or rather, foolishly obvious) during your fair share of missions or he figured it out himself. There is nothing you could've hidden, no matter how discreet you believed yourself to be, that he would not unravel with ease.
You learned from the time spent together that his silence stems neither from the despondency nor arrogance that Sanemi and Obanai criticize him for, but it is from the stifling pit of bottomless emotions he refuses to let overflow.
Giyū cares — just through an unbridled ripple of silence.
And so, today should have been no different from the rest. If only you were better at hiding.
Perhaps you were not as discreet today, either. Just by the look on your face from this morning's meeting when you lifted your head and saw that rush of dark clouds, he must have noticed your dread. In those brief seconds, your eyes met his, and he had already gathered the pieces of you that you tried to hide from everyone else. You do not need to tell him anything.
He already knows.
So it should not have come as a surprise that he showed up hours later at the front of your estate, looking calm and collected as ever. And yet, you have come to appreciate his company, and perhaps, in his own selfish way, he has come to appreciate yours as well.
"The storm is about to hit soon." Giyū removes his zori and places them on a dry surface of your veranda. "Do you wish that I stay with you?"
The sky isn't doing you any favors in calming down. You re-knot your kimono distractedly. When that doesn't work, you settle with crossing your arms and leaning against the frame of your open door.
"Yes." You admit. "I would like that . . . please."
"Very well." He nods, stepping inside just as the first distant rumble rolls across the horizon.
The storm begins its downpour in a furious symphony throughout the night. The winds shake the trees with their might, and the thunder greets the heavens with its shuddering blow. Yet, amidst the wild embraces of the tempest, you are warm and so indisputably fucked.
The man between your legs shifts. His soft, ordered words slice the air clean. “It’s just you and me here. You don’t have to be quiet.”
It’s hard for you to say anything in return, not with how he playfully blows onto your petaled hole, and certainly not when he dives into you like a madman who looks like he just discovered the cure. He drinks your sopping cunt generously as his fingers dig deeper against the plushness of your inner thighs, pulling you closer to him and effectively restraining you from moving.
Thunder bellows from outside, then lightning flashes through your windows. You see a glimpse of Giyū's head moving relentlessly, unfazed by the world unfolding before you. You reach to touch his hair – they are soft just as you remember they are. For a man who hardly cares about appearances, Giyū’s features always take your breath away.
“You taste,” he groans under his breath before ravaging you again, “sweet.”
“Shut up!” You say, embarrassed at his praise. You’re still unused to his compliments about you – especially tangled like this. And coming from someone such as himself.
He raises his head in momentary confusion, still keeping your legs spread for him.
He leans closer to your face and cups your cheek with the most tender touch no man has ever done to you (not that there was any other man before Giyū). That familiar burning sensation pools inside your stomach as you smell the musk scent of you around his fingers
He looks at you, and his eyes are like oceans; the bluest you have seen. They hold pain and anguish – a torment in which Giyū is known to shoulder alone. But in a speck of them, just within your reach, you see a kind of love that he is not afraid to show to you.
You hope to tell the world how beautifully blue his eyes are – and you hope a little more that they listen to you when you say that for tonight, and hopefully in most of the nights you may have with him, he is only looking at you.
“Taste yourself.” He gently pushes his fingers in your mouth. “Look at me.”
You swirl your tongue and suck on his fingers. Your eyes never leave him. His jaw clenches hard, and his breath turns ragged for a split second before he composes his breathing and slowly returns to your nether regions.
“Don’t stop.” He says.
You don’t. You even hold his wrist as you suck harder. The taste of you is new, but welcomed. Around his fingers, you do taste somewhere along the lines of pleasant. A languid mewl bubbles through the surface of your mouth as you come closer to release.
“Giyū,” you breathlessly sputter through choked gasps. “I –”
“I know.”
Giyū’s licks are practiced and perfected with ease. It makes you wonder just how many times he imagines doing these things to you. Does he like how helpless you are right now? Does he like how he muffles you simply by shoving two fingers down your throat? Did he ever imagine the way you’re squirming for release just from his mouth? What else has he thought about doing to you?
Your legs twitch in response just from thinking about them.
“Don’t move.” He warns in a gruff voice.
You would’ve been that perfect, obedient person for him and followed. However, he flicks your bud twice, and you can’t help the way your legs react to that. His hands pin your limbs down almost immediately, squeezing another warning not to disobey him again.
“Stay still.” The vibration of his voice rattles you, and your throat begs to make another heated and guttural sound.
“Giyū —” You can barely speak his name.
“I know you’re near. You’re always quick to come.” He gives a slow, satisfying stroke of his tongue. A subtle smirk perches at the corner of his lips. “So, just give it to me.”
And not even a second later, just when another thunder cackles, the rush of your first orgasm hits you hard. With a broken cry of his name, you finally reach a sweet and unrestrained climax.
Your body convulses under his touch. You try to push him away from you, to get your bearings together, but Giyū always moves quicker than you ever can. His hands that pinned your legs before begin to move. They press atop your stomach as you come; he knows there’s more of you to spill, and when he applies more pressure, he watches in awe when you give him exactly what he expects.
“Giyū!”
“Very good.” A glisten of your juices runs down his chin lavishly. Even after all that, he still looks thirsty.
You should have felt embarrassed by how much you released. But it stirs you just looking at him like that. His hair tousled, his haori draped carelessly on your body, his shirt sticking against his chest from his sweat and yours, and his eyes feral and staring at you in ruin – and to think that that’s all because of you.
There is no respite that he offers you. Giyū doesn’t give you enough time to gather your wits together before he starts eating your oversensitive bud again. He likes it when you’re a bumbling mess. He likes it even more if the words that came out of your pretty little lips are his name.
Your moans harmonize with the uproars from outside. Maybe even louder. They bounce off from one corner to the next, stimulating Giyū to push harder, to lap you faster towards your next orgasm.
You can’t take much of it. You forcefully push his head away; he doesn’t even register what you’ve done. “Please, I need a moment.”
He lets out what sounds like a frustrated growl in response to your plea, but he listens. For now.
Giyū settles for your neck next. He kisses you around there, a flurry of warmth pressing to your pulse. Then to your lips, to the top of your nose, one breast to the next, the lids of your eyes – everywhere he can feel you with. He watches in fixation, which parts make you beg harder, and pivots his focus there. And while his lips travel around you, discovering your secrets that only he knows, his fingers decide to play with your cunt next.
They shove, flick, and curl around your clit. Sometimes you feel them pinch you, too. He loves that the most.
Once more, you beg him to stop. You should have known better, though. You barely got his name out before he muffles you with his mouth.
“Tell me,” he lazily drawls, fingers pulled out to let you breathe, “how many thunderstorms did you hear?”
“Ah–what?” You try to catch his train of thought.
“How many thunderstorms did you hear?”
He lets you take the time to think.
How many did you hear exactly? You remember the first one, right before all this. Is that all?
“Well?”
“Two?”
“Good.” You notice how he is watching his fingers play near your entrance, teasing, but doesn’t probe through. They graze the lips tenderly with a motion of experience. “Then you should know that I still got one more out of you.”
“What?”
His eyes return to your gaze slowly, watching your expression as he moves into position to kneel between your legs again.
“We’re not finished yet.” His entire being snaps, and he resumes devouring you. His hot tongue presses onto your tortured bud.
Your body arches when he licks you up slowly and all the way from the bottom to the top, a clean, tender strip on your pussy, enough to provoke that pulling moan he demands from you.
“Giyū! Wait! I – seriously, Giyū! I think I’m going to —” You pull his hair hard, but that only encourages him more.
He grips your thighs harder. “Do it.”
“Please — please — I!”
You scream until you come again. Somewhere in the recesses of your brain, you hear yourself chanting Giyū’s name like a mantra that would have put Gyōmei’s prayer to shame. Your legs flop uncharacteristically like a fish out of water, begging to be released and spasm freely, but he never lets you. You weep when another thunder fizzles out, and you can almost swear that he is laughing at your expense.
Because that just means you have to come again.
“That’s three, you owe me another one.”
And you do.
His tongue and fingers are both inside, pumping and stretching you out mercilessly. They take turns on who would curl and who would plunge in and out. Both of you can hear the squelches from his withdrawal. Not one drop of your juice is wasted. When your fluids slide down to your skin, he will lick it before it falls on the sheets.
The next orgasm comes when he pulls your clit. You sound like a banshee, wailing through the night.
“You’re taking this so well.” He praises you.
You are coming undone. And if you even have the barest of senses left in your head, you would have known that so is he.
“Your clothes are getting in the way.” He tosses his haori aside and pushes your kimono up before he lifts half of your body mid-air, directing your legs around his neck. You let him do as he pleases.
You know, by now, there’s only so little you can do.
You manage to position yourself comfortably when it doesn’t escape that both of you hear the sound of another thunder, certainly not with that glint in his eyes towards you as he continues to suck on your swollen cunt. He raises his eyebrow mockingly, then taps his finger against your thigh four times.
You shake your head vehemently. “I don’t think I can do another, Giyū.”
“One more.” His voice urges, low and rough. He wipes his chin on your thigh, then leans his head against it.
“I don’t know.” You admit. “I’ve never —”
He inches closer to your pussy again. His steady breath warms you. You grip the sheets roughly.
“One more. You can do it.” He finalizes.
He gives you a moment. He asks you again. You nod. Of course, deep down, you love this torture he’s put you through. You love the way he fucks you like a fool. And you know that he loves that just the same. And by the end of the night, this is the only thing you both will remember.
Giyū continues his ministrations. His fingers spread your pussy apart, and he licks and cleans everywhere he can. Licks the outside rim, the inner, around and atop and beneath your clit, he sucks inside. Your juices just keep spilling and spilling.
Then, before you know it, you feel your body lift from the bed completely when Giyū stands up. Your kimono has long since been unknotted, exposing the entirety of your front out the window. Your breasts bounce along the rhythm of his tongue; you can feel his hardened member press against your back. Your clothing sways neglectfully along with your hair and arms.
Giyū pushes you closer to his lips.
Oh, how obscene you must’ve looked. How fucking wretched you must’ve been. Shaking and bouncing. You are like a doll being swung carelessly with only his hands to support you. But do you protest? No. This is exciting. Truly.
And the best part of it all is that you finally don’t care. You absolutely lost all decency. In fact, you don't care if anyone sees you this way. A harlot to his mouth. Let them. Let them see how Giyū, the one they often tease and ridicule, is doing this to you.
How messed up, wretched, damaged you are for his tongue. And that’s just his tongue.
Your toes begin to curl at this newfound position you are at, teetering towards the edge of your climax.
Giyū notices it. “Come.”
You hear yourself screaming again. Maybe the loudest you’ve ever done. You moan brazenly. You cry. You call his name repeatedly. You beg. You don’t push his head anymore. You even stretch your legs as if you’re forming a split. Yes. You just keep going. You keep saying: “One more! Please! Please! Fuck! Please! One more, Giyū! Like this! Yes! Yes! Yes! Fuck – fuckfuckfuck – fuck!”
You’ve completely lost your mind.
You are a sobbing mess. Just for Giyū.
He is obsessed, and so are you. The way he eats you out like a starved man, like he’s a demon incarnate, begging and wanting for more. Always for more. It never seems to be enough for him. He never stops.
Your next release is as expected – intense and sporadic after doing more times than you can count. Your legs quiver, but Giyū never lets you go. He watches you writhe around him, memorizing the intricacies of how your body curves.
When all is finished, he lowers you gently onto the futon and brushes your hair away from your face. You can see from the faint slips of light coming out of the window that Giyū's chin and down to his shirt are soaked. You try your best to wipe it away, but Giyū merely refuses.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He says.
You must’ve nodded your head since he picked you up, never mind the fact that he just blatantly tortured you with his tongue seconds ago, and helped you through the bathroom. Amidst the worship of his mouth fucking you, you two never realize that the storm has long ceased.
And suddenly, you look forward to the next thunderstorms.
Boyfriend!Sukuna acting extra clingy (or alternatively, Sukuna trying to kill you with his massive boobs)
warnings: suggestive
“Sukuna, move!” you giggled. Sometimes this man forgot how massive he was.
He shook his head, nuzzling his nose against your neck and holding you even tighter.
“You’re gonna break me!” you complained— yet your hands betrayed you, still toying with the soft pink hairs on his nape.
He whined, his voice vibrating against the crook of your neck. You laughed at the absurdity of the situation, was this the same Sukuna who bullied his teammates? If his friends saw how he acted with you, it would surely be over for his “tough guy” reputation.
For a moment, you stayed still, unstirring under him– just feeling the rise and fall of his breath. If you ignored how much your boobs were aching, it was kinda romantic…?
Unfortunately for him though, you wanted to stay alive long enough to get on your chemistry professor’s good side.
“Kunaaaaa,” you groaned, hands gripping his biceps, “I can’t breathe.”
Finally, he relented, lifting his head slightly to look at you through narrowed eyes.
“Really?” he asked, though his tone lacked any real concern.
“YES?”
“Your fault for being so comfortable ,” he mumbled, head coming to rest near your neck once again.
Nope, not happening.
“I am actually going to die if you don’t move your fatass from me,” you fussed, voice coming out breathless.
“Who’re you calling fatass, woman,” He slurred against your shoulder
You didn’t respond to that, closing your eyes and halting the movement of your hands. A silent beat passed— Sukuna still holding on to you like he was afraid of letting you go—and you, as still as a corpse.
The lack of movement from your end triggered him to lift his head up again, his warm breath fanning over your cheek. Unbeknownst to you, a smirk was playing on his lips.
“You really think that’s gonna fool me?” He drawled, his voice dripping with smugness. “I can see your eyes shaking, woman.”
You remained silent, forcing back a smile that threatened to form on your lips. You could still feel his gaze on you—so heavy that you would’ve shied away had your eyes been open.
“Hmm,” he murmured, the deep timbre of his voice sending a shiver down your spine.
Suddenly, he let out a groan, probably already growing frustrated with your antics. “Woman, you can’t be sleeping at 8 pm,” he said.
I’m supposed to be dead, idiot, you thought.
“I’ll buy you Thai,” he said in a bored tone.
You remained impassive, despite the very appealing offer.
He clicked his tongue, bracing his arm beside your head to push himself up. You heard him shift above you, the mattress creaking as he slipped out of bed, until the sudden absence of his warmth left you alone.
Disastrously for your pride, you were already missing his presence. And truth be told, you were growing bored of staring at the void behind your eyes.
“Y/n, you can wake up now,” his voice rang out.
You still remained as stoic as ever, eliciting a prolonged, dramatic groan from him. It was almost too easy to rile him up.
You could feel him closer again, and it took everything in you not to open your eyes. Calloused fingers brushed your cheeks, so tenderly that it was almost uncharacteristic. You almost reacted.
“How about…” he murmured, “I’ll watch your crappy reality tv with you, hmm?”
You thought about it for a second. It was rare to get Sukuna to watch anything aside from horror or thriller. Still, it would not suffice, especially since he was acting so above it.
“You’re so childish, you know that?” he chuckled.
Oh, you cannot be talking. A sharp, irritated breath hitched in your throat before you could stop it, completely ruining the rhythm of your "faked" sleep.
Hearing the sudden break, he leaned in closer. “Ah, I know,” he said, his tone carrying an absolute, unshakeable certainty.
You were curious on what “proposition” he came up with this time. Either way, you were confident that you were immune to his tactics by now.
“I’ll let you take charge next time,” he said, his voice low, almost like a whisper.
Your eyes shot open. The dim, warm hues of the bedroom slowly bled back into focus. When your gaze caught his, you almost wished you hadn’t opened your eyes.
His face was painted with a smug expression, like he knew exactly how to make you fold.
He snorted, thumbs tracing circles on your cheeks, “Huh, the concept of my dick brought you back to life? How revolutionary,” he said.
Tags: Friends with benefits, drabble, feelings realization, domestic setting, low stakes, fluff, one-shot, light smut, kissing, parking lot shenanigans, mentions of sex, explicit language, dirty talk, mentions of inappropriate uses of vegetables, Zayne's impeccable restraint -> Zayne's erotic loss of it
Summary: "I love you," he rasped, navigating to your neck, "couldn't you tell by the way I fucked you."
Word Count 1.7k
Let me walk you through this one. Writer's block -> love for Zayne -> asking best friend for random prompts -> wanting to prove I can write a one-shot that doesn't progress into a full blown story (this almost became a whole story - don't ask) -> produce aisles and cucumbers. My first time writing for Zayne!
"Prove it then," you challenged, "prove you don't have feelings for me."
Hazel eyes remained gentle, calm, composed in that brutal way you found infuriating. Long fingers were curled around the handle of the shopping cart, the evening's dinner compiled in the basket, the ice cream beginning to melt. What had started as a tame shopping trip had quickly escalated into conflict.
Because last night, when Zayne had taken you atop his desk in his home office, something within your heart had shifted violently. His soft voice whispering into your ear, his precise hands bracketing your waist, and his piercing eyes - fervent with passion, wild with ecstasy. All attributes you wanted to savor for a lifetime.
"That is a rather bold conclusion," Zayne responded, reaching above his head to snatch a produce bag from the supplied roll. Methodically, he used his fingernails to split the plastic, and began inspecting the bell peppers with an eye only possessed by a doctor. "What evidence have you gathered to make such an accusation?"
"You haven't kissed me."
He faltered, a minute twitch of his index finger as he reached for the piece of fruit he had determined as adequate. Slowly, he deposited the bell pepper into the bag, then grabbed another one. You stepped closer, invading his space. His eyes glanced at you, a simple observation, then he was rounding the cart to place the bag next to the frozen lasagna.
"Zayne," you prompted, an edge to your voice indicating frustration, "I can't do this anymore."
"The produce section of the grocery store is not where we should be having this conversation," he continued to grab more items, this time, filling a bag with celery.
His professional demeanor had always attracted you to him: his polite respect for strangers and companions, his near damn perfect posture, his relentless ambition to get things right. It made when he lost control that much more enticing. The filthy words, his blazing eyes, the grunts as he buried himself to the hilt. It was one or the other, no in-between.
You wanted the domestic side. Yes, shopping together was domestic indeed, but you could do such chores with your friends and family. You wanted the romance, the kisses in the kitchen while cooking, the hugs from behind as he explained the hardships of the day.
Pining after this man for so many years had its downsides. You were desperate, on the brink of pushing limits, placing him in an uncomfortable situation.
Around Zayne, you had been calculated. His words were sometimes few, but resonant. If you were about to enter a conversation with the potential to expand, you would become his focal point. And that stare of his, pure as ice, always melted your resolve.
On a whim, out of fear of the serious, you had navigated a conversation months ago, ultimately settling upon a new dynamic. Friends, you two had forever been, so what was the danger of some benefits? Other men barely caught your interest, and if they did, it was fleeting. Zayne, on the other hand, had been the first person you imagined kissing when those thoughts were born from puberty.
"Well, you don't seem to want to have this conversation anywhere else," you replied, venom curling your pronunciation. That wasn't true, you knew Zayne would be open to a conversation late in the evening, maybe at the coffee shop you two frequented before work. He would even consider it as you two caught your breath underneath his fancy blankets, skin marked in bites and bruises.
You were projecting.
Zayne had moved onto cucumbers. The sleek shine of the vegetable's skin pronounced beneath his pristine hands. He twisted his wrist, scouting for any imperfection. And your brain, lost in some delirium, reminisced.
His hand had cradled his own erection quite similarly the night prior, near the base, poised so you could sink down upon him easily. That smirk he wore as your rode him sprinkled burning sparks across your skin, and your nails had dug into his chest, a form of restraint to prevent your mouth from finding his.
You had always taken the initiative, Zayne had always guarded his inhibitions. You wanted his lips fused to yours, his tongue spearing deep and meeting your tenacity.
"Insertion of this vegetable has become more common."
You choked on nothing but your own saliva, "you aren't suggesting we - nevermind."
"No, I was just stating what I had learned at a meeting this week."
You weren’t entirely sure how to carry on the conversation after that. So, you didn’t. Zayne had always been comfortable with silence between you two, and of course, you had too.
The rest of the grocery trip went by with mindless glances at random products, and occasionally looking at your phone. Zayne kept to his routine, checking expiration dates, comparing prices, and purchasing products only his personal research had approved of.
It wasn’t long before the cart was tapping the bumper of his car, filled with the reusable bags he had taken from their designated spot in his pantry. Zayne unloaded the groceries into the trunk as you leaned against the passenger side door. Usually, you would aid in emptying the cart, but a petty stubbornness had compelled you to just watch.
Zayne expressed his own dissatisfaction, huffing when he latched the trunk hatch and walked the cart to its corral.
You observed, noting his stride, the confidence in his step. You went to open your door, only to find it locked.
You frowned.
Zayne strode past his vehicle to meet you at your side. Rotating so you faced him, your back to his car, your mouth opened.
“What are you -”
“For once, I won’t ask for permission.”
His kiss was like ice shattering, a foundation crumbling beneath your feet.
Zayne was rough.
Zayne was taking control, he was dominating.
And hell, if you didn't devour him in return.
The handle of the car door dug into your waist, but that was the least of your worries, especially with the doctor bending your back over the curve of the car. Your hair brushed the roof of the chassis, hands grappling onto his upper arms.
"I've wanted to kiss you," his voice was feather-light, that monotone, yet beautiful timber he often consulted you with, "for quite some time."
"Then why didn't you?"
He considered your question, lips resting over yours. His sharp nose nuzzled your cheek as he playfully nudged you.
"I knew once I did, I would completely fall."
Your gasp felt unnervingly loud in the parking lot. A shopping cart rattled in the distance, car doors slamming. And here was one of the most composed gentlemen you had ever known, prying your lips apart with his tongue, and sweeping inside to taste.
His breath punctuated his movement, harsh sounds relaying his desperation. Each smack of your lips drew heat into your abdomen, accumulating, eventually seeping from between your thighs.
"Please do," you urged, "fall for me completely as I have for you."
His heart thudded against your chest, lips departing from your mouth to trail over your jawline. Above, flakes of snow swirled, caught in the overhead lights of the parking lot. They littered his hair, dots of white against raven-black. Your hand raked over them, the minor chill exhilarating.
"I love you," he rasped, navigating to your neck, "couldn't you tell by the way I fucked you."
"Perhaps I need to reassess your performance."
His chuckle was saturated in mirth, "I always recommend a reevaluation before submitting final results."
Pain erupted from the slope of your neck, his teeth capturing a portion of skin to pinch. He suckled, each pull confirmed with a messy lick of ease.
"Where did those pretty sounds go?" He teased.
"Zayne, we are in public!"
"I'll admit,” he paused, catching his breath, “there's something undeniably addictive about stepping out of line.”
He wasn’t finished.
“I don’t know where to start with you,” he exhaled, as if restraining those words had been a considerable burden.
With your head tilted back, flakes rested upon the skin of your neck, thawing in time with each swallow. Droplets trailed down to soak your hoodie, and Zayne watched, eyes riveted by the slopes of your body. It gifted you some time to observe his mouth, and how those lips had finally touched yours.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, and you rose, rising on the toes of your shoes to kiss him. He took one step back, bracing from your momentum. His body always had moved in ways that were subtle, never explosive, always a source of consolation. But his hands grasped, nearly clawing at your hips. An ache registered as he applied pressure, arresting your freedom, and yanking you against him.
“Feel me,” his demand was carried by a whisper, hands roaming to your rear, nails digging into your flesh through your sweatpants. Your hiss was stolen by his ministrations, your body surrendering to his lead. “Feel exactly what you do to me.”
You did. Pressed this close together, his length nudged against your navel.
There was a joke buried in this situation, one hinting at the use of a cucumber. You would have verbalized it if it wasn’t for the onslaught of his lust.
Your leg steepled, hooking your knee over the jut of his hip, cradling his cock in the vent of your heat. All he had to do was push your waistband down, undo his zipper, and vault his hips forward, sinking deep into the crease of your cunt.
If he had wanted.
Zayne wouldn’t.
“The ice cream is melting,” he noted despite the reaction of his body as he lurched, driving the crown of his arousal over the outline of your pussy. “And we have perishables.”
You knew him too well.
“So shall we go?” You suggested.
“It’s not safe to drive when distracted,” he reasoned.
His hand dug into his pocket, procuring his keys. The car beeped, his arm outstretched, hand grasping the handle for the backseat. Your heart stumbled to a near stop, your limbs would be tangled in the narrow space provided, the windows would fog, and the chassis might rock.
Zayne had a plan, the glint of his eyes ensuring security.
With a voice laden in satin, he ordered regardless,
“Get in.”
This had been in my drafts since February 23rd - yikes
ser gwayne cannot work out for the life of him why you're acting so strange. you're suddenly too busy for him these days, how you're now very close with his cousin ormund and why even criston cole has been found whispering at your side. alt. reader just wants to throw her husband a surprise name day celebration but gwayne is too nosy, its a good thing he's very pretty and can make up for it.
husband! gwayne x wife! princess! reader, platonic! ormund and cole x reader, daeron x reader (love my boy), jealousy, accusation of cheating (strictly no cheating!), angst. fluff! hurt to comfort! suggestive. sassy! gwayne (i love my king.) bit of a long fic- oopsy sorry! :)
it's been four days since the two of you went to bed together.
every single night gwayne finds himself tangled in your arms, your leg thrown over his hip and your face smushed against his bare chest. he holds you, rocking you gently till your soft snores fill the chamber and only then does he relax and fall asleep himself. its not uncommon for gwayne to arrive at your shared chambers and find you already tucked in, long gone and disorientated. if not for the guard stationed at your door, gwayne wonders how you've even made it alive this long for in this state you could probably sleep through the war and not stir the slightest.
it is however uncommon for it to have been four days since he has last touched your skin, to have you so unraveled beneath his body and set ablaze. he's not complaining exactly, he'd have you in any way, shape or form, however you'd have him. he's at your service for now and for life. it's just so peculiar, he wonders. he tried initiating it on half the nights but you shrugged him off with a peck to his lips and a claim you were fatigued from the day. on the second half, he arrived in the night to find you already plastered and drooling on his half of the bed. it was so endearing that he almost forgot that you've been avoiding him.
the first sign something was so obviously wrong was when his cousin ormund knocked at his door early morning. too early in the morning for you to be awake but yet there you were. gwayne had groaned at the sudden pound at his door and rolled over, trying to reach out to you on instinct. to bury his nose into the nook of your neck and ignore what the world would have in store for him today. yet he was met with rumpled sheets and the faint heat of where your body had lain.
the knocking continued, louder and quicker and gwayne with a grimace curled into his thin pink lips opened the door with pure annoyance, "what?" his snarl comes and the sight of his cousin smirking irritates him further. "what could you possibly want from me at this time, ormund?" he gets out. his arm leans against the door frame opened a fraction, elbow taking the brunt of the solid wood at a right angle as the cool draft from the hallway bites at his bare chest.
"from you, cousin?" ormund grins, "absolutely nothing," and he's all bright teeth and sunshine at this ungodly hour. gwayne's gaze narrows in on him dangerously.
"ormund," he grits out, the free hand not gripping the door to death, runs through his already tousled orange strands, "i'm going to slam this door in hopes it'll take off your nose and i'll never have to see your face whole again," he swears sincerely and ormund knows full well his cousin is capable of it. gwayne has led battles and armies, a little teasing between cousins might as well have ormund at death's door.
"i'm here for the princess," ormund smiles, the ghost of a giggle gracing his lips in a taunt, "we have important matters to discuss."
"what matters?" gwayne straightens.
"none which concern you," ormund instantly deflects, crossing his arms across his broad chest. gwayne wants to reach out and grab him by his lapel but restrains himself with a tired rage.
"i know the concept of a loyal loving marriage may be unfamiliar to you ormind but, she is my wife," gwayne's voice drops to a dangerous level, "any matters concerning her concern me," and at the vibrating timbre of your husband's growl you emerge from the bathroom. freshly bathed, the scent of floral and lemon dancing around your skin as you are dressed in a green gown.
your hands come and creep up on gwayne's back, fingers running across the cool skin with a gracious warmth gently till they tug at the back of his hair. the ends of your hair at still damp, soft waves falling against his skin when he nestles and buries himself into your touch.
"wife," he murmurs, completely disregarding the unwanted visitor at his door and turns in your embrace. arms wrapping around your torso in a bone crushing hug, he sways you as you melt, "i didn't know you graced your company with the likes of idiots," and as ormund scoffs, he presses a kiss to your ear. you roll your eyes and gwayne brings a hand to your neck, cupping your jaw. "come," he mumbles against your mouth, "come back to bed." its a soft order that burns you alive to deny.
"i cannot gwayne," you whisper, running your hands through his hair, "i have some matter of business to sort."
"yes," he murmurs, "it seems i also have some matter of business to conduct as well," and he tries to walk you backwards into your chambers again, his bare feet scuffling as he tries to navigate you whilst half blinded in your lazy kisses.
your hands plant themselves firmly on his chest and pause. "husband, we have a visitor," you press. and gwayne rolls his eyes.
"it is only ormund, you say it as if i'm supposed to have a care if it was the king himself at the door. he is visiting. and now as visitors must do, he must leave," he stresses and ormund chuckles.
"princess," he calls out, "we either leave now or cannot make this happen today," its a warning from ormund, as much as he likes to wind his cousin up, its really time to get moving. ormund hightower is a busy body and you're relieved he had even gotten aboard with your plans, it took much pleading and convincing and in the end, you used your power of the crown to hold him tight in a promise.
you hold gwayne at arms length, hands braced at his mid arms and gaze into his deep sea eyes. theres a brutal mix of annoyance and longing swirling deep and you press a kiss to his cheek softly. your lips linger and hover as he closes his eyes sleepily, savouring your touch. he's distracted for a moment and that's when you press a hasty almost sloppy kiss to the corner of his mouth and step aside before his tired brain can register what's happening.
"have a good day, my love!" you call out, ormund already offering you his arm politely.
"but breakfast?" gwayne almost whines.
"i'll make sure she eats," ormund promises, "in a while, cousin," and the door slams shut. gwayne's brain speeds up and registers whats happening, he's marching over to the door and swings it open but by then you and ormund are long gone.
"what on earth," he mumbles, brows knitted tightly. your stationed guard clears his throat at the sight of near naked gwayne in the biting cold. gwayne has the slightest shame and dips his head awkwardly before shutting the door and making his way back to the covers. its useless, he won't get any sleep without you by his side and in his sight, he sits there waiting for morning to fully make its appearance before he gets ready for the day.
his thoughts occupy him senselessly, if he hadn't opened the door to ormund would you have just left without saying anything? just what could you be hiding from him?
gwayne has a plan, he has to corner and catch you because avoiding him is one thing? sneaking off with ormund before daylight? his cousin ormund who you've frequently voiced your dislike for?
gwayne's plan has a fault of its own. how can he corner you when he has no idea where you are?
he tries to subtlely question daeron during a friendly game of chess. the younger has such a soft spot for you that he halts like a deer in headlights at the mention of your name.
"daeron?" gwayne's brows lift in curiosity, the reaction pausing his thoughts, yes. this is good he thinks, "whatever is the matter?"
"nothing," he mumbles out, boyish grin plastered on his face in a smooth recovery, "i have no idea what you're talking about," he shrugs.
"i see," gwayne slowly stretches out in the silence, trying a different tactic of being upfront with it "say, do you notice anything different about the princess?" daeron doesn't even try to think, he shakes his head abruptly and stands before his uncle, their game of chess drawn to a sudden end.
"no uncle, if you excuse me i have to go somewhere."
gwayne stands immediately, "where?"
"somewhere," he whispers, heat rushing up his neck. daeron has never been a great liar and you've never raised him to be one, its almost soul crushing how in love and in awe gwayne is of you and your presence.
"daeron if you know something," he drawls out, "it'd best to be honest, thats a kingly virtue you know to be true." and its almost like a gentle threat the way he nudges towards his nephew.
"i'm sorry ser, but i know nothing," daeron whispers, his face pooling with an obscene amount of guilt. disappointing gwayne is a thing he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy, but the thought of disappointing you? thats an idea that daeron cannot even stomach and with a slight bow he all but races out the room, once again leaving gwayne hightower in the dust.
"what is wrong with everyone in this house?" he shouts into the silence, rubbing the frown lines gathering between his brows. he stretches his hand across his whole face, wiping away the lingering doubt and sighs heavily. this game must stop, and it must stop tonight.
he tries to catch you during the rest of the day to entice you but you were engaged with other ladies of the court, whispering and giggling. it all silenced when your group had spotted gwayne walking past, a wave at your fingertips and a knowing smirk resting on theirs. it was unsettling, but gwayne didnt let his demeanour drop. no, he was noble and knightly and dipped into a gentle bow of recognition before continuing his walk. a walk you were supposed to join him on but cancelled last minute.
something ugly grows inside of him when he decides after a few minutes of failing to clear his head in nature that he's had enough. he turns and makes his way to stalk in your direction, he'll take you to the side and the two of you will talk this nonsense out. he just can't make any sense of it.
in the time it takes gwayne to reach your chair in the gardens your ladies in waiting have all but disappeared and have been replaced by a certain dark brunette that has gwayne seething through his nostrils. but its not just the hand of the king that has gwayne irrational, its the fond look in your eyes as you beam up at him in delight. he halts, breath heavy and shoulders bouncing because that smile? that light bending, life altering, heart stopping smile is reserved for him. it has gwayne's name all over it and he hates it.
"ser cole," he doesn't bother to acknowledge the other, his gaze firmly planted on you. criston has half the decency to look ashamed but that only heightens gwayne's inner turmoil. "i see you make it a habit of preening with my family, and here i thought one was enough," gwayne's remark slides right over cole and there's heaviness landed in the air. cole narrows his eyes into icy slits but gwayne refuses to budge.
"gwayne," you gasp, mouth falling as you make way to stand before your husband, "that was not nice," you pause attempting to break the tension with a hand to his shoulder. it hurts more when gwayne refuses to budge, almost as if your touch is weightless despite it being days of being starved of it. he's not being fair, he knows it but how could he be given slivers of your attention when you've been serving it on the platter for the likes of ormund hightower and criston cole? its beyond him, no, thats even more unfair.
cole lets out a dark chuckle and shakes his head at gwayne then throws you a knowing look, "i'll see to it tomorrow," he promises you and bows respectfully. he makes it a point that when he passes gwayne he lets his shoulder knock into his slender frame and despite cole's slightly wider frame and taut muscle, gwayne holds his ground.
"you won't be seeing to anything tomorrow," he turns, pushing you behind him, almost protectively, like an animal protecting its own. you scoff at his silliness and try to reach around him but he shuffles at your every move, matching it with a blockade.
"gwayne," you huff into his back, "must you be so difficult?" you complain. and the second the words land, they slice straight into his chest, ripping open the chambers he's allocated just for loving you and he bleeds.
"what?" he faults, the stutter on his lips. you stop, hand flying to your mouth agape.
"that's not what i meant," you start, but gwayne has taken a step back. the two of you have never really argued much in your marriage, you've always moved in harmony. a perfect tandem. he's never been difficult because your love has always come easy, its natural, its the air he breathes and the life he lives. he's always tried to be the dutiful son, the dependable one, difficult? it stings, it burns and it swallows him whole.
"that was unkind of me and if you'll allow me to explain," you try and reach out to him but a force washes over him of steel. he's trying to be patient gwayne, compassionate gwayne, gentle gwayne, noble gwayne but he's just hurt at your words and deflection of your absence. god you have no idea what you're doing to him.
"not here," he quietly retreats and you're left to follow his footsteps back to your shared chambers. he's offered you his arm but your footsteps are a beat slower likened to your nervous heart and gwayne in his fury does not slow down till hes met with silence and reclusivity of your space. the door is a reminder of your secrets with ormund and now he imagines cole's taunting face and he grimaces, blood heating in his veins and he tries to steady his breathing.
he still holds the door open for you, waits for you to be safely inside before kicking it shut and facing you.
"what is going on?" he tries a steady approach, keeps his voice calm and level but the innocence in your eyes and the fact hes met with silence has him groaning and throwing his weight against the door in impatience.
"wife," he stalks over to you till youre barely atoms apart from each other and at this position hes a full head taller peering down at you. "this ends now, whatever stupid game where you have replaced me with the likes of ormund and cole? it is cruel and i want an explanation," he's seething and he can see the gears in your head turning, cogs sliding and locking to find some sort of reason.
"gwayne, i," you start and then you stop. revealing this now will only spoil what tomorrow brings and you've worked so hard on this you're willing to let him sulk. "it's nothing, i needed help with something and ormund and criston offered their services."
"their services?" he laughs, and your eyes widen at the insinuation, maybe it was the wrong choice of words but no. you'd never. he knows that right? "deny me and take them," he scoffs, "i understand."
"no gwayne wait, i think you're misunderstanding," you try and cup his jaw, bring his attention back to you hoping you'll see the earnest in your eyes and but he shrugs you off and puts the distance back between you.
"misunderstanding?" its outrageous the way his voice does not even raise once at you. "you havent sought me out in four days, i wake to a cold lonely bed, i do not hear from you all day but i find you with ormund then with cole- both whom of you you detest? tell me wife, were your feelings then just a misunderstanding? are they clarified now?"
it hurts the way hes questioning you, questioning your faithfulness and your bottom lip wobbles. "gwayne, i am your wife," you release in exasperation. "i am loyal to you- i would never-"
"you are my wife," he nods his head, "and yet you do not offer me honesty. what has happened? what has changed? do you not wish to love me anymore?" his voice breaks and it almost shoots straight to your knees, unsteadying you in a heartbeat.
"gwayne, my heart. that's absurd and you know it. i love you, i am yours, i am here?" you get out.
"but you are not here," he whispers and the air stands still. "you are not here in the way you have always been and i just, i don't understand why and you will not offer me the mercy of understanding why," he breathes, his eyes boring into yours. "i think," he pauses, "we ought to have some space between us, some room to think and reflect and remember why our marriage works so well."
you shake your head in defiance immediately, "no, i don't want to," you try to cross the distance but are met with his palm in the air. the slender fingers like a barrier.
"i think we need to," and its final in the way he says it. you lower your head, the tears creeping in the corners of your eyes. this is spiralling and you have the power to stop it but you also just wish your husband would trust you enough to leave it alone.
he sighs quietly, footsteps light as they make their way over to you and he tilts your chin to look up at him, wiping away the free tear that has fallen. you feel a sense of hope fill you, tired optimism that he's surrendering this silliness, a petty arguement harbouring into something messier. but then his words land a heavy blow and it feels oh so real "after dinner i'll move my things," and you step out of his hold.
"if thats what you wish," you whisper, the words betraying you and bitter on your tongue. "if you mean to question my loyalty then very well, ser gwayne," you bring his nobility and rank, ridding yourself of the familiarity. "when you are ready to be my husband again then you may join me," and with that, you walk away from the chamber and away from gwayne.
this time when he's left alone for the fourth time today he feels nothing but loneliness and regret swirling in his throat till he feels he can no longer breathe.
oh how something dreadful has truly happened.
dinner comes with a heavy blanket of quiet. its tense and for good reason. the hightowers look to each other in quiet concern. gwayne sits at the centre of the table, solemn and silent- he's hardly uttered a word all night. and you? you are not in your designated seat next to him. you are three seats away at the end of the table with daeron tucked at your side.
its rare for the two of you to be separated, meal times arw usually spent with the two of you sharing knowing looks, whispering sweet nothings and eventually, you'll lean your head tiredly against his shoulder and he'd find an excuse for the two of you to escape. its oh so homely and you are set in motion, moving as one.
however, tonight the distance is noticed and felt. ormund's eyes dart between the two of you but gwayne braves a steely look ahead.
"we are quiet tonight?" ormund questions, carefully scratching his fork against the plate, filling the silence.
"i wish you were also," gwayne nods, "say, what did you get up to this morning?" ormund pauses, glances in your direction and you just shrug, the fight leaving your body before its even began.
"am i intruding on anything?" ormund furrows his brows and gwayne looks at him with tired indifference.
"i am both sure and unsure," he nods solemnly, "but enlighten me, what did you get up to?" and theres no malice in his tone, nothing but careful curiosity.
"i headed to some merchants, picked up a few things, nothing too interesting," ormund replies and gwayne just nods throughout, not caring to pay further attention to any story that ormund dives into. instead he focuses sharply onto you. "that is nice, very nice."
he hears your sweet mumbles to daeron. how its so different to the words you shared earlier and how the world sets a little softer around you. he loves how you are with daeron, you're good to him, good for him. good for everyone but most importantly, youre perfect for gwayne. he hates fighting with you, its so passive, so reductive, so annoyingly easy it is for the silent treatment to get under his skin.
he watches as you carefully cut remenants of meat that you dislike and then you pause, you look over at him in his direction and you immediately look down to your lap.
gwayne's heart lurches in his throat, he knows you usually like to make swaps, its gwaynes favourite thing to do where he'll take on anything that brings you the slightest distaste and he'll make it right for you. except now, he can't find it in him to move an inch. daeron spots your hesitation and gingerly reaches out, eager to be the peace maker, "aunt, would you mind me having that piece?" and you look to him, a shadow of upset crossing your features and you try so hard to let it slip and front a smile but its too late. gwayne has seen the edges of that frown and lets out a noise likened to a strangled animal.
all attention diverts to him and he mumbles under his breath, "daeron it is impolite to watch over other people's plate," he then looks down at his own and without even thinking, he makes a move to stand with his plate in his own hand and walks in your direction.
"but uncle gwayne?" daeron questions confused.
"but nothing, daeron. keep eating, you'll need your strength to grow strong," he pats his head softly and waits patiently. you gingerly move the meat onto his plate and he shovels a portion of potatoes you love onto yours. its a temporary truce, you've never been great at disagreements so you're grateful for the moment of relief. gwayne then retreats back to his seat and the table continues eating.
"gwayne is right, daeron," ormund lifts a glass to him, "you'll be the strongest amongst us," and he watches as you pat daeron's shoulder affectionately in encouragment. dinner continues with clutter and clatter of dishes, of faint laughter and longing looks and gwayne wishes more than anything it was you by his side.
when everyone gears up to make a move and call it quits for the night, gwayne finds himself in the pensive mood to right a few wrongs, "ser cole," he calls out. you're long gone in the direction of the chambers, escorted by daeron and criston turns to gwayne.
"ah," he clicks his tongue, "have you come to hurl more insults ser gwayne?" and gwayne shakes his head slowly.
"to apologise, more like. i am sorry for earlier, it was unnecessary and unkind," he speaks with earnest and upmost genuineness. cole nods, a knowing look in his eyes and gwayne has the tiniest thought gnawing at his temples to immediately take it back and walk away.
"you know," cole punches his shoulder lightly, "i think there's someone more important and deserving of an apology," he raises his brow and gwayne lets out a heavy exhale.
"i know," he looks in your departed direction, the ghost of your figure haunting him, "what is truly going on? what madness am i being subjected to?" and cole can see the nerves in his brain stretching to make room.
"i can't say it is my place ser," he breathes, "but whatever you're thinking? it is the furthest thing you've known and actually? it's quite simple really, its a little humourous watching you work in circles over something so simple," and with a laugh he bids and leaves a confused gwayne to the night.
sleep does not come gracefully to gwayne.
its a lonesome stranger, the cold bites at his sides, the mattress has lumps that gwayne's sure is just in his head and no matter what he does, how tight his eyes squeeze shut all he can picture is the sorrowful look on your face and he hates himself.
he thinks he should go to you. its your first night apart since being married and nothing about it feels right at all. so he gets up throws on the shirt hes already worn the life out of today and with steel determination he sets foot outside the door and makes his way across the hall to the opposite direction where your shared rooms are located.
he almost flies through, the way he paces with eager urgency that he doesn't register how he must look like an absolute madman. his breath halts unevenly when a force is barricaded into his chest and his hands reach out to steady you instantly.
"love?" he whispers incredously, and your head whips up in a rapid reaction. he moves his hands from your waist and up to your shoulders as he checks you thoroughly for any injury. the force at which you two tumbled was enough to almost knock him clean off his feet, "are you alright?" and you nod tightly.
he takes in your appearance, your nightgown slipping down your right shoulder and your hair free from its usual weave of braids, just how he likes, likely tousled from endless turning in a bid to gain some sense of slumber. you shiver in the dead of the night, the moon casting a subtle glow over your features and he brings you closer to him, hoping some of his body heat will extend to yours and youre grateful for it immensely. he focuses on you completely and his heart soars at the realisarion. you had also come looking for him the way he longed to reach for you.
"gwayne i need to talk to you," you pull back an inch, "you were right, i haven't been truthful and i'm sorry. the sneaking around was excessive but it was the only way i could get it done," you breathe out, the words rushing before you can stop yourself. this might ruin everything but nothing could be worse than a minute more of silence and restraint from your lover.
"get what done, darling?" and you decide its better to show him then just tell him. you take his hand and walk him to the main hall thats been cordoned off the last few days- not that hes noticed, hes been too busy chasing after you to pay any attention to the changes of the house. its silent when you walk, the gentle pitter patter of your heart guiding the rhythm for your footsteps as you move at the same pace. gwayne doesnt offer any more questions, he doesnt say anything, hes patient this time and he's more than willing to wait for you to explain.
the hall opens with a soft thud as your palm pushes it open and gwayne pauses, tentative at the sight and he wants the ground to swallow him whole. all he can feel is shame as he stares ahead.
"you can come in," you say, letting go of his hand and he immediately steps forward to regain the heat of it, winding the interlocking fingers across to his chest where his heart rests.
"this is ... for me? truly?" and your heart swells, with pride or sympathy you are ensure of but tininess of his voice has you in shambles, completely undone. you've never heard the great gwayne hightower so unsure of himself and you decide that you never really want to again.
"of course," you draw out, gauging in his reaction. how his eyes turn and marvel at the side of banners, streamers, a portrait of him hanging in the centre, a banquet table yet to be set up and a pile of gifts right at the corner. he makes his way over to them, carefully as if even taking the wrong step might wake him up from this dream. "i know you don't usually like to make such a fuss but i wanted to do something special," you murmur and he turns completely to you. he marches across the inches with great fierceness and joins his lips to yours.
you let out a little oomf as his hand splays across your back steadying you and morphing your body into his. he kisses you so deeply, so intimately that youre sure his soul has conjoined with yours and all you can think, hear, see and feel is just all gwayne. he melts into you and youre floating and for the first time all week you feel at peace. there's no running around, no planning, no sneaking around your husband theres nothing.
you draw back just a milimeter and its not enough, he chases after your lips in an instance, absorbing every molecule of you with a burning intensity he's not sure he can control. he tries to slow himself down, to steady and ground himself but he's swarmed with all your love and attention its blinding.
"so this is what you've been up to?" he presses a kiss to your forehead, its soft and featherlike before he brings his own to yours, your noses touching in a teasing dance. a giggle bursts from your lips and you nod, stealing a look into his eyes and relax entirely.
"ormund helped massively, he headed with me to the merchant stalls this morning to retrieve your nameday gifts, and one of the cooks has a soft spot for you it didnt take much to entice them with the idea of preparing your favourites and cole? he helped set this place up, he's organised for your sister to safely join us and he's prepared a tourney in your favour. daeron was supposed to keep you preoccupied in the morrow till we had everything sorted and you husband," you sigh, "you were supposed to be surprised," and you swat his chest in disappointment. "it was supposed to be perfect."
"it is perfect, you are perfect" he returns to you and finds it harder to hide his growing smile by the minute, "and i am surprised, greatly, you really did all this for me?" he asks again and you hold his innocent gaze.
"of course?" you repeat, "gwayne you are the love of my life, in every life," you stress, "everything is for you, don't you see?" your palm finds its way to the side of his face.
"i'm sorry, my heart," he apologises, and he turns his head to the inwards of your palm, placing a soft fleeting kiss there. he had been so caught up in the confusion and his jealousy that he had completely forgotten tomorrow was technically his name-day celebration and he feels so damn stupid. "the accusations i held against you earlier were uncalled for. i was angry, i was mad and i was wrong," he tells you sincerely, "and i shall make up for it for the rest of my life."
you meet his swear with a tired eye and deep understanding, "i hate fighting with you gwayne, nor do i think we are good at it," he lets out a deep chuckle, the rumble landing between your bones.
"no," another laugh comes and its yours this time that joins him, "i don't think we are." he looks across the room once more and his blood warms to a liquid jelly. in all his years alive hes never paid much attention to having a name day, the two of you usually spent it together and alone but to see all this effort, all this attention and recognition for him? he truly is in awe.
"you love me," he whispers into the stillness of the hall.
"now you're being ridiculous, husband," you roll your eyes, "of course i do."
"and i love you," he reaffirms, "it was unkind and uncalled for to doubt your loyalty."
"you know, i could have you beheaded for treason," and there's a mischievious glint in your eyes.
"but then who would kiss you," his own sea eyes glisten back, "who would make you laugh? who would lay you down and love you all over," he teases, his fingers running along the bare skin peeking out from your gown. he presses just above your collarbone, then finds your pulse and lays a soft kiss to rest there.
"gwayne," you breathe and he hums a faint yes against your skin. you hardly hear it over the roar in your bloodstream but you lean in closer than ever. "come," you whisper to him, an echo of the morning, "come back to bed," and he smiles, his teeth against your jaw.
"always, my sweetheart," and he hooks his arm under your back and one under your knees, hoisting you up as he carries you back to your chambers. your laughter rings in the hallway and as much as hed like to bottle the sound of it and store it for an eternity he knows the rest of the house to be sleeping and tries to silence you with a few more hasty kisses.
when tomorrow comes he feigns surprise, the hall is alight, filled with food and music and all the people he loves. as he talks with alicent, laughs with ormund and teases daeron he keeps you by his side all afternoon and evening long, extending praise and gratitude to you at all times.
"this has got to be the best celebration you've ever had," ormund claps him on the back, "your exclamations of gratitude are ready for me now, please do not hold back," he grins but gwayne shakes his head and as you lean into his side.
"i think the best celebration has to be my wedding," he grins to you, a knowing tease swirling in his eyes singing you home. "but yeah, this does come pretty close."
Summary: Haunted by dragon dreams that foretell a future she cannot bear, Viserys' second daughter decides to flee her betrothal before it can begin. Her plan falls apart when the very man she's trying to escape finds her climbing over the Red Keep's garden wall.
Notes: Inspired by Queen Charlotte!! I've seen people rewrite this scene with Valarr and I wanted to do it with Gwayne <3
Gwayne had hoped, above all else, that his future wife would be kind.
It was a small hope, perhaps an unambitious one, but it was the only wish he had allowed himself after his father informed him that King Viserys had accepted the match. Marriage had never been a matter left to younger sons or heirs to decide, and though Gwayne had long since resigned himself to that truth, resignation did not make the prospect any less uncertain. He knew almost nothing about the princess he was to marry beyond the fragments offered by gossip, and gossip was a poor foundation upon which to build a life.
Still, kindness, he thought, could make even an unwanted marriage bearable. Everything else could be learned in time.
The rumors, unfortunately, offered very little hope of that.
Some called the king's younger daughter gentle to the point of foolishness, while others claimed she possessed the wildness of Old Valyria itself. There were whispers that she disappeared from court for days at a time, that she drank wine before the sun had set, that she climbed rooftops with her ladies-in-waiting, wandered the city in disguise, and laughed whenever septas reminded her of her duties. Others dismissed her as odd, insisting she spoke more to ravens than noble lords and spent entire afternoons wandering the castle alone.
No two stories resembled one another. The only detail upon which everyone agreed was that she was... peculiar.
He had intended to reserve judgment until they met. That intention became rather difficult when she failed to appear at all. She did not stand beside her father during his arrival, nor his welcome feast.
His sister and King Viserys greeted him warmly enough upon his arrival, clasping his arm like an old friend and speaking at length about tournaments, knighthood, and the honor of joining their two houses before finally apologizing, almost absentmindedly, for his daughter's absence.
"The princess has been feeling unwell," the king said with a tired smile. "She has retired early."
It sounded innocent enough yet Gwayne did not miss the look and sighs exchanged between his father and sister. She looked toward the doors through which the princess ought to have entered, her disappointment obvious before she carefully concealed it behind practiced courtesy.
No one explained further. No one ever seemed to.
By the end of the feast, Gwayne found himself wondering less about the alliance and more about the girl herself.
Was she truly ill? Or had she simply refused to meet the man she was expected to marry?
-
By the time the castle realized you were gone, you had already vanished into the night.
It was hardly the first time.
The servants searched the places they always searched first, the library, the dragonpit where you often disappeared to sit with the hatchlings long after the keepers had retired, the godswood where you sometimes spent entire afternoons reading beneath the heart tree. Even your ladies-in-waiting were questioned, though they could offer little beyond nervous shrugs and uncertain smiles. They had grown accustomed to your disappearances years ago.
Tonight, however, was different as you had no intention of returning.
You sighed as you reached the wall at the far end of the gardens. For a moment you stood there and pondered about when your father announced your betrothal. Your first thought had been your dreams.
Fragments scattered across years of restless nights, all circling the same terrible feeling that settled deep within your chest whenever you imagined standing beside the man you had been promised to. You had seen cages and felt a sorrow unlike anything you had ever known.
Somewhere between those two moments lay a future you could neither understand nor prevent. And for the first time in your life, you did not wish to discover which vision came first.
So you did the only thing that had ever made sense whenever the dreams became too heavy and you left.
That single thought drowned out every other, beating steadily against your ribs as you gathered your skirts in one hand and planted your slipper against the ancient garden wall. Time seemed to press in from every side so you quickly pushed yourself upward, fingertips stretching desperately toward the thick oak branch that hung just beyond your reach. The bark brushed your fingers before slipping away again.
You frowned, it had seemed much lower when you were a child. Surely you had climbed trees twice this height without a second thought. Determined, you shifted your footing higher against the moss-covered stone, ignoring the way your slippers slipped against the wall.
Just a little farther...
"You appear to be losing your battle."
The voice behind you was warm, low, and entirely too amused.
You startled so violently that your foot slipped from the stone altogether. Landing rather less gracefully than you would have liked, you spun around, silver hair whipping over your shoulder as you searched the darkness for its owner.
A man stood several paces away beneath the shadow of an elm tree, the hood of a dark traveling cloak obscuring most of his face. Moonlight caught only the edge of his jaw and the outline of broad shoulders, leaving the rest hidden in darkness.
You did not recognize him nor did you particularly care to.
You were in far too much of a hurry.
"May I help you?" you asked, though the impatience in your voice made it abundantly clear you hoped he would do precisely the opposite.
"I was going to ask you the same thing," he replied pleasantly. "It seems you are the one in need of assistance."
His tone was infuriatingly calm as though finding a princess attempting to climb the garden wall in the middle of the night was an entirely ordinary occurrence.
"I am not," you answered briskly. "So you may leave."
You turned back toward the wall without waiting for his reply, already reaching for the branch once more. Behind you came the sound of unhurried footsteps.
"I will," he said. "But I confess, I am rather curious as to what you're doing."
You closed your eyes for the briefest moment. "I am not doing anything."
"You are trying to do something."
"I am not."
"You are."
A sigh escaped you. Not the graceful sort of sigh expected of a princess, but one born entirely of exasperation. You turned sharply, fixing the stranger with a look that had intimidated far older men than this.
"Who are you, anyway?" Stepping closer, you tried to make out his face beneath the hood, though the shadows remained stubbornly loyal to him, "Reveal yourself."
"I am simply a guest in the Keep."
The answer only irritated you further, "What an exceptionally mysterious guest." You dismissed him with a wave of your hand before turning back toward the wall yet again. "Well then, perhaps you can make yourself useful and lift me."
There was the briefest pause, "I'm sorry?"
You looked over your shoulder as though he were being intentionally difficult. "If you lift me onto the wall, I can manage the rest."
The corner of his mouth twitched beneath the hood. "I see."
"Come now," you urged, gesturing impatiently toward the branch. "Make haste."
His amusement seemed only to deepen. "Well, if I must assist you, I should ask why you intend to climb the wall."
You groaned dramatically. "If you must know..." Your fingers wrapped around the branch again as though the conversation itself inconvenienced you. "...I am leaving."
"Are you?"
"I am taking my dragon," you said matter-of-factly, testing whether the branch might support your weight, "and flying somewhere very far away. And do not trouble yourself with informing the King or my betrothed. I shall be long gone by the time either of them discovers it."
A beat passed.
"Ah." There was laughter hidden beneath the single syllable, "So your betrothed is the reason you're running."
You shrugged, "He is certainly one of them."
"And they won't notice you've disappeared?"
A small, incredulous laugh escaped you. "Well, of course they will," you looked toward the branch again, "Now, please. Enough questions."
You pointed toward the wall with all the authority expected of a princess issuing commands. "If you would simply lift me over the garden wall, I'll reach the dragonpit before anyone notices."
The stranger looked from you to the wall and back again then he sighed with theatrical regret. "I have absolutely no intention of helping you."
You stared incredulously, "I beg your pardon?" You whirled around fully, prepared to remind this remarkably stubborn man exactly who he was refusing. As you did, he reached up almost absentmindedly and pushed back the hood that had hidden his face.
Moonlight settled across familiar features and you instantly recognized the face you had seen in your sleep numerous times. Everything inside you seemed to stop.
"...It's you."
The irritation vanished from your voice so completely that it almost startled you. Gwayne watched the change with quiet fascination. Only moments ago, you had looked ready to order him dragged from the gardens for daring to delay your escape. Now you simply stood there, staring at him with an expression he could not begin to understand.
He smiled despite himself, "You know who I am?"
You didn't answer immediately. Instead, your eyes lingered on his face, searching it with unsettling intensity, as though comparing the man standing before you to someone only you could see.
When you finally spoke, your voice was scarcely louder than the breeze moving through the trees, "I've dreamt of you."
The words were so unexpected that Gwayne forgot entirely what he had meant to say. His smile faded into quiet confusion, "You've... what?"
You seemed almost surprised that the words had escaped you. Your gaze dropped to the ground before lifting once more, softer this time, almost hesitant. "I've dreamt of you."
Silence settled between them.
Gwayne had heard the stories. The king's second daughter was said to possess the old gift of dragon dreams. He had dismissed them as little more than another courtly tale but standing before you now, he found himself less certain.
You did not look mad.
Nor did you resemble the reckless drunk whispered about by servants and lords alike. He noticed there was no heavy scent of wine clinging to your breath, no unsteady sway in your posture, no careless laughter born from too many cups. If you had drunk anything at all, it had been little more than enough to soothe an anxious mind, and judging by the shadows beneath your eyes, even that had failed.
More than anything, you looked tired. Painfully so.
Not the sort of tired that followed a late feast or too much dancing, but the deep exhaustion of someone who had spent far too many nights fighting battles no one else could see.
His expression softened. "Am I so terrible in your dreams," he asked, a small smile returning to his lips, "that you've resorted to climbing garden walls in the middle of the night to escape marrying me?"
He had meant it lightly yet the smile disappeared from your face so quickly that he regretted it almost at once. Your fingers tightened in the folds of your skirts until the silk wrinkled beneath your grasp.
You said nothing.
For the first time since he'd found you, the lively, impatient princess who had argued with him over a wall simply... vanished. In her place stood a frightened young woman trying very hard not to let it show.
His amusement melted into concern, "...Princess?" He took a cautious step forward, "Are you all right?"
You instinctively stepped back.
"I only jest," he said quietly.
Your voice was barely audible, "I must go."
Before he could answer, you slipped past him, gathering your skirts as you hurried back toward the castle, silver hair disappearing into the darkness between the garden paths.
Gwayne remained where he was for several moments after you'd gone. He should have let you leave, instead, he found himself watching the empty path where you had vanished, turning over those four impossible words in his mind.
I've dreamt of you.
Whatever those dreams had shown you, they had filled your eyes not with hatred but with sadness. And though he scarcely knew you, something deep within him recoiled at the thought that he might one day become the cause of it. For reasons he could not explain, he left the gardens that night with only one quiet resolve settling in his heart.
Whatever future your dreams had shown you, he desperately wanted to prove them wrong.
Thinking of ovulating so that night you approach your sweet gentle boyfriend in bed for sex
"Of course, baby. Let me prep you—"
"I don't need it," you say suddenly, pulling down your shorts to reveal your bare cunt and the slick pooling at the top of your thighs.
"O-Oh," he replies, face burning up. "W-Well then, at least let me stretch you out first—"
You say his name firmly, making him clamp his mouth shut.
"I don't want your mouth. I don't want your fingers." You suddenly palm at his groin, running your hand over his throbbing member. "I want your cock. I want you to fuck me as hard as you can for as long as you can. I want to cum so much that I can't move after. Can you do that?"
He's never heard you talk like this, so crude and demanding, but god if it doesn't make him want to give you everything you ask for and more.
He's just as rough as you needed him to be, hitting your sweet spot again and again, relentless. You've already cum three, no, four times and it's only been six minutes.
Another orgasm approaches as he rubs your clit furiously again. You whine into your pillow, pushing your ass back to meet his thrusts, and once your orgasm hits you, you wail and tremble, ultimately falling down to the bed, his cock slipping out of you.
"Hey," he whispers, moving your hair aside to get a better look at your face. You're trying to catch your breath as he leans down to kiss your shoulder. "Was that too much?"
You huff, lifting your hand, beckoning to him. He leans down again to nuzzle his cheek into your palm. What he doesn't expect is for you to grab a fistful of his hair and tug harshly.
"I didn't tell you to stop," you mumble half into the pillow, almost glaring at him. He feels a shiver go down his spine as you let him go and slump back into the bed. "Keep going before I get pissed."
He's already peeling your ass cheeks apart, positioning his cock at your pussy's entrance.
He's completely spent by the time he reaches his climax, but at least you're exhausted too. Somehow you still have the energy to go to the restroom to clean up while he changes the sheets. He's grateful once you cuddle up to him under the covers and mumble your thanks before falling asleep on his chest.
He sleeps soundly, but dreams of fucking you all over again, this time sweet and sensual like he prefers...
Wait, no, this feels too real. He feels like his cock is pulsating inside you, not just some vague idea of having sex, but something much more tangible.
When he blinks his eyes open, he's met with sunlight and tits swinging in his face.
"Good morning, baby," you coo, hips gliding up and down his shaft. His breath hitches, hands flying to your hips to still you. You pout. "What's wrong?"
"What... Aren't you tired from last night?"
"I slept it off. I woke up horny." You grind your hips down on him. "I wanted to wake you up with a surprise."
He inhales sharply and sighs deeply. He rubs a hand over his eyes. You feel just as wet and warm as last night, clenching down on him rhythmically, on purpose he presumes. You lean down to kiss his cheek.
"My legs are getting tired," you admit sheepishly, nuzzling into his neck to kiss and nip at his flesh. His cock twitches when you take him into your mouth and suck on him.
"Alright," he almost yawns, flipping the both of you over so you're on your back, his cock still inside you. "Just relax. I'll take care of everything."
