INTRODUCTION. You were desperate for a job— desperate enough to call the uncle you haven’t spoken to in years. Somehow, he lands you a position on his farm. Easy work, right?
Wrong.
The moment you arrive, you realize the entire workforce consists of hybrids… all of whom stare at you like you’re their newest curiosity. And as the only human on the farm, you’re starting to wonder what exactly your uncle hired you for.
Just as you’re settling in, he calls out one last instruction:
“Be gentle when servicing my hybrids!”
You freeze as you watch him disappears. And now every hybrid on the farm looks way too excited.
Congratulations. You have no idea what this job is— but the hybrids definitely do.
( ! ) Multiple Male Characters x Reader , porn with little/no plot , short series (?) , crossover , NSFW , smut , potentially ooc characters , HYBRID/FARM AU , heat cycles
( ❤︎ ) Inspired by Mr. A's Farm
( ✎ ) ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE I apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes I might make in the future fics. And also, please do not be afraid to comment if I misplace or misuse a tag/warning!
( # ) To see more about this series, look at #■■.Farm au !
INTRODUCING our beloved farm hybrids! They’re strong, hardworking, loyal, and—according to your uncle—very eager to meet you. So please, take good care of them, dear. They’ve worked so hard, and they deserve only the best (you). ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)
COW HYBRIDS
I. PHAINON — Sub! Phainon , milking/lactating , breeding , Male! Reader ...etc.
II. DILUC — Sub! Diluc , overstimulation , milking/lactating , breeding , Fem! Reader ...etc.
III. MYDEIMOS — Sub! Mydei , overstimulation , rough , manhandling , heat cycles , bondage , use of milking machine , breeding , Male! Reader ...etc.
IV. NANAMI KENTO — Sub! Nanami , heat cycle , milking/lactating , use of milking machine , gn! Reader ...etc.
BULL HYBRIDS
I. TOJI FUSHIGURO — Dom Toji , breeding , knotting , rough sex , Male! Reader ...etc.
II. SUKUNA RYOMEN— Dom Sukuna , rough sex, sadistic sukuna , Fem! Reader , breeding ...etc.
III. BLADE — Switch Blade , bondage, rough sex , Gn! Reader ...etc.
I. WELT YANG — Service Sub! Welt , blowjob , age difference , cum eating , fingering , Male Reader ...etc.
II. CHOSO — Sub! Choso , roleplay , fingering , rough sex , gn! Reader ...etc.
III. HIROMI HIRUGUMA — Sub! Hiromi , sleepy sex , praising , riding , overstimulation , Fem! Reader ...etc.
CHICKEN HYBRIDS
I. DAN HENG — Sub! Dan heng , breeding , egg fertilization , overstimulation , begging , praising , Male! Reader ...etc.
II. ZHONGLI — Sub! Zhongli , overstimulation , fingering , begging , praising , pegging , Fem! Reader ...etc.
III. SUNDAY — Sub! Sunday , lingerie , dacryphilia , overstimulation , rough sex , Gn! Reader ...etc.
SPECIALS !
???...
( ✎ ) PLEASE NOTE that some of these tags might change and I might add more characters/hybrids if I feel like it! AND EXPECT slow updates and frequent editing in the fics! I’ll be posting each fic in no specific order.
❝S(CREAM) ON THIS D!CK?!❞— ghostface! gojo x male reader
ꗃ Summary: Behind the facade of his academic triumph, influence, enigmatic aura and luxury, he never seemed to get what he really wants, not until you. His ocean-blue eyes seems to glimmer behind those black frames everytime you're on his sight, almost desperate, even beneath the mask that he carry ever so carelessly by night fall, he reeks of obsession and desire as blood drips on his fingertips, his gaze always lingered, it never faltered until that one phone call.
ⓘ Warnings: porn with plot, slight slow burn(?), college au! nerdjo, nerd reader, murder, blood and violence mentioned, pillow prince reader, light knife play (if you squint), obsessive and mean gojo, mocking, dumbification, masturbation, drooling, full nelson, belly bulge, creampie, bare back, overstimulation, cumflation, rimming, fingering, dick riding, choking, breeding, manhandling, size difference, blow job, deep throat, doggy-style, power imbalance, you get folded like a pretzel, not proofread, grammar because english is not my first language, this is a bit long.
University has been very difficult for you, hectic even, though not necessarily through academics, you've been a consistent honor student back in your home land, always joining some extra-curriculum activities, organizations and even climbing to the higher ranks, medals hanged heavily at your neck, gold and silver. though maybe it's just you're still adapting to your new environment.
It's not like your parents pressured you to be that way, to be an academic weapon, in fact they are very supportive, asking how your day went, they even ask to help you with your homework, and you merely gave them a look, like they've spilled your matcha latte in your chem textbooks, one might say that you're studious, intellectual, more likely a nerd in their lame and miniscule minds.
Well who could blame them? It's not like they pay your bills for you to care enough.
Glancing at your phone, 2:03 am, your message box was empty, it always had been empty, it's either your professor asking you for the class itinerary or the delivery guy who always asks for a tip every time you order chinese takeout on a friday night.
Surprisingly enough, you got a few friends to rely on even with your individualist syndrome, your message box might be empty but your curated ig account isn't, like your own little museum, you never showed your appearance but people assumed that you're quite attractive because of your style. They often see your friends, Yuji, Nobara and Megumi, they're sophomores while you're a junior, it is your third year in college, so just one year gap, but they insist on calling you their own old man.
You were a sophomore when you got into your dorm, you never had a roommate, well more likely because there's a rumored ghost haunting the hallways and bathrooms, It's not like you don't believe in ghosts, you actually like watching paranormal documentaries after the exams, but it's because you like the peaceful and quiet nights when you can study unbothered, doing the chores on your own accord, cooking meals with no one to share with.
It might seem lonely to be by yourself, but at least you got your cat, no?
You flinched, as you felt a furry and fluffy creature snuggled against your foot.
“Kiki. . are you hungry?”
You asked the white furball reaching for it, your hands slipping under its short arms, putting kiki on your lap and scratching its head and chin, it mewled softly leaning to your touch.
“I guess you are. . .”
-
You hated calculus, no, you loathed it.
Let's just say that mathematics wasn't your strong suit. . . You literally just crawled your way in to pass that subject, you even tried to avoid it but it was inevitable, you never had a blink of sleep when you tried to study Multivariable calculus, and all of that shit show, your eyes almost bulged out of your skull sockets and it's already the fourth can of coffee you've inhaled.
You'd rather memorize all parts of every single organ in your body and its functions than adding, subtracting two vectors.
-
Now at some cafe.
“[Name], are you still breathing. . ?” Nobara asked in half concern while putting on her lip-gloss.
“Doubt it! I mean just look at him he looks like he just went to his own funeral!!” Yuji grimaced as he tried to shake you for your soul to somehow wake up again.
“Well aren't you harsh?” Megumi sat down next to you, with a matcha latte on his hand, sliding it in front of you.
“I'm actually cooked.” You then gently grasp Yuji's hands gripping your shoulders and pulling it off you with a forlorn look on your face.
“Cooked? Babe, you're charred at this point, you can't just keep avoiding your core subject y'know? It's a general education requirement, what if you can't graduate because of it.” Nobara deadpanned, her words stung but it was facts.
“You're talking as if you didn't fail general mathematics in highschool, consecutively. ” You bantered as you felt a hand, fingers with acrylics on it, gripping your scalp, ouch.
“HOW DARE—?! I'm just concerned about you and that's what you're going to repay me?” Nobara spouted while she continues to torture you.
“How about you get a tutor, [Name]?” Yuji meekly suggested, while he takes a little sip of your matcha latte.
“[Name]'s pride is higher than the mount everest itself, y'know, he can't just stumble on faculty and inquire for a tutor that's just crazy—” Megumi scoffed, not until you actually consider it.
“Yuji. . .that's actually smart of you.” You gave your friend a small grin as you ruffled his soft pink locks.
“WAAH.. [Name] complimented me! It's a miracle—”
“Ugh. enough of this studying shit already, sem-break is actually coming how about we actually do something fun, and you! why don't you come with us just this once? You've done nothing but to rot inside of your dorm!” Nobara irked as she pulled her brown strands in distress, pointing at you.
“Why would I? Y'know I don't like socializing..” You grumbled leaning down to sip on your matcha latte.
“Oh for god's sake! It's Halloween you dumbass and we're having a party, I hope that calculus notebooks of yours haunt you.” Nobara rolled her eyes to sass, jested as she checked her phone if her costume is arriving on 29th.
You choked on your drink, and your friends just snickered at you. What a lovely friends you have.
-
His ocean-blue eyes glimmered behind the black frames he was wearing, he eyes then glanced to his wrist, pulling the white sleeves of his button up, revealing a silver rolex, 6:09 pm.
The library has always been empty and quiet, not because it was in the rules to be quiet, but because people rarely come there to study, most of them just borrow books and go on their merry way to go back to their dorms or home.
Gojo Satoru liked the vibes of this particular library mainly because the books here are more scholarly and detailed, just his type, the smell of coffee and old paper, vellichor is what would he call. And especially because this library is fully air-conditioned and it has free wifi if you kindly ask the elderly who supervised the whole library.
He does visit the university library to return books but it just doesn't just piqued his interest especially when it's packed of performative students who just lounge there for attention, for his attention.
Well wouldn't? He might be a studious monster but it doesn't mean that he's not packed under that model student facade.
There's been this trend around the universities all around the country that's actually quite concerning for him. Like what do you mean people wanted a tall, handsome and nerdy boyfriend who never felt a touch of a woman all of his life for? And why does it have to be him? Well too bad they can't approach him.
His name and candid pictures is all over the internet for some reason and they've immortalized him into their degenerate fantasies.
He turned off his phone before he even went to a crashout, he then rubbed his eyelids, pushing his glasses upwards. His gaze then reverted back on to his laptop, looking at the date, 10/15/25. . . Should I do it. . . ?
He then heard rustling just in front of him, a few meters away from him, fixing his posture, to see who it is.
“Oh. . It's him, again.”
He always sees you in the library but he never saw you on campus, he knows that you guys went to the same university because of the ID lace you've been wearing, and you're always studying.. just like him, though you never acknowledged him inside the library nor tried to bother him in any way, though your presence always has been comforting for him, making him feel that he wasn't alone in this big ass library.
Whenever you guys somehow make eye contact with each other, you never gave him a scowl nor a smile, just your eyes making contact with his own made a connection, a silent conversation, Gojo felt something inside of him that he never felt before, he tried to brush it off like anyone else. Ignoring the part that his ears are tinted with pink and felt the blood rush onto his cheeks, his eyebrows knitted.
“Is this what having a crush is like. . .? How troublesome.”
He then continues to finish his reports, looking all constipated.
-
Let's just say that Gojo Satoru is a well-known figure all around the university, he dominated the ranks, consecutively, and his family name is widely known for it's excellence and luxuries, though he's been gifted intellectually ever since he was in his pre-school, crushing anyone's dreams and passion in one snap, the true definition of talent beats hardwork, many people despised him for that but some admired him, well not that Gojo cares for that anyways.
It was autumn, the sea of every shade of orange and brown maple leaves flooded the streets followed by the cold breeze making them dance, with kids in their thick coats, bonnets and little mittens running down the road, chasing each other.
He was walking down the hallway, basking in sunlight, almost illuminating his tall figure, fixing his black spectacles, he was wearing a black trench coat that reached below his knees, black turtleneck, grey slacks, and there hanged his ID lace, the shadow of the trees swaying gently in the wind matched the atmosphere, noticing the horde of students in front of the bulletin board where the preliminary ranks are announced, he then observed some of the students expressions contorted into a shocked, broken and somehow relieve faces.
“They're blocking the way. . .” Gojo irked as his veins almost popped on his forehead, he doesn't have a choice but to just look at the bulletin board himself where he can look for his rank this time, some of the students noticed his presence with a shocked expression and decided to step away, giving him a path and everyone else did.
His eyes scanned for his name, finding it on top, Rank 1. Satoru Gojo, with 99.45%, and followed by Aoi Todo being on Rank 2. with 97.56%, he felt the burning stares almost poking through his back, he heard some of the murmurs being “He didn't get a hundred this time, huh?” “Are you serious? You couldn't even get passed 70% you imbecile?!”
Gojo merely deadpanned, though they're right, he's expecting it to be 99.87% or just flat 100% this semester, General biology really did do him dirty this time, he gripped the handle of his black prada satchel rather tightly.
He then noticed a presence beside him, eyes widening slightly, it was you, he felt his heart thump, you must've been here to look at your rank as well, considering at the side you're in you must be his junior, looking at the direction you're looking at he saw your rank.
Rank 1. [Name] [Last name], with 99.47%
“Holy shit.” Gojo's eyes widened once again, his eyes slightly shimmering staring back at your figure.
“Stupid calculus. . .—” You murmured, eyes almost burning the paper in front of you, you then hear the tall person beside you.
“Wanna be study buddies together?” Gojo said in the most monotonous way as possible, as if he didn't just dropped a bomb on you and everyone else who's present, shoving his hands deep inside his pockets, ignoring the warm sensation coiling into his core and the audience behind you two.
“Pardon . . ?” Your jaw agape, confused? puzzled? confuzzled? You don't even know if that's a word at this point.
-
“So. . . you're meant to tell me that we should tutor each other, because your weak point is Biology and my weak point is Calculus?” You said as you try to calm yourself down, by the fact that the most popular nerd in the campus just drags you to some expensive cafe downtown to talk about academics. were you in some sort of lucid dream?
“Wrong, I said that your strong suit is Biology and my strong suit Calculus and by that we should help each other to be on top” Gojo gave a smile while slicing his strawberry shortcake with a knife.
“You literally just twisted my words and still proved my point, and besides how can we do that? We're not in the same year nor curriculum.” You then stabbed the blueberry cheesecake in half with a fork and shoved it in your mouth. fuck this shit is so good.
“Cute, but I did consider that and thought about that already, do you really think that I'll just decide and not think of the possible effects? I'm hurt.” Gojo pouted, chewing on his lips like a bullied child, fiddling his fingers together.
“You're a child. . . I didn't expect you to be this way y'know? You just have this certain aura about you that would make people not approach you at all but here you are begging me to be your study mate.” You said bluntly then sipping on your chocolate milkshake.
“Is that what you really think of me? Well I guess that's fair, though I just didn't like people leeching off me for their own benefits, but I'm guessing that you knew that already knowing how smart you are, aren't you?” Gojo said steadily, gaze dripping to your form, memorizing the every curve of you.
“Of course? I'm sure it's not that hard to conclude, no? Unless you're that pathetic, Being smart is nothing without empathy after all, so yes I would love to be your tutor.” You finished with a satisfied expression, putting down your fork on the plate.
“You just know what to say every time, did you rehearse this by any chance?” Gojo's heart kept on beating loudly as if he was alive again, leaning his head down to hide his growing smile and the healthy pink tint on his cheeks, it's so nice to get to talk to someone once again, he thought to himself.
“ I'm afraid I did not. . .”
-
“Satoru. . . Did you hit your head on your way home? What do you mean you want to live in the dorms?!” Geto screamed at the man as if he killed somebody. . . again.
“What's the big deal? It's not like I'm going to move away forever, just for a while y'know, I need tutoring for biology and shit.” Gojo grumbled slipping off his shoes and throwing the socks in the laundry bucket.
“Well it's not like I'm opposed to it or something, it's just so sudden. . . and weirdly enough for tutoring purposes? You all of people needed tutoring? Are you still the Satoru Gojo that I knew? The honor stud—” Geto was silenced by a pillow colliding on his face. “HEY—?!”
“Oh, shut your trap, will you? I literally have to beg my way just to make him agree y'know?” Gojo complained, lying down on the soft mattress of the couch.
“Begging? You? Damn you are down bad aren't you? Is your new boy-toy that hot?” Geto flopped down the couch beside Gojo, as he turned on the television.
“He's not just hot y'know, he's incredibly smart and kind too . . .” Gojo buried his face on the pillow screaming into it.
“You got yourself a crush, huh. Young love these days. . .” Geto sighed, holding the remote directly at the big ass screen in front of them.
“Ugh. You're such a bummer, Suguru. . .” Gojo sat up, gaze staring at the screen, reading it silently.
Scream, 1996.
“Hey, Suguru. Wanna dress up as Ghostface again? I mean it's almost Halloween.” Gojo asked Geto beside him.
“Eh, Him again? I think I will change my costume this year's halloween y'know? Like Count Dracula or something.” Geto answered his friend making his way to the kitchen to get some snacks.
“Well suit yourself, I guess.”
-
“WHAT?!” all of your friends chorused, cramped inside your dormitory, it's not that cramped actually, you're just dramatic.
“Oh, will you guys shut up about it already?” You grimaced as you tried to focus on the math tutorial online to not embarrass yourself once your tutoring starts, clicking the play button on your laptop on top of your study desk, notebooks and textbooks scattered everywhere.
“What do you mean by shutting it already, huh?! You punk. The Gojo Satoru just asked you to be his tutor?! That's fucking insane.” Nobara pinched your cheeks and pulled it with a scary look at her face, you tried to pull it off only for her to pinched it even more causing you to winced. Her nails are weapons, I'm telling y'all.
“That's actually so lit, [Name]!! I mean you are the smartest student in the Junior department after all and he's the smartest in the senior department.” Yuji said with a proud look on his face because he's your friend and you're his friend.
“For once, I agree with Itadori.” Megumi said while playing with Kiki on top of your bed as the cat merely snuggled to Megumi's side.
“Hey! What's that supposed to mean, huh?!” Yuji abruptly stood up to throw a pillow at Megumi.
“ H-HEY NO PILLOW FIGHT— HEY THAT'S MY TROPHY YOU DUMBASS?! PUT IT DOWNNN—”
-
After class, you found yourself in the teacher's faculty room, the air-conditioning hitting your face gently, a cold shiver running down your spine, Professor Tsukaba personally called for you via message.
“Mr. [Last Name], thank you for the immediate attendance, I would like to inform you about the issues with your dormitory and I would like to congratulate you for ranking first.” Ms. Tsukaba merely spinned her chair with a small smile gracing her lips.
“Issues? I'm afraid, I don't know what you're talking about. . .though thank you Professor Tsukaba.” You pondered, but you don't exactly remember what you did wrong or what happened to have an issue.
“Oh, Do not worry dear, it's not that kind of issue. It's just that the University's (RA) noticed that you don't have a roommate just this week and we decided to settle it, luckily someone in the senior department is willing to be your roommate, since it's his first time in the dormitory.” She explained to you while finishing her lesson plan.
Your body stiffened at the moment that you actually forgot to breathe, a roommate?!
“Ah. . Is that so, I understand. Though can I please know who it is?” You meekly asked the lady.
“I'm afraid I cannot, I made a promise with that child, to not tell you who he is if you ever asked for it.” Ms. Tsukaba apologized with a sorry face.
“No, it's completely alright, Professor. When is he arriving?” You dismissed but asked again.
“Tomorrow night, Dear.” The lady answered your question before sipping her tea.
ALREADY?!
“ Thank you, Professor. I will take my leave now.” You plead your goodbye, as you bow to her.
“No need to be so formal with me, [Name]. I am not going to feed you math equations this time.” Ms. Tsukaba jested with a teasing tone.
“Ma'am, it's not funny at all. . .” You grimaced.
“Y'know I'm joking.”
You then made your way outside the faculty, the warm sun rays welcoming you through the glass window, the sunset after classes always had mesmerized you while you pondered.
“I guess I need to do a general cleaning, huh. How troublesome.”
-
You slipped the last book into your shelf, the books categorized as what kind of genre or type they are, you even changed the sheets of the unused bed beside you, cleaned the dust on the empty study table, changed the curtains, vacuumed and mopped the floor, you even scrubbed the bathroom clean, cleaning your medals and trophies you received since you're a freshman inside the glass cabinet, of course you have more than that but you left all of your highschool memorabilias and awards at your parent's home.
You flopped down to your bed, checking your phone for the time, 7:12 pm. Swiping up to see if your order has been shipped, it's just Halloween decorations after all, you're still thinking of what your costume is going to be, you did see that some of the dorm rooms had started to decorate their doors and little pathways.
It's still unreal to you that you're going to have a roommate now but you can't bend the rules after all, whoever your roommate's going to be you prayed that they're somewhat kind or chill, you messaged your little friend group about it and they absolutely went batshit about it.
You stood up to look at your appearance in the mirror, damn I look like shit. You then reached for your towel in the rack and got the clothes inside your closet, your roommate might be on their way now and you're looking like shit? No way.
You make your way inside the bathroom and shower.
-
Gojo kept on looking at his watch every damn 5 seconds while he drives with Geto beside him who's looking at him like he's gone mad.
“Will you please calm your ass down? You're not even late. You insisted on living in a dormitory now face the repercussions.” Geto said with a tired face, “If Shoko was here right now she'd be frying you.”
“I am calm! I'm just nervous because it's my first time y'know. . !” Gojo bantered as he parked near the university.
“Oh, don't bullshit me with that, Satoru. I know you too well.” Geto just watched his friend get his luggage inside the trunk in the mirror.
“Yeah, yeah Mr. Know-it-all. Bye for now, don't miss me too much, 'kay?” Gojo said with a smug smile while waving his goodbyes.
“Last time I checked you are the Mr. Know-it-all here, you nerdy hunk. Just don't die.” Geto said while waving back to his friend, starting the car once again.
Gojo went inside the dormitory building to see some of the students in their sleeping wear and some of them in casual, looking at him with a bamboozled expression, he looked for the room 436 with a luggage on his side, wearing a black chrome hearts hoodie with white sweatpants.
He eventually found it on the fourth floor, where the rooms are weirdly quiet, is it not occupied? Well I guess no neighbors then.
He stopped in front of the door, twisting the knob to know if it was locked, it's not. Walking himself inside the room, it was quite spacious, with two windows, two beds and two tables. How cute, it was really made for roommates, have you been living alone like this for months? Isn't that lonely. He also saw your glass cabinet full of trophies and certificates stacked together with your name on it, medals displayed. Yeah. You're his type. He bit his lips, smirking a little.
Gojo also noticed a bolster bed beside your bed with two small bowls, he then felt a creature snuggled beside his leg, a white ragdoll cat, with cerulean-blue eyes that could rival his, letting out a small mewl.
“Well aren't you cute? Besides the fact that you look just like me. . .”
Gojo then made his way to your side, where all your things are organized and located, you're so neat with your things, leaving his luggage by his bed, with a cat following him.
He noticed the small things that screamed too much of you, you're so cute. He also noticed the pictures you displayed, pink haired dude, black haired boy and a brunette girl, it must be your friends.
Gojo heard the knob twisting by the bathroom area, he perked at the familiar figure that emerged from it.
“Long time, no see. How have you've bee—” He then felt his breath hitching by the sight of you, clad in a loose white shirt and dark grey sweat shorts, and a white towel hanging in your neck, droplets of water dripped down your hair strands, also dripping down your thighs and smooth legs. Fuck.
“So it was you after all? I had a hunch but I didn't expect it to be true. . .” You then tried to dry your hair with your towel then you remembered that you have a hair blower in your drawer. “ I've been fine, make yourself at home, you can unpack your things sooner or later if you want, Kiki seems to like you.” You said walking past his frozen figure.
“Its name is Kiki? How adorable, considering that it looks a bit like me, no?” Gojo swallowed his saliva back, and jested, flopping down his bed.
“Now that you mentioned it, Kiki does look like a bit like you because of color, he's also a boy if you're wondering.” You then turn the blower on mild heat to dry your hair, putting the blower slightly higher making your shirt hitched a bit upwards revealing the side of your waist. he wanted to grab it so bad.
“Y-yeah. . . Thanks.” He then looked away covering the half of his face with his hand, fearing that his face might erupt into multiple shades of red. Why must you tease me this way.
-
It has been a week since Gojo moved in with you.
He already got his pc setup with triple monitors settled on his very own desk, his xbox, nintendo switch and even his vr set is already displayed, his multiple textbooks and books are already stacked and settled on the shelf, and not to mention his hyperfixation of Digimon is already there. Gojo's greed sickens me.
You also find him weird.
There are a few times when you catch him just blatantly staring at you then looking away, you can't just ignore the feeling of that eyes memorizing the every crevice of you, no? Watching the every fiber of your being, There are also these scenarios where he will almost touch you in any way but it's almost like he's restraining himself to do so, holding himself back, you can't seem to grasp it.
You will see him all day on his desk studying, well you aren't surprised by it in any way it's just that you notice him skipping his meals trying to memorize and solve things in his notebook, for a smart person he sure is dumb enough to neglect himself.
“Hey. . . Have you eaten? You've been at your desk since 7:06 am, it's already 4:30 pm.” You asked while flopping down to his bed, tilting your head to see his face.
“Aw, I didn't know that you care for me, [Name], for you to keep track of my time at that.” Gojo perked at your sudden appearance next to him, with a dainty smile gracing his lips.
To be fair, Gojo isn't used to being cared for, especially a stranger who only knew him and he knew for weeks, usually it's just Suguru and Shoko who checks up on him, because his parents weren't present when he turned five years old for business overseas and familial reasons, leaving him emotionally unavailable and mentally constipated, then he felt that warm sensation coiling inside of him once again everytime you're so close to him, the hairs on his neck starts to stand up.
“Why yes? This is my first time having a roommate y'know, I can't just have you neglecting yourself, not on my sight.” You bantered at him, putting your arms up to stretch your back.
“That's true or maybe you're just too kind for your own good, do you treat everyone like this, [Name]?” Gojo said with a honeyed tone at first then gritted his teeth by the end of it.
“Not really, I'm quite picky.” You stood up making your way to the mini kitchen you guys have, as you answered him frankly.
“Oh? I guess I'm a lucky one, then?” Gojo's irises glimmered at your form, with a small smile on his lips.
“I guess you are.” You craned your head to look at him and said.
“You aren't really making me win that easy, huh?” Gojo let out a breathy laugh, returning to his screen, hiding his growing smile once again.
“Y'know how I am. . . ” You merely finished grabbing the matcha powder in the cupboard.
-
Your eyes felt heavy, feeling the incoming yawn in your throat you stretched your back, arms up, you've been on your laptop for almost 8 hours now, finishing some of the powerpoint presentations and group reports, a few ones in microsoft excel and some quizzes in kahoot! that made your head want to explode, but you still have a week till the deadline, pushing the power off button the laptop can finally rest and so are you, standing up to make your way in the bathroom, giving your roommate glances who's also chained to his desk, with the textbooks he borrowed from you scattered around his desk, high quality headphones that hanged on his neck, the light of his monitors illuminating his figure, making a certain glow that made him look ethereal.
You washed your face, then brushed your teeth, coming out of the bathroom to see Kiki already waiting for you. Food. Yeah.
You immediately went into the kitchen cabinet to find Kiki's kibbles and his favorite wet food, mixing it together, then poured it into his food bowl.
Yawning once again, then flopping down to the soft cushions of your bed, you almost melted into your mattress, the sheets were cold because of the air-conditioning, and the fabric conditioner smelled so nice, but you can't seem to fall asleep, looking at your roommate who's still glued to his seat, you then rested your chin on your hand, staring at Gojo, his face, I mean who wouldn't especially when he's not wearing his glasses.
Gojo typed the last paragraph, precisely, though he already felt the exhaustion punching him right in the head, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses, until he felt someone staring at him, it was you, staring at him, making eye contact with you.
“Uhm, Do you need anything. . . ?” Gojo asked while fixing his glasses.
You perked up at the sudden question, your mind almost went blank, what should you say? Shit. Well you don't have anything to say anyway because you're just literally looking at his face. Though If I say that it'd be embarrassing, no it's humiliating.
“Well not really. . ? I was just wondering why a good-looking guy like you wears glasses, now that I mention this, I noticed these past few days that you get around just fine even without your glasses, I assumed that your eyes aren't that bad.” You rambled while scratching your cheek, but you just made yourself more humiliated.
Gojo's eyes widened yet softened at your words, no one really asked him that before.
“To be honest, you're quite right, though I already wear glasses since I was in the fourth grade and I am not used to it when I don't have it, I feel like I'm blind or something. . .thanks by the way.” He answered returning back to his monitors, attempting to hide his reddening cheeks.
“I see, well good night then.” You smiled at him as you settled down in your bed, nestled under your snoopy blanket.
“Good night.”
Gojo wasn't the type to lose his mind when it comes to deadlines and the mountain of reviewers that he needs to study on a random thursday night, he's usually so laid-back and composed when it comes to this to this stuff, because he always studies until it's breaking dawn, the sunrise always greeting him like an old friend.
But this time he's not so sure anymore, his skin didn't feel right on his bones, sweat slick on his back, unfocused and distracted, and it's all your fault, the every thought inside his head somehow is being interconnected with you.
Eventually he did get used to it, but it wasn't easy, he really likes it when you teach him, you're actually educating rather than making him feel dumb for not knowing or understanding it, and you're so patient with it too. The way you explained so intricately yet he can pick it up quickly is so important to him. and by that he decided that you're going to be his. No matter what.
He also decided that you're not just his flimsy crush anymore, something ignited inside of him that he can't somehow control, but he's not opposed to it either and then so this kind of occurrence only happens when you're not around.
Whenever he's in the shower he can't help but to get a boner when he remembers your fleeting touch on his broad shoulders, the way you ruffle his white locks whenever he gets the correct answer to your questions, the way your breathing tickles his ears when you gossip with him about your day or when you walked in the room only wearing an unbuttoned white button-up shirt that revealed your soft and smooth stomach with some muscle on it and a black boxer shorts that almost destroyed his last drop of sanity. Fuck he's so into you and you're too oblivious for you're own good.
He bit his lip, eyebrows knitted together, whimpering, pumping his dick up and down, slick covering his shaft, precum oozing out the slit, he imagined you blowing his dick and shooting it down your throat as you gagged on it, tears brimming.
Fuck. He can't wait to tutor you.
-
“Satoru. . . Will you get your ass here already? I need help with decorating the door over here.” You called for him, while holding the Happy Halloween cutouts and webs, you already displayed the jack-o'-lanterns and the whole skeleton sitting on the chair with a coffee mug in its hand, resembling what you're going to be in the future or something.
“Hey! Just because I gave you the permission to call me by my first name doesn't mean that you can abuse it.” Gojo grumbled coming out of the bathroom with his hair slick back from being wet, wearing a black compression shirt and grey joggers.
“Stop being a baby and stick this on the door. ” You rolled your eyes and said while reaching it to Gojo.
“But I'm your baby aren't I?” Gojo finds a way to twist your words against you once again and decides to tease you, leaning his face close to you, with a sly expression.
You smacked his shoulder in return.
“OUCH— Hey! That's not nice” Gojo cried, rubbing the spot that you've smacked, while pouting.
“Well, news flash, I don't intend to be nice.” You said, while walking inside the dorm leaving the weeping Gojo outside, unbeknownst to the reddening of your cheeks and neck.
“For a short-term roommates they sure act like a married couple.” Mai spoke while puffing out smoke in her cigarette, looking at the situation unfolding in front of them.
“This building has been inhabited with gay people or something.” Maki bantered while fixing her cap.
“You're talking as if you didn't just eye fucked Nobara back in the bar.” Mai jested, teasing her twin sister.
“H-HEY?! That's not true, Take that back! and will you stop smoking when I'm around? You've been hanging out with Leiri-senpai haven't you?!” Maki's eyes widened, face blooming into 50 shades of red, pointing to her devil-spawned twin sister.
“Nye nye nye, I can't hear youuu—” Mai said throwing the used cigarettes to the nearby trash can as Maki chased her down the stairs.
-
“Satoru, why's your face like that. . . ?” You noticed then asked in concern.
“What do you mean?” Gojo asked back in return, with a clueless expression.
“You look like you're about to kill someone with that look.” You deadpanned.
“Really? I apologize, I'm just not used to many people coming here to study or lounging, it's usually peaceful.” Gojo reasoned out, as his gaze never left the people packed in the central area of the library, he recognized those ID laces, his veins almost popped in his neck and forehead, knuckle turning white from his grip, when he catches one of them ogling at you.
Fucking. Sukuna Ryomen with his signature smirk. Asshole. He's definitely trying to piss him off. Yeah I'm going to kill that bastard if he even tries to touch you.
“Is that so? Well, don't mind them, I'm sure they meant no harm.” You replied gently.
“Yeah, I'm sure. . .” Gojo said lowly.
-
“Little red riding hood? Really. You're making me dress into some dumb and naive girl? I am quite offended.” You grimaced at Nobara who's dressed up into Clawdeen Wolf from monster high, reaching the costume to you.
“Not my fault that it's the one that you've got in the spinning wheel, be grateful that I'm going to do your make-up!” Nobara rolled her eyes once again, throwing the clothes to your face.
“I'm sure you'll look great, [Name]!!” Yuji tried to cheer you up who's dressed up as the Frankenstein from Hotel Transylvania.
“How come you guys got the good ones while I didn't?!” You complained while pointing fingers at your friends.
“Our fate is aligning with our wants, I guess.” Megumi said while adjusting the scissors in his fingers, dressed up as Edward Scissorhands.
“How unfair.” You sulked while putting on the costume in Nobara's bathroom, the costume consists of white tailored button-up with high collar, long sleeves with ruffles, dark red vest with gold buttons with a matching corset, burgundy trousers that end around the knees, white tights with a rose and vines design, chestnut colored lace-up knee high boots and a dark red cape with a hood and a ribbon, you slipped on the boots and it's just your size. How did Nobara know. . . ?
Anyways, you finished the laces that you need to tie and took your phone to message Gojo to tell him that if he's done dressing then he could go early, don't forget to feed Kiki and lock the door, then turn it off.
You walked out of the bathroom with a scowl, earning a squeal from Nobara who's been waiting for you, Yuji who's just clapping and Megumi who's sitting uncomfortable with his costume, he can't exactly function that well with a big ass diy scissors in his fingers.
“That's more like it you dumbass, now let's do your make-up!!” Nobara mischievously smiled and ran to her walk in closet to grab her make-up box.
You checked your phone to see Gojo's white heart reaction, and a little message that he's already on his way to the campus on the notifications, you smiled softly at the small endearment, he also told you that he's dressed up as Ghostface which actually intrigued you because you haven't watched Scream yet.
“Hey. What are you smiling at? Get your ass here before we get late.” Nobara grimaced, holding a foundation and make-up blender.
Well. You can't escape now, this is your first time joining a party in a public event, especially halloween, mostly you just rot on the couch and just play whatever halloween special movies you see in the recommendation in netflix, eat popcorn then call it a night.
“Yeah, yeah.” You sat on the chair in front of the vanity mirror while Nobara tries not to rip your face off.
“Hey, y'all the class gc just announced something.” Yuji scrolled to his phone.
“What did they say?” Megumi said while muching on some skittles.
“They said that some of the students from the university just crashed into the campus grounds, trick or treating, some of our schoolmates didn't like that and almost started chaos but the university deputy let it slide because it is a halloween party and anybody could join and announced some of the rules and precautions if somebody ever did cause a problem.” Yuji explained with his knitted eyebrows.
“The fuck? Just how shameless could they be to do that? Crashing into another university's party, for what? Couldn't they just do a party on their own campus?” Nobara irked with an angry expression that it almost scared you, while applying light eye shadow on your eyelids.
“I bet they have hidden motives, ain't no way they're just going on our campus to go trick or treating, don't they?” Megumi bantered.
“Yeah, they didn't do this on last year's halloween.” Yuji followed while fixing his red neck tie. Damn this costume is hot.
“Well enough of that, look at our little red riding hood! Isn't he so cute.” Nobara teased while applying the lip gloss on your lips as a finishing touch.
“Will you stop that? You're actually scaring me.” You grimace while Nobara just ignores you as she does a retouch on her face, looking at yourself in the mirror, you actually find it pleasant.
“Looking good, [Name]!!” Yuji complimented you while helping Megumi stand up, as he also agrees.
“Thank you, Yuji.” You smiled while fixing your hair beneath the hood.
“Y'all, let's get going it's almost 6pm.” Nobara reminded while getting her purse.
-
Walking down the streets, you noticed that the streetlights are finally waking, illuminating surroundings, the road is full of kids in their little costumes and jack-o'-lantern baskets filled with candies, it was boisterous yet fun.
What could go wrong, right?
When your little friend group finally reached the University's entrance, it was decorated with Halloween decorations, spooky.
You can hear people chattering inside some are even playing loud music. If you can recall the song, it was called the Goo Goo Muck.
“Looking rather dainty aren't you, Mr. [Last Name]?” Ms. Tsukaba approached you with a fruit punch on her hand and a small smile, dressed up as Unohana from Bleach. Holy shit.
“Professor?! You attend a gathering like this?” Your jaw slacked when you saw your well respected science professor at a Halloween party.
“Why yes? I conclude that this is your first time attending, because I always greet my students if I see them.” Ms. Tsukaba spoke in a well mannered way yet slightly teasing.
“You don't need to rub it in my face, Professor. . .” You sulked once again, while your friends are holding their laugh in their hands while Megumi suffers from holding his breath.
“Y'know I'm joking, dear.” She lamented while patting you in the shoulder.
-
You sat down on some bench while your friends left you to meet up with their other friends, you felt a little lonely but you remembered that you have a roommate, fishing for your phone inside your pockets, you immediately opened your message box to send a message to Gojo, asking where is he as you try to describe what part of campus you're at.
“What's a pretty little thing like you doing all alone over here?”
You flinched at the sudden voice, it was rough yet steady, you looked up to see a man, he has pink hair that was slicked back, burgundy irises that turns into red when light touches it, muscular body that dips down to his slender waist and he's dressed up as the Joker with markings tattooed on his face, and so you thought, he looks just like Yuji. Could it be?
“Do I know you. . . ?” You meekly asked, since you guys are in the secluded area where there's not many people around.
“Aw, sweetheart, don't be that way, I just wanna be friends with ya.” flopping down next to you, one arm on top of the backrest, fleeting touches right on your shoulder, legs slightly spreading, bumping with yours, head leading too close to your shoulder. “The name's Sukuna, darlin', can I know yours?” He said coyly, gaze boring into your figure.
“[Name]. . .” You answered, nervously sliding away from the seat, you sense the intentions of the man beside you, yes. He is fucking hot, you'll admit that, but you barely know him so—
“A fitting name for such a delicate thing, now why are you trying to back away from me?” Sukuna spoke, grinning at your answer, noticing the shifting of your body and the way you're fixing your cape, he finally saw an opening, your hips, he slithered his hand, fingertips almost touching it until, black figure swoop you into his arms.
“Do you not know to fuck off?”
Your eyes widened by the sudden action, cape swaying in the wind, knocking your hood off, you recognized that voice and it sounded pissed off, by instinct you engulf your arms around the man's neck, legs securing his waist.
Gojo lifted up his ghostface mask to the side of his head, he's not wearing his glasses this time, with a deep scowl in his face, gaze that sharp as knives, his irises are almost glowing at this point, you also noticed his jaw ticked, vein prominent on his neck, holding you by the waist by his bulging arms, you don't know what is it but those eyes can hold such storm, menacing and malevolent.
“Is that how you greet your old peers, Gojo? Oh and look I met your little bunny.” Sukuna merely whistled at the swift move, smiling even wider at the sight, teasing, pointing at you.
“Too bad I never considered you as one, you dumbfuck.” Gojo spouts, hands gripping you even tighter. You eyed him, you certainly haven't seen him this worked up and full out cursing someone out, then you whispered into his ear.
“Satoru. . . Let's just go.” Oh how he loves it when he hears his name rolled perfectly out of your lips, he almost purred right there. Patience Satoru. Patience.
“You better take care of that one, or he might disappear.” Sukuna spoke as he lit up the cigarette and put it in his mouth to puff out smoke, looking at two, retreating back to the party, with a growing smirk, leaning his head back. Fuck, that cute little thing is just my type.
While walking, Gojo still hasn't let go of you, and refuses to.
“So mind telling me who he is?” You asked curiously while playing with his hair.
“He's my highschool classmate, and he's a pain in the ass, especially to me.” Gojo pouted and grumbled, tucking his chin on your shoulder, cuddling you at this point.
“Based on his looks, he's a bully isn't he and he bullied you?” You said lean your head on his shoulder while patting his back like you're consoling a child.
“I think so? But I don't really consider it as that, he just loves pestering and messing with me to the point that we almost killed each other.” Gojo narrated while walking down the dimly lit road, damn you did try to run away from the crowd that hard that you really went this far.
“What a child. Do you think he's into me or something?” You absentmindedly said then he just squeezed you a bit tighter right after you said that, you then slap his arm. “Hey! that hurt.” looking at his expression, he's biting his lips with a scowl once again.
“Mhm. . . I think so, But! There's no way I'm letting that happen, I found you first.” Gojo grumbled then declared, making you cringe.
“Anyways, enough of that fucker, did you like my gift though?” Gojo's mood just changed in seconds, Is he bipolar or something? then he asked while tugging the hem of your costume.
“So it was you who bought this?! that's why it fits me so well, are my friends part of this? Oh for god's sake of course they are.” You pull his white locks in anger.
“OUCH—”
-
After the party, and multiple shot fruit punch did really punch you in the face considering that you have a fucking massive headache right now, they didn't tell you that the third batch of fruit punch was alcoholic, good thing that Yuji was there to inform you right after your second glass, now you're in Gojo's car, he said something about staying in his villa to stay for the night but you can't even decide or function properly because of the current state you're in, your head is pounding and your legs hurt, so you just agreed.
Waking up to someone moving you, in a bridal style, you rubbed your eyes to see properly, oh it was Satoru, he's finally wearing his glasses this time.
You noticed the surroundings, you were in some kind of estate, large gates and a pool.
“Satoru, Is this your house?” You asked groggily, leaning to him even more, your head's still pounding after all.
“Yes pretty, this is my home.” Gojo murmured softly into your ears, you only hummed in return. “It's beautiful.”
“Thank you, pretty.”
“Since when did you start calling me that?”
“Since now.”
Going inside, the breeze of the air-conditioning immediately invades your skin, as Gojo settles you down the couch, and it's the softest couch you've laid upon, he went upstairs then comes down with a stack of clothes in his hands.“Hey, you can use the bathroom by the way, wash your face, and change, I just need to take care of something.” Gojo reached the stack of his clothes to you then ruffled your hair. this side of you is so so cute.
“Mhmm. . . Thank you, take care.” You hummed in agreement once again and took the clothes, watching your roommate's form go outside the door.
You reach for your phone to check the time, 9:16 pm, you open to check your message box, pressing your friend group's gc, messaging them if they can go and check Kiki in the dorms, fortunately Yuji's still online and replied that he'll go. Nice.
Damn my legs are fucked up, you thought as you navigate your way in the bathroom in this big ass house you're at, changing into the clothes that you were given and tossing the costume set inside the laundry basket, and it's a bit big for you, well it was Gojo's clothes after all.
He gave you an oversized grey shirt and hello kitty pajamas, you then proceed to wash your face with whatever soap Gojo got in his bathroom, surprisingly he does use the stuff you were also using, coming out the bathroom room, the cold wind made you shiver, damn this place is so fucking cold.
You flop down the couch to observe the spacious place, the interior design was amazing, it fits Gojo's aesthetic just right. Now you remembered, you didn't ask where he was going, you immediately took your phone and messaged him but he didn't answer, how odd, he always answers immediately. Maybe he's busy. You turn it off.
Eventually you got bored since you're not sleepy anymore. Satoru wouldn't mind if you watched a movie on his large ass television, yes? Yeah he wouldn't. you reached for the remote, pressing the Netflix button.
Should you rewatch Halloween once again? Or maybe Friday the 13th?
And so you did both.
It's been two hours since you've been watching, and Gojo still hasn't answered your messages you even tried to call him though it seems like his phone is off and it's actually making you worried.
Then you flinched when you heard it ring, grabbing it to see Sato— wait, this isn't Satoru's contact number, it must've been a wrong press, you just ignored it until it ended, you felt yourself quite famished so you went to the pantry to find some snack, pretzels? Chips? Popcorn? Yeah.
You placed the popcorn bag inside the microwave until your phone rings once again. You finally answered it.
“Hello?” You asked, putting your hand in your hip.
“Hello. Who is this?” The man spoke rather confused, his voice is deep and gravelly, it almost sends shivers down your core.
“Erm. Who're you trying to reach?” You asked once, maybe this is some kind of prank because it's halloween, but wouldn't it be more fitting if it's in april? How peculiar.
“What number is this?” The man asked, and it almost irked you.
“Again, what number are you trying to reach? Mister whoever you are, I don't have time for some kind of prank—” You answered agitated. Then the man answers “I don't know.” You thought that you'll pop a vein first then those popcorn in the microwave.
“Well, I think you have the wrong number.” You replied, a finger almost hovering on the end button. “Do I?” The man behind the phone coyly said.
“Yeah, It happens. Take it easy.” Your eyes flickering to the microwave, you press the end button, hanging up and put it on top of the counter, reaching for the buttons of the microwave, then it rings again. Are you fucking kidding me?
Since you're petty, you answered it again. Hearing the man's voice once again.
“I'm sorry, I guess I dialed the wrong number.”
“So why'd you dial it again?” Your voice almost raising by being annoyed.
“To apologize.”
“You're forgiven, now leave me alone.” You scoffed.
“Wait, wait! Don't hang up on me.” The man almost sounded desperate.
“What now?” You asked, rolling your eyes.
“I wanna talk to you for a second.”
“Sorry to break it to you but I'm busy. And besides I'm sure there's thousand of numbers for you to prank or something.” You sassed to the complete stranger who has an incredibly hot fucking voice but he was disrupting your movie time while waiting for your roommate, you then hanged up.
You finally turned on the microwave and cook the popcorn, fucking finally, watching it spin around inside, once it's done, you opened it and poured it inside a porcelain bowl, you wondered why Gojo decided to live in dormitory when he lives like this.
Flopping down the couch, you reach for the remote, until you hear your phone rings once again. Oh it's the same number. How fun.
“Hello?” You deadpanned.
“Why don't you wanna talk to me?” The man desperately asked, almost sad.
“Hey, actually. Who is this? You're actually creeping me out.” You told him truthfully as you placed the bowl on the glass coffee table, lying down the couch now.
“You tell me your name and I'll tell you mine.”
“Are you serious? If you are, I don't think so.” You replied, you felt your headache coming up again, reaching out for the popcorn and munching it.
“What's that noise?” He asked.
“Popcorn.” You answered shortly.
“You're eating popcorn?”
“Obviously.” You stated, with knitted eyebrows.
“I only eat popcorn at the movies.” He ignored your immediate reply of stating the obvious and continued to yap.
“Well I am getting ready to watch a movie right now, if you care enough.” You answered while eating.
“Really? What movie?”
“Just some scary movies.” You blatantly said.
“You like scary movies?”
“Yeah, but mostly paranormal documentaries.” You answered truthfully, even though he's a complete stranger he seems chill, and so you think.
“What's your favorite scary movie?”
“I actually haven't thought of that.” You pondered.
“You have to have a favorite, what comes to your pretty little mind?” The man's honeyed voice just happened to hypnotize you or something.
“Erm, Halloween? Y'know the one with the guy in white mask that walks around and stalks babysitters?” You answered absentmindedly yet concise, thinking that if you answer him he will finally shut up.
“Yeah. . .”
“What's yours?” It's your turn to ask.
“Guess.”
“Erm. Nightmare on Elm Street?” You just think of a random halloween movie and said it.
“Is that the one where the guy had knives for fingers?”
“Yeah, I think his name is Freddy Krueger or something.” Your memory wasn't that vivid, it's mostly the functions of the excretory system you try to memorize, not the killers in some movies.
“Freddy, yeah, that's right, I liked that movie. It was scary.” The man merely agrees.
“Well, the first one was, but the rest sucked—” You finally remembered the rest of the movie.
“So, you got a boyfriend?” The man asked.
“Why? You wanna ask me out on a date? Seriously.” Your eyes widened by the sudden question but still remained composed even when this man is literally wasting your time.
“Maybe. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Mmmm, no.” You denied, the audacity of this man is quite insane.
“You never told me your name.” The man asked.
“Why do you want to know my name, so badly?” You answered once again with your remaining patience, then it happens.
“'Cause I want to know who I'm looking at.”
What the fuck.
Your blood ran cold. The atmosphere suddenly changed, are you trembling? You don't know, you became wary.
“W-what did you just say?” You murmured, as you sat up looking at every direction, but he can still hear you.
“I want to know who I'm talking to.” The man continues to talk.
“That's not what you said.” You bantered, trying to hold yourself together, you need to call Satoru, or whoever it is who's online, you close the blinds, windows and the doors, but remembered that this wasn't your house, you aren't that familiar with it.
“What do you think I said? Hello?”
You turned quiet, trying to think. Fuck, you're so scared, you're actually trembling.
“Look, I think we should call it a night, yes?” You asked the man once again, your heart is beating so fast.
“Wait! I thought we're gonna go out together.”
“Uhm, no. I don't think so.” You tried to stay calm, pressing the end button.
“No! Don't hang up on me—”
You scrambled to your feet, it still hurts but you still went upstairs, finding your way to Satoru's room. Then it rings.
Fuck.
“Yes?” Your voice growing loud.
“I told you to not hang up on me.” The man's voice turned lowly, threateningly.
“What do you want from me. Leave me alone.” You spoke rather harsh.
“To talk.”
“Well, dial someone else, okay?” You said trembling.
“Listen. . . Just don't hang up on me and you'll be fine, understand?” His voice becoming more sinister.
“Is this some kind of joke?” You asked, you're terrified.
“More of a game, really, can you handle that?” He bantered.
“Listen, I'm two seconds away from calling the police—”
“Oh please, honey. They'd never make it in time. We're out in the middle of nowhere.”
Your stomach dropped because y'know to yourself that it was true, the police have always been late, your eyes felt hot, the hairs on your arms and legs started to stand up.
“What do you want from me?!” You screamed at your phone, tears almost brimming down your cheeks.
“To see what your insides look like.”
-
His ocean-blue irises almost dimmed, as blood dripped down his sharp knife, seeing his reflection of it.
There laid Sukuna's body, with multiple stabs in his stomach and head, his organs almost flooding out, gutted like a fish, gouged eye balls, and severed hand, the hand that touched you, there's splotches of blood everywhere, he spat into the dead man's corpse.
“Fuck around and find out, I guess.”
He adjusted his glasses to see you properly, in the monitor, oh how adorable you are, he was already inside the house, specifically the security room where every single angle of the house can be seen, he's watching your every move, he used Sukuna's phone and inserted your number to call you.
He watched you tremble, and cry, like a bunny lost in the woods waiting for the big bad wolf to devour him. Fuck he's hard, watching you go straight up into his bedroom, you just fell right into his trap.
Gojo then took off his bloodied black latex and settled it on top of the control counter, disinfecting the bloodied knife with alcohol, slipping his mask on, once again. Let's play.
It's been awhile since he put on his infamous mask, feeling the adrenaline rush into his system and this time he's more eager, more carnal.
Walking out the door, with feather like footsteps, he lived inside these walls almost half of his life, he already memorized the every corner of his home, even in complete darkness, how smart of you to turn off the lights but he's always two steps ahead of you.
-
You don't know what the fuck happened but it all happened in a flash, you heard the door being shut then a clink being the lock, then your heart pounding inside your ribs. You tried to escape but the knife in his hand just sealed your fate.
Now you're kneeling on the floor with your mouth being fucked, hard.
The masked man's cock has a thick vein that disappears below its head, arched against his sculpted stomach that dips down to his navel, trimmed white pubes. Fuck. Satoru?
You couldn't see properly because of the dark surroundings, hearing a clap, the lights suddenly turned on, revealing the masked man sitting at the chair, legs spreading, surprisingly enough, it's the same mask that your roommate was wearing, you trembled as the cold surface of the sharp knife pricked the skin of your neck, sliding down to your chest, but not enough to scar you.
You felt your eyes widened at the sudden realization, tears brimming, choking on it while the creamy precum drips on your tongue down to your tight throat, whimpering as hands gripped your hair to pushing it deeper, you drooled, eyes rolling back to your skull, feeling the tip of the knife pressing against your throat.
“Well, aren't you a smart boy? Finally figured it out, hm?” Gojo murmured, pushing his mask aside, revealing his face, his white and silky locks falling perfectly to his forehead, with his black frames looking down at you as you look up to him with those pleading eyes, mouth full of his dick. Fuuckk.
“Can't talk with your mouth full, huh? Too bad.” He said with smirking, slamming it down, repeatedly with his hips, hard, the crown of his bulbous tip abusing the end of your throat, he watches as drool and his hot cum pooling in your lips.
The mix of saliva and his semen frothed, coating his shaft with a creamy ring, dripping down your chin, choking on his thick load. You can only moan and breathe to your nose Fuck you felt your own dick getting hard. You wanna touch it so badly.
He then threw the knife at the floor.
“Swallow it, and don't waste a single drop.” He then pulled his cock out of your mouth, creating a thick white string, you tried to swallow it all.
“Toruu. . . you're so mean.” You groggily said, throat raw, cock drunk.
“Aww, baby. Too mean for you?” Gojo cooed while caressing your head, untangling your knotted strands, swooping you up into his lap, you felt his rock hard cock slipped past your hole with slick, eliciting a moan from you.
“We aren't finished yet, pretty.”
-
“Fuck. You look so fucking good with my clothes on, baby.” Gojo moaned, his glasses were still on which made your stomach flutter for some reason you don't understand, while his tongue was deep inside your raw and slick hole, licking the stripe of your ass, holding your shaking thighs with both of his hands in a vice grip, you trembled while you tried to muffle your sounds.
Inserting his fingers on, scissoring your gummy insides, back arching when he spotted your prostate, repeatedly poking it with his thick and long fingers, squelching, you tried to stop his hand but he barely budged, maintaining eye contact with yours.
“Nghh— Ngh—. . .Toru, pleaseee—” You choked a sob.
Gojo merely hummed, pushing his thick fingers in and out of your warm, tight hole, knuckle deep, making you throw your head back, writhing.
“Look at you clenching on my fingers like a cheap whore.” He leaned down into your ear.
You bucked your hips into his fingers on instinct. You've gone non verbal at this point, you couldn't even think straight anymore.
“Where did my smart boy go? Dick so good it melted your brain, is that it?” Gojo teased spoke lowly, coating his shaft with lube, still wet and slick from throat fucking you, he stared at your form laid bare below him, with shirt on, the moonlight shined down at you from the window, body so fuckable and lips so kissable, You're so perfect.
“What would your friends say if they saw you getting dicked down like this, hmm? The smartest student at the junior department getting bred by his senior? fuck, such a slut.”
Gojo snarled, as he leaned into your lips, slipping his pink tongue inside your mouth, sucking on your tongue, sloppily while he grips your neck, nose bumping together, he stared at you, with your blurry eyes from tears, you kept on drooling like a dumb boy you are.
“Oh. . You're really getting it tonight.” He said, taking off his glass and slipping it to you, he made you wear it.
“You look so good honey, my glasses fits you so well.” He purred, while lifting both your legs up to your head, knees bumping in your shoulders, holding it together, locked and tight, and in a snap before you could even react he slipped his thick cock inside making a loud squelch, a loud sultry moan escaped from your lips, guttural from your throat, it almost sent you to blackout, seeing stars, a single tear dripped down your cheek.
“NGHH—! too. . deeep—!!”
“Hmm? Too deep for you, bunny?” He angled his hips, tongue darting out his lips, focused, hitting the bundle of nerves inside dead on, lube and slick almost bubbling from the repeated thrusting, the sound of skin slapping making obscene delicious noises, squelching.
Pulling it out slooowly— then slamming it back in, fast and deep, his shaft now glistening from the slick and creamy sheen of cum, Gojo merely smirked, pressing the bulge forming in your soft tummy making you scream, seeing the dumb expression in your face, tongue lolling, drooling.
“Fwuuck! sooo— b-big— Nghh. . .”
The glasses in your face are now crooked from the impact, pinning you down the mattress, sweat and drool covered your face, your chest heaves.
Fuck you're so hot.
Plap! Plap! Plap!
Gojo kept on pounding you until he reached his orgasm, whimpering, shooting hot loads of cum in your creamy hole, thick white strings painted your insides, you can't feel your legs and back anymore, your neck was full of hickeys from Satoru's nipping and sucking. He's so fucking starved.
“Been wanting to fuck you for so long now, do you think you can just tease me and get away with it.” Gojo said while scooping some of his cum inside your hole with his fingers and shoving it in your mouth, you almost choke, you held on to his wrist while maintaining eye contact with me.
“Walking around our dorm half naked and you're expecting to keep my hands to myself?” Gojo knitted his eyebrows together, while he licks your stomach up to your chest, suckling to your perky nipples, you chewed on your swollen lips from kissing, Gojo's lips quirking into a sly smirk, his canines peaking out, while licking and pinching your nipples.
“Wondering if you can produce milk if I just suck it enough.” He said while he watches your face contorted into a blushingly mess.
“W-what kind nonsense are you trying to say now— Nghh—” You managed to let out almost mad, but not until Gojo rammed in his veiny cock in the snap of his hips like a warning, making you squeal.
“T'aww. . . Since when did you get to speak. Dumb boy.” He said dangerously, his irises glinted, sharp and calculated, mocking you, you whined.
“Dumb boys don't get to speak until he's told to, yes?” Gojo gave you a close eyed smile, menacingly, now manhandling you, bending you over as you tried to crouch on all fours but your legs and arms are too weak to even stand, so Gojo grabbed a nearby pillow and settled it on your chest and face.
“And dumb boys take what they can take.” Gojo trailed, admiring his view, fuck, the arch of your back just made him even more rock hard, it's pulsing at this point, from the vein, he held the of flesh of your hips, almost bruising it, then slammed his cock inside in a heartbeat, repeatedly, in and out, it filled you immediately.
Your moans are muffled by the pillow, eyes rolling at the back of your head, tears streaming down your cheeks, staining Satoru's glasses, as you hugged it tightly, you twitched, legs shaking, you felt him in your tummy, the bulbous tip almost poking out below your bellybutton.
“Fuuck—! If I only knew that you'd be this breedable then I would've fucked you in that library in the first place.” Gojo whined, catching his breath, kneading the globes of your ass, watching your hole clench, winking at him, then your mind went blank.
Your back is killing you, and your legs feel like they're going to snap off if you even try to stand and walk. Curse Satoru and his stupid breeding kink, who would've thought that the model student of the campus is such a kinky motherfucker.
-
You don't wanna think anymore, you want to just pass out at this point, I mean who watches scary movies while having an intercourse?! Just what kind of mind does this sex machine have? you missed Kiki.
Now you're riding Gojo's dick in the living room where you neglected the bowl of popcorn, when Gojo decided to fuck with you, rather literally, while watching Scream, 1996. Now that you realized it, the scenarios in that particular movie just mirrored the conversation you guys had in that phone call which genuinely concerned you, and this is your first time watching the movie.
You thought as the tip of his big dick pressed against your already abused prostate, you choked a delicious moan, while the man thrusts his hips, piercing his thick shaft inside you, skin slapping.
“NGH—! T-toruuu—”
“Tired already?” Gojo teased you, asking as if he didn't destroyed you in bed, while caressing your sides, giving your shoulders kisses, you felt the vein in your forehead irked. The audacity of this fucker.
You pull yourself up then slam it back down, catching Gojo off guard, eliciting a moan from him, and a loud squelch. Take that you bitch. Hmph.
“Fuck, baby since when did you learn that, hmm?” Gojo's irises glinted and asked lowly, slithering his bulging arms beneath your knees, lifting it up to your shoulder, legs almost touching your pretty little head.
Gojo then stood up, your back pressed against his hard, toned abs and soft pillowy pectorals, his warm breath tickling your ear, placing sloppy kisses on your neck.
Pulling his thick cock out, leaving his bulbous tip in your rim, then pounding it deep inside of you in an instant, creating the most delicious sound. It almost knocked the air out of you.
“Baby. . . You should've known better to not rile me up.” He whispered into your ear.
“Fuuuck— just look how deep I am inside of you.”
He pressed down the bulge below your bellybutton, you threw your head back to his broad shoulder, gripping hard on his bicep, whimpering and moaning, twitching and shaking.
He kept on fucking you, in long and deep strokes, pushing it deeper with every single thrust, shaping your insides into his size.
He's so fucking big, and your hole is so used and raw, you almost feel bloated from the amount of cum he pounded inside of you, thick spurts of hot creamy sheen of cum just never ends. Is he that pent up?
He keep murmuring in your ears that if he knocked you up hard enough, that'll make you pregnant, full of his kids.
He kept on kissing the every part of your being, your neck, shoulders, jaw and your temple, as if it was enough to compensate with the damages that he made.
Once you recover you'll definitely beat the shit out of him.
ꗃ Author's note: Haii y'all!! Belated Happy Halloween!! Tysm for all of the support and being patient, I will definitely do a part 2, though I will probably edit some of the it when I have time, unfortunately I have exams tomorrow and I really needed to publish this before I abandon this in my drafts and left it to rot, and to the ones who saw this getting posted unfinished, no you did not saw that, you're actually hallucinating. and please ignore the typos if you ever saw it lmao. ^^
a bit nervous, considering i’ve never sent an ask here before…if you’re comfortable with it, can you do a popular gyaruo reader x an emo loser who tutors the reader? theyre good friends, they’ve been friends for years. and like, theyre studying in the emo’s bedroom, when he leaves to go to the bathroom and m/n somehow comes across the emo’s notes on how much he’s obsessed with the reader and wants to feminize and dumbify him and freak shit like that. then emo comes back and gets mad at him for snooping thru his shit, and then they have sex!!
but if you don’t want to do it, just ignore this ask lol!! no need to do it if you don’t want to!!
ఌ 𝐄𝐌𝐎
w.c › 6.7k
warnings › bottom male reader. OC.
kinks › lite feminization, manhandling, dumbification, degradation, dubcon
ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
“You and Matsuda-San are friends?”
That was how everyone, no matter their age, would react when you brought up Matsuda Kota casually in conversation. You were quite the persona since middle school. Going against the dress code to fit your gyaruo style. Kota, however, was quiet.
Some labeled him an ‘emo’ but he just had long black hair and mostly wore black clothing. At least that’s what he would say. His hair was so long that his bangs regularly covered his face.
You wore black clothing too—but they were often paired with bold pieces. You wore black eyeliner to make your eyes pop. It was only in university when you were able to go full out in being a gyaruo—a male version of a gyaru. Though you were on the more simple side of the aesthetic.
The full makeup and outfit took so much effort that you only did it on rare occasions. Or whenever you were in the mood to sit in front of a mirror for over an hour.
Your parents were lacking in the usual strictness that older Japanese people were known for. So you basically wild out—a stark contract to Kota whose parents were so overly strict it was concerning.
That’s probably why he spent most of his time over at your house. The two of you met in middle school. By pure accident.
You were sent to your homeroom teacher’s office for being caught with eyeliner. After a stern talking to and being shoved outside of the room with some wet wipes—you were too busy wiping your eyes to notice Kota standing in front of you.
It was only in middle school that you were taller than him. You bumped right into him, causing him to crash to the ground. His bento box spilling all over the floor.
“Woah! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” You kneeled down and carelessly began scooping up the food with your bare hands, dumping them into the bento box. “Five second—”
“I’m not eating that.” Kota rudely interrupted you.
You blinked, finally glancing up to look at him. He had an ugly bowl cut and thick rimmed glasses that looked too big for his face.
“Pfft—!”
Your lips clamped shut as you quickly covered your mouth. Eyes wide while Kota’s narrowed.
“I don’t know why you’re laughing. You look ridiculous too.”
Kota huffed. He roughly grabbed his bento box from your hand and walked away. You stood up and looked to your left, seeing your reflection in the window.
He was right.
The makeup was all smudge—giving you perfect raccoon eyes. A laugh left your lips. It was honestly a look. You rushed after Kota and wrapped your arm around his neck. He grunted and tried to push you off but you used your height to rest your chin on his head.
“Since we both look ridiculous, we should hang out!”
Kota groaned. “What are you—?”
“My name is Togami (Name). But you can call me (Name), no one calls me Togami.”
“We just met, why—”
“Because it’s sooo boring. My name is so much better than Togami. Don’t you agree?”
“Well—”
“Anyway, what’s your name?”
“Matsuda Kota, why—”
“Can I call you Kota?”
“Are you going to keep interrupting me??” Kota yelled out, stopping you both in your tracks. You stared down at him before grinning slyly.
“Sorry, Kota-kun~ keep talking, keep talking. I think I really like you!”
“I didn’t give you permission—”
“Lunch’s almost over! Hurry, we don’t want to be late for class!”
“I said stop interrupting me!”
The rest was history. Which led to where you are now. University. You were able to dress up more and didn’t have to worry about getting in trouble with teachers for a little bit of eyeliner.
You and Kota decided to rent an apartment together. With your parents' help mostly. They were retired and had a decent amount of savings. Kota paid for everything else that your parents didn’t cover. You were just there to decorate the apartment.
Kota really didn’t care about that type of stuff. His bedroom was bare. Really bare. It looked exactly how it looked before you both moved in. The decoration he had in there was from you. Though he rarely allowed you in his room.
The apartment was covered in a lot of furry furniture. Black, brown, and gold. Leopard print… it was a mess but also somehow worked for the chaotic vibe you were going for. Your bedroom was the only real mess.
In any case, you and Kota lived together fairly well. Despite everyone being shocked that the two of you were even friends. You were outgoing and nice–Kota was quiet and a little bit rude. Everyone called you by your first name… no one but you could call Kota by his first name.
It actually got you into hot water once with Kota.
“You can call me (Name), I don’t mind!” You proudly said, grinning at your clubmate. You and Kota joined the photography club to kill some time. The club was meeting at a restaurant as a way to get to know everyone.
Everyone said their introduction. Kota’s was as bland as ever while you were practically bursting with excitement. You were sitting beside some guy–you couldn’t remember his name–and was telling him that he didn’t have to be formal with you.
A loud clink of glass hitting the table startled everyone even with the bustling sounds of people excitedly chatting. Eyes were all on Kota. His beer glass had a small crack on the bottom, the yellow beer slowly seeping free all over the table. He calmly grabbed some napkins and dabbed at the liquid.
“Uh, waiter!” The club leader waved someone down and pointed to the pointed glass.
You only watched Kota, blinking as he seemed to not even react to anything. Not when the waiter carefully took away the glass. Not as a few other clubmates wiped away the mess. Not when a new beer glass was placed in front of Kota.
Kota only grabbed a skewer of meat from the shared plate in the center of the table. He took a small bite, his gaze not even flickering over to you. It took a minute before everyone began to talk like normally, as if nothing happened.
As soon as the club leader had mentioned that everyone should start heading home–you were roughly grabbed by the arm and tugged to stand up. Everyone watched in silence as Kota grabbed your coat and backpack without a word.
He draped your coat around your body, buttoning it without allowing you to properly put it on. Your arms were restricted but he didn’t seem to care. Kota nodded his head at everyone, wrapping an arm around your waist and guided you outside.
“Kota. Kota, I can’t move my arms,” you tried to push your arms through the sleeves but Kota kept pulling you forward. His hand tightening his grip on the curve of your hip. “Kota!”
He hummed. “Does everyone need to call you by your first name?” His words suddenly stop you in your tracks. It was only now that he actually stopped as well. You both were far from the restaurant by now.
“I let everyone do that.” You muttered, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
“Maybe you shouldn’t.”
“Where… is this coming from?”
Kota looked you in the eye. There looked to be something there… the need to say something. Something that could possibly change things. But he only shook his head.
“Forget it.” He removed his hand from your waist, finally allowing you to properly wear your coat. You follow behind him as you slip the coat into place. His words swirled around in your head but you didn’t say anything.
You still allowed people to call you by your first name. At least the people you had already allowed to but for some reason, anyone new had to call you by your last name.
Nothing was said. It just happened.
But you couldn’t forget the one time Kota had overheard you introducing yourself to a new member of the photography club.
“Hi, I’m Togami (Name). You can call me Togami or Toga!” You said, smiling wide as you excitedly shook their hand. Your gaze flickered to Kota who was standing right beside you and his expression was pure smug.
A small smirk tugged on his lips. Big enough that even another member noticed and asked Kota what he was thinking about to smile like that.
Kota only hummed. “Nothing.”
That was really the only time Kota had ever been mean towards you. Or at least angry. Afterwards he didn’t use any force on you again. Which really made you wonder what upset him that badly.
But you never brought it up again.
“If you want at least a B, you’ll need to get an 80% on the final exam, Togami-San.”
You groaned, rubbing at your face. Your grades in college were decent. Could be better but decent. Your parents were just happy you weren’t flunking. The fact you even went to college surprised them and your entire family.
It wasn’t like you didn’t care but you didn’t go above and beyond like others. You studied like twice a week. Each time before an exam you studied a bit and somehow that allowed you to continuously get Bs and A minuses.
Good enough. Some would kill for that.
However your studying method was proving to be useless for one class. The one class where you had your first ever D.
Organic chemistry.
Now why are you taking organic chemistry?
Well because you’re dumb.
Dumb enough to not realize that you signed up for the wrong class until it was too late and you had to continue taking it. You were a literature major! Why would you ever need organic chemistry?
“It’s okay, (Name)-Chan~” Hinata, your classmate, gave you a wide grin. “Maybe you should do tutoring.”
“Tutoring?” Another one of your classmates chirped in, Genki. He was a fellow gyaruo who put more effort into everyday makeup in comparison to you. A true legend. “What (Name) needs is a miracle.”
Hinata rolled her eyes. “Don’t make it worse. You’ll stress him out. I know someone who took organic chemistry as a freshman and actually passed with a 99%!”
“99%? Woah,” Genki’s mouth dropped while you perked up at her claim. “How—? That professor is strict. How'd that kid pass?”
“Don’t know but he was even the teacher assistant last year. He’s good, really good. But he doesn’t just tutor anyone.” Hinata turned her gaze over to you. “You might have to really beg for it.”
You frowned, “beg…? Ah, it can’t be helped. I’m not failing that final exam!” There was no way you’d let this class ruin your semi perfect record of As and Bs. “Where can I find him?”
“He’s an engineering major! My friend said he’s currently a teacher assistant for engineering 101, class should be ending right now. Go stop him before he leaves!”
The thought of having to beg some stranger to hopefully pass your class was a little stressful. Technically your whole life was up to this one dude.
And judging by how Hinata had described him—he wasn’t exactly the helping type.
He already reminded you of Kota.
Ah, Kota.
A giddy smile pulled on your lips at the thought of him. It’s already been three years of living with him and you had begun to realize you had a crush on him. Nothing serious at the moment but it certainly was something.
You found yourself doing more things for him. Making him lunch or dinner. He wasn’t a breakfast person so you never forced that. Two days ago you even bought him a leather jacket that reminded you of him. Though you still haven’t given it to him yet.
You’ve given him things before. Especially not an expensive leather jacket. It was around ¥291,500. Nothing cheap at all. But it was real leather with fluffy fur around the collar.
Perfect for winter that was right around the corner.
Thinking about Kota, you began wondering what you should make him for dinner. You stood outside the classroom door just as students began to walk out.
“(Name).”
“Kota?” You blinked, looking over to see Kota standing right beside you. Your head tilted as you blinked. “You’re taking this class as a junior?”
Kota fixed the strap of his bag as he raised an eyebrow. “I’m the teaching assistant.”
“Ah!”
Well looks like luck was on your side after all.
You grinned and rushed to his side, grasping his arm with your hands. “Kotaaaa~”
Kota only hummed and looked down at you. The height difference wasn’t by much. Your head was the perfect height to rest on his shoulders—which you constantly took advantage of.
“Can you tutor me? In organic chemistry? I heard you passed the class and I need to get an 80% on the final exam to even pass the class. Please, please, please—”
“Sure.” He interrupted you.
You blinked.
That was really easy.
Well, getting him to tutor you was easy but he wasn’t an easy tutor at all.
“If you can’t even memorize this then don’t even bother showing up to take the exam.”
“Kotaaaa.”
“Try again.”
It had only been a week and you were pooped. Kota didn’t let up. Each day after dinner, you’d spend almost two hours sitting at the dining table as he tutored you. No breaks, no days off.
And yes you were certainly learning and retaining information… but you were also tired.
“67%,” he said, placing the mock final exam he made you take on the table after grading it. Despite his rough tone—you knew he was semi happy about your progress in just one week. “I’ll test you again next week.”
You sighed. Better than nothing. You used to get 20-30% on the exams. This was an improvement.
Kota cleaned up the dining table while you placed your head on the table. You were only going to close your eyes for a second. But soon you found yourself in bed. Hands tugging up your shirt.
“Kota?” You groggily whined, placing your hand over his. His hand was larger than yours. He stopped what he was doing and leaned away a bit.
“You’re awake?” He asked. You felt his hand slipping away but you quickly tightened your grip. With sluggish movements, you tugged his hand up, making him gently cup your face.
He didn’t stop you nor did he say anything. If you weren’t struggling to even stay awake, you would’ve noticed his thumb gently rubbing circles on your cheek.
“I got something for you.” You whispered.
“Like what? Is it a thanks for tutoring you?”
You weakly shook your head. “No. It’s…” your voice trailed off, eyes struggling to stay open. “It’s just for you. Because I like you. It’s underneath my bed.”
“Don’t fall asleep.” He gently tapped your cheek. “You still have makeup on.”
“I like you… didn’t you hear me?”
“Mhm.” Was all he said in response.
The rest of that moment was a blur. You remembered feeling makeup remover wipes on your face. Kota grabbed the box from underneath your bed but he didn’t open it in front of you. Your eyes were basically closed by then.
He whispered something and then you were fast asleep.
Another two weeks passed. It was uneventful. Kota continued tutoring you and you made significant progress. Your little puppy crush was beginning to grow by the minute. Especially now that you two were spending most nights together.
You didn’t have to ask about the jacket because not even a day later you saw him wearing it. It made you so giddy that you almost laughed right in front of Kota. Luckily you managed to hold it in.
Despite organic chemistry being the worst class you’ve ever taken—you certainly had to thank it for allowing you the opportunity to be near Kota for such long hours.
However there was something you began to notice.
Kota didn’t allow you in his bedroom.
At first you didn’t notice because well it’s not like he comes into yours. You both were close but still wanted the bedrooms to be your own personal space. But now that you two were studying together for a long period of time… you and Kota would sometimes study in your bedroom.
It was a mess, obviously, but Kota didn’t seem to mind.
But it was like his room was off limits before you could ever ask.
Nothing was wrong with that per se… at least at first. Until you finally realize it when Kota always keeps his door locked. The door was always closed and even locked sometimes.
That’s strange, right?
Was he hiding something?
What would someone like Kota have to hide? He’s such a normal guy at the end of the day. You were the one that had more to hide but your day was basically left wide open at all times. Even when you were changing.
Like right now.
You slipped on your boxers, yawning. The thought of looking for some pajamas felt like a hassle. Your body was tired and even struggling to stand up straight.
“Where did I put it…” you whispered mostly to yourself, rubbing your shirtless chest. It was certainly a sight to behold. Your makeup was only semi cleaned off, your eyeliner was being stubborn and your lips were stained from left over lipstick. It’s kind of why you never wear lipstick that often.
It always stained your lips.
Just like your clothes, your pajamas were also heavily influenced by gyaruo clothing. You even dabbled a bit in more feminine pajamas. Simply only because male pajamas were boring half the time.
You knelt down and grabbed your silk shirt. It was plain black but felt nice to sleep in. “Pants… where’s my pants?” You spun around, now facing the doorway when you finally noticed that you weren’t alone.
Kota was watching.
He looked like he had just finished taking a shower. Hair still damped while the towel laid around his neck. An old beaten up white t-shirt and black sweatpants. His bangs covered his right eye entirely.
You gulped. Your own semi nudity was the last thing on your mind. Just the fact of seeing Kota in clothes that didn’t cover his body entirely. Nothing baggy that hid his muscles. You were allowed to see everything.
Almost everything.
Your bottom lip caught between your teeth. You didn’t even realize just how bad you were ogling him. Though it seemed to be mutual when you glanced up at his face.
Kota was staring at you. Really staring at you. His gaze flickering from your thighs to your chest. You still hadn’t slipped the shirt on yet.
Feeling yourself heat up from his strong gaze, you slipped the silk shirt on. That finally broke the spell as Kota quickly looked away. He began quickly drying his hair.
You finally found your pants, right near your dirty hamper. They were actually shorts. A matching pair to the shirt. You stepped into them and it was basically the same length as your tight boxers. These were one of your more feminine pajamas.
“Well,” you spoke, blinking slightly as you glanced over at Kota. “Uhh,” your lips pursed together. Hands wringing together. “Can I ask you something, Kota?”
He hummed. His eyes still focusing on anything but you.
“Can we… maybe study in your room one day?”
That caught his attention. His eyes snapping over to you. “Why?”
You froze. This was probably one of the first times Kota ever pushed back against a request of yours. Usually you could just say one word and he’d do it without hesitation. Not even asking why you want to do a certain thing.
It wasn’t always like that—that behavior didn’t start until high school.
“Oh well…” your voice trailed off. There was technically no reason. Or really any good reason. “Uhm, I just… want to change the environment.”
“We can study at the library.”
“Kota.” A pout on your lips. “I don’t wanna. I like being at home.”
“Then we can study on the balcony.”
That did sound nice.
You sighed. “Then… if I pass with an 89% can I celebrate in your bedroom?”
Kota raised an eyebrow. His face was neutral but you could tell he was getting agitated. The slight twitch in his upper lip, the way his grip tightened on the towel. “89%? That’s high.”
“Yeah, so if I do that good, then you have to grant my wish.”
“Why do you want to do that? Be in my room so badly?”
You were nosy, that was certainly the main reason.
But instead of saying that…
You said, “because I want to be in your scent.”
Which, in hindsight, was one of the stupidest things you had ever said.
I want to be in your scent? What did that even mean?
It was one of the strangest things you’ve ever said. And you were known for being weird to Kota.
Oh well—you couldn’t dwell on it too much because to your shock, you did it.
“How??” Hinata and Genki stared at the final exam paper in shock. There, written in bright red ink, was the percentage 90. You had done better than you had even thought was possible.
You simply smirked. “I managed to get that tutor you told me about.” Was all you said before heading straight home.
Kota was home, luckily enough. You had bought some take out and a case of beer. A smug smile on your lips as you walked over to where he was sitting on the couch.
He closed his book as soon as he saw you. His gaze solely focused on you. Your cheeks felt a little hot from his gaze but you straightened your posture. You placed the food and drinks on the center table.
“I took the exam.” You reached into your bag, excitedly pulling the exam paper out. The paper was folded as you handed it over to him. He took it, you excitedly sat down beside him and inched close, wanting to see his exact expression once he saw your score.
Kota opened the paper and despite the fact his face didn’t move an inch, you could tell he was proud. “Amazing.” He simply said, placing the paper on the center table. “How do you want to celebrate?”
You pursed your lips, eyes looking to where Kota’s bedroom was located. There was nothing else that needed to be said. Kota got the hint immediately.
Kota’s bedroom was the exact same as you remembered. The last time you had seen it in its full glory was maybe a month after you both moved in. To say it had no personality was an understatement.
It didn’t feel lived in if it weren’t for his studying material all over his desk. You plopped down on his bed as he sat at his desk, placing the items you brought on the surface. He glanced over at you with an unamused expression.
“This is all you wanted to see?”
You eagerly nodded your head. “Well yes.”
“You’re weird.” He opened a bottle of beer with a bottle opener. “Enjoy my scent.”
Your cheeks felt hot.
Kota’s room really was uneventful. He didn’t even have a tv. You stuck to watching something on your phone. About an hour or two passed when Kota excused himself to the bathroom.
You only huffed and moved to rest more comfortably on the bed when you felt something poke your back. It felt like a notebook. Underneath his pillow was a small little notebook—a diary was your first thought.
Now, did you originally plan to snoop around Kota’s room? No, you did not.
But now that you had the opportunity to possibly read his diary were you going to miss it?
No.
While you might be able to understand Kota’s expressions after spending so many years with him—it was too tempting to be able to read about his thoughts.
Who was he talking about? Jealousy bubbled deep within you. Who was lucky enough to be the object of Kota’s affection? It wasn’t like he talked to many people that weren’t you.
You gasped as the diary was roughly ripped from your hands. It was there you came face to face with an overly pissed Kota. A first. The last time you ever saw Kota this angry, his face actually showing the full emotion, was back in middle school.
Your stomach began to twist into knots. The idea of angering Kota this much hadn’t even crushed your mind. Sure you were pushy sometimes but you never wanted to ever make him feel this way.
It was silent. Your mind raced a mile a minute. But nothing left your lips.
Kota let out a humorless laugh. Another first. He stared down at you. “Are you weirded out?”
“Huh?” A soft gasp left your lips. Your eyes flickering up to stare at him. He towered over you. You sat on your knees on the bed.
He waved the diary. “You read what was in this.” His voice sharp. “You’re weirded out, right? You want me to leave don’t you?”
“Why—? Why would I want that?” You quickly moved to stand up but Kota grabbed your shoulder and shoved you back down. It should’ve upset you that he put his hands on you but you felt your cock twitch in your pants.
“Stop acting dumb.” He carelessly tossed the diary behind him. His eyes never left you. The intensity in his eyes scared you but also made you incredibly horny. Who knew he could act like this? “You read it, you saw what I wanted to do. Degrade, feminize, and dumbify—you saw it, didn’t you? Don’t spare my feelings.”
You quickly shook your head. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn't judge what you… do in your free time.”
Kota froze. He raised an eyebrow before leaning further down. You leaned back until your back bumped into the wall, effectively caging you in.
Your heart was beating so fast you were sure he could hear it. You clamped your legs together. Why was this actually doing something for you?
“How did you get that 90% on the exam?” He finally spoke.
“Huh?”
“You. I want to degrade you.” His hands pressed on either side of the wall, gaze harsh. “I want to make you pretty, only to ruin you for anyone else. Who else would I ever want to see naked beneath me?”
“…huh…? Kota…?”
Kota sighed. “I’ll move out as soon as possible.” Was all he said as he began to pull away.
“Wait—!” You grabbed his shirt and tugged him back towards you. The force causing him to accidentally bump his nose against yours. “Ow,” a whine left your lips but you quickly pushed through the pain. “Why… why are you going to leave me?”
“Did you not understand a word that I said?” Kota responded, his tone exasperated.
“I did. I did and I don’t mind. I like you! Didn’t you know that? I told you…”
Kota tilted his head. His gaze focused solely on you. “You always tell me that you like me. Was I supposed to believe that one time was different?”
You frowned. “Well I did mean it differently. I meant that I like like you.”
“You like like me?”
“Mhm.”
Kota laughed. You were seeing a whole new side to him. “Do you like me enough to let me do whatever I want to you?” He asked, his voice deep. There were simple words but somehow they felt heavy in your chest. It didn’t feel like it was a simple easy thing to agree to.
He seemed mad but not that mad that you thought he would’ve been. It felt different. A scary different. But not scary enough that you didn’t nod your head in agreement to his words.
“I need to hear a yes.” He said.
“…Yes.” You whispered. “I really like you.”
For the first time ever, Kota’s lips pulled into a wide smirk.
Your cock twitched at the sight.
You would’ve never expected that Kota would be the kinky type. Honestly you ever really expected that he’d be into sex… or anyone really. He didn’t seem like the type. It’s why you didn’t expect anything to happen from your feelings.
But here you were, hands tied together above your head with Kota’s belt. Undressed—your boxers being the only clothes you were allowed left.
Kota didn’t say anything at first. He had silently tied your wrists together, manhandling you to rest on the bed. His hands gripped your skin. It felt harsh and rough but it didn’t scare you.
“Kota…” You whispered.
He was silently taking in your body. His hand slowly tracing up and down. As his hand reached your inner thigh—you let out a gasp. Your legs clamped together as your cheeks heat up and feel hot to the touch.
“Kota… are you mad?”
“No,” he answered. His hand squeezed your thigh before he reached his other hand and grasped your other leg. He easily parted your legs open, it happened so fast you didn’t even register it until your legs touched the bed.
Kota sighed. His gaze flickered up to look you in the eye. “I’m not going to do everything I ever wanted.” He said. That somehow disappointed you. “I don’t want to rush this… not now.”
“Rush?”
“(Name),” he whispered your name as if he was worshipping you like a God. So soft and tender though his eyes held a certain hunger that made your stomach clench. “I’ve always wanted you to cry on my cock—letting your makeup mess up your face.”
“Really?” You couldn’t help but grin. “Is that why whenever you saw me with my makeup a mess, you’d get quiet?”
Kota didn’t respond. He moved to sit between your legs. “When we moved in together, I thought I’d have to deal with you bringing in random people to have sex… or maybe even get a boyfriend. How lucky am I that you aren’t able to date anyone?”
“Hey, I was single on purpose!”
“Sure.”
You frowned but before you could say anything else Kota pushed your legs forward. A strained grunt left your lips. The stretch was a little unnatural—not a position you’ve ever done before.
“Since it’s our first time, I’ll be nice. Okay?”
“You’re a virgin?” You muttered, blinking slightly.
“Aren’t you?”
“Ah,” you quickly looked away, biting your bottom lip. “Not… exactly.”
It was silent.
Too silent.
“Kota…?”
The sound of fabric tearing caused you to cry out in shock. You looked over to see Kota focused solely on your legs. Your boxers were torn open, the cool air teasing your hole. Embarrassment shot through your body when you realized Kota would have a perfect view of a certain something in your ass.
Finally, your little secret was revealed.
“(Name)…” Kota chuckled, his voice deep. His index finger circled around your sensitive rim. Your body shook from the touch. “Is this a butt plug?”
So, it wasn’t as if you expected sex today. You had just wanted to be a little… adventurous today. After your exam you had actually come home first before going back out to buy the food and beer. Just for fun.
It was a small plug. Only stretched you a little bit to where you could feel it if you shifted just right. But other than that it didn’t feel like anything was inside you.
Really the only thing you expected tonight was using your dildo late at night as you imagined Kota fucking you instead. Luck was really on your side today.
“Did you wear this all day? Even when you took your exam?” Kota grasped the edge of the plug, slowly tugging it out. You gasped—tugging at the restraints around your wrists. “Did you masturbate like a pervert, hoping no one would notice you rocking in the chair, trying to focus on the exam while making sure the plug hit your prostate?”
With a simple shift, the tip of the plug pressed directly on your prostate. A loud moan left your throat. You wanted to tell him that he was wrong. That he was making stuff up. Degrading you.
But the continuous, slow rub against your prostate took over your thoughts. All you could focus on was gasping and moaning in response. Nothing else could escape your lips. Your cock twitched. It was still covered inside your tight boxers.
“Kota,” you mewled.
“Such a slut. Is that why you’re so flashy?” He asked, pressing down on your prostate. “You want everyone’s attention on you. Not just your looks but also from your sex appeal? So perverted, Togami (Name).”
You sniffled. Your wrists tried to break free from the belt but somehow it was wrapped tightly. You could only bring your hands down to try and cover your face from Kota’s intense stare.
“Am I not enough?” Kota moved up, his body now towering over you. His free hand grasped your wrists and tugged your arms to rest above your head once more. “Do you need everyone else’s attention? I’m not enough for you?”
You quickly shook your head. The words escaped you—only broken wet moans leaving your parted lips.
“Fine.” An almost pained laugh left Kota. “They can look…” he leaned down, his breath teasing your face. “But you’ll always be mine. Only I can see you, touch you, and ruin you, do you understand?”
Kota pulled back when you didn’t respond. His glare sharp as he roughly pulled the butt plug out. He tossed it behind himself. “Answer me with words.”
“Mhm, ngh,” you nodded your head. It was hard to speak, your throat was already dry. You haven’t even been fucked yet and you already felt tired. “Yes.”
“Good girl.”
You let out a shuddered moan. Your legs wrapping around Kota’s waist. It felt so sinful for you to be practically nude while Kota was still dressed. He was wearing a black sweater and black pants—his usual winter clothing.
“You’re perfect for me, (Name)… I don’t even need to prepare you.” Kota unbuttoned his pants. His gaze focused solely on you. “I won’t be nice. I’m going to fuck you and if you manage to cum, good. If not…” his voice trailed off.
The thought that he wasn’t even going to try and make sure you would come too. To just use you for his own pleasure… made your whole body shiver.
Shit, you were really learning new things about yourself.
Kota was never known for being particularly nice. Sure he did nice things for you but that never meant he wasn’t a little rude to you still. Even if you were his favorite person. He had no issue degrading you. And it was shocking to yourself that you didn’t mind it at all.
He didn’t fuck you nice and slow. He didn’t slowly ease inside you or anything like that. Your hole was still dripping from the lube and allowed for a semi easy entrance. Though his cock was bigger than your small butt plug.
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. The stretch felt otherworldly. Kota grasped your face, pushing your head down into the pillow as he began thrusting in an easy rhythm.
The slap of skin filled the room. Your gasps and moans came out in rough staccato. Toes curling as you bite your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.
“K-Kota…” you cried out.
Kota pushed your head further into the pillow as his thrusts began to pick up speed. He was unforgiving—obviously chasing his own orgasm. True to his words he didn’t aim for your prostate nor did he touch your cock.
He was fucking you got his own pleasure.
“Mhm?” He grunted out. His thumb brushing against your lips, pushing them apart. “Does it feel good? Are you enjoying yourself?”
Each thrust sent a shock throughout your body. The sound of skin slapping, bed creaking from each thrust into your tight heat. It was sending you into a frenzy. You could’ve sworn that he was purposely avoiding your prostate. Just barely teasing it to cause a shiver in your body before ignoring it once more.
It was degrading. He was treating you like a toy.
You smiled slightly, eyes glancing up at Kota. He was a sight to behold. His eyes almost fully covered from his long bangs. He was sweating but still hadn’t made the effort to take off his sweater.
The jeans rubbed against your ass, chafing the skin. You’d certainly cry about it later but now it only served to make you moan. Every little thing he did that only served to please himself and not you… made your toes curl.
“Hey,” Kota cut in. “I asked if you’re enjoying it?” His voice deep and held an air of dominance.
A strained laugh left you, punched out in tandem with a particularly harsh thrust that almost sent you hitting the headboard. Your bottom lip was cut. A little bit of blood coated both lips and some on your teeth.
“Yeah,” you breathed out. Your eyes struggled to stay open, fingers curling to grip the pillow beneath you for a sense of purchase. “Love it so much.” An almost exasperated laugh left you.
Kota’s thrusts slowed down. His grip on your face almost loosened. He certainly didn’t expect such an answer from you. The willingness to accept his behavior as if it was a normal thing. A thing that you readily craved and enjoyed.
A perverted smirk pulled on his lips.
It was one of the widest smirks you’ve ever seen from him. With his eyes practically hidden behind his bangs—his smirk was the only thing you could use as a way to see what he was thinking. With that smile alone you knew he was happy.
Proud even.
This… was exactly what he wanted.
And how lucky was he that you wanted it just like him.
The last of his thrusts were almost cruel. He positioned his hips so his cock would tease your prostate. Barely a touch that was enough to even count as anything. You almost cried at the teasing—it was too much.
Your cock was weeping in your boxers. But you didn’t beg for Kota to start pleasuring you as well. No you enjoyed how he was fucking you. This was too fun. Better than anything you could’ve originally imagined.
Kota released his grip on your face, both hands reaching to grab your waist. He held your body still against the bed. Keeping you still as he delivered his last, harsh, heavy hitting thrusts into your ass. Each thrust earning a loud accompanying cry from you.
Hot wet cum released inside you. The fact that he didn’t even ask if he could only made you shivered in delight. A weak gasp left you. Kota spanked your ass as he pulled out. The cum slowly seeping out of your hole.
“You look beautiful like this.” Kota hummed, “next time I want to see you in full makeup when I fuck you.” He said. He grabbed your boxers, tugging them off when he stopped.
A soft humorless laugh left him.
“You actually came?”
Two fingers touched the lower half of your stomach. White cum leaking from your cock. Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. You didn’t expect that this would lead you to cumming in your boxers.
But here you were.
“Of course a slut like you would come untouched.” Kota leaned over you, gently freeing your wrists from the belt. He captured your lips into a hungry kiss—not allowing you to take any sense of control.
𝔗𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞𝔩 𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔱
Leon Kennedy (RE2,RE4,RE9) x male reader
Summary: inside the ruined R.P.D. together with your long crush best friend, time fractures and Leon keeps finding you. Younger, older, hardened by years you haven’t lived yet, every version of him seeming to have a deep and intimate connection. Soon, once all three counterparts come into contact, protectiveness from each one of them sharpens into possession and than in a heated, unspoken competition, each of them determined to prove they know you better, can make you unravel faster.
Tags: No use of Y/N. Male reader. Older men. Age gap. Top and dominant Leon Kennedy. Resident evil 2 Leon. Resident evil 4 remake Leon. Resident evil Requiem Leon. Implied established relationship. Implied marriage. Protective behavior. Possessive behavior. Jealousy. Anal sex. Blowjob. Riding. Hand job. Overstimulation. Cum inflation. Multiple penetration. Overstimulation. Triple penetration.
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ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉
Words count: 8000
The R.P.D. lobby felt cavernous but not from its size but rather for the lack of survivors or police force, leaving behind a hollow silence that pressed faintly against your ears.
Dust hung everywhere, faintly visible in the dim, fractured light filtering through high windows and the marble floors were now streaked with grime and darker stains you refused to examine too closely.
Leaning back against one of the wooden desks, edge digging faintly into your lower spine through the layers of your gear, arms wrapped tightly across your chest. The tactical vest felt heavier with its straps that snug across your shoulders.
Your fingers tucked under your arms, gripping your sleeves, more for something to hold than warmth.
Leon stood a few steps away, hands raised slightly as he adjusted his own vest, tugging at the straps and outlining the firm lines beneath in a way that was hard not to notice even in a situation like this and his brows furrowed as he glanced around, blue eyes wide with disbelief and tension.
“This place is completely empty,” he muttered, voice echoing.
Tilting your head back slightly, eyes half-lidded as they stared toward the ceiling for a moment before answering.
“Considering what’s happening outside,” you muttered, shifting your weight and glancing toward the shuttered entrance, “I’m not surprised.”
Your gaze drifted back to him, watching the way his jaw tightened just a fraction as he processed that.
“We should check if anyone’s still here,” you added after a beat, pushing yourself off the desk just slightly. “This is where we were supposed to start, right? First day.”
There was something faintly bitter about the way the words landed.
Leon nodded quickly, almost reflexively. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”
His attention shifted toward the gate leading to the est side of the station, shoulders squaring just a bit in instinctive readiness.
He stepped closer, eyes scanning the mechanism and you followed more slowly, arms dropping from your chest as you approached.
His fingers hovering near the big red button there and, when he pressed it, the mechanism groaned to life with a grinding sound that echoed down the hallway beyond.
The gate began to lift, slow and uneven, metal scraping faintly as it rose just enough to create a narrow gap before it abruptly stopped.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Irritation in your tone flaring sharper than you expected.
Leon lowered himself down onto the floor without hesitation despite the dark smears that streaked across the tiles, metallic and stale smell hitting faintly.
He didn’t seem to care, or maybe he was just better at pushing it aside.
Lying flat, he angled his body toward the gap, one arm stretching forward as he clicked on his flashlight, the beam cutting into the darkness beyond.
You should have been focused on that but, instead, your gaze betrayed you as it dropped and lingered.
The vest hugged his back and stretched over defined lines of broad but not bulky shoulders.
Leon shifted, then quickly pulled himself back from the gap, pushing up onto one knee.
“I’m gonna check it out,” he said, lowering the flashlight slightly as he looked up at you. “There might be people down there.”
“What?” The response came out sharper than intended as you dropped down to one knee yourself, instinct kicking in. “No—no, I’m coming with you.”
Angling yourself toward the opening, ready to follow him through the narrow space despite the mess and smell. “I’m not letting you go alone.”
For a split second, surprise flickered across his face along something softer underneath it that made his eyes warm.
He reached out before you could move further, his hand settling on your shoulder.
It wasn’t rough or forceful, warm even through the layers of fabric.
“Hey,” he said, voice dropping just a little, gentler, like he was trying to ease you rather than argue. His thumb shifted slightly where it rested, the corners of his mouth lifted to form a small.
“I’ll be back in no time,” he continued, his tone carrying that quiet confidence that made it hard to argue, even when you wanted to. “You stay here, alright? If anyone comes in, they’re gonna need someone to help them.”
His hand squeezed your shoulder lightly before he pulled back.
And you hated how easily that look in his eyes unraveled your resolve.
So you nodded and watched him disappear through the narrow opening.
Time stretched as you tried to convince yourself that he’d be back any second.
It felt like hours had passed of barely shifting your weight, pacing a short line near the table to somehow make time move faster.
“Idiot,” you muttered under your breath, though whether it was directed at him or yourself wasn’t entirely clear.
Probably both.
Scrubbing a hand over your face, exhaling sharply as frustration coiled tighter in your chest.
All because, when he looked at you in that soft and earnest look, it felt… too good.
He wanted to protect you because you mattered to him.
That was the closest thing you were ever going to get, wasn’t it?
A hand on your shoulder, a promise he might not even be able to keep.
You bit the inside of your cheek, the sharp sting grounding just enough to break the spiral.
Enough.
Waiting wasn’t doing anything.
If he wasn’t coming back, you needed to find out why.
Turning on your heel and moving toward the lobby’s computer system, fingers moving quickly over the controls as you pulled up the camera feeds. The screens flickered to life one by one, each showing a different part of the station as you cycled through them, faster and faster, scanning for any sign of him.
Faint gunshots echoed through the speakers from one of the west side cameras.
You had trained for this, graduated alongside him and gone through the same drills and expectations.
That bright and determined smile will not be the last thing you’ll see of him.
Turning toward the taped gate, your eyes caught a knife half-hidden near the base.
Crouching and picking it up carefully before using the blade to slide under the tape with a satisfying rip, sound loud in the quiet lobby as you worked through the layers, peeling them away one by one until the controls were finally exposed.
A large red button sat at the center and, once pressed, the mechanism groaned, gate lifting steadily and fully without stopping.
Standing there for a second as the opening widened before stepping forward.
The room you forced your way into was smaller than you expected, more of a cramped connector than a proper office.
Gun forward and flashlight aligned just beneath it as you advanced, beam cutting clean lines through the dimness, illuminating overturned chairs and a smear of something dark dragged across the floor, breathing staying controlled even as your pulse pressed harder against your throat.
At the far end, a door that you already knew where it led with the map you’d studied moments ago burned into your mind, that long hallway stretching across the west side.
Your hand reached for the handle slowly, fingers tightening just slightly before you turned it.
Rather than rapidly invading the room, you shifted to the side, pressing your back lightly against the wall as you pushed the door open to create a narrow angle, your head tilting so you could peek through first, minimizing your profile the way you’d been taught.
Two figures at the far end of the hallway, slumped awkwardly against the wall, head tilted at an unnatural angle, skin pale in the weak wash of moonlight spilling through a distant window.
Your breath caught at closer look on the other one.
Even in partial shadow and the distortion of low light, your heart recognized Leon immediately.
Pushing the door open wider and stepping in, feet quiet against the floor as you approached, closing the distance carefully until you were no more than ten feet away.
He was kneeling near the body of a cop, from the look of the uniform, sprawled across the tiles and as your boot made the faintest sound against the ground Leon moved insanely quick, surging up from his kneeling position in one fluid, coiled motion, pivoting sharply as his arm snapped up, handgun already aligned with your center mass while his flashlight flared directly into your face, blinding in its intensity.
“Don’t—!” The word cut sharp and rough, far more hardened than the voice you had heard in the lobby.
Everything about him was different, stance much tighter and efficient, the way he held the gun was fluid and practiced under pressure.
The jacket he had on hit you first.
A thick B-3 bomber, shearling lining spilling out at the collar in pale, dense curls that brushed against his neck.
Scuffs marked the surface, subtle creases worn into the leather.
Beneath it, his frame was… bigger.
Not just lean like you had always seen him, but built. Arms filling the sleeves, faint strain across his chest when he shifted his aim.
His hair was slightly longer, falling just enough to frame his face differently.
But his eyes were still blue and unmistakably his, cold at first.
Recognition morphed his features as tension in his shoulders faltered and his gaze locked onto your face.
His gun lowered, flashlight dipping with it, no longer blinding you but instead casting a softer glow that revealed his expression fully now.
Not just recognition swarmed his face, something warmer as well came in that settled low in your chest.
“You’re here too, Babe?” He said, voice rougher than anything you’d ever heard from him before.
Heat flooded your face instantly, sudden and overwhelming, brain stumbling over itself trying to process that along with everything else.
“What?” Your eyes narrowed despite the warmth creeping up your neck. “Leon, what are you talking about? We came in here together.”
That only made his confusion deepen, brows pulling together, gaze flicking around the hallway as his jaw tightened, like every inch of this place held memories you couldn’t see but he could feel pressing in on him.
Your gaze broke from his haunted one, dragging instead toward the cop with his jaw completely torn on the side and hanging awkwardly, his head lolled back against the wall.
“Did you see who—” You swallowed hard, forcing the bile back down but stopped talking after seeing Leon’s attention fixed upward, body tense again in focused attention.
There were a jagged hole in the ceiling before something too large and wrong, tipped with elongated claw-like fingers, erupted from it.
An inhuman shriek split the air, vibrating through your bones as the thing pulled itself into view.
Its body was flayed, muscle exposed in slick, glistening strands that stretched and contracted as it moved, skin entirely absent as if peeled away to reveal the anatomy beneath. Its head was made of an exposed brain that pulsed faintly, vulnerable and yet somehow more horrifying for it.
A long tongue snaked outside of his mouth as it crawled forward with unnatural speed.
Leon’s large and gloved hand found yours.
“Yeah,” he muttered, already pulling you with him, pace immediate and urgent as he dragged you down the hallway. “Because one nightmare wasn’t enough.”
His tone was dry, edged with a sharp sarcastic bite that felt completely out of place.
You stumbled slightly trying to keep up, grip tightening on your gun as your feet scrambled to match his speed, the world blurring at the edges as adrenaline surged and from behind that tongue lashed out.
A violent tug came at your back as it latched onto your uniform, fabric stretching and tearing as the force yanked hard, ripping away fully your gears and layers beneath, the sudden exposure sending a sharp chill across your skin as the creature lost its grip just as quickly.
Leon didn’t let you go until he hit hard two doors, bursting through with brute force as they slammed open and dragging you inside with him in one continuous motion.
Soon after he pulled you in his arms, back colliding with his chest in a solid impact.
The thickness of his chest pressed against you through the layers acting like a pillow, pecs firm and broad, rising and falling with controlled breaths that you could feel against your back. Beneath that, even through the tight shirt, there was no mistaking the defined strength of his torso.
This was not the same Leon you’ve known for many years, not even close.
His arm wrapped around your chest, bicep thick and swelling as they locked you in place against him as his other hand raised the gun again, aiming past you toward the doorway just as the creature dropped down.
One shot and the bullet precisely struck its exposed brain with a wet impact, the shriek it let out was high-pitched and furious before it skittered back, retreating with unnatural speed.
Leon moved fast, pulling away just long enough to slam the doors shut, grabbing a chair and jamming it under the handle as guttural groans from zombies echoed from the other side.
Heavy banging followed relentlessly.
Adrenaline faded away and your legs crashed all at once, dropping you to the ground as the reality of everything hit in a dizzying wave.
Before you could fully process it he was there, kneeling in front of you.
“Hey…hey,” his hand came up to cradle your cheek, large and warm, thumb brushing lightly against your skin in a way that felt impossibly gentle and intimate. “Babe, look at me.”
“What year is it?” he asked.
The question, like everything else happening, hit wrong.
“1998,” you answered, confusion twisting tighter as the pounding on the door grew louder. “Why are you asking me that?”
Something shifted in his eyes in understanding.
Without another word, he shrugged off his jacket quickly and draped it around your shoulders, pulling it snug around you with careful hands, fingers brushing against your arms as he adjusted it.
It was warm and soft on the inside, shearling lining cushioning against your skin, scent of leather and his wrapped all around your frame.
“There we go,” his lips quivered slightly as he muttered, almost to himself. “You always like to take it from me. Still cute.”
The chair behind him shifted as it toppled over once the doors burst open, two figures stumbling in, decayed and groaning.
Leon moved instantly up on his feet, gun raised and the first shot snapped clean through one of their skulls, impact jerking its head back as it staggered.
He didn’t wait, closing the distance in a flash, knife in hand, so similar to yours it made your breath hitch, and drove it into the creature’s neck with brutal precision before pivoting sharply.
His leg came up in a powerful roundhouse kick that connected solidly with the second zombie’s head, force snapping it sideways as it collapsed.
“Go,” he said, voice sharp and commanding without even looking back at you when he spoke. “I’ll catch up.”
Reluctantly you followed his command and the door on the other side gave way under your hand with a reluctant creak, hinges whining low and the moment the gap widened enough for your body to slip through, the air changed.
Another hallway narrower than the last. Two doors sat on either side, one to your right the other on the left, both shut tight, undead police officers lurked further down the corridor.
Three or maybe four of them. One brushed against the wall with a dull thud, leaving behind a smear that caught the weak light while another let out a wet groan that echoed enough to make the space feel smaller.
Your heart hammered so hard it felt like it might give you away on its own, each pulse loud in your ears, drowning out everything else for a second as your mind raced.
Fingers tightening around your handgun, familiar weight grounding you enough to push past the spike of panic clawing up your spine.
You lifted the weapon slowly, arms steady despite the tremor trying to creep in, lining up your shot on the nearest one.
One trigger and the muzzle flashed in a brief burst of red-orange light for a split second before the bullet hit clean, tearing through rotted flesh and bone.
Zombie’s head burst open as the body collapsed instantly, crumpling to the ground in a lifeless heap that twitched once before going still.
A high and piercing screech followed down the hallway, claws scraping fast on concrete until the Licker came into view above like some grotesque parody of a spider.
Its brain pulsed, fully exposed, shifting slightly with each tilt of its head to listen and figure out where the noise came from.
Engaging that thing with the amount of ammo you had left was suicide.
So you moved slowly with agonizing care, boots barely whispering against the floor as you edged along the hallway, gun still raised but your finger easing off the trigger.
A low, clicking sound left its throat, tongue twitching faintly between rows of jagged teeth, tasting the air and searching.
Almost there at the other side of the hallway, a sudden bang on the window shattered everything.
Your head snapped toward the source instinctively, eyes widening as you caught glass exploding inward as a zombie forced its way through, collapsing into the hallway in a mess of limbs and broken shards, a guttural groan tearing from its throat as it dragged itself forward.
Above you the Licker froze, its entire body snapped toward the noise with terrifying speed, attention locking instantly onto the new arrival and moved fast.
It dropped from the ceiling and landed directly onto the zombie with a crushing impact, claws sinking deep as it let out a shriek, claws ripping through decayed flesh.
It was right in front of you blocking your path completely.
Behind a groan came and you turned sharply just in time to see another zombie lunge forward, arms outstretched as, in turn, it grabbed the Licker’s attention.
This was it, your grip tightened on your gun, breath catching as you braced for impact.
Something moved fast from behind the zombie, soon followed by a wet, slicing noise from an hatchet that pierced the back of the zombie’s skull, bursting through bone and rotten flesh in a spray of viscous blood as the creature’s body jerked violently, head tilting upward in a final motion.
For a second all you saw was the hand wrapped tight around the metal handle, veins faintly visible beneath the skin, grip steady and controlled.
Then he stepped forward fully into view and twisted in a brutal 180-degree turn of the wrist along the blade that followed, head coming off clean and body dropping in a useless heap as the hatchet came free.
Behind you, the Licker snarled, dragging your attention back and instincts screaming as your gun came up again, finger tightening on the trigger but he moved first.
Stepping in front of you and for a moment all you could see was a broad and solid back that filled your vision, a tight black shirt clinging to him and stretched across wide shoulders.
They rolled slightly as he adjusted his stance, the motion slow and controlled that made the muscles beneath that shirt ripple.
The Licker’s tongue attacked fast as a whip but he reacted faster, hatchet intercepting the strike mid-air and not only pairing it, but fully slicing the tongue.
It hit the ground writhing, twitching violently like a snake and the creature let out a shriek of pure agony, stumbling back as both of its clawed hands came up toward its ruined mouth, movements almost human in their panic.
“Follow me.” His voice, just like the last figure you met, felt familiar in a way that hit somewhere deep in your chest, even if your mind couldn’t place it yet with how much rougher it was.
He moved forward, closing the distance in two quick strides before driving his boot up straight into the exposed brain.
The impact was brutal, forcing the creature on the ground for him to bury the hatchet deep, infected blood spilling out around it in heavy, dark rivulets before he ripped it free in one clean motion.
“Move.”
Up the stairs, your legs barely keeping pace with him as he led the way without hesitation like he knew every inch of this place.
The upper floor opened into another corridor, steam already hissing somewhere ahead, thick clouds spilling out and blocking the path entirely except, he didn’t stop, swinging the hatchet against metal that gave way under repeated strikes, damaged pipe bursting further as the pressure shifted, steam redirecting, clearing just enough space for him to push through.
You hesitated just for a second before a gurgle from a zombie cut through the air that gave reasons to your legs to move past the showers and around the corner just in time to see him drive a punch into a zombie’s spine, forcing it down before that hatchet came down again, ending it with the same efficiency.
He checked behind him again rapidly still not seeing your face with how dark the hallway was.
The door at the end opened into a small room with bright light and the statue of a gazelle right at the center.
His gaze lingered on it, something unreadable passing through his expression before he turned to the creaking of the door.
“You the only survivor in h—” The question came out low and rough before he stopped, pupils tightening before widening again.
“…No,” he exhales under his breath, barely audible. His grip tightens slightly around the hatchet.
The same reaction erupted on your face as well at seeing Leon again, though much older. His face carried lines that hadn’t been there before, jaw stronger and scruffy with the stubble that decorated it. Same hairstyle but slightly longer, falling just enough to frame eyes that were duller now.
And his body was bigger by the look of that dark shirt stretched across his chest, arms thicker, veins faintly visible beneath skin.
Aged like fine wine didn’t even begin to cover it.
“…Alright,” he breathed, more composed now, though the roughness hasn’t left his voice. “Either I finally lost it or something’s seriously wrong.”
His eyes flick briefly around the room before turning and walking outside straight into the library, waiting for this nightmare to end immediately.
What else could you do beside following him?
The vast space had shelves towering high the more you got closer to them, filled with books and an atmosphere that seemed almost normal despite the hell outside.
Of which you got immediately reminded of when something cold and rotten grabbed your leg.
A corpse on the floor jerked to life, fingers tightening that didn’t get far as Leon’s (?) foot came down hard, crushing the skull as his weight pressed into it fully, thick muscles of his thigh flexing with the motion, muscle tightening under the fabric as he applied more pressure, grinding the remains into the floor before pulling back, wiping his shoe clean in one smooth motion.
“You really haven’t changed,” he said, a hint of dry amusement threading through his voice now. “Still walking into trouble, sweetheart.”
Heat flared up your neck instantly.
“What do you—”
From behind him there was movement done stealthily so well you’ve only now registered it, knife already raised and angled for a clean slice across the throat.
The older Leon in front of you didn’t needed a warning, arm suddenly wrapping and tightening around your waist as that large bicep locked in and dragged you alongside him, body pulled flush against his side as he pivoted sharply out of the attack’s path.
The knife cut through empty air where his neck had been a fraction of a second earlier before charging again and his hatchet came up, both hands bracing it for control.
Metal met metal with a biting clang fore his leg snapped forward to send a brutal kick to the attacker’s chest, forceful enough to send the man flying back into a stack of old books that collapsed under him in a cascade of dust and paper, sound loud in the enclosed space followed by a grunt.
Your eyes snapped to the Leon who gave you his jacket as he recovered with frightening speed, already pushing himself up and reaching for his weapon, bicep viewable from the short sleeved compression shirt he had on bulging in the process.
“Back off,” he said, voice tight and restrained. “Leave him alone. Now.”
A protective tone that hit harder than the gun pointed forward.
Another sound of a safety disengaging followed and all three heads in the room turned towards it.
Your Leon, one you had walked into this nightmare with, with his Matilda raised in both hands, stance just a little too stiff and textbook compared to the others, but his aim didn’t waver as he pointed it at both of them.
“D-don’t move!” he ordered in a firm voice, blue eyes not scanning tactically but locked specifically on the hand at your waist, gaze lingering there a second too long, jaw tightening just slightly, fingers adjusting on the grip of his gun like he needed something to ground himself before his eyes flicked back up.
“Let him go,” he added, quieter but more pointed.
The arm around you tightened as he pulled you back against him by a fraction, spine brushing his solid chest.
“M’not keeping him hostage,” he said dryly, tone edged with something almost amused, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “‘Sides… M’not the one waving a gun around.”
Your Leon’s grip flexed as a flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes and you shouted his name the moment you saw the movement near him from the one now jacketless who closed the distance in a blur, his hand snapping up to knock the gun off its aim.
A shot rang out loud, slamming somewhere into the shelves above as the weapon was forced upward and, in the same motion, he disarmed him completely, twisting the gun free before shoving him hard to the ground.
“Shit—!” You broke free without thinking to rush forward and drop to your knees beside him.
“Leon are you okay?!” Up close he looked worse than when you left him, dirt smeared across his uniform, streaks of grime and something darker along his sleeves, hair slightly disheveled and breathing heavier.
“Are you okay?” he asked instead, voice tight with concern, scanning you quickly. “Did they—did they hurt you?”
“Why would I hurt my boyfriend?” A low, almost amused voice cut in, dry in disbelief while the figure extracted the magazine of the Matilda.
“What?” The man right next to you snapped, pushing himself up quickly, anger bleeding into his tone as he turned toward the speaker.
“What the hell are you talking about—” Arm moving before he seemed to think about it and wrapping around your waist to pull you back toward him, firm enough that you felt the way his bicep tightened against your side, holding you close.
The other Leon juggling a knife in hand tilted his head slightly, watching him with an expression that bordered on entertained while the hatchet-wielder leaned casually against a desk, dragging a sharpening stone along its edge in strokes that sent small sparks of orange flickering in the dim light.
“Relax,” he muttered, voice carrying that same rough, worn edge, though there was something almost nostalgic in it now. “You’ll get there.”
The younger one’s grip on you tightened slightly.
“Get where?” he shot back.
The man with the hatchet didn’t look up immediately, continuing the motion, metal against stone, the rhythm steady.
“Still before the train, huh,” the other Leon in a tight compression shirt and knife in hand said, almost to himself, though it was loud enough for all of you to hear. “Our first time together.”
Words loaded with meaning as he looked at you almost dreamily and it made heat spike through your chest.
The older one just huffed quietly, finally glancing up with something knowing in his expression.
“Yeah,” he added, almost fondly, as another spark jumped from the blade. “I remember that.”
Heat, heavy and dizzying, crawled under your skin under those six blue eyes, each a different shade but all carrying hunger locked onto you.
The much older one had pushed you on top of the first desk available with a quiet grunt, hatchet set aside without a second thought as his attention settled fully on you.
“Still got that same look… every time.” He murmured, voice a gruff baritone while his gaze dragged and took in every detail
Everything happened too fast.
The one near your age had his grip on your waist now, tightening like he was grounding himself before he let instinct take over. His fingers slid under the edge of that jacket still draped over your frame currently displayed on the desk for the three men around, brushing your now bare skin in a way that was almost shy and hesitant compared to the others.
A gloved hand caught your chin, tilting and forcing your gaze to meet his forward. His thumb dragged slowly across your bottom lip, pressing enough to part it as his eyes darkened with amused.
“Didn’t think you’d look this good in my jacket even now,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, teasing, that familiar edge of cocky charm sharpened into something far more dangerous.
The same culprit who took pleasure at slicing away the remaining of your clothes with his precise experience with that knife.
Your stomach flipped at the sensation of blunt and wide fingers pressing in with a knowing confidence that made your breath stutter, his chest brushing your back as he leaned in enough for his stubble to graze your neck.
“Easy,” he muttered against your skin, lips ghosting over the spot right below your ear before his teeth caught lightly in a teasing bite. “We’ve got time… gonna make sure you can take it.”
Slowly, one thick finger invaded your hole and the stretch came immediate, his other hand coming around your front to wrap around your now exposed cock at the same time.
Body jolting as his grip tightened, thumb brushing over the tip, spreading the first slick hint of precome just his finger curled inside you, realizing how he knew exactly where to press.
“Still this tight,” he hummed, voice coarse with approval, breath hot against your neck as his pace stayed slow but purposeful.
Your head fell forward as all your muscles relaxed to get through this and that was all the invitation the other two needed.
Knife-welding-Leon took the moment your mouth gasped in need of more oxygen and claimed it hard, lips crashing into yours with confidence that stole the remaining supplies of oxygen right out of your lungs, tongue pushing past instantly, claiming space and exploring deep with a low groan that vibrated straight inside your mouth.
Hand staying on your face and holding you in place as his tongue fought against yours, going deeper and more insistent to savor everything.
Behind that another thick intrusion came together the already existing one, thick fingers scissoring slowly, stretching you with patience and devoted work.
His thumb pressed harder against your cock now, stroking in a steady rhythm that matched the curl of his fingers inside.
Your body didn’t know where to focus as pleasure sparked everywhere, overlapped and built from each touch feeding into the next until it felt like your nerves were short-circuiting.
“Christ…” the Leon assaulting your mouth muttered against your mouth, pulling back just enough for his lips to drag down your jaw, teeth grazing your skin.
Your Leon was observing you like you were something fragile and fascinating all at once, hands moving slower than the others at first, careful and exploring on unknown territory unlike his other two counterparts.
They slid up your sides, fingertips brushing over your abdomen, lips following his hands, pressing hesitant kisses along your stomach, each one lingering just a second longer than the last.
Your hips twitched, body leaning into him without thinking and it that was all it took as a shift in his expression came in focus and determination.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered before his mouth moved lower, kissing down your abdomen when a hiss passed through clenched teeth the moment a third finger pushed in.
The sound got swallowed instantly as RE4 Leon pulled you back into another kiss, deeper and rougher, tongue shaking against yours as his hand slid down to your waist, gripping tighter.
Older Leon groaned low at the sound you made.
“Yeah… That’s what I wanted to hear.” He muttered, pace picking up just slightly, fingers driving deeper, curling harder and hitting your prostate again and again until your legs trembled from the assault on that bundle of nerves.
“Gonna take all of us like this?” he added, stubble scratching along your neck as he spoke, lips brushing over the marks already forming there. “Lookin’ this pretty…all worked up already…”
Their presence surrounding you completely, every direction you moved there was one of them as hard things brushed against you, insistingly reminding you constantly of what was coming next.
Leon forward you ground against your hip subtly, breath hitching into your mouth as he deepened the kiss again, tongue sliding slower now, thick tent in his pants stabbing you with more effects than a knife ever could.
Behind you, older Leon’s arousal pressed heavy against your lower back every time his fingers pushed deeper, control slipping enough to let you feel how much he wanted this.
And your Leon shifted closer, his bulge pressing against your side as his lips finally dipped lower, right below your navel.
Warmth spreads through you instantly.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured softly, even as his hands slid up to your chest, fingers brushing over your nipples experimentally before pressing, rolling them between his fingers.
You gasped again and he froze for just a second before his expression shifted into something quietly thrilled.
“Okay… you like that.” He whispered almost breathless before doing it again, more confidently this time.
“‘Course he does,” older Leon behind muttered, a smirk in his voice as his fingers pumped deeper, faster now, thumb still stroking your cock in sync. “Been paying attention, rookie?”
The loss of those fingers working you open made you whine.
“Yeah… you’re ready,” hatchet-wielding-Leon muttered, his hand coming down to pat your ass.
The loud sound of zippers followed and you shivered in anticipation, immense pressure from a clothed bulge pressing against your gaping hole.
“Don’t tense up,” he added, voice softer now—but no less intense. “Or I’ll have to take my time breakin’ you in myself.”
The one in front of you leaned in, hand sliding over your shoulder, squeezing once.
“Nah, he doesn’t want your old ass,” he murmured close to your lips, voice confident and teasing as his hand moved to your face again, softer now, thumb brushing your lip as he held your gaze.
“C’mon,” he whispered, voice taking a husky edge to it. “Tell ’em you want me first.”
Body moving with importance to the heart as you shifted and presented yourself fully to your Leon before drifting back to the surprise but aroused slightly older version.
A satisfied smile spread across his lips as his hand cradled your face and guided you down until your lips hovered just in front of that big bulge.
“Keep me busy while I wait my turn,” he added, voice low, amused, thumb pressing gently against your lip again. “Yeah?”
One moment you were trembling, stretched open and aching, every nerve lit up from the way older Leon had worked you apart, the next a different pressure followed.
He didn’t push in all at once, especially now, there was carefulness in him always present when it came to you. His hands found your hips first, fingers spreading wide, gripping just enough to steady you as he lined himself up behind.
“Tell me if it’s too much, okay?” He murmured, voice lower than you’d ever heard it, roughened by want but still threaded with that unmistakable sincerity.
He started to push in and God, the first inch alone stole the air from your lungs.
A gasp tore out of you, sharp and helpless, your body instinctively tightening around him as the blunt head of his cock pressed inside, stretching in a way that felt entirely different from the fingers that had prepared you.
He eased forward inch by inch, length sliding deeper into you with a steady, controlled pressure that made your entire body tremble around him as that solid weight filled and warned you up gradually.
“God…” he breathed, the word barely there, head dipping forward slightly, forehead almost brushing your shoulder as he focused on the feeling. “You feel really good..”
Another inch and your back arched as a broken sound left your throat.
It was overwhelming in the best possible way, body struggling to adjust as he sank deeper until he bottomed out.
A small pull back followed by a push forward again.
And that was worse, body reacting instantly, a sharp gasp tearing from your mouth as the movement dragged along every sensitive nerve inside.
The Leon in front of you was watching but waiting as well and, once you did remembered the other presence who you were now entirely sure was the same man currently balls deep inside, your trembling hands moved, reaching for the front of his jacket, then lower, finding the last barrier between you and what you’d been staring at this entire time.
“Go on,” he murmured, voice low and amused as his hand came up to cradle your cheek. “Been thinkin’ about it this whole time, haven’t you?”
Your fingers fumbled slightly with the fabric before finding purchase and pulled.
Fuck, he was hung.
Thick and heavy cock springing free, already flushed and leaking, head glistening under the light.
“Like what you see?” he asked, smirk tugging at his lips.
A question your mouth answered, leaning forward, closing the distance, lips parting as you took him in, tongue dragging along the underside as you guided him deeper, lips stretching around him until you sank down fully, nose brushing his skin as your throat adjusted around his length.
He sucked in a sharp breath.
“Fuck…” he groaned, his hand instantly coming to the back of your head. “There it is…”
You swallowed around him and that broke him in a way. “Yeah…yeah, just like that,” he muttered, voice rough and strained, his hips twitching forward instinctively before he caught himself. “You’re—shit—you’re still perfect at this.”
Behind your Leon groaned at the sight of your throat bulging around his older counterpart’s member, hands tightening on your hips again as his thrusts deepened.
Each push drove him fully into you, length dragging along your walls in a steady rhythm that made your body jolt forward and take more of the cock in your mouth without meaning to.
The connection clicked.
Every thrust from behind pushed you forward onto Leon, mouth forced to take him deeper, throat tightening reflexively around him as his grip in your hair tightened slightly in response.
“Fuck—” he groaned, watching you closely now, his breathing uneven. “Taking both of us like that… you trying to kill me?”
His hands slid up your body, one of them coming to your chest, fingers brushing over your skin in a soft, grounding motion as he watched you carefully.
“Is this okay?” The one behind you asked, voice strained but still so gentle, even now. “You’re— you’re not—”
You moaned around the cock in your mouth.
That was your answer.
“…okay,” he breathed, confidence shifting in his tone, maybe, or just the realization that you wanted this as much as he did.
His thrusts picked up, each one rolling his hips forward just right, dragging against your prostate repeatedly until your legs trembled harder, grip on the table tightening.
In front of you, Leon lost the last bit of restraint.
“Yeah… Take it just like that!” His hips started to move too, meeting your mouth halfway, cock sliding in and out between your lips in sync with the way you were being fucked from behind.
Your Leon leaned closer, chest pressing against your back as his hot breath came against your shoulder.
“You feel so good,” he whispered, almost like he couldn’t believe it, his voice breaking slightly as his pace faltered—then surged again. “I can’t—I can’t stop…”
In front—
“Don’t,” RE4 Leon shot back instantly, a breathless laugh mixing into his voice. “Trust me, he doesn’t want you to.”
Your body proved it as every thrust pulled another sound from you, cock twitching in overstimulation, but not forgotten as a hand wrapped around it suddenly.
“Don’t think I’m sittin’ this out,” he muttered against your ear, voice low and dangerous as his grip tightened just enough to make your hips jerk. “Go on… let go.”
Everything hit at once as a broken sound vibrated around the cock in your throat as you came hard, cock pulsing in his hand as release spilled over your stomach in hot bursts.
The sensation of your throat tightening pushing the one clogging your throat over the edge right after, grip tightening in your hair as he thrust deep one last time, spilling his load into your mouth with a low, strained sound.
Behind your Leon followed, a choked gasp leaving him as he buried himself fully inside you, hips pressing flush against yours as he came, warmth flooding deep inside.
Your body felt like it had been wrung out and put back together wrong, every nerve still buzzing, muscle weak, breath only just beginning to steady as the world slowly stopped spinning around you.
Yet, you were still painfully hard as a quiet, shaky breath left you, hand lifting to find its way to broad, familiar shoulders next to you, firm enough to communicate what your body couldn’t say out loud right away.
A low, knowing huff left him.
“Yeah… figured,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough but edged with that dry humor that never quite left him.
He shifted easily under your touch, turning and sitting back against the table in one smooth motion as you climbed into his lap, body sinking down onto his thick thighs, the heat of him immediately seeping into your skin.
Solid muscle beneath really told you how big he was, legs falling to either side of his hips and his huge tent nudged against your ass, heavy and insistent, blunt heat of it dragging slightly against your oversensitive skin.
A deep groan rumbled out of him instantly and you leaned closer once recovering, voice almost vulnerable.
“Did we… stay together for all those years?”
His grip on your hips loosened slightly, one hand lifting, fingers flexing like he was debating something before deciding and pulling his glove off, holding his hand up just enough for you to see a ring.
“…yeah,” he muttered, glancing at it briefly before his gaze flicked back up to you, a small, crooked smirk pulling at his lips. “Guess I was dumb enough to put up with you every day of my life.”
Sarcasm dry and familiar buy those duller blue eyes softened completely when he saw the happiness on your face that bloomed there before you could even try to hide it.
That was all you needed, leaning in to kiss him, stubble scratching against your jaw rough.
Then his hands tightened on your hips again and he moved you up enough to line himself.
“C’mon,” he muttered against your lips, breath warm, voice dipping lower. “You know the drill.”
He guided you down slowly, body tensing instinctively as the head of his cock pressed against your already slick and stretched opening.
The remnants of the others still coating you, making the slide smoother and easier.
Your mouth fell open as you sank down inch by inch, your hands tightening on his shoulders as your body adjusted again to his size.
“Fuck…” he grunted low, head dropping forward slightly, grip firm but controlled as he guided you.
He bottomed out and felt him pressed deep inside, so far in it almost felt like he was in your stomach, his heartbeat faint but real where your bodies connected.
Whimpering softly and he exhaled sharply at the sound.
“Always take me so good like you were made for it,” he muttered, voice roughening further, hands sliding slightly along your hips, thumbs pressing into your skin as you started to ride him.
Slow and weak at first, legs trembling as you lifted yourself just barely before dropping back down, motion dragging his cock along your walls.
But you didn’t have the strength.
“Easy,” he murmured, large biceps wrapping around your frame to pull you closer, chest pressed against his as he took over.
His thighs tensed beneath you, hands guiding your hips as he started moving you himself, lifting you up, then pulling you back down.
Each movement angled just right, hips tilting slightly to meet you every time, cock brushing against your prostate over and over until your head fell into the crook of his neck, your breath breaking into soft, helpless moans.
His pace didn’t falter, only getting stronger, breathing growing heavier against your skin as he kept you exactly where he wanted, pace picking up.
All until another presence came between your legs.
The other Leon older than you stepped in close, sliding between your spread thighs as you sat in his older counterpart’s lap, cock already hard again as it nudged against your entrance.
Older Leon stilled you instantly, holding you down firmly on his cock as his other hand came up to steady your hip.
“Hold on,” he muttered, glancing down briefly before looking back up at him.
“Relax,” the one about to join shot back. “I know what I’m doing.”
He pushed in, slow and careful, body of yours stretching again, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat as the second intrusion pressed inside alongside the first, walls straining and adjusting on both of them at once.
“Fuck—” you choked, your face pressing into older Leon’s jaw as your body trembled violently.
“Yeah… breathe,” older Leon murmured, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, holding you close. “You can take it.”
In front Leon groaned low.
“God, you’re tight,” he muttered, his hands gripping your hips as he slowly worked himself deeper, inch by inch until he was fully seated as well. “Missed this…”
Your body felt impossibly full and overstimulated, every nerve screaming as they both started to move.
Behind them, your Leon stood still, watching in absolute horny surprise.
Your head turned slightly, voice breathy and wrecked as you called out.
“…Leon…”
He blinked like he’d been pulled out of a trance.
“…yeah,” he answered quietly, almost dazed as the other Leon reached back, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him closer.
“Don’t just stand there,” he muttered, amusement laced through his tone. “Make him pleased.”
Just like that he was pulled in closer.
A hand of RE4 Leon’s gripped your ass, spreading you slightly as a thick drip of cum slid down.
Then your body git stretched again by a third presence pressing in.
You cried out, body shaking violently as all three of them filled every inch of you.
They moved together than, hips snapping forward, pulling back, thrusting again as your body was used between them, lifted, held, moved exactly how they wanted.
Kisses pressed against your mouth and neck… teeth grazed your skin along with hands everywhere.
Your mind went blank completely, moans breaking apart into nothing but sound, body giving in completely as they took over, driving you higher and higher again despite how sensitive you already were.
Your body tensed violently as you came again, cock spilling across older Leon’s abs, entire body shaking uncontrollably as the sensation ripped through.
They followed one by one, groans and grunts echoing along bodies tensing, followed by an uncontainable amount of heat filling you.
So much your body struggled to contain it as they emptied themselves inside you, movements slowing but not stopping until every last bit was spent.
listen!! hear me out!! nerdy!male reader, we tlaking doing super complicated equations withing seconds in his head typa smart, and he got tattoos/piercing, but they are always covered up, i wanna know, jasons reaction to seeing this needy man undressed plsplspls
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐒.. 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓?
jason todd x m!reader
𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐒 ! ── 2.9k words. nerdy, sub male reader. studying turns into a hook up and jason finds out you're not just some innocent, unmarked nerd. this might be his new favorite hobby.
꒰ warnings. dom jason. vocal reader. piercing play. blowjob. ass eating. hand job. reader makes a mess with his cum, whoops! ꒱
Jason first noticed it during a lecture that was supposed to be painfully boring.
You’d solve problems in seconds while everyone else groaned. You’d correct the professor—politely, quietly—when he slipped up. You filled your notebooks with neat, cramped writing and symbols Jason couldn’t even pretend to understand. And Jason, naturally, starts sitting closer just to tease you for it.
Not obviously. Jason Todd doesn’t hover. But somehow, over the next few weeks, his seat migrates until he’s always a chair or two away from you. Close enough to hear the scratch of your pen. Close enough to see that your notebooks are filled edge-to-edge with dense writing—equations stacked like architecture, arrows and notes squeezed into margins like they’re racing for space.
Sometimes he’d flick your notebook closed or lean over your shoulder just to mess with you. “Careful,” he’d add, smirking. “Keep this up and people are gonna start stuffing you in lockers.”
You’d roll your eyes, lips twitching like you were holding back a smile. “You’re the only one who cares.”
That was true. Jason cared way more than he let on.
The teasing didn’t have any real bite to it. He wasn’t mocking you—hell, half the time he sounded impressed despite himself. And when you weren’t around, his thoughts had a nasty habit of drifting.
He’d catch himself wondering what you looked like under all those layers. You were always covered up: hoodies, long sleeves, high collars, jeans that never showed skin. It made his imagination work overtime. He pictured you slimmer than him, all smooth and unmarked skin, no scars, no rough edges. The complete opposite of himself.
It messed with him more than he liked.
Jason would lie on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Of all the things to fixate on, it had to be the quiet guy who solved equations in his head and dressed like he was allergic to showing skin. He imagined your hands—quick, precise—resting against bare skin instead of paper and ink. Imagined how awkward you might be about it, how flustered.
He’d scoff to himself. “Get it together,” he’d mutter.
Then the next day, he’d be back in class, nudging your knee with his boot.
“Hey, nerd,” he’d say, voice easy, familiar. “Wanna dumb that down for the rest of us?”
You glance at the board. Once. Maybe twice.
“Um, It’s easy though,” you say.
“You didn’t even write anything down.”
You hesitate, then shrug. “I already worked it out earlier. It’s… kind of hard to un-see once you get it.”
Jason snorts softly. “That is the nerdiest thing I’ve ever heard.”
You’d sigh, turning toward him, and Jason would feel a stupid twist in his chest. Because yeah, he teased you.. but every time you looked at him, his heart would skip a beat.
He wanted more of that.
༶•┈┈୨୧┈┈•༶
Jason started finding excuses to stick around.
Group study sessions he didn’t need. Sitting beside you instead of his usual spot more often. Walking with you out of lecture even when his route home was the opposite direction. He told himself it was convenience. Anything but what it actually was.
One afternoon, you were scribbling furiously in your notebook while the TA talked, brow furrowed in concentration. Jason leaned over, chin propped on his hand.
“You ever think about taking a break?” he asked. “Like, for your own health?”
You didn’t look up. “I am relaxed.”
“Pipsqueak,” he said, tapping the edge of your page, “you’re doing differential equations for fun.”
That finally got you to glance at him, unimpressed. “You’re the one watching me.”
Jason smirked, but it felt a little too close to the truth. “Hard not to. You make the rest of us look bad.”
You closed your notebook at last and stretched—arms over your head, hoodie riding up just a fraction before you tugged it back down. Jason looked away a second too late, heat crawling up his neck over something that minor.
“Why do you care so much?” you asked, genuinely curious. No accusation. Just honest.
Jason shrugged. “Guess I like knowing what’s going on.”
“Liar.”
He barked out a laugh. “Okay, yeah. Maybe I just like giving you a hard time.”
Your mouth curved into a small smile, softer than the ones you gave other people. “You’re bad at it.”
That stuck with him.
Jason glaced down to watch your hands. Long fingers. Ink smudged faintly along the side of one knuckle. Clean. Unscarred.
“You know,” he said quietly, “it’s kinda unfair.”
“What is?”
“You make being a nerd look… cool.” He winced immediately. “Okay, not cool. But—” He gestured vaguely. “Impressive.”
You blinked, clearly not expecting that. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Jason,” you said, hesitant. “Why do you always sit next to me?”
He didn’t joke this time. He just looked at you, really looked at you, and for once the answer didn’t feel like something he could dodge.
“…Guess I don’t mind being outsmarted,” he said. “Long as it’s you.”
Your ears went pink. Jason noticed. Of course he did.
And for the first time, he thought maybe you were thinking about him too.
༶•┈┈୨୧┈┈•༶
Jason and you had grown closer without even really realizing it. Library sessions stretched into hours, sometimes ending with you sprawled across his bed at the manor, hoodie pulled even tighter around you, laptop open, solving problems while he lounged nearby, scrolling on his phone or tossing a pen absentmindedly.
You’d returned the favor at your apartment, filling his ears with quiet explanations of things he pretended to understand, occasionally nudging him to look at a tricky solution.
Jason’s mind, however, was far from calm tonight. He couldn’t stop his imagination from wandering. What if we… slept together? he thought, heart thumping. Then I could finally see what’s under all those layers.
He hated that thought almost immediately. Embarrassed, mortified at how shameless it felt. But he couldn’t push it away entirely.
And of course, you noticed.
“Jason,” you said while sprawled across the floor in his room, a complicated problem scribbled across multiple sheets of paper, “why are you staring at me like that?”
Jason froze, trying to act casual, because surely nothing was showing. “Staring? What? I’m not staring.”
You tilted your head, squinting. “You are. You’ve been doing that lately. What are you thinking?”
“Nothing,” he muttered, shifting slightly in a way that, if you were paying attention, was definitely not nothing.
But you weren’t done. Oh no. You leaned a little closer, puppy-eyed, voice softer than usual but dripping with a little needy insistence. “Come on, Jason. Tell me. I won’t judge. I just… I feel like you’re hiding something.”
He swallowed hard, blinking at the floor, panting a little in his own mind. “I’m not hiding anything. Seriously. Just… thinking about the problem.”
Your eyes narrowed, unconvinced. “The problem, huh?”
“Really, it’s nothing,” he repeated, voice firmer this time, though his hands twitched slightly on his knees. “Just… focus on your homework.”
You huffed, “Uh-huh.”
And yet, if you were paying really close attention, you might have noticed that some things—like the way his pants hugged him as he shifted in his seat—were definitely saying otherwise.
Instead, he leaned back, muttering under his breath. You just smiled, scribbling another line of equations, completely unbothered… for now.
But Jason? He was very, very bothered.
A few hours later, the chaos of notebooks and textbooks had finally died down. You were no longer sprawled on the floor, instead you were perched on Jason’s bed, legs crossed and on your phone for once. The soft glow of his desk lamp made the room feel smaller, more intimate.
Jason had been watching you for a while, pretending to scroll through his phone, but the tension in his chest had built up enough.
Finally, he threw the phone onto the bed beside him, sitting up straighter, trying to look casual. He failed spectacularly. “Alright,” he said, voice rougher than he intended. “I can’t… I can’t keep pretending anymore.”
You glanced up, notebook paused, an eyebrow raised. “What do you mean?”
Jason ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I mean… I’ve been thinking about you.”
His eyes locked on yours, a mix of embarrassment and desperation. “Like… what it would be like to—God, I don’t know, see you naked?”
The air between you thickened instantly. You were quiet for a moment, nibbling on your bottom lip. Then, quietly you asked, “Do… do you want to see?”
He suddenly swallowed hard, voice tight. “What?”
You nodded slowly, cheeks flushed, eyes cast downward. “I.. I’m probably not at all what you imagined. You’re probably wrong about… everything.”
Jason’s heart jumped. He’d imagined every possibility a hundred times, but hearing you say it out loud, sitting there on his bed.. it was like reality was catching up with every daydream he’d ever had.
“Okay,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Uh, okay… if you’re sure then go ahead.”
You stood up to take off your hoodie, then your shirt underneath, the motions deliberate but still shy. Removing your pants was harder, you fumbled and kicked them off awkwardly, leaving yourself standing in only boxers.
Your skin wasn’t bare like he imagined—tattoos snaked across your torso and arms, each one unexpected. His gaze locked on the one just above your v-line, bold and obvious, and heat shot straight to his crotch.
And then he noticed the subtle glint of metal at your chest: fucking nipple piercings. His jaw went slack, and for a second he couldn’t even form words.
You swallowed at his reaction, cheeks pink, shrugging shyly. “T- Told you… probably wrong about everything.”
Jason didn’t say anything. In fact, his eyes kept roaming, taking in the rest of you. You weren’t scrawny—not in the way he feared. Smaller than him, yes, but there was muscle under all those layers, the kind of body that was soft in some places but hard in others.
His mind scrambled, trying to reconcile the shy, quiet nerd he knew in class with the inked, pierced guy standing in front of him.
“Wow,” was all he could say, voice barely above a whisper. “Just… wow.”
You gave him a nervous smile, still shifting slightly, still trying to cover yourself.
Jason’s hands twitched at his sides. His mind raced, his heart thumping in ways he couldn’t control. He hadn’t been ready for this, not at all, and yet… he couldn’t look away.
His eyes flicked down, and he noticed the subtle strain in your boxers. Your shyness radiated from you like heat, shoulders hunched slightly as if you were trying to disappear.
You were quiet now, shifting your weight nervously under his gaze, biting your lip.
Jason’s mouth widened into a grin. He leaned back on the bed, casual but deliberate, giving you just enough room to feel the tension without letting you escape it.
“You’re… really something, you know that?” he said, voice low, playful, with just the faintest edge that made you flinch.
You swallowed hard, trying to avert your eyes, fumbling with the hem of your boxers like it would somehow cover the obvious. “I—I’m not… I’m just…”
Jason let out a low chuckle, reaching a hand toward you but stopping just short. “Yeah, I can see that,” he said, tone suggestive, letting the silence hang heavy for a moment.
You looked up, eyes meeting his, and that was all it took to know: whatever happened next wasn’t going to be just studying.
༶•┈┈୨୧┈┈•༶
You nervously eased yourself onto his bed, legs dangling over the edge, hands gripping the sheets on either side of your thighs, boxers clinging tightly to that straining bulge.
Jason chuckles as he knelt in front of you, reaching out to palm your erection through the fabric. He can feel how hard and embarrassed you are.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your boxers and tugs them down. Your aching cock springs free..
Jason’s eyes suddenly widen as he notices the shiny metal piercing decorating the underside of your cock, just below the head. You whimpered at his reaction.
“Fuck.. a frenulum piercing? You keep surprising me.” He murmurs as he wraps a large, calloused hand around the shaft, stroking it at a steady pace.
“Ah-!” You squeaked, back already starting to ache.
When Jason takes you in his mouth, sloppy and wet and eager, his head bobbing in a stuttering rhythm. The cool metal of your piercing contrasts deliciously with the heat of his tongue as he swirls it around the sensitive flesh.
"Stay," Jason suddenly warns when he notices you leaning forward to grab his hair.
"Jason, please, I—"
"Stay.” He repeats himself, slightly more insistent, sending a shiver up your spine.
Soon enough, muffled sounds of slurping and sucking fill the room as he services you skillfully, his head moving faster up and down your throbbing cock. Occasionally, he pulls back to flick his tongue teasingly over your piercing, sending jolts of pleasure racing through you.
You cried out, hips jerking desperately into his mouth as your face flushes even more. “I- it feels so good. Let me— ngh!”
He pulls back momentarily, his lips popping off the head of your dick with a lewd sound.
"You’re so loud. Someone’s gonna hear you." He grins, stroking your slick cock faster, his grip tighter.
“Sorry.. I’ll be quiet— A- Ah, I’ll try..”
Just to mess with you, Jason leaned down and swirled his tongue around the sensitive crown of your cock, roughly flicking it against your frenulum piercing. You let out a shaky noise. He grinned wider.
“H- Haa!” You gasped loudly as he dived back down, taking your cock deep into the tight, wet heat of his mouth. He starts to suck you with wild abandon, his head bobbing up and down your shaft.
“M- Mmhn! Ah!” You whined, throwing your head back and desperately trying to shut your legs. The feeling was so overstimulating.
He glanced up at you and practically smirked at your thighs beginning to clamp tightly around his head. It didn’t bother him at all, in fact it was cute. Plus, he was stronger anyways.
His mouth didn’t falter at all when he slipped his hands under your knees and forced your legs wide open, holding them up. He takes your cock even deeper, until the head bumps against the back of his throat and his nose is buried in your pubic hair. He swallows around you and continues to watch your face.
It’s so fucking cute. Your face is so pink and sweaty, your eyes are wide and wet with tears, those damp lips parted and panting.
He pulled back from your slick cock with another lewd pop, his lips glossy with your pre-cum. “I can tell you’re about to cum. I’m not letting that happen yet so lay down.”
You gulped nervously and listened. With that, Jason leans in, his hot breath wafting over your winking hole. He extends his tongue and drags the flat surface of it over your entrance, tracing the delicate ring of muscle, making you shiver.
“Mmph, fuck... you taste so good.” He murmurs appreciatively before diving in, his tongue probing and pushing against your entrance insistently.
“N- Nngh..” You groaned softly, all the pleasure going to your still-hard cock.
Jason starts to eat you out, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as he tongue-fucks you. He swirls and twists the smooth muscle, thrusting it deep into your hot, clenching hole. Your back formed a deep arch like it was allergic to the bed. Obscene slurping noises fill the room.
“O- Oh god.. Ah, f- fuuck..!” You cried out and squirmed, hips desperately grinding against his mouth.
He reaches a hand to stroke your dripping, neglected cock in time with the thrusts of his tongue, pushing you closer to the edge. He can feel your cock throbbing and pulsing in his grip, leaking pre-cum onto his calloused fingers.
“Please— I can’t.. s-so good.. gonna—!” You let out a needy noise, shortly turning into incoherent rambles. Your hips jerked as you clenched the sheets, your knuckles turning white.
He feels your asshole clenching desperately around his invading tongue. He pulls back just in time to watch your cock spurt ropes of cum onto your stomach and chest as you shake and cry.
"That's all it takes?” Jason chuckles, his voice dripping with amusement. He pumps your spent cock with rough, demanding strokes, squeezing out every last drop as you made small, whiny noises. You were so messy!
As your orgasm starts to subside, Jason stands up. The mere sight of your own cum covering your body, coating those tattoos made Jason want to lick it all up.
And he did.
He leans over you to lap at the mess strewn across your heaving chest. His tongue scoops up your cum and paints it across your skin, swirling and flicking his tongue over one of your nipple piercings. You shiver and let out a strangled hiss. He raised an eyebrow at your sensitive reaction.
He continues to play with your nipple piercing, his other hand coming up to pinch and rub the other. You let out a quiet moan at the pleasure-pain sensation. “T- That.. mhngh! Ahh..”
Jason’s teeth close around the metal bar, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp.
He finally releases the pierced nub, a string of saliva connecting his tongue to the glistening metal. He stepped back to admire his handiwork, taking in the delightful sight of you: flushed and embarrassed with tears, chest heaving, cock spent and smeared with cum, and your nipples pink and swollen from his ministrations.
“We should study more often, huh?”
“Um, I- I.. mnyes.” Your voice was shaky and slightly slurred as you sat up.
“Hm, pipsqueak? Come on, speak clearly. You’re supposed to be the smarter one.”
synopsis: Two elite ice hockey players from rival national teams collide season after season, their on-ice hatred bleeding into something far messier off it. What starts as anonymous hookups and reckless make-outs turns into a heated rivalry fueled by jealousy, ego, and the growing terror of wanting something real. By the time they finally stop pretending it’s just sex, it might already be too late to walk away clean.
content warnings: 18+, smut, (making out, oral sex, eventual full sex), rivals-to-lovers, emotionally repressed men, bottom male reader, possessiveness, jealousy, public/private tension, fame pressure, unhealthy coping mechanisms, arguments, emotional avoidance, power dynamics, minor injuries, locker room scenes.
word count: 10.2k (i did NOT think it would be this long lmaoo) [req]
The Zurich tunnel was a concrete wind tunnel that smelled like damp equipment and floor cleaner. It was the kind of place that amplified every noise, making the post-game headache behind your eyes pulse with every distant shout from the fans still hanging around the stands. You stood there with your gear bag heavy on your shoulder, leaning your weight against the cold wall. You were just waiting for the Japanese media swarm to clear out so you could get to the bus without being shoved aside by a cameraman.
Then you heard him.
Satoru Gojo had a laugh that was built for stadiums. It was loud and effortless. He rounded the corner with a dozen reporters trailing him, his jersey draped over his shoulders. He looked pristine. You felt like you’d been through a rock tumbler. Your jersey was damp with sweat, and your hair was a flattened mess from the helmet.
He saw you and detoured away from the microphones, ignoring a reporter mid-question. He stepped into your space, stopping just short of actually touching you. He smelled like mint and the sharp, metallic scent of the rink. Up close, he was tall enough that you had to lock your neck back just to keep him in view.
"Great game, Miller," he said. He flashed a grin that was all teeth.
"My name isn't Miller," you said. You kept your voice flat. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, even if your pulse was jumping in your throat.
"Right. Close enough." He leaned a hand against the wall next to your head, pinning you in place. "You were fast out there today. A little desperate on that last break, but fast."
"I was playing hockey. You were putting on a show," you replied. You could feel the heat radiating off him. It was a physical weight in the cramped hallway. "There’s a difference between a teammate and a mascot, Gojo."
The grin on his face didn't disappear, but it got sharper. He leaned in closer, his blue eyes scanning your face. He was looking at the sweat on your forehead and the way your jaw was locked. He was looking for a crack. He looked at you like you were a puzzle he’d already solved but wanted to take apart anyway.
"Is that what we're calling it?" he asked. He spoke softly, his voice dropping below the noise of the reporters ten feet away. "I thought I was just winning. You should try it sometime. It might help with that miserable look you've got going on."
"Move your hand, Gojo. My bus is leaving."
"Let it leave," he murmured.
He didn't move. He stayed there for several seconds, long enough for the silence to turn heavy and weird. You could see the individual spikes of his white hair and the way his pupils didn't even flinch under the bright fluorescent lights. It wasn't Sparks. It was static. It was the feeling of a thorn in your side that had been there since the first time your names appeared on the same scouting reports. You hated how everyone compared you to him. You hated that he seemed to know exactly how much that bothered you.
Then, just as quickly, he pulled away and snapped his fingers. He turned back to the cameras without a backward glance, leaving you standing in the hum of the tunnel with your skin crawling. He was already laughing at another question before you could even get your breath back.
⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆
The training facility gym was tucked into the basement of the arena, a windowless box that smelled of industrial rubber and the heavy, metallic scent of iron. You were four sets into a back routine, trying to work out the knot that had settled in your neck after the tunnel incident. Every time you pulled the bar, the friction of your shirt against your skin felt like an irritant. You were focused on the rhythmic clanging of the plates, trying to drown out the fact that your team’s loss was the only thing on the morning news.
The door swung open, hitting the rubber stopper with a dull thud. Gojo didn't just walk in; he took up the entire doorway. He was with Suguru Geto, both of them dressed in black training gear that looked like it had never seen a drop of sweat. Gojo was tossing a medicine ball into the air with a casual, annoying ease. He didn't look at you, but he parked himself at the squat rack directly in your line of sight.
You focused on the mirror, watching your own form, but his reflection kept drifting into the frame. He was leaning back against the rack now, watching you with a look that wasn't quite a smirk but wasn't friendly either.
"I've noticed some guys lift like they’re trying to punish the equipment," Gojo said. He wasn't looking at you, but his voice carried perfectly over the gym’s playlist. "Too much ego in the grip. It’s a miracle they don’t snap a wrist before they even hit the ice."
You dropped your dumbbells. The noise echoed off the concrete walls, sharp and final. You grabbed your water bottle and wiped your face with a towel, staring at him through the glass.
"And some people talk because they’re afraid of what happens if it gets quiet," you said.
Gojo finally turned his head. He let the medicine ball drop and walked over. He stopped a few feet away, his eyes dragging over your shoulders with a clinical interest that made your skin itch.
"I'm just offering an observation," he said. "You're stiff. Your shoulders are up around your ears. You play the same way you lift, like you’re waiting for a car crash."
"I play with discipline. You wouldn't know what that looks like."
"Discipline is a boring word for being scared," Gojo countered. He stepped closer, dropping his voice so it stayed between the two of you. "You’re so worried about making a mistake that you're missing the actual game. I saw it yesterday. You had the lane, but you passed it off because you didn't want the weight of the miss."
"I played the smart move," you snapped. Your hands were balled into fists at your sides.
"You played the safe move," he corrected. He reached out, his hand stopping just short of the collar of your shirt. "Safe doesn't win tournaments. Safe just gets you a seat on the bus home."
You stepped back, breaking the proximity. The heat in your face had nothing to do with the workout. "Stay out of my head, Gojo. And stay away from my rack."
He laughed, a sharp sound that felt too loud for the basement. "I'm already in your head. I've been there since Zurich. Just admit it."
You didn't give him an answer. You turned and walked toward the showers, but you could feel the weight of his gaze on your back the entire way.
⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆
The communal shower was a cavernous, tiled box that echoed with the heavy spray of water and the distant shouting of players further down the hall. Steam hung thick in the air, blurring the edges of the room into a grey haze. You stood under one of the corner heads, eyes closed, letting the hot needles of water hit the tension in your shoulders.
The rhythmic sound of footsteps on wet tile approached. A shower turned on two stalls over. You didn't have to open your eyes to know the silhouette.
You reached for the soap, blinking through the water, and your gaze inadvertently drifted. Gojo was standing with his back to the wall, head tilted back as he let the water wash over his face. He wasn't trying to hide anything. He never did.
Your breath hitched. You’d spent your life in locker rooms around athletes, but this was a different league entirely. Even flaccid, he was huge. It was hanging with a weight that made your own stomach do a strange, tight flip.
You looked away quickly, staring at the grout between the tiles until your eyes burned. You felt a sudden, sharp spike of heat that had nothing to do with the steam. It was an intrusive, vivid thought of exactly how that would feel, and it made your throat go dry.
Gojo didn't say a word. He didn't even look at you. He just went through the motions of showering with a casual, bored grace, as if he wasn't currently making every other man in the facility look like an afterthought.
The silence followed you back into the locker room. It was that heavy, pressurised quiet that happens when two people are thinking about the same thing but refuse to acknowledge it. You sat on your bench, eyes fixed on your gym bag, tugging on your socks with trembling fingers.
Gojo was across from you, pulling a grey hoodie over his head. He didn't look like the stadium-filling star right now. He just looked like a guy in a locker room. He leaned over to lace his sneakers, the fabric of his sweatpants straining against his legs.
He sat back up, catching your eye for the first time since the showers. The smirk wasn't there. Instead, there was a look of quiet, pointed observation. He knew you’d looked. He definitely knew.
"My hotel has a private lounge on the penthouse floor," Gojo said. His voice was casual, but the volume was low enough that it didn't travel past the row of lockers. "They serve the good Scotch. Not the watered-down shit they give the teams in the common area."
You stopped mid-motion, your hand resting on the zipper of your bag. You didn't look up. "I'm not a big drinker, Gojo."
"It's not about the drink," he replied. He stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He took a step closer, stopping just short of your knees. "I’m staying at the Grand—room 402. Come over after the media briefing. Or don't. But stop looking at me like you’ve got something to say and just come say it."
He didn't wait for an answer. He walked out, the heavy door swinging shut behind him. You sat there in the sudden silence, the image of him in the shower burned into the back of your eyelids.
⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆
The walk to the Grand was long enough for the cold air to settle into your bones, but not long enough to talk yourself out of it. You stood outside Room 402, staring at the brass numbers. Your brain told you to turn around and get back to your own hotel before this turned into something you couldn't undo, but your hand was already knocking.
Gojo opened the door almost instantly. He’d ditched the hoodie and was just in a black t-shirt and those grey sweatpants. The room behind him was a massive suite that looked out over the city lights, but the only thing you focused on was the way he looked at you.
He didn't say hello. He just stepped back to let you in.
"You actually showed up," he said, closing the door. The click of the lock was loud in the quiet room.
"I wanted the scotch," you said, though the lie felt thin the second it left your mouth.
"Sure you did." Gojo didn't move toward the bar. He just stayed by the door, watching you stand in the middle of the room with your jacket still on. "You’ve been looking at me for weeks. In the gym, the hallways, the showers. You've got this look on your face like you want to swing at me or crawl under my skin. Which one is it tonight?"
"You're full of yourself," you said, but your voice lacked any real bite.
Gojo crossed the room. He didn't stop until he was right in your space, forcing you to look up. He smelled like that same sharp mint and expensive soap from the locker room. He reached out, his thumb catching the edge of your jaw, tilting your head back.
"Then do something about it," he said.
You reached out and shoved him back a step, but only so you could grab the front of his shirt and haul him down.
The first time your mouths hit, it was messy. There was no grace to it, just a lot of built-up frustration finally snapping. Gojo made a low, rough sound in the back of his throat and crowded you backwards until your heels hit the edge of the sofa. He didn't let up, his tongue pushing past your lips, tasting like the gin he’d been drinking.
His hands came up to frame your face, his fingers tangling in your hair to hold you still as he tilted your head to get a deeper angle. You gripped his waist, pulling him as close as the layers of your clothes would allow. Every time you tried to pull back for air, he followed you, his mouth staying glued to yours.
You heard the sound of heavy breathing and the rustle of fabric as you tried to get a better grip on him. Gojo’s hands drifted down, his palms flat against your back, pressing you flush against his chest. You could feel the heat coming off him, and lower down, the heavy, hard weight of him pressing against your thigh. Having it that close, knowing what was under those sweatpants, made your head swim.
He broke the kiss long enough to trail his mouth down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just above the collar of your shirt. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, your head falling back against the cushions.
"The bed," he rasped against your skin.
"Now," you said.
He didn't let go of you as he led the way, his hand locked firmly around yours. The clothes were gone before you even hit the mattress, a mess of discarded shirts and kicked-off shoes left on the floor.
⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆
The sun hit the white hotel sheets with a brightness that made your eyes sting. You woke up with the weight of Gojo’s arm draped heavily across your chest, his skin hot even in the air-conditioned room. For a minute, you just lay there, staring at the expensive crown moulding on the ceiling and trying to piece together the last few hours.
The bed was a mess, but you were both still in your underwear. There were no discarded condoms, no lingering ache of having been taken. Just the heavy, sugar-sweet smell of spilt scotch on the nightstand and the hazy memory of a make-out session that had been so intense it felt like a physical bruising. You had stayed up until four in the morning, mouths raw, eventually passing out mid-sentence while Gojo was trying to explain why he hated the Swiss team's defensive structure.
Gojo stirred, shifting his weight and pulling his arm back. He didn't do the awkward morning-after flinch. He just opened his eyes, blinked at the ceiling, and reached for his phone.
"You're late for your team meeting," he said. His voice was thick and raspy with sleep, but the smugness was already back in place.
"I know," you muttered, sitting up and rubbing your face. Your head was pounding from the alcohol and the lack of sleep.
You felt his eyes on your back. The room felt smaller now that you were both awake. You looked over your shoulder and saw him watching you, his white hair a chaotic mess against the pillow. He looked soft for about three seconds before he smirked.
"Don't look so worried," he said, propping himself up on an elbow. "We didn't actually do the deed. You just fell asleep on me while I was getting to the good part of my story. It was a little insulting, honestly."
"I was drunk, Gojo."
"You were exhausted." He hopped out of bed, completely unbothered by his lack of clothes. He headed for the bathroom, his stride easy and confident. "But don't worry. I won't tell your coach you were busy failing to keep up with me."
You winced at the jab. It was a joke, a way to reset the board. By making it about the rivalry again, he was giving you both an out. If he treated it like a comedy of errors, it didn't have to be a secret. It didn't have to be anything real. You got dressed in the silence, listening to the water of the shower start to run.
You left the room before he came back out. The hallway of the Grand was quiet and smelled like expensive lilies, a sharp contrast to the way your skin still felt like it was humming with the static of his touch. You had a game in six hours, and all you could think about was the way he’d looked at you right before you fell asleep—like he was waiting for you to say something that wasn't a joke.
⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆
The door clicked shut, and the lock turned with a heavy metallic thud. The sound was deafening in the small space. You were standing between two rows of tall shelving units packed with team bags and industrial-sized boxes of tape. The only light came from a single, buzzing bulb overhead that made the dust motes dance in the air.
"You're avoiding me," Gojo said. He didn't move from the door. He was still in his practice gear, the black compression shirt damp and clinging to the muscle of his chest.
"I'm busy," you said, your voice sounding thin even to your own ears. You reached for a crate of pucks, but your hands were shaking.
"You're hiding." He moved toward you, his skates gone but his presence still taking up every inch of the room. He didn't stop until he was chest-to-chest with you, pinning you against the metal shelving. The scent of him—salt, ice, and that sharp mint—filled your head. "You left the hotel before I even woke up. No word. Just ran away like I’d done something wrong."
"We didn't do anything," you snapped, looking up at him. "We got drunk and made out. It wasn't a big deal."
"It felt like a big deal to me." He reached out, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck. His palm was hot, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. He leaned in, his breath hitting your lips. "Or maybe you're just scared of what happens when we aren't drunk."
You grabbed his wrists to push him away, but the contact only made it worse. You felt the static from the tunnel, the gym, and the showers all converge into one point of heat. You didn't push. You pulled.
The kiss was frantic. It was a mess of teeth and tongue, an outlet for a month of suppressed irritation. Gojo groaned, a deep, vibrating sound that you felt in your own throat. He hiked your hips up, shoving you onto the edge of a heavy wooden crate. The wood bit into your thighs, but you didn't care. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him flush against you.
He broke the kiss to trail his mouth down to your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin over your pulse point. "I haven't been able to think about anything else since the showers," he rasped.
His hands were everywhere—under your shirt, gripping your thighs, fumbling with the button of your pants. He worked them down with a single-minded focus, his breathing coming in jagged stabs. When he finally had you exposed to the cool air of the room, he didn't hesitate. He dropped to his knees on the thin rubber floor mat.
You gripped the edges of the crate so hard the wood splattered into your palms. Looking down, you saw the crown of his white hair between your knees. The sight of him—the most famous player in the league, the man everyone wanted to be or be with—kneeling on a dirty floor for you made your head spin.
He took you into his mouth with a slow, deliberate suction that made your back arch. He didn't rush. He used his tongue to trace the length of you, his eyes flicking up to watch your face. He wanted to see you break. He wanted to see the moment you stopped being the "boring wall" and started being a mess for him.
"Gojo," you breathed, your fingers tangling in his hair. You were past the point of worrying about the thin walls or the janitor in the hall.
He hummed against you, the vibration sending a jolt straight to your gut. He picked up the pace, his hand wrapping around the base of you to steady the friction. It was intense and overwhelming. Every time you thought you were about to reach the edge, he slowed down, teasing the sensation until you were practically begging him to finish it.
He swallowed you deep, his throat working as he pushed you over the limit. Your world narrowed down to the feeling of his mouth and the frantic beat of your own heart. When you finally came, you let out a strangled sound, your head falling back against the jerseys hanging on the rack behind you.
Gojo didn't pull away immediately. He stayed there for a moment, holding you, before he slowly sat back on his heels. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his blue eyes dark and blown wide with his own heat. He looked at you with a look that wasn't smug for once. It was hungry.
He stood up, his breath still heavy. He didn't help you with your pants. He just watched you adjust yourself, his gaze lingering on the flush of your skin.
"See?" he said, his voice finally regaining that sharp, playful edge. "Everything is better when you stop overthinking it."
He turned and slipped out the door before you could even find your voice, leaving you in the quiet, dusty dark of the storage room.
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The Gala was one of those high-stakes social traps where everyone pretended to be friends while checking for weaknesses. You stayed near the bar, the gin in your glass doing nothing to dull the sharp edge of your nerves. Across the room, Gojo was doing exactly what he was built for: dominating the space. He was leaning against a marble pillar, looking effortless in a tuxedo that probably cost more than your first car. He was deep in conversation with a blonde from the Swiss delegation, her hand resting on his forearm as she laughed at something he’d whispered.
You watched him. You watched the way he didn't pull back, the way he tilted his head toward her with that focused, intense charm he usually reserved for a puck. It shouldn't have mattered. You weren't his. But seeing him act like a free agent while your skin was still buzzing from the equipment room made your blood boil.
"He's a lot to look at, isn't he?"
You turned to find Elena standing next to you. She was a reporter you’d known for a couple of seasons. She was attractive and always easy to talk to. You’d gone out with women your whole life; it was familiar territory. It was safe.
"He's a headache," you muttered, offering her a tired smile.
"Come on," she leaned in, her perfume a soft, floral scent. "The music is terrible, and the drinks are worse. Let's go somewhere we can actually hear ourselves think."
You looked back at Gojo one last time. He caught your eye over the blonde's shoulder, his expression shifting into something cold and unreadable. Out of pure, jagged spite, you finished your drink and followed Elena out.
Her hotel room was a few floors up. The transition felt natural; the dimming lights, the soft click of the door, the way she pulled you toward her. This was what you knew. You’d been with girls since high school; you knew the rhythm, the expectations, the way it was supposed to feel.
When she pushed your jacket off and leaned in to kiss you, you leaned into it. You wanted to feel that familiar spark, that easy comfort of being with a woman. But as her hands moved over your chest, something was off. You weren't disgusted—you liked Elena, and she was doing everything right—but your brain was somewhere else.
It was like watching a movie with the sound turned off. You felt the physical contact, but the electricity was missing. Every time you closed your eyes, you didn't see her. You saw the flash of white hair in a dark storage room. You felt the ghost of a much larger, heavier hand on your neck. You tried to focus, tried to stay in the moment with her, but the more you tried, the more clinical it felt.
You pulled back, breathing hard, your heart hammering for all the wrong reasons.
"I... I can't," you whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Elena, I’m sorry. I think I’ve just had too much to drink."
"It's okay," she said, sounding more confused than hurt. "It happens. Long tournament, right?"
"Yeah. Long tournament."
You got out of there as fast as you could without making a scene. By the time you reached your floor, the frustration was a physical weight in your chest. You’d spent your whole life knowing who you were, and in one week, some arrogant Japanese superstar had dismantled all of it.
You rounded the corner to your room and stopped dead. Gojo was leaning against your door, his tie pulled loose and hanging around his neck like a noose. He looked like he’d been waiting for a fight.
"You took your sweet time," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rasp.
"Get away from my door, Gojo." You fumbled for your key card, your hands shaking with a mix of adrenaline and shame.
"The reporter? Seriously?" He stepped into your space, his shadow looming over you. "I didn't think you were that desperate for a distraction. Was it worth it? Did she give you that 'discipline' you’re always bragging about?"
"It’s none of your business who I spend my time with," you snapped, finally getting the door to click.
He didn't let you close it. He shoved his way inside, forcing you to back up into the dark room. "It becomes my business when you’re out there making a fool of yourself just to get a rise out of me."
"I wasn't trying to get a rise out of you! I was trying to have a normal night with a normal person! Something you wouldn't understand!"
"Normal?" Gojo laughed, a harsh, jagged sound. He slammed the door shut behind him. "You think you can just go back to that? After the locker room? After the storage wing? You’re lying to yourself."
"I’m not lying about anything! I’ve always been with women, Gojo. This—whatever this is with you—it’s the mistake. It’s the outlier."
"Is that what we're calling it?" He grabbed the front of your shirt, his grip tight enough to choke. "A mistake? You looked at me in that shower like I was the only thing in the world, and now you’re going to pretend you’d rather be with some girl who doesn't even know your middle name?"
"At least she respects me! At least she doesn't treat me like a trophy she can win and then ignore!"
"I don't ignore you," he hissed, his face inches from yours. "I can't stop looking at you. That’s the problem. And it’s eating you alive that you feel the same way."
"I hate you," you whispered, though your grip on his forearms was tightening, pulling him closer.
"Good," he muttered, his eyes dark with a mix of fury and hunger. "Keep hating me. Just don't you dare go looking for a replacement again."
Neither of you mentioned the truth. Neither of you mentioned that you were terrified. You just stood there in the dark, the "no feelings" rule in absolute tatters on the floor.
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The semi-final against Canada was a mess. You were watching from the bench when Gojo took a hit that made the whole arena go quiet. He didn't just bounce off the boards this time. He hit the wood at a bad angle and stayed down, clutching his side. It took two trainers to help him off the ice, and for the rest of the game, the stadium felt weirdly empty without him peacocking around the blue line.
An hour after the final whistle, the arena was mostly dead. The cleaning crews were working way up in the stands, but the hallways downstairs were silent and smelled like floor cleaner. You found him in the back medical room, a tiny space that was basically just a closet with a padded table.
Gojo was sitting there with his shirt off, a huge pack of ice taped to his ribs. He wasn't on his phone, and he wasn't surrounded by reporters. He was just staring at a crack in the floor tiles.
"You're missing the press conference," you said. You stayed by the door, leaning your shoulder against the frame.
He didn't look up. "Suguru is doing it. He’s better at the corporate talk anyway."
His voice was flat. The usual energy was gone, and without it, he looked exhausted. The bright overhead lights showed every bruise and every scratch from the game. He looked less like a superstar and more like a guy who had just been through a car wreck.
"Trainer says it’s a hairline fracture," he said, finally glancing at you. His eyes were tired. "I’m playing the final, though. I’ll just get them to numb me up."
"That’s a bad idea. You’ll be slow. You won't be able to rotate your torso for a shot."
"I have to play." He reached for a water bottle and winced as he moved. He took a sip and then just stared at the label. "If I'm not out there winning, I don't really know what I'm supposed to be doing. People don't care about Satoru. They care about the guy who puts up four points a night. If I can't do that, I'm just a tall guy with a loud mouth."
You didn't try to comfort him with some cheesy line about how he was more than just a player. You knew as well as he did that in this sport, your value was usually tied to the scoreboard. You walked over and sat on a low stool a few feet away. You didn't touch him or try to be sentimental. You just sat there in the quiet.
"I don't really know who I am when the game stops," he said. He said it casually, like he was talking about a boring movie he'd seen. "Everything gets too quiet. I think that’s why I act the way I do. If I stop moving and making noise, I feel like I might just disappear."
You looked down at your shoes. "The noise is a lot of work, Gojo."
"Yeah," he whispered. "It is."
He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. You stayed there for a long time. You didn't talk, and you didn't move. It wasn't some big romantic moment. It was just two people sitting in a cold room, hiding from the expectations waiting for them outside the door. For the first time, the wall between you didn't feel like a competition. It just felt like a place to rest.
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After the night in the medical room, the silence between you changed. It wasn't the competitive silence from before; it was heavy and awkward. You realised that seeing him look that human made it impossible to keep going the way you were. If you didn't stop now, the "no feelings" rule was going to collapse, and you weren't ready for what was on the other side of that.
You told him it was over on the bus back to the hotel. You didn't make a scene. You just leaned over the back of the seat and told him the equipment room was the end of it. Gojo didn't even look at you. He just kept his headphones on and nodded once, his jaw tight.
That lasted exactly six days.
It was the longest week of your life. Every time you were on the ice together, the tension was thick enough to choke on. He didn't make jokes anymore. He played with a jagged, mean energy, taking runs at people during practice and ignoring your existence entirely. You were just as bad, over-committing to hits and spending your nights staring at the ceiling of your hotel room, your body feeling restless and high-strung.
It snapped the night before the gold medal game.
You were in the hotel gym at 11:00 PM, trying to exhaust yourself on the cable machine so you could finally sleep. The door opened, and Gojo walked in. He wasn't wearing his gym gear. He was still in his suit from the team dinner, his tie gone and his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest.
You didn't look at him. You just kept pulling the weights, the metal clanking rhythmically.
"Stop," he said. His voice was low and rough.
"I'm working out, Gojo. Leave."
He didn't leave. He walked over and grabbed the cable, forcing the weights down with a loud crash. You spun around to shove him, but he caught your wrists. He pinned them against the machine, his body slamming into yours. He smelled like heavy cologne and the scotch he’d clearly been drinking.
"A week," he hissed, his face inches from yours. "You think you can just turn it off? You think I’m just some drill you can finish and move on from?"
"I said we were done. It was getting messy."
"It was already messy!" He let go of your wrists only to grab the back of your head, his fingers digging into your hair. "You think I don't see you looking at me? You’re practically vibrating every time I walk into the room."
He shoved you back against the equipment and kissed you. It was nothing like the first time. This was angry. It was desperate and rough, a release of all the static from the last six days. You didn't fight him. You pulled him in, your hands clawing at the expensive fabric of his shirt, needing the contact just as much as he did.
He didn't lead you to a bed. He pushed you down onto one of the weight benches in the corner of the gym, away from the door. He was frantic, his hands shaking as he worked your pants down. He didn't wait. He dropped to his knees, his white hair a stark contrast to the dark floor, and took you into his mouth.
It wasn't the slow, teasing pace from the storage room. He was focused, his tongue and throat working with a desperate intensity that had you gasping, your fingers digging into his shoulders. You looked down at him, seeing the way his eyes were shut tight, his brow furrowed like he was in pain. It felt like he was trying to vent a week's worth of frustration out on you.
When you couldn't take the friction anymore, you pulled him up by the shoulders. You didn't want to just watch; you needed to feel him. You kicked your pants off and reached for the waistband of his trousers, tugging them down past his hips.
He was already hard, heavy and leaking, and the second you were skin-to-skin, the air seemed to leave the room. You gripped him, your hands slick, and pulled him flush against you. The feeling of him rubbing against you—frotting with a frantic, rhythmic heat—was almost too much to handle.
Gojo let out a low, broken sound against your neck, his weight pressing you down into the vinyl of the bench. It was raw and blunt. There was no finesse to it, just two bodies trying to grind the tension out of each other. You wrapped your leg around his waist to pull him closer, your heart hammering against your ribs as the friction built toward something white-hot.
You both came at the same time, a messy, shuddering release that left you both gasping for air in the dark gym. Gojo stayed slumped over you for a long minute, his forehead resting on your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.
He pulled away slowly, the silence in the room feeling heavier than before. He didn't help you up. He just stood there, breathing hard, looking down at you with an expression that was almost a challenge.
"Still done?" he asked, his voice shaking.
You didn't answer. You just started reaching for your clothes, your hands trembling. The rule hadn't changed, but the stakes had. You weren't just sleeping together anymore; you were destroying each other.
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The gold medal game was brutal. You were playing the game of your life, logging heavy minutes because your team needed you to shut down the Japanese offence. Japan was leading 2-1 in the third period, and the energy in the arena was vibrating.
Gojo was stuck on the bench. He was dressed in his full gear, but his helmet was off, and he had a heavy coat draped over his shoulders to keep his core warm. He looked miserable. Every time you laid a hard hit on one of his teammates or cleared the puck, the camera found him. They wanted to see the frustrated star.
The incident happened during a puck battle along the boards. You took a heavy elbow to the ribs—the same spot Gojo had injured days prior—, and you went down for a second, gasping for air. You weren't badly hurt, but the wind was knocked out of you, and you stayed on one knee to catch your breath.
The Jumbotron didn't show the replay of the foul. It cut straight to the Japanese bench.
Gojo wasn't just watching; he was standing up, his hands white-knuckled as he gripped the top of the acrylic glass. He’d pushed his sunglasses up onto his head, and his eyes were wide, fixed on you with a raw, terrifying intensity. He looked like he was about to climb over the partition. There was no smirk, no arrogance, just a frantic sort of hunger as he tracked your movement.
The feed stayed on him for five long seconds. The entire stadium saw the mask slip. The commentators went silent for a beat before trying to pivot back to the play, but the damage was done.
By the time the final buzzer rang and Japan secured the 3-1 win, the clip was the only thing anyone was talking about.
The press conference was a disaster. You sat at the table with your silver medal around your neck, feeling the weight of the loss and the headache from the game. Gojo sat three chairs down, looking perfectly composed in his team jacket, but he wouldn't look in your direction.
"Gojo-san," a reporter asked, "your reaction to the hit on the opposing defenseman has gone viral. It looked very... personal. Would you care to explain your relationship with him?"
Gojo didn't hesitate. He gave a sharp, practised laugh. "I was just checking the officiating. It was a missed call, and I hate seeing a good game ruined by bad refs. I want to beat my rivals on the ice, not see them get handed free passes because they dived. There's nothing personal about wanting a fair game."
It was a cold, effective lie.
Then they turned to you. "And you? Did you notice the concern from the Japanese captain?"
"I was busy playing a game," you said. Your voice was flat and tired. "I don't watch the bench. People see what they want to see, but there’s no story here. We’re rivals. That’s the beginning and the end of it."
You felt Gojo’s hand tighten on his water bottle. The denial felt like a physical blow to the chest. You had both just stood in front of the world and called the only real thing in your lives a hallucination.
When the cameras finally cut, you stood up and walked out. You didn't wait for him. You didn't want to see the lie in his eyes anymore.
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The parking garage was a place that smelled like dust and melting ice. The celebration from the Japanese locker room was a distant, muffled throb several floors up. Gojo was leaning against a support pillar near the team bus, his gold medal tucked inside his jacket like it was something he was ashamed of.
"You're a coward," you said. You didn't raise your voice. In the empty garage, the words carried perfectly, flat and cold.
Gojo didn't move. He kept his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched. "I just saved your career and mine. You should be happy we still have jobs tomorrow."
"I'm not talking about the press conference. I'm talking about the way you live." You walked closer, stopping just outside his reach. "You spend every second of your life performing. You hide behind that plastic charm and the jokes because you're terrified. You think if you stop smiling for one minute, people will see that you’re actually just a hollow person who doesn't know how to exist without a crowd."
Gojo finally looked up. His eyes weren't bright or playful. They were dark, reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights above. "And you're any better? You spend all your time pretending you're some stoic wall that nothing can touch. You act like you don't care about anything, so you never have to risk losing. It's a pathetic way to live."
"At least I'm honest about who I am," you replied. "I don't need a script to get through a conversation."
"You aren't honest," Gojo said, his voice dropping to a jagged whisper. He stepped into your space, his height looming over you. "You're just scared. You’d rather feel nothing than admit that I’m the only thing that’s made you feel alive in years. You’re using me as a distraction from your own boring life."
"I'm not using you. I was trying to find something real."
Gojo let out a short, bitter laugh. "There is nothing real here. You’re just another person who wants a piece of the 'Satoru Gojo' show, and I was stupid enough to think you were different. You’re just a fan with a jersey, and I'm bored of playing with you."
The air in the garage felt like it turned to glass. It was the kind of thing you couldn't take back. It wasn't a joke or a jab. It was a dismissal.
You looked at him for a long beat, waiting for the smirk or the punchline that would soften the blow. It never came. He just stared at you, his jaw tight, his eyes cold and distant.
"Fine," you said. Your voice was steady, which surprised you. "Enjoy the show, Gojo."
You turned and walked toward the exit. You didn't run. You just kept a deliberate pace, the sound of your boots on the concrete the only noise in the space. You didn't look back to see if he was watching. You just left him there, standing in the shadows of the pillar with his gold medal and his lies.
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The flight home was a ten-hour vacuum. You sat in the middle of your teammates, the silver medal heavy in your bag, listening to them talk about the next season. You didn't join in. You just looked out the window at the clouds and felt the physical weight of the distance growing between you and Tokyo.
The silence that followed wasn't a relief. It was pressure.
You went back to your domestic league. You showed up to practice, you hit the weight room, and you played your minutes. You were perfect on paper. You didn't take penalties, and you didn't miss assignments. Your coach called it "professionalism," but your teammates stopped joking with you in the locker room. You were a ghost in a jersey. You did your job, went home to a quiet apartment, and stared at your phone until the screen timed out.
Gojo’s name still popped up in your feed. You couldn't avoid it.
He was spiralling, though the media called it "unpredictable brilliance." He was taking dangerous risks on the ice, getting into fights with refs, and blowing off mandatory team events. There was a photo of him leaving a club at 4:00 AM, looking haggard and sharp, his hair a mess and his sunglasses crooked. He looked like he was trying to burn himself out from the inside.
You drafted a dozen texts. Are you okay? That was a low blow. I'm sorry. You never sent them. You would type a sentence, look at the blinking cursor, and realise there was no way to bridge the gap without breaking the silence you’d both built. You deleted every draft.
He never called. He never texted. There were no "missed you" notes or cryptic social media posts. There was just a total, crushing absence. You slept on one side of the bed. You stopped buying the mint tea he liked.
The months didn't make it easier. Time didn't heal the argument in the parking garage; it just let the words sink in until they felt like part of your bones. You weren't a fan with a jersey, and he wasn't just a performer, but you were both too proud to be the first one to admit that the lie had hurt.
By the time the rosters for the next international meet were announced, you felt like you’d aged a decade. You saw his name on the Japanese list. You saw your own on yours.
The prospect of seeing him again didn't feel like a reunion. It felt like a collision you couldn't avoid.
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The hotel in Prague was a labyrinth of limestone and heavy carpets. It was the kind of place that felt too old and too quiet for a bunch of hockey players. You saw the Japanese team bus pull up while you were standing at the lobby window. You didn't wait around to see him get off. You went straight to your room, shut the door, and sat on the edge of the bed until the sun went down.
The first time you actually ran into him was at the morning skate the next day. You were coming off the ice; he was heading on. Usually, this was when he’d lean over the rail and say something to get under your skin.
This time, he stopped three feet away. He looked tired. Not the kind of tired that comes from a long flight, but a deep, structural exhaustion that seemed to have settled into his shoulders. He didn't have his usual designer glasses on. He just looked at you, and for the first time, he didn't have a comeback ready.
"You changed your hair," he said. His voice was scratchy and thin.
"You look like hell, Gojo," you replied. You didn't mean it as an insult. It was just a fact.
"Yeah." He shifted his weight, his skates scraping against the rubber matting. "I haven't been sleeping much. The noise in Tokyo is loud this time of year."
It was a clumsy conversation. It was restrained and careful, like you were both walking on ice that was way too thin to hold your weight. There was no heat in it, just a dull, aching awkwardness that made your chest tight. He lingered for a second longer than he needed to, then turned and skated onto the ice without another word.
That night, you didn't even have to wonder if he’d show up. You left the door unlocked.
When he walked in, he didn't turn on the lights. He just kicked his shoes off and moved toward the bed in the shadows. There was no bravado. No arrogant comments about how much you’d missed him. He just sat down beside you and stayed there for a long time, the only sound in the room being the distant hum of the city outside.
When you finally moved in together, it was slow. It was the quietest it had ever been. There was no frantic tearing at clothes or bruised skin. It was just skin on skin, a slow, deliberate exploration that felt more like a confession than a hookup. You stayed close, your hands moving over the familiar lines of his back, feeling the way his heart was thudding against your own.
You frotted against him, the heat between you building in a slow, steady climb. It wasn't about the release this time. It was about the fact that he was actually there, his weight heavy and real against you. When he finally came, he didn't make a sound. He just buried his face in the crook of your neck and held on until his breathing levelled out.
Afterwards, the room stayed dark. Gojo didn't get up to find his clothes. He didn't make a joke about your hotel room or ask if you were still "bored" with him. He just lay there on his back, his arm thrown over his eyes, silent.
That was the terrifying part. The jokes were his armour. They were how he kept the world at a distance. Without them, he was just a man lying in a dark room with nothing to hide behind. The silence stretched out, heavy and suffocating, and for the first time, you realised that the game was truly over.
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The practice rink was scheduled for maintenance at 3:00 AM. The overhead lights were dimmed to a low, orange hum, casting long shadows across the fresh sheet of ice. You were sitting on the player bench, your skates laced but your jersey left in the locker room. The cold was steady, the kind that got under your skin and stayed there.
You heard the heavy thud of the door, then the rhythmic scrape of blades on the rubber matting. Gojo didn't get on the ice. He sat down on the same bench, three feet away from you. He was wearing his team tracksuit, his hands tucked into his sleeves to stay warm.
"I can't play tomorrow if I don't get this out of my head," he said. He wasn't looking at you. He was staring at the goal crease on the far end of the rink.
"Then say it," you replied.
He let out a breath that puffed into a white cloud in the freezing air. "I've spent my whole life making sure everything I did was for the win. Every person I talked to, every girl I went home with, every interview. It was all just fuel for the image. It was easy because none of it was real."
He finally turned his head. His eyes were tired, stripped of the performative spark that usually defined him. "I'm scared. If I keep this up with you, it’s going to cost me the only thing I know how to be. I’m scared I’ll lose the version of Satoru Gojo that everyone wants, and I don’t know who’s left underneath that."
You looked at the ice, the smooth surface reflecting the dim light like a mirror. "It already cost me, Gojo. I haven't been the same player since that parking garage in Japan. I've been a ghost on the ice. I lost the peace I had when I was just a defenseman doing a job."
"I know," he whispered.
"We aren't the same people we were in Zurich," you said. "The 'rivalry' was a lie we told ourselves so we could keep touching each other. But the lie is dead now. We killed it at the press conference."
Gojo leaned back against the hard plastic of the bench. He didn't offer a promise. He didn't tell you he would change or that everything would be fine once the tournament was over. He didn't say he loved you, and you didn't say it back. Those words were too heavy for a cold bench in an empty rink.
"I don't know what happens next," he admitted. "I don't have a script for this. I don't know if we can even do this without ruining our careers."
"Neither do I," you said.
For the first time in months, the air didn't feel like it was about to snap. There was no performance, no ego, and no jagged edges. Just two people sitting in a cold, dark building, admitting they were lost. It was the most honest conversation you’d ever had, and it felt more permanent than any of the secrets you’d kept before.
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The hotel room was quiet when you returned, the only sound being the low hum of the heater fighting the Prague chill outside the window. There was no frantic fumbling for the key card this time. No slamming each other against the door out of spite or adrenaline. You walked in, and Gojo followed, closing the door softly behind him. The lock clicked, but it didn't feel like a barrier anymore; it felt like a boundary.
Gojo sat on the edge of the bed and just watched you. The light from the bedside lamp was a warm, dull yellow that caught the frayed edges of his hoodie. He looked like a man who had finally run out of things to say. When you moved toward him, it wasn't an impulse driven by a bad game or a bruised ego. It was a choice. You stood between his knees, and he rested his forehead against your stomach, his hands curling loosely around your waist. He took a long, shaky breath, the kind that sounded like he was finally letting go of a weight he’d been carrying since Japan.
He started undressing you with a slow focus. His fingers were steady, unbuttoning your shirt one by one, his eyes following the movement of his own hands. There was no performance for a hidden camera, no mask of the "greatest player in the world" to maintain. When it was his turn, you helped him out of his layers, feeling the solid, heavy muscle of his shoulders under your palms. He had a faint scar near his collarbone you hadn’t noticed before, and a few fading bruises on his ribs. He was just a guy.
He leaned over to the nightstand, pulling a small tube of lubricant from his travel kit. He didn't make a joke about it or try to deflect the intimacy with a smirk. He didn't try to be "cool." He just looked at you, a silent question in his eyes, and you nodded.
You lie back against the sheets, the fabric cool against your skin. Gojo moved between your legs, his weight a grounding, physical presence. He was patient. He used his fingers first, coated in the slick gel, moving with a careful, rhythmic pressure. He wasn't trying to get to the finish line; he was just making sure you were comfortable. He watched your face, his thumb occasionally brushing over your hip bone, waiting for your breath to hitch or your muscles to relax before he moved deeper. It was clinical in its care, but deeply human in its tenderness.
When he finally lined himself up, he paused. He stayed there for a beat, his forehead resting against yours, his white hair tickling your skin. The air between you smelled like hotel soap and the faint, metallic scent of the ice rink that always seemed to cling to your skin.
"Okay?" he whispered. His voice was low, stripped of all its usual theatrics.
"Yeah," you breathed out, your hands finding the back of his neck. "I'm okay."
He pushed inside slowly. It was a heavy, overwhelming sensation, a fullness that made the rest of the world feel like it was disappearing into the background. You gripped his shoulders, your knuckles white, but it wasn't out of pain. It was just the sheer reality of him finally being there, without the rivalry, without the lies. Gojo didn't rush. He stayed still for a long moment, letting your body adjust to the weight of him, his eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that felt more exposing than being naked.
When he started to move, it was with a deep, steady pace. There was no frantic friction, just a quiet, shared heat. Every thrust was a slow climb that felt like it was pulling something out of your chest. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer, wanting to close every millimetre of space left. It felt like a conversation you’d been trying to have for months—one where you finally didn't have to keep your guard up.
Gojo's composure eventually started to break. His breathing turned into jagged, uneven gasps, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his grip on your hips tightening. He wasn't the "sun”, or a "god”, or a "superstar." He was just a man who was terrified of being alone, clinging to the only person who actually knew the difference.
The release wasn't an explosion; it was a slow collapse. You both came in the quiet, your gasps muffled against each other’s skin. Gojo didn't pull away immediately. He stayed buried inside you, his head tucked against your shoulder, his chest rising and falling in time with yours as his heart rate eventually slowed down. He felt heavy, warm, and real.
The silence that followed wasn't scary anymore. It was just a shared space. No one was running for the door. No one was reaching for a drink or a distraction. You just lay there in the dim light, two people who had finally stopped playing a game they couldn't win.
⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆
The morning sun in Prague was weak, filtering through the heavy hotel curtains in dusty slats of grey light. Gojo didn't leave in the middle of the night. When you woke up, he was still there, taking up more than his fair share of the bed, his face smashed into a pillow. Without the gel in his hair or the glasses on his face, he just looked like a person—one who happened to be a world-class athlete with a very loud mouth.
You sat at the small hotel desk, nursing a lukewarm coffee and watching the city wake up. You heard the bedsheets rustle.
"You're thinking too loud," he muttered, his voice thick with sleep. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, the blankets pooling at his waist.
"I'm thinking about the flight schedules," you said. "And the fact that my coach is going to kill me if I’m late for the bus."
Gojo stayed quiet for a second. He looked at his hands, then back at you. The bravado was still missing, but he didn't look scared anymore. He looked resolved. "My season ends in three weeks. I have a gap before the summer camps start. I could... fly out. It’s a long trip, but I’ve got the miles."
It wasn't a grand romantic gesture. It was a logistical nightmare. Different leagues, different continents, two massive reputations that would eventually collide again under the glare of a Jumbotron. It was going to be complicated, invasive, and probably a little bit miserable when the media eventually found out.
"It's going to be a mess, Satoru," you said, leaning back in the chair.
He stood up, stretching until his joints popped, and walked over to you. He didn't lean over you with that predatory smirk from Zurich. He just rested a hand on the back of your chair, his thumb brushing against your shoulder.
"Yeah," he admitted, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "It's going to be a disaster. But I'm bored with playing it safe. Aren't you?"
You looked up at him and felt a strange, quiet sense of relief. The weight of the silver medal, the gold medal, and the lies didn't feel so heavy anymore. "I've been bored for a long time."
An hour later, you were standing in the lobby, gear bags at your feet. The Japanese team was boarding their bus out front, and a crowd of fans already gathered behind the barricades. Gojo was standing by the glass doors, adjusting his dark glasses, the "superstar" mask sliding back into place as he prepared to face the cameras.
He caught your eye across the busy room. He didn't wink. He didn't blow a kiss. He just waited until you walked toward the exit, passing him one last time.
"Watch your step," he said, his voice low and smooth, a soft echo of the very first time he’d stopped you in that tunnel.
You stopped, looking at him over your shoulder. You didn't roll your eyes this time. You just gave him a faint, steady nod.
"Try not to get in my way, Gojo."
He let out a short, real laugh—the kind that didn't care about the acoustics—and watched you walk out into the light.
pairing‧₊ ̊🍹✩ ₊ ̊🍉⊹♡. . . perverted bf x big booty(🤤) male reader
warnings𓂃 ོ⋆☀︎𓂃⛱. . . having gooning sessions , body worship , reader got a fat ass , spanking , purposely buying someone tight clothes , hinted himbo reader(heavily implied that reader is in fact a himbo. he doesn't need to be buff in your perspective tho he is got a nice ass), VERY cringe wording i refused to read over it, obliviousness, public-ish sex
background knowledge⋆. 𐙚 ̊🍋🟩♪⋆.✮. . . your boyfriend loved absolutely everything about you. especially your ass. loves the way it jiggles when you walk, loves
notes. . . y'all im sorry again school is annoying and im always taking longggg naps on weekdays😔 i never proofread
he met you on a bad day. terrible day in fact. he only got half credit from his professors due to a late turn in, people were doing too much, he wasn't getting enough sleep, and his managers were such assholes at his job. he just needed a smoke, that was it.
what he had expected was to get his pack and go, smoke the cheapness of the cigarette filter when he got back outside. but what he hadn't expected was the see the finest man in existence to snap him out of his tiredness. you were real sweet for this time of the day too, all about "hi! welcome to the gas station, how many i help you?" bright and pretty smile on your face, gave him a little wave too. you were already cute, he was already captivated.
"i'll get uh.." he squinted his eyes a little. "camel brand please." he nodded, with a "you got it," then you turned around— good lord you turned around. he noticed the shape first, the way the back of your shirt rested at the top of your ass, tight and hugging that bit. then the way your pants had hugged the curve so damn good he felt himself salivate. then it was the way it moved, a small step making your cheeks jiggle subtly but very very noticeably. he took in a sharp breath, leaning on the counter as his hand covered his mouth.
"here you are sir," you handed him the pack, calculating the price. but no, not yet he couldn't leave. "ah..shit. im a fuckin' idiot i meant marlboro." he hated that brand. he tskd, handing the pack back to you and you reassured him it was no issue. his head went a little to the side, tongue licking at the top row of his teeth. yeah, watch you arch your back reeaal good and pop that ass out for him— "here you go! just need your ID please and that'll be 2.50." he gave an mhm, and gave you the things needed.
constant visits to the gas station turned into conversations on your break, to number and social exchange, then he was inviting you to his dorm room and holding a (ass)cheek with his tongue down your throat. he wasn't too subtle about it anymore if you could call his past little flirts subtle, though to you they definitely would be. he would smack your ass whenever you got up or walked in front of him, especially if it was up the stairs. he would give comments, squeeze real tight and bend his finger near your hole just to see you flinch and jump. it was cute.
it was even better when he fucked you, having you bent in front of him and each plap, plap, plap of skin drove him mad. his hand could be elsewhere yet his eyes would be fixated on the way your ass rippled with each thrust of his hips slapping into your skin.
you shivered, teeth clenching together hard enough to grind as your fingers gripped to the front counter you worked behind. the gas station apron you wore was loose around your hips, pants down to your ankles and back arched to perfection. his pupils dilated, hands squeezing at the fat flesh of your glutes as his hand lifted and— "ah!?" a harsh thwak echoed throughout the small store, your squeal of surprise even louder. "mhm.." he huffed through his nose, never stopping despite the very stinging burn pulsing through his lower back and hips.
"yeah, look at this ass bouncin' for me baby." your head turned back, embarrassment clouding your face completely because he was right. you could see the way your arch made the globes of flesh bigger and you could genuinely see it. you whined, flustered as ever and burying your face into your arms like that would erase it all. even worse was that you could feel it too.
"na-uh, don't be all shy with me now." he clicked his tongue, fingers coming to your hair and pulling so harshly that your scalp burned. "i said look. 'nd you gon' keep lookin' understand me?" you hiccuped, nodding your head as your glossy eyes flickered towards his hips pounding the ever loving hell out of you.
whenever he got you pants they wouldn't ever last long. he would buy you things all the time when he should be paying his tuition, yet each time he past the leggings section or jeans he just had to buy the entire rack of each.
"mh..this is..eugh–" your fingers looped around the jeans loops, your legs shuffling a little to try and get the waist line above the bottom part of your body but it just wouldn't go up! "this is a little tight.." he almost told you that was the entire point. you scoffed in annoyance, your toes tipping before you lightly jumped— fuck.
on about the fifth jump they popped on real quick. you huffed with accomplishment, buttoning and zipping up your fly. "alright! i got them on thankfully!" he nodded, standing up and turning you around to face the mirror again. your face dropped seeing his hands start to unzip the fly and unbutton the button. this asshole.
"i just got these on! you can't just take them off!?"
ANGEL | Having a best friend who wants to be the one to take your virginity…
Male Best Friend!OC x Male Reader
Warnings: Smut, you’re both 18 (still in high school), purity kink (oc), cheating (oc on his girlfriend, anal sex, blowjob, fingering, fucking while his parents are home…
Summary: He’s your fuckboy best friend who wants you…
(A/n: First OC fic I’m posting, hope you all like it)
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• He’s your best friend who you’ve known since you were both toddlers. And you’ve stuck together ever since, even late in to your High School years.
• He’s one of the most popular guys in school, known for being the schools biggest fuckboy, with a new ”girlfriend” every other week.
• While you, yourself, weren’t unpopular but you were more so ”popular by proxy”, known for being the guy who has some weird sexual tension with his popular best friend.
• The best friend that buys you a red heart shaped lollipop everyday on the way to school insisting that it’s a completely normal platonic thing to do as he unwraps it and sticks it in your mouth. But who really does it because he loves seeing you suck on it, imagining your lips around something else.
• The best friend who’d never do that for any of his girlfriends cause he dosen’t really like any of them, at least not the way he likes you.
• He has a thing for virgins, loving the idea of deflowering someone, being the one to take their purity, ruining them. He usually gets tired of them afterwards.
• One day he invites you over to his house after school, the two of you hang out, sit outside tanning by the pool, play video games and later you eat dinner with him and his parents. After that you and him lay in his bed watching a movie on his tv.
• You’d be laying on your stomach, making him easily see the outline of your perky butt through your shorts.
• He knew you were still a virgin, you’d have told him if someone had popped your cherry.
• But yet he found something so whorish about you. The way you dressed, you were currently wearing a tank top and short-shorts. The way you sucked on the lollipops he bought you, as if hinting something at him. And the way you had that ”dumb slut” tone of voice.
• You were like a walking contradiction of your own wholesome and sweet personality.
• He’d lay down next to you, as close as he could, then pull you into a hug. And once you started getting confused by his clingyness and asked him what was up, he’d kiss you and you’d kiss back.
• The two of you would roll around in his bed making out. You crothes grinding against each other.
• He’d get you on your knees infront of him, pull down his underwear to reveal his hung thick juicy cock, dangling it in front of your face. And when you’d look up at him from the floor with innocence in your eyes and ask him ”What about your girlfriend?”. He just answers ”What about her?”.
• He’d love finally getting to see your lips wrapped around his cock instead of a lollipop. His dick stuffed in your mouth until you almost choked on it.
• Then he’d undress you, let you lay on the bed as he fingered your ass, he’d then lube his cock. And as you turned on to your back and he’d spread your legs he’d start pushing himself in to you.
• He’d love finally getting his cock inside your tight virgin hole, it clenched hard around him. He loved the sound of your moans and whines from having his dick shoved deep inside you.
• He’d say things like ”Fuck your loving this aren’t you, you’re not as innocent as I thought” and ”My little virgin, Y/n, finally losing it and to me of all people”.
• He knew that his parents definetely heard what the two of you were doing upstairs, hearing their son taking his friend like he did with every other girlfriend he’d ever had. The sound of his creaking bed, the sound of your moans, the sound their son’s rough thrusts. They could hear it all.
• The moans coming out of your mouth were music his ear. It helped encourage him and roll his hips so reach deeper inside you.
• He’d fuck you so good you came early and watch your embarassed face as you both knew he was far from done with you. But he’d just smile continuing his thrusts deep into until you got hard again.
• Once he’d gotten you to cum two more times he finally started getting close to his own orgasm and he pushed his full hard self into you erupting inside you, his cum taking what little you had left of your innocence.
• He’d pull out of you watching as your gaping hole leaked with his seed. The sight could make him hard all over again.
• He’d lay down and pull you close to him and whisper how good you had been. And he’d hold you as you drifted off to sleep as he layed awake thinking about you.
• Once the virginity was taken he grew tired of whoever he slept with, he only liked the part of having them first, ruining them for those who came after.
• But you were different to him, now that he’d deflowered you, he needed to be by your side to protect you from the sinful world he’d now taken you into.
