synopsis: you’re an observant lover so you decide to give satoru what he wants most this birthday; letting him cum deep inside you <3
Gojo Satoru has never forgotten anything about you. Among the many skills he possesses, he prides himself most on his impeccable memory in matters that specifically involve you.
Not once has he ever forgotten your favorite show, sweet, or color, and heaven forbid he forgets an important date with you. The time by your side has paid off in the prize of knowing everything about you. All the way from how your lips quirk in soft angles when you smile, the decibels of your voice, and even down to the meticulous ways you arrange your plushies (all won and bought by him, of course). Satoru remembers every minuscule detail about the woman so precious to his heart, the only weakness of the strongest.
So it’s a wonder how he always seems to forget to stock condoms at his place now.
At first, it was purely a mistake, truly. After all, you two are an attractive couple with a healthy, abundant, and very active sex life. The condoms simply run quickly with the amount of sex you and Satoru have, and within busy schedules, Satoru and his incredible memory forget to buy more.
Now, did that stop you and him from having the most toe-curling, back-arching, mind-numbing fuck ever? No, of course not. In fact, it enabled the most toe-curling, back-arching, mind-numbing fuck ever.
With Satoru’s saccharine promises of “I’ll just pull out” and “we’ll be careful,” not to mention whiny pleas of, “Please, miss you so much,” you were doomed from the moment he got you in his bed (because who can really deny the gojo satoru when he begs and whines). And Satoru, dear Satoru, doomed from the moment he sank his cock raw into the sweet, warm walls of your cunt.
That night, he finishes all over your body, harder than he thinks he ever has in a stupid condom, white bursting behind his eyes, fragments of your supple body splattered in thick ropes of ivory, and the sight of his dick coated in the purest essence of your love. He thinks to himself, there really is such a thing as paradise.
From then on, Satoru made a promise to himself: you absolutely have to let him hit it raw from now on. No more rubber, no more barriers, just pure flesh carving out flesh.
So Satoru starts small.
Little excuses that he forgot to buy more condoms, getting handsy in public, and dragging you to an empty bathroom or to the backseat of his car. One of the many benefits of knowing everything about you is the way he easily chips away at your defenses; a pretty flutter of white lashes here and sultry whispers into your ear there, then it’s hook, line, and sinker, he’s got his cock buried raw inside velvety walls, the wail of his name on your swollen lips; a sweet slice of heaven.
And while Satoru can’t help but persuade you into letting him fuck you raw, he does at least pull out, spilling ivory seed over you, watching as it leaks from his tip and drips down your skin, streaks of pearly white and a claim on your body.
But with new experiences come new wants. It comes to Satoru’s great misfortune that he’s been dying to actually come inside you now. First, there was the condom, and now the little horny devil on his shoulder whispers for him to breed you, shoot his load deep enough until it takes over and over and over. But he loves you, and if you want him to pull out, he does. Yet, figments of his imagination run loose in the form of you, swollen with his child, waddling around his house with his shirt hung loosely on your gravid frame, beaming brightly with the glowing halo of pregnancy.
He wants it. Blessed by the heavens and earth, and all he wants is right in front of him, one load of cum away.
Unknowingly, thankfully, unbeknownst to himself, Satoru isn’t as slick as he thinks he is. You’re no fool to where his eyes linger or how his hips stutter inside you, a reluctant beg to stay inside and spurt ribbons of cream into your gummy walls. If you didn’t know Satoru’s little wish, you’d consider yourself a pretty unobservant lover.
So, for his birthday, you decide to grant his wish.
And hence, you find yourself laid on your back, fingers curled into snowy hair, Satoru’s name caught on your tongue as the very man eats up his birthday meal with starving devotion.
Large hands pin your thighs to cushion the sides of his head, tongue working with fervor as he drools and slicks his spit in your clenching hole, fucking you with his wet muscle as his perfect nose nudges at your sensitive clit. Lewd smacks of his dining resonating throughout the dim room, barely audible with your moans as he dips the tips of his fingers into you, breaching just barely, drawing out careful reactions with that steady, shit-eating grin that only a man like him could have.
“‘S good, baby.” Spitting obscenely onto your already drenched pussy. He sounds awed, like the sight isn’t one he sees every week. You, legs hooked over his shoulder, hands buried in his roots, sweet voice begging him to keep going. Then again, he never gets tired of admiring his perfect girl, “Pretty too. Just spoilin’ me today, huh?”
Smooth fingers piston in and out of your sopping hole, lips suctioned to your aching clit as he slobbers over the sensitive bud. He rolls your clit into his mouth, moaning like he’s the one under an onslaught of pleasure.
“Taste jus’ so good, pretty, better than cake. Best fuckin’ pussy ever. Come on, sweets,” he croons lovingly into the hood of your clit, pussy-drunk on your taste, his words muffled with the ‘slick slick’ of his fingers curling just right on your g-spot, “give it to me, yeah? Give it to your birthday boy?”
His words have you keening, plunging you under bursts of ecstasy that submerge over your trembling body. Your hands push, pull, tug, and grip at him, the hymn of his name falling past your kiss-bitten lips as you unravel into his willing mouth, unraveling both your orgasm and all thoughts as he services you eagerly.
“That’s itttt, good girl, my sweet girl.” He punctuates his words with kisses littered on your inner thigh, one final kiss to your buzzy clit as he shifts, hovering about you now with the smug grin of a man who knows he’s done a job well.
Tenderly, your hands find his nape, pulling him down until his lips meet yours. You taste yourself on his tongue, licking over the crevices of your teeth, the roof of your mouth, while your fingers tug his pants off.
In your proximity, you’ve come to learn that Satoru is always hard around you. This time is no different. From humping like a dog in heat into the mattress, he’s just as hard as you take him into your hands, relishing in the sharp hiss of breath. It makes you laugh. That, in turn, makes him pout. The cute jutting of his wet lips, pretty, pink, and kiss-bitten.
“Such a meani- fuck, baby…” Whatever retort the man tries to make fails to form as his head falls onto your shoulder, sighing in reverie as your fingers stroke him in a steady cadence, just the way you know he likes it. “Like that… yeah, jus’ like that…”
He dwells in the sensation of your hands pumping over the velvety skin of his shaft just a bit longer until the familiar knot in his gut forms and aches, and his fingers curl around your wrist, tearing it away with a raspy groan as he fits himself between your legs, a familiar space fit for him.
“Not-not yet, wanna cum with you.” His hair cascades like the first snowfall, masking the heady flush on his pale cheeks and endless sky of his eyes that’re trained, mesmerized, by the way his cock glides through the folds of your sopping cunt, slickening the girth, his tip catching on your clit every so often to relish in your small gasp.
Like this, you just look so pretty, so pliable, and it causes his mind to run amok, bringing with it the hazy fantasy of you, bred with his virile seed, with the prettiest ring on your finger. Again, like many nights, the image floods his wired brain.
Honestly, he could cum just from this. No penetration—just the slow drag of his hips, cock pressing against your pussy, the small twitch of your clit against the veins of his dick. It’s so wet, there’s no telling if it’s from your previous orgasm or the pre spilling from him. A mix of both lust and love on the day Satoru’s presence altered the universe’s balance.
But even with an existence so powerful to his name, a name that even the world found itself bending to, graced by his birth and mere conception, Satoru is always surprised by you.
“Raw, Toru.” You mutter out while your body moves on its own accord, hips pumping sloppily in time with his lazy ones. “Let’s go raw tonight, yeah?”
And if he wasn’t already trembling with excitement, barely holding back with the thinnest veil of restraint, he definitely was now. You, actually asking to go raw when he’s the one who’s been going berserk trying to get you to forget about condoms? Gone is the confident Satoru, replaced by a man who stares blankly at you with wide eyes and a shaky smile of pearly whites.
“You-you serious, baby? I mean, I was going to ask to go raw anyway, but since you brought it up…” Cheekiness tugs at the edges of his lips, glee filling his eyes. “How could I deny my precious girl? Whatever she wants, she gets.”
You don’t get a chance to answer before he breaches the ruddy tip past your tight ring, and your soft, warm walls hug him. The stretch is accompanied by the lewd squelch of flesh filling flesh, raw and deep. The quivering lips of your cunt stretched obscenely to accommodate his thick length, and your tummy divots with each hitched breath, thighs trembling where they're hooked around his hips when he pushes another inch into you.
And Satoru swears he sees white flickering at the edges of his vision, pulsing and quaking when he sinks in completely, his heavy balls resting against the curve of your ass. Immediately, he has a hand pushing your knee up towards your chest, his grip suddenly bruising as he slings your leg over his shoulder, snapping his hips into the back of your thighs, mushroomed tip rubbing perfectly against that gummy spot that has you seeing stars, balls tightening when you give a little whiny breath of his name.
“‘S pretty, baby. Look at how she’s cryin’ for the birthday boy.” He croons, smiling his familiar shit-eating grin as he swipes a thumb over your sensitive clit. “Impatient, aren’t ‘cha?”
You think you nod your head to his question, but was he asking a question? It’s hard to think straight when he sets a punishing pace, the carnal stretch working in inch by inch sends the syllables of his name to your tongue as the familiar feeling of thickness splits you open.
You feel every ridge, every spasming vein, and every aching throb of his cock as he pushes in, pulling out, moaning his name like a hymn, setting a steady ‘plap plap plap’ throughout the room. The stench of sweat and sex hangs heavy, and the noise of his hips smacking yours is prominent.
“Atta girl,” he coos, “takin’ it so well. Look at that, pretty pussy jus’ sucking up all this dick.” Gliding his thumb away from your raw clit, he presses it down into the soft bulge in your tummy, thriving in the small squeal of pleasure you let out, his name squeaking from your lips.
“To-Toru! More!” Your head is thrown back, neck exposed to his tongue that laves over the salty column of your neck, moaning at your taste.
“More? Yeah? You want more, sweetheart? I’ll give you more, baby, don’t worry.” His massive torso curves over you, lithe fingers digging divots into your hips to pull your pliable body down, meeting his rough, pistoning thrusts. You swear he tries to fuck a hole through you, carving out the deepest parts. All white knuckled desperation and broken groans.
And it’s his voice that barely registers in low decibels, thick through ragged breathing.
“Oh, fuck, ‘m close, baby… gotta-gotta pull out…” Even through his hoarse words, there’s an air of reluctance. It’s almost painful to pull out when he’s so close, teetering on a feather’s edge of release. Hips faltering, cock twitching, and balls throbbing with thick seed that aches to be shot into you.
Instead, he feels your legs curling around his waist to draw him closer, arms clasping his neck, pulling him flush to you as your lips devour in a messy, heated kiss. All teeth and tongue and spit, bringing you both closer to uncoiling the tight knot simmering deep in your gut.
“Ins-inside, Toru. Cum-cum inside me. Give it to me, p-please?” You blink up at him, spewing such filth with the cutest, sweetest expressions sprawled on your features.
“You-you serious? Fuck, you’re killing me, baby.” A whimper bubbles from his throat, a huff that almost sounds like a strained laugh. His hips stutter, dick twitching in your pulsing walls, eyes meeting yours, and you see yourself all flushed and breathless in cerulean irises. “I’ll give it to you, whatever you want, give you whatever you fucking want. You don’t know how bad I wanna cum inside you, sweets. Lemme give it to you, pleasepleaseplease, wanna give it to my pretty girl.”
His whimpers and endless babbles fall into your neck as he curls over you, large hands slipping from your hips to the globes of your ass, pulling you into the furnace of his chest. Deeper. Harder. Body to body, the barest stretch of space between sweaty claps of skin on skin.
“More, Satoru, more-” You’re crying out, barely audible through his strokes, “‘m gonna cum! Gonna cum when you fill me up!”
Hissing a mix of curses and your name underneath his breath, Satoru’s palm lands on your ass in a loud 'smack!' Your legs grow all numb, “Fuck fuck fuck- open those legs and take this fat fucking cock then. You’ve been so nice to me today, baby, so make sure you take allll of it, ‘kay? Make your birthday boy happy."
And you do.
Thick, hot torrents of his seed shoot from his cock and into your waiting womb, the slick tip of his dick kissing your cervix as it unloads globs after globs of cum into your milking walls, painting it into translucent white.
The warmth spreads throughout your body, and before you know it, you’re shaking in his arms and quivering out his name in a long, drawn-out moan as you shake from the earth-shattering climax he coaxes from you. But he doesn’t stop. Still pushing his hips repeatedly in and out, the slosh of his potent cum inside you seeps into your walls and milks out your orgasm, your voices a mixture of slurring babbles.
“S-so much, so full-” You’re whining, still cumming as your cunt gets stuffed full of him. You don’t think you’ve ever come this hard before. “'m so full, Toru-”
“I know, I know, baby.” Satoru coaches you through soothing praises, kissing at your cheeks, and his hips ease into slow, punctuating thrusts rather than a series of rapid desperation. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Feel me deep in you?”
You certainly can. Sticky cum clinging to your walls, oozing out every time he rolls his hips back in, filthy squelches resonating from the connection, resulting in mixed slick attaching his hips to yours in salacious webs.
With a winded and satisfied smile, Satoru peers down at your blissed expression, ocean eyes traveling down to the mess before your conjoined bodies. Pearls of white leak from your stuffed pussy, a creamy ring of ivory coating the base of his cock, a familiar sight in his fantasies made into reality.
What a gift, he just needs to make the most of it now.
Laughing softly, he taps your cheek lightly, humming at you fondly.
“Don’t tap out yet, baby. My birthday isn’t over.”
Satoru forgive me for posting this late I still love you, happy birthday! this is also my first time writing him so please be kind 🥺
synopsis: It's not often that you go into the kitchen when Caleb is around, but as his birthday approaches, you're determined step into the kitchen to try and bake him a cake. Key word: try.
Content. mdni afab + f! reader, oral (f! receiving) fingering, caleb has a dream abt reader but it doesn't go in depth, piv, unprotected sex + caleb finishes inside, reader bites caleb's tiddy, they fuck in the kitchen bc they're trying to bake a cake. idk they're pretty soft in this one
a/n: HE CAME HOME IN ONE 10 PULL so this is his reward :)
Cake in the oven? Check.
Perfect birthday weather? Check.
Caleb still sleeping in bed? Check.
Now, all that's left to do is whip up frosting, decorate the cake, and surprise Caleb with the perfect cake in bed to kickstart his birthday.
Reading over the recipe carefully, you pad quietly around in the kitchen, almost instinctive from all the years of observing Caleb. It reminds you of how much he's cemented himself into your life, in both subtle and not-so-subtle ways; in the end, it's only right that you spoil him on his birthday.
So, with determination set in your actions, you reach for the cream cheese—
—only to have it snatched away from your reach and held high above the messy head of the man who's supposed to be sleeping soundly.
"Caleb!" You exclaim, surprise and sudden embarrassment seeping into your voice. You hope he doesn't hear it, but you know he does. Caleb always does. "What're you doing? You're supposed to be sleeping!"
He hums then. A low, sleep-littered rumble from his chest, full of amusement and affection that makes your knees weak.
"Am I?" He chuckles warmly, "I couldn't help but wake up when I heard a little busy bee in my kitchen. What's got you up so early, pipsqueak?"
You clear your throat suddenly, playing off with a nonchalant roll of your shoulders, "Why can't I? Is it so surprising that I can wake up before you?"
Caleb smiles teasingly, eyes glinting with mirth. And you can't possibly find it in yourself to be bitter when you suddenly notice how perfect he looks.
Sunlight filters through his kitchen windows and spills over the counters and walls, a rare break in Skyhaven's cloudy weather, but perfect for his summery birthday. The golden light blankets the mahogany strands of his hair, still mussed from sleep, and washes his shirtless form in its warm amber effect—effortlessly handsome that it would almost make you mad if it wasn't the sight you woke up to. It's like the sun itself has made its utmost effort to be part of the day of Caleb's birth.
For him, it’s fitting.
“Gonna tell me what this is all about?” Caleb leans in close; you can smell the mint on his tongue; you remember tasting it last night too.
“This is… nothing.” You say quickly, too quickly. “It’s not for you.”
But Caleb only smiles, setting the cream cheese down and glancing at the recipe with an amused glint in his eye.
“I think I can figure it out.” He reaches for the recipe on the counter before you can get to it, holding it high above your heads to read it out of your reach. “Let’s see here… caramel apple crumble cake? Sounds pretty fancy, since when did you become such a baker?”
You sigh, crossing your arms before grumbling, “It’s just a hobby.” Internally, you know it’s over.
“‘Use Asiatic apples, Caleb’s favorite type.’” The man laughs a bit, soft and gentle and so loving, setting the paper down now. He leans in, mouth finding the shell of your ear, voice husky and low when he speaks, “Not for me, huh? I’m gettin' a different impression.”
The gentle tremor of his words shivers through your body, and you find yourself tensing against the counter he’s cornered you against. But then you sigh in defeat, a pout tugging at your lips as you roll your eyes at him. “Can’t you play along? I wanted to surprise you, but you woke up…”
Caleb only shakes his head affectionately, wrapping his arms around you, cocooning you into his tender embrace that seems to melt all your defenses. He’s always been good at that—too good.
“Sorry, pipsqueak,” his voice is anything but apologetic, pressing a tender kiss to your burning ears, “guess I was too focused on the fact that you left me in bed. Bit rude to leave the birthday boy alone, don’t you think?”
You don't follow with a retort when large hands cup your cheeks, turning your face to him—like a flower unfurling itself to the sun's bright embrace. And his eyes meet yours—soft indigo, accented with flecks of gold—it's easy to lose yourself in him. It always has been. Caleb always makes it easy to let go.
"But you know…" He trails off, tenderly trailing his lips from your ear to the apples of your cheeks, "I think I can forgive you if we bake this cake together. It's my birthday after all; we should spend all day with one another."
"Is… is that what you want?" Your words tremble when his lips ghost against yours, a lingering phantom touch as he pulls away with a cheeky grin, reading over the recipe again.
"Of course. I always want to be with you." And he sounds so sure about it. Confident like it's the most obvious thing in the world. As positive in his answer as if he's telling you the sun will rise tomorrow, and he will be by your side. You believe it. Because it's Caleb who has never broken a promise to you, as true to his words as his love is to you. "Now then, let's get started on this cream cheese frosting, chef."
Soon enough, Caleb’s shirtless form is right behind you again. On the outside looking in, you assume it's a picturesque scene. A vision with ambient light filling the crevices of your bodies, synced silhouettes stretched across the kitchen floors, seeping in love and careful devotion—it's perfect. But it serves to mostly distract you instead.
His chest is broad, bracketing you with a single hand on your waist and the other hand curling around yours, assisting you in beating the cream cheese and butter together. An act you could do alone, but Caleb, as always, insists. Pressed close like the slightest space between your bodies will decimate him completely. And he smells good too—dark honey and warm apples, even the lingering scent of leather from his constant wear of uniforms—you get lost in the cadence of domesticity. In him.
"Yeah, cream it together, just like that…" Your face burns at his words; he has no right to sound that good this early in the morning, or maybe your mind just meanders into the gutters. Mainly, his warm body that would be even warmer if it was inside you, how you can feel the muscles and ridges of his torso against your back. His hands, gentle around yours, were just pistoning in you a few weeks ago as he worshiped you with his tongue too. But now, he's efficient in his movements, voice soft, body comforting and anchored to you like a shadow thats taken its own form—and you can't help the heat pulsing through you.
"—now powered sugar."
A quick swipe on your cheek is what brings you out of your stupor, blinking back to Caleb's charming, entertained grin.
"Wha—Caleb! Did you wipe something on my face again!" With an annoyed glare his way, or as annoyed as you can muster, you reach up to your cheek where his fingers had just been, feeling wisps of something powdery. And when you pull your hands back, the pads of your fingers are dusted white—powdered sugar.
"Caleb! You—"
"You're so distracted, pips." He leans in suddenly, nose brushing against your cheek in a playful nuzzle, not caring that he dirties himself in the act, and his voice drops dangerously into that tone that makes your heart flutter and stumble over its own beat, "Careful with what you're thinking about, I'll get jealous if you don't pay attention to me, you know?"
Caleb presses closer to you, his thumb brushing your bottom lip, smearing more sugar onto the soft flesh. And he watches you closely with the same devotion he has always dedicated solely to you. Caleb looks at you like he can read your mind or measure the hammering paces of your heart—you know that he could—he's everything to you, after all, like you are to him. It never fails to make you warm inside—feels like he coddles you with the weight of his affection.
"Stupid Caleb," You mutter then, dipping your own hands into the sugar and then flinging it his way. The white specks land in his hair when he doesn't bother to dodge the flurried attack, laughing instead—bright and clear, so very Caleb.
Of course, he retaliates. Soon enough, the kitchen is doused in sweet ivory snow, and the dusty fight that ensues brings you back to the distant past when you both were just mere children who had one another. From school's draining days, catching bugs and playing at the park, or picking apples in the height of summer's sun—it was always you and Caleb.
And now, on the day of Caleb's birth—it is still just you and Caleb.
"Okay, okay!" You exclaim, laughing as you cover your face from the power, "I give up! You win, birthday boy!"
Beside you, Caleb happily relents too, bringing you into his arms. Your ear presses against his bare chest, and you can feel the strong beat of his heart pounding—not erratic, but low and happy. And as messy as everything is now—you don't think you've ever felt your heart so full either.
"Naturally, I won." He teases, curling a hand to your back.
"Don't get cocky, I let you win."
Caleb only smiles, pressing a kiss to your cheek, "Will you tell me what you're thinking about? You looked dazed earlier."
"Does it bother you that much?" You hum. In all honesty, you're a little anxious to tell him that you were daydreaming about him—Caleb's warm body, strong hands, gentle guidance. And the other part of you is sure he knows what you were thinking about too.
"It does." He cups your cheeks, bringing your eyes to his—a piqued glint in his eye. He just wants to hear you say it. "I won't be able to focus on anything else until you tell me."
It doesn't take much time for you to give in this time, sighing as you bury your face into his chest so your voice comes out muffled, "I was just thinking about you, so don't get jealous."
"Me?" Caleb muses, "What about me?"
This time, you hesitate, blinking owlishly at him.
"You won't tell me?" It's quite the opposite, there's no point in telling him if he already knows the thoughts in your heart. After all, you both are two apples of the same tree, lotuses of the same stem—what you think, he thinks. Bending down, he ghosts his lips against your temple, grinning impishly. "Even if it's my birthday? What if I say please?"
"It's embarrassing," you mumble, walking back until your back finds the counter. Caleb follows you, hands around yours.
"Would it help if I told you something embarrassing about me then?"
"Don't I already know everything about you?" You question, drawing little shapes into the powder on his chest.
And Caleb only laughs—neither agreeing nor disagreeing—taking your wrist into his fingers before he leans down, meeting your eyes with a sultry look that you know well. His words are soft but a quiet, strained tremor: "I woke up because I had a dream about you."
That makes you blink in surprise, raising a brow. Caleb has many dreams—some, he'll tell you about in the middle of the night when he wakes in cold sweat and curls around you in grounding presence. And the others you know he keeps from you because he doesn't want you to worry. It is a little surprising that he tells you about this one now.
"What kind of dream?"
Caleb only smiles, but it's different now as he crowds you against the counter, pressing his mouth to the hollow of your throat, causing little vibrations when he answers.
"A nice one, I almost didn't want to wake up." You shiver beneath him, instinctively tilting your head to give him more space; he takes it eagerly, mapping his lips across your pulse, kissing along your veins. "Can you guess what it was about?"
You gulp, Caleb feels the bobbing against his throat. You, in fact, can take a very good guess about what his dream was about. But instead of speaking, you curl your arms around his shoulder, drawing his face back in front of yours.
His breath is warm against your mouth, inching closer before you speak, "I was thinking about you… fucking me." Your blood rushes through you, and you can hear your heart thrumming in your ears. No matter how many times you've been intimate with Caleb, voicing your desire is embarrassing, always brings anticipation because you know Caleb. You know he'll always make you feel good after you say your filthy words—a promise he never fails to keep, "You're so warm, Caleb… and I want you. All the time."
Caleb's eyes seem to dilate, a little huff escaping his lungs into the small space between your lips.
"We really are alike, aren't we?"
You only nod, anticipation boiling in your veins.
"Should I show you what I was dreaming about then?"
You nod again.
Caleb smiles, and in a single breath, he wanes the gap between you two and presses his lips to yours.
The kiss is sweet—quite so. The sugar dissolves on your taste buds, mingling with Caleb's taste as his tongue breaches into your mouth, curling with knowing touch and want. He presses you against the counter, hands grasping the back of your thighs and pushing you up until you're perched pretty on the cool countertops. Still kissing insistently like you need it more than oxygen.
Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he steps into the space, hands already curling demandingly around his shirt.
"Caleb…" You whine against his mouth.
"You said my name like that in my dream too, so pretty." He breaks the kiss, licking up the powder sugar on your body. Laving his tongue along the sweetness as he makes his way down your jaw and neck before sliding your shirt off and discarding it onto the floor, then moving down to the valley of your breasts, open-mouthed kisses littered along the way. "So messy…"
His words are cooed but so, so affectionate. The tone that makes you whine and flush hot with anticipation, slick tackiness building in your panties with every kiss upon you.
When you call him name again, Caleb grants you mercy and takes a pert nipple into his mouth, groping and teasing the other with his powdered, deft fingers.
You arch into his touch when he suckles on your breasts, aching with the wave of fresh bruises. His other hand glides down your body to find the already damp fabric of your panties, smiling when he feels it against his palm.
Always just as eager as him, Caleb thinks.
“It's messy down here too,” he grins as he cups the wetness, palming you through the slick-laden cotton. Your cunt is hot and ready beneath his hand, heel of his palm just barely brushing your sensitive clit, and he presses a kiss against your temple when you cry his name, “I know, I know, I hear you, pretty girl. Don’t worry, I’ll clean you up.”
True to his word, Caleb kisses down your body. Kisses and slides his tongue down and down and down until he’s onto his knees in front of you, making space for himself between your thighs when you part way for him. Your easy compliance makes him smile, leaning in until his breath flares hot on your puffy cunt.
You shiver, unsure if it’s because of his breath, the eagerness pumping through you, or maybe it’s just Caleb. Maybe it’s just the way Caleb stares so ardently at you, lavender eyes half-lidded and hungry—like a hound eager for its call to hunt. Maybe it’s the reverent voracity in his gaze when he turns his head, mouth latching to the fat of your inner thigh to suck sloppy love bites into one before printing more on the other.
There’s always something about Caleb when he gets like this—feverish with want that makes the apples of his cheeks and tips of his ears a stark crimson against alabaster skin. But it's a nice view he gives you. It's never a bad view with him like this—never a bad time when Caleb gets on his knees because you know he'll make you feel good.
And then, Caleb presses his nose deep against your clothed core, and just breathes.
Inhales the scent of you at your most intimate place. Nosing into your flesh to etch your scent into his body before his tongue finally laves a wet stripe up your pussy.
He groans at the taste, eyes flickering as his lips suction around your puffy clit, sucking the wetness from your panties with vigor like a bee to nectar, an instinctive action that comes naturally to him. You buck helplessly into the touch, anchoring yourself by tugging at his hair when the tip of his tongue teases and drools, hot and wet globs of saliva ruining the fabric even further as Caleb takes what his dream provided.
Your panties stick to you, soaked and ruined when he rolls them down, tossing them to the floor. Then his hands come to your folds, thumb parting your lips to reveal tender flesh to his gaze. You twitch under the attention, clit pulsing as he draws closer, devoted in his touch and gaze.
Then he takes you into his mouth. And it sparks white-hot pleasure through your veins.
He starts slowly at first, a simple taste and savoring. Drags the flat of his tongue along the gooey entrance of your hole, licks and licks, suckles and teases between your dripping hole and sensitive clit until you’re greeted with the familiar warmth pooling in your belly, and it feels as if it melts you from the inside out. Like sugar simmering into sweet caramel or ambrosia blooming on Caleb's tongue that he swallows persistently.
In the hazy mist of lewd slurps and feverish bodies, Caleb moves his left arm from around your thigh, bringing it to join where his mouth is suctioned. For a bit, he just runs his fingers through the mess of slick and spit, toying the blunt pressure of his fingers at your entrance—barely there then gone, and it makes you whine in anticipation.
"Caleb, don't tease, please." Your voice is unrecognizable to yourself, hoarse and riddled with want. "'M so close… just hurry…"
He only smiles pitifully at your words, nuzzling into your thigh as you try and buck into his fingers, chasing the delicious pressure that'll come with it. But he holds you down, hands splaying across your belly like a kitten held by the scruff of its neck. Pins you down and keeps you spread open for him.
"I've spoiled you too much," is all he says before easing a single finger into your fluttering hole.
Caleb's finger is long. Long and thick and tender when it fills you up, and an even more pleasurable squeeze comes with it when he adds another that eases in just as smoothly with a wet sound that embarrasses you.
You're so wet. So wet and aroused and warm when he gets his fingers knuckle-deep, silky and squelching with every little movement that it makes him feel a flicker of pride kindling in his chest because he's the one to reduce you to this state. It's a tender feeling in his heart—one that even the toring chip couldn't rewire in his mind.
And then he begins to arch his fingers. Gliding along your walls and easily finding that velvety spot that makes you keen and cant against his palm.
“Feel good?” He murmurs against your clit, laving it tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves while he works you open.
You can’t find any notion of a response besides a broken moan. It doesn’t matter though, really. Caleb knows it feels good. He knows more than anyone else what feels good and what doesn’t feel good for you. He’s dedicated himself to it with vigor and ardor—the bone-red kind of devotion one could only find in someone who has loved so deeply and dedicatedly.
Just as Caleb has done for you.
He knows from the way you twitch. The way you whine, every pitch in your broken moans and spasm of your thighs closing around his head. How you draw him in closer with every fiber of your being like you want to reach into him and merge as one.
It’d be nice, he thinks. If it was like that, he could be everything to you, for you, with you.
And even though it’s his birthday, there are some things that Caleb won’t get to have. But he’ll settle with this for now. Settle with your hands weeding through his hair and his name quivering on your lips. It's a blessing enough that he gets to be on his knees for you, watch you from below as you grow closer and closer to the the edge.
“Ff-fuck, ‘m close.” Your voice wavers, fingers weeding tighter into his hair. Every synapse shoots with pleasure into the next, hot indulgence that grows molten with heat, melting into the euphoric bliss swirling through you.
You’re sweeter on his tongue when you cum. Cunt spasming around his fingers as you crash and fall apart like a comet breaking through a galaxy’s orbit. But Caleb doesn’t stop. In tandem, his fingers and mouth continue their assault on you, wringing out every wet gush of sweetness until you collapse limply on the counter.
Even when ruined, Caleb knows you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
“This is better than my dream,” you hear Caleb mumble against your pussy, “was this a surprise for me too?”
You nod before you can even process his words, though you didn’t truly plan this, it’s a surprise for you, too. A very welcome surprise as you tug him back up by his hair, and your voice is breathless when you speak,
“Mhm… f’you.” Your fingers fidget into the hem of his sweats, drawing him between your legs. “I was thinking about you, cause I wanted you… wanted you to fuck me…”
Caleb’s breath hitches at your words—so open with want and desire. A shiver, akin to static glitching through a system wrecks him when you nuzzle into his neck, pressing sloppy but soft kisses against the pale, hollow curve of his throat. For you, he tilts his head to offer more—like a prey to predator, welcoming demise. If it’s from you, Caleb will take it without complaint.
He hisses when your hand glides over his body, warm and steady beneath your palms. Your kisses are redirected to his chest, peppering gentle touches to his collarbone then down to where his heart beats steadily, lips pecked across his chiseled muscles—deceptively gentle before you sink your teeth dangerously close to the dusky pink of his nipples.
It makes him gasp first, then smile in what feels like satisfaction that he’s your target for such vicious love, affection unfurling in his chest despite it all. The sting lingers, but it’s quickly soothed when your tongue, wet and smooth, lathers over it. An apology of sorts that's not needed at all to him—if anything, he feels like he should thank you for claiming him so thoroughly, loving him in whole.
“Fuck me, Caleb… please? Wanna make you feel good too.” Your words are mumbled into his chest, eyes blinking owlishly up at him with need, and your legs curl around his hips, moving him closer until the warm bulge in his pants bleeds into the mess between your legs. It soaks him, but neither of you seem to care much, not when there's so much more to consider.
It’s cute, Caleb thinks to himself. He thinks you’re always cute when you need him so badly. And luckily for you, he’s well accustomed to granting your wishes.
“You want me?” He says lowly, almost teasing. “Well, it is my birthday, and I always feel generous when it comes to you.”
With that, Caleb makes quick work of his sweats, tugging the fabric down just enough for his cock to bob free.
The sight, no matter how many times you've seen it, makes your mouth go dry and your head spin. Caleb's cock is thick, burly. Pretty in color and intimidating in size. Your breath catches as he presses close to you, simply rubbing the thick length of him up and down your cunt, catching the strings of wetness as pearls of pre mix together with your slick. It makes a lewd noise, obscene with your cunt spread around him, and makes embarrassment burn through you.
"Caleb…"
Your voice stumbles as the blunt head notches against you, your heart jumps to your throat, anticipation tears through you completely. And is immediately overpowered by the pressure as Caleb sinks in inch by inch.
Your entire body reacts to the intrusion with a filthy squelch, and Caleb is no better off. His face burns red, buried in the crook of your neck as he whines your name—needy syllables rolling off his tongue, dripped with want. His hands grab at the fat of your thighs, holding you open, and slowly, he gives a single, thorough roll of his hips.
"O-oh, fuck," The shallow thrust makes you keen around him immediately. Feels like it punches the air from your lungs as he fucks you, softly at first. Just letting the length of his cock drag along your walls, mapping out the space it knows so intimately, heavy and thick but gentle in its motion.
And Caleb isn’t any better. His eyes stay trained—hypnotized—on the way your cunt swallows his cock, clit twitching, and puffy folds stretched wide around the girth, coating it in slick and cum as he fucks and fuck and fucks you until you’re clinging helplessly onto him like you need him. Snaps his hips into you until the space floods with nothing but breathless whispers of names and skin and skin.
And the sound.
God, the sound echoes throughout his kitchen, sex reverberating through the walls. It’s a filthy, slick, wet sound—vulgar and carnal. Perfectly mirrors the want in his actions. Matches the way your pussy flutters and squeezes him just right.
His voice sounds as wrecked as you when he talks, “Y-you—ngh, fuck—pussy’s so greedy,” he almost laughs, a strained sound above the squelching noises, “wh-who taught you to be so greedy, hm?”
His words make you moan, maybe frustration or pure pleasure scoring its way through your veins. It's him. Of course it's him. Caleb, the man who has been by your side for years, through childhood and into the future. The man whose back you've always seen as a steady wall, present and unyielding—it's no wonder that no one has ever measured up to him.
It's his fault. This greed that eats you alive is because of Caleb. Because he's the one encouraging your greed, throwing gasoline into the consuming fire you have because there's nothing in this world that Caleb wouldn't give to you—it's only right that he takes responsibility for what he's taught you.
And you, in turn, have always taken what Caleb has given. His lust. His desires. His want. What Caleb gives, you take. It's always been like that, this push and pull you both have fallen into throughout your entire lives.
So you lay limp, pliant under the pleasure he generously gives, and let him fuck you. Fast and hard and steady through the fog of pleasure clouding your thoughts. You let his fingers roll on your clit, threading you closer to the feather-thin precipice of cumming.
It hits you in powerful waves, convulsing muscles as you choke on a moan that comes out as Caleb's name. Pulls you under the utopia of bliss, and you barely register the stuttering motions of Caleb's hips or the way he moans your name in whiny pitch.
“Sh-shit, feels s'good," Caleb chokes on groans, burying his head into the space where your shoulder meets your neck. It really does feel good. It feels loving—pure, unadulterated love. You make Caleb feel loved. And you do it so thoroughly. In a way where all doubts of who he is or where he'll be in the future fade away because all that matters is that he's with you and you're with him in this moment.
It’s that love, that devotion, the redamancy of it all that has him pulling you impossibly closer until he can’t tell where you end and he starts. The pleasure of your fluttering walls that makes his hips break in its rhythm and his cock throb and pulse inside of you.
“I love you,” Caleb utters, says it over and over against your lips in fervent promise, groans your name brokenly—desperate—before he trembles, cumming suddenly. It’s thick and warm, ivory ribbons spillling inside you. He cums so much that you shudder.
And like everything else in your life, you take what Caleb gives you, and he takes what you give.
It’s a full feeling; everywhere feels filled. Satisfied. The sun still beams through the blinds, frosting and cake forgotten; the kitchen is a mess but lived in, and Caleb is here—with you.
It’s another year of his life flickering through the endless circle of time. Another sunrise that will rise from the east and a sunset that will fall on the west, and when it casts shadows upon you both, yours will be right there alongside Caleb’s.
“Caleb,” your voice comes out no more than a little whisper, but he hums anyway, pressing his lips to your sweaty temple, “Happy birthday. I love you.”
Against you, Caleb stills, then he pulls back to look at you, bringing his hands to cup your face before kissing you. Tender, patient.
“I love you.” He answers in kind, “This is a perfect start to the day.”
You smile at that, tugging him down for another kiss. Caleb is right—anywhere is perfect as long as the two of you are together.
Distantly, outside the quiet intimacy of your bubble, the oven dings.
synopsis ✩ you tell your roommate, satoru, that you're going on a date. he doesn't like that, so he convinces you to stay home in the best way <3
You and Satoru are close.
Part of it is because you're roommates, the other part is because you're also good friends. Friends who have seen each other naked countless times during your experience living with one another. Friends who casually wear one another's clothes and do each other's laundry. Friends who casually talk about sex and hookups.
Roommates who occasionally hear each other moaning the other's name through thin plaster and then moving on to the next day like it never happened.
Casual, normal roommate things.
So, logically speaking, you thought it'd be fine to tell Satoru that you were planning to go on a date. You've talked about worse, so what's a little date? You haven't been on one in a while; there's no harm. It's light, fun.
And, assuming you know Satoru pretty well, you thought he'd cheer you on. Maybe make a crude joke about getting laid or using protection.
But thinking back on it, you don't think you should've told Satoru that you were going on a date. Not when your roommate is Gojo Satoru, aka the man who has always been oddly possessive of you.
So it really shouldn't surprise you when he interrupts you while you're getting ready for your date. You just didn't expect him to interrupt you like this.
"C-c'mon, baby…" Satoru's breath is hot on your ear, voice rough and breathless. His thrusts press you further over the edge of your vanity, jostling the plethora of products, "Who's that bastard, huh? Who's getting a date with you?"
"I-I, oh fuck, right th-there!" Your words catch in your throat, little huff and puffs of pleasure escaping rather than answers. You can't even think straight when his hips angle just right, threading his name from your lips with every drag of his cock gliding through your cunt—the noise adds to the already obscene mess between your legs.
"Yeah? Here too, huh?" Satoru purrs and presses closer to you, slithering an arm between your thighs before his fingers roll expertly on your clit, moaning in delight when your legs buckle. "Jus' needed someone to fuck you? Could've just asked, no need to meet some weirdo. Not like they can fuck you like this, huh?"
You squeal as you nod mindlessly, pushing back on every roll of his hips, and he somehow reaches even deeper like that. Every ridge and every aching throb of his veins rubs perfectly in you as he moans your name like a hymn. Hot against your ear and unabashed in its wanton way. And it sounds better than you can imagine. Clear and bright from the pleasure, unfiltered through plaster walls.
You're off no better than he is. It feels good. Really good. Satoru's skin sticks against yours, hot warmth spreads between you two, pressed close until you can't tell when he ends and you begin. It all whirls into a warm overindulgence of Satoru in ways you never thought you'd have him in, and the only thought that blares through the void of ecstasy is 'Satoru, Satoru, and Satoru.'
And you moan so prettily in his arms, drool slinging down your chin, smearing the glossy stain of your lipstick. Just a glance in the mirror and you can tell that you look ruined. Because of him. Because he's the one making you moan, and he's the one fucking you deep with every thick inch pulsating as it slips inside.
"'Toru—!"
"Yeah, baby, fuck, sa-say my name like that," his voice wobbles, hand trembling around your hip, grabby and desperately pulling you back to meet every cervix-kissing hump. “Who fu-fucking you this good. Not going anywhere tonight—shit,”
His lips find yours at the same time. Sloppy, messy, but almost gentle touches of delicate lips, completely different from the stuttering pace of his hips that reveal how close he is. The difference in sensation makes your mind go white, body shaking before you choke out Satoru’s name again, succumbing to the pleasure tearing through your system.
And, damn it, you’re so beautiful when you cum. You're utterly perfect when you let him fuck you through your orgasm, even as your legs give out, and he’s the only one holding you up like a lifeline. So pretty when you drool his name and your cunt flutters and squeezes around him like you don’t want him to pull out at all.
So Satoru doesn’t.
He doesn't even think he can when he's hurtled right down the edge with you. He cums hard. Thick and hot as it spills in flooding ribbons. His head whirls with the force of his climax, and he presses you both through it, breathing heavy into the curve of your neck until all he can register is the heat of you and the rush of passing ecstasy burning through his blood.
It’s only when you stop quivering in his arms and turn to kiss him that he relaxes. Despite it all, Satoru kisses you smugly—you can practically taste the pride on his lips as he slants his mouth against yours, tongues sliding, tasting the remnants of your lipstick for whatever man you were planning on seeing tonight.
But it doesn’t matter if you look a mess now, it’s not like you could meet anyone in this state.
With a sweet kiss to your temple, Satoru shoots you a toothy grin through the mirror, already rocking himself into your warmth again.
synopsis: They say happily ever after comes after marriage. Your happily ever after with Nanami Kento is just beginning on your honeymoon in Malaysia.
Content. mdni afab + f! reader, established relationship (they're married) oral (f! receiving) fingering, praise, breeding, slight slight footjob, pet names (wife <- lots of wife) nanami fantasizes of getting you pregnant and having a family, he's very much in love
a/n: this man would be the perfect hubby. art is by @/thatsallitchief and divider is by @/cafekitsune
The wedding was perfect in every way imaginable.
Perfectly decorated venue, perfect guests (minus Satoru getting blacked out drunk, but Shoko and Suguru saved him), a perfect dress, and an absolutely perfect husband.
You couldn’t have imagined a more perfect day with Nanami Kento.
Your first day as a married couple on your honeymoon in Malaysia was even better. The air lay thick with the scent of frangipani and sea salt, warm and gentle as it swept off the turquoise waters. Lush greenery framed every view, coconuts rustling overhead, and the distant call of marketplace vendors mixed with the sound of waves kissing the shore. Golden lanterns danced amongst amber sunset, dusk painting the sky in hues of honey, like the sweetness of tropical pastries lingering on your lips. Malaysia cast a love spell over you both, heightening every touch and whisper.
The two of you spent the day browsing and tasting local bakeries, wading in the crystalline waters with locked hands and sharing gentle kisses, taking plenty of pictures to show family and friends. You two even enjoyed a candlelit dinner together—private and alone—perfect.
And into the bated night, when the moon began to hang high in the starry sky, after taking a peaceful bath together, you find yourself wrapped in the warm and familiar presence of your new husband.
Nanami Kento, shirtless and still slightly wet from your shower, keeps you in his arms, muscled biceps caging you to his chest as his ringed hand finds yours.
He lets the metal on his hand kiss yours, the little ‘clink’ every time it touches. The glimmer of your diamond flitting radiantly in the dim ambiance is a reminder that you’re completely his now. Kento hasn’t always been a possessive man, but like many things in his life—he’s changed with you. And now, he is yours and you are his.
“Did you have fun today, husband?” He smiles at the pet name, one you’ve been unable to let go of since your vows were sworn. The past few hours have been adoringly full of, ‘Come here, my husband!’ And ‘I love you, husband!’ Kento wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Of course, my wife.” It’s your turn to laugh, cheeks warming at the pet name. “How could I not love every second with my beautiful love?” He swipes a finger across the damp strands of your hair, soft and gentle. “Did you have fun today? Have I fulfilled every one of my wife’s desires on our first day as a married couple?”
His question makes you smile slyly, shifting so your chests meet. The motion makes a skimpy strap of your satin nightgown slip dangerously, and his hazel eyes dip down to the appetizing cleavage, adam’s apple bobbing with a thick swallow while he trains his eyes on you again. You catch every movement carefully, your own gaze razing down his toned chest.
A finger follows your sharp eyes, nails lightly tracing the skin of his bulging muscles like a lazy feather along a blade’s cutting edge. The touch makes him shiver, his fingers curling around yours with a dangerous flash in his eyes, amusement and anticipation curling warmly in his gut. In the dim light, you register the faint pink creeping onto his body, and it makes your grin turn teasing, one he knows well—the same one that tells him you’re brewing up a witty response.
“I’m satisfied…” You hum, pushing yourself closer, lips just barely ghosting his, “But I think there’s something else we can do, no?”
“Is there?” He breathes softly against your lips, head tilting and tousled locks following the movement. “I think you should educate me, wife.” His eyes flicker with expectancy, large hands find your hips, tracing mindless shapes as he pulls you fully onto his lap now. “How should I fully satisfy my wife?”
Your answer comes in a deep kiss—unceremonious and lustful against him, accompanied by the nip of teeth along his lips.
It makes him groan, a deep sound erupting from the cavern of his chest. His lips move along yours, breath shallow as your mouths carve in familiar tandem. It’s desire that ignites in him when your fingers slide provocatively over his bare chest, teasing down to his pants. Even without spoken words, he knows what you want. And it’s the same thing he wants, too.
You always get like this—so open about your desire for him. It’s refreshing to be so unabashedly wanted. It makes him want you even more—in touch, in law, in name. Anything that you’ll give him.
You’re already grinding against the growing bulge in his pants, subconsciously chasing the pleasure he’s eager to provide as you lick into his mouth, zeal fueling every nerve in your body. This is what people must mean by lovesick newlyweds—wanting and avid for one another.
He grabs anything he can get at—your tits, hips, and thighs, feverishly rutting you along the thickness in his pants. He can’t remember if he used to be this desperate before he met you, like something’s awakened in him. Your warmth bleeds against him, fitting perfectly to his chest, letting his hands make quick work of your nightgown until it’s flung to the side, and you’re left in nothing but a lacy set.
“Have enough of an idea now, Kento?” You sigh out, a dreamy sound that rouses his cock even more. “Your wife would be very satisfied if we performed our marital duties.”
"Is that so?" Abruptly, you're pushed off his lap and set onto your back as he comes over you. His form, large and drool-worthy, covers you easily, never fails to make you feel small beneath him. "Then I'll do my best to satisfy my wife."
You know he will.
Your skin ignites under his lips when he kisses down the column of your neck, biting just enough to catch the gasp you make. A hot tongue laves and soothes the little indents, sharp eyes watching you closely, because Kento takes every chance to learn more about you. What makes you twitch and squirm prettily, and how to coax out every whine and stuttering breath.
A skillful hand stretches under you, deftly undoing your bra to throw it down. Kento takes a moment to look over your form. Even after all the times you’ve done this, he can’t ever get enough of you. Bewitched entirely. "Beautiful, you're so gorgeous." He breathes out, granting one perky bud the feel of his mouth. "So perfect—my wife, my perfect wife."
Kento always takes his time with you. Takes his time giving your sacred body the love and delicate touch it deserves while he’s in his right mind, before he’s lost in the throes of heat and flesh carving flesh. For now, he carefully lavishes attention to each sensitive nipple before he creeps downward once more.
His breath dances across your torso and stomach in invisible ribbons, but you feel it all the same. Warm against your skin even as he reaches right in between your thighs. He makes sure to mark them up, gently at first, then less so. Satisfied only when your inner thighs are painted in hues of lavender and ruby.
The ache of fresh bruises makes you gasp. He smiles in approval.
And then, through the lacy fabric of your panties, he laps a long stripe from your twitching hole to your throbbing clit, ruining the sad piece of article even more. You pulse at the feeling of wet muscle, a dribble of your arousal spilling through and onto his awaiting tongue. Your husband hums at the taste, hazel eyes fluttering shut like your cunt’s the best delicacy he’s had all day. As if he’s been starved of you since forever. He’s good at this, you think, good at making you feel wanted and desired.
“Who gave you these, sweetheart? It has quite the detailing.” He presses a thick finger to your clit, rubbing the pearly bundle of nerves that makes you shudder while he traces the patterns of lace like a critique of fashion and not a husband pleasing his wife.
You can only whine, fingers tugging at blonde strands to get him to do something, anything. “Sh-Shoko did.” You manage hoarsely, hooking your calves over his shoulders.
“Did she?” Another kiss pressed cordially to your clit that makes you tremble in anticipation. He kisses it like he’s asking for permission, welcoming himself into your space. “We’ll have to thank her properly once we get back then, but for now…” Fingers carefully pull at the sticky area of your underwear, the fabric clinging to your skin as he tugs it off you. And Kento smells you immediately, your sweet scent hitting him full-force. It makes him drool, tastebuds tingling with the desire to taste you. “We’ll put her gift to good use.”
You feel his lips immediately. Warm and wet tongue that sweeps over your soft and dripping folds before teasing your clit at the perfect angle that makes you arch. Your hands work at his hair, tugging insistently under the pleasure he gives you because Kento knows how to work your body perfectly.
And he's a man of action. Where his words fail, he makes up for it in his devoted gestures. Makes up for it with his tongue sliding between silken folds, scooping sweet slick while savoring the breathless moans of his name. Your husband makes sure to love you thoroughly through everything he does. You can tell how much he aches for you from the way his tongue pushes deep into your heat, perfect nose bunching at your clit.
He can tell the way you ache for him, too, when your hips arch into his mouth, squeezing him between your pillowy thighs. And Kento encourages it—always encourages your pleasure as he lets you buck against his face, covering his lower face in wetness where your slick and his saliva mix.
It’s carnal desire, the way Kento devours you. Carnal and devoted. Like many things in his life, he does it well—practiced and with his best effort put forth, sucking gently in the way he knows you like. He eats you like he knows your body better than you do. Honestly, you’re sure he does.
You tremble and leak beneath him. Eyes flutter shut as Nanami sucks up all your honeyed slick, in the way only a man who’s studied you so thoroughly could do. And while you’re still trembling, clit pulsing, and gummy walls clenching around his probing tongue, he gathers thin and sappy threads of arousal onto the pad of his thick fingers and pushes in.
“O-oh, Ken…” You keen at the fullness filling you up, simple pressure building in your gut that has your spine arching. Your straining legs bracket him in, heels digging into the line of his back, tugging closer as he adds another finger.
Nanami is good with his hands, you know this. He’s even better when it involves you soaking and opening up beautifully. It’s just embarrassing how soaked you are that it barely takes any time to sink three fingers knuckle deep into you, arching his digits right up against your g-spot.
With your slick arousal coating his hands, he pistons his fingers in lewd accuracy against the spongy spot within you. Thick strings of slick and spit thread along each drag of his digits as they move in and out, paired with the indecently loud sounds of your squelching pussy reverberating. It’s explicitly erotic, the sounds he’s capable of drawing from you.
It’s obscene. It’s hot. It’s Nanami who does his best to please you every time. And it’s a feeling you chase as you hump against his mouth, crying out his name like a mantra, hands tugging insistently as the familiar tightness in your stomach coils sorely sensitive.
“Close, sweetheart?” He murmurs knowingly against your clit, sucking it into his mouth one last time. It’s less of a question and more of a knowing statement. “Come on, let it go for me.”
Kento can feel you cum before you tell him. He feels it happen. The squeezing spasms of your muscles, the arch of your spine, the pitch of your voice, whining the syllables of his name in that breathless tone he simply adores. And he doesn’t stop, just continues working further into you and whispering praises onto your clit. It’s this part he enjoys the most, seeing you fall apart for him; it’s one of the few things he’s come to enjoy and knows so thoroughly. The only guarantee in his life is your love and the pleasure he knows how to bring you.
“Ken…” You whimper out, tugging his head away from the trembling ache of pleasure. Already, your body begs for more, something thicker and hotter than his mouth and fingers. Insatiable, he always seems to get this out of you. He gives it to you every time, too. You know this, and yet you can’t help but be impatient. “Come on.”
His answer comes as a lovesick smile and a kiss to your lips. Languid and soft. A smooth and familiar motion of his mouth on yours, sucking on your tongue, and drooling over the muscle so you can taste yourself on him. You taste desperation and pure, unadulterated want. But Nanami knows how to sate you even further with more kisses—a little way of telling you to be patient, reprimanding you in the way he does so well.
“Patience, my love.” He’s gentle when his soaked fingers pinch at your nipples, smearing your cum over the flesh before he dips down to lap it all up again. Your sweat and cum melt on his tongue, but his lips wrapped around your pert nipples do little to soothe you as you bury your fingers into the tendrils of his hair.
“Hurry…” You hook one leg around the narrow of his waist, already feeling the turgid head of his cock leaking against your inner thigh. How he can keep himself sane when he’s achingly hard is beyond you. Then again, Kento's self-control is one of the most attractive things about him. “You said you’d satisfy me, but you’re making me impatient.”
“Impatient?” Kento peers up at you from behind the curtain of his lashes, eyes flicking dangerously with a look that sends shivers down your spine. “Don’t I always give you what you want? Can’t you be good?”
‘Be good.’ He says it in a voice that makes you want to be good. For him. But on your wedding night, how can any wife be good when their husband is taking his sweet time?
“No. Want it now.” You huff out, stretching a leg between him and the mattress before the globe of your foot finds the wet heat of his cock.
“F-fuck–” Immediately, he hisses out your name, tensing as you run your foot over his shaft. Creamy beads of pre smear across his thick length as you work over his bulge, the wetness spreading on the mattress as he leaks and pants above you like a pretty painting.
You think your husband is prettiest like this—such a big, strong man reduced to nothing at your touch and a rose flush shrouding his cheeks. And while you know he could easily flip your positions, he won’t. Because Kento loves to please you—something about letting you do whatever you want with him—something about being at your mercy sends overwhelming lust through his body.
“Want it, Kento…” You whisper into his ear. “Gonna give it to me now? Please? Pretty, pretty please?” The sole of your foot slides smoothly from his tip and down to the base, pressing down with just enough pressure that has his eyes fluttering shut and head lolling into the sweaty crook of your neck.
It’s unfair how well you know him. How easy he is to already feel close when you grind your foot against him, it’s like a drug he can’t get enough of. Maybe he used to think it was shameless, this lust. But now, he loves it. You’re one thing he’ll never get enough of.
As always with you, he relents, gives you what you want. Your name falls from his lips in a dreamy sigh, his fingers circling your ankle, and pulling you away with a groan. “Alright, alright. Fine. Needy, aren’t you?” A small tease that only makes you roll your eyes. “I’ll satisfy my wife now.”
“You bett– oh…”
Your words trail into a husky sigh, escaping into the crook of his shoulder when his leaky tip notches into your entrance. It only takes him a few pumps to push the crown of his dick into you. A shared moan escaping your swollen lips. Just a few inches and you already tremble in his arms. No matter how many times you’ve taken him, there’s always a delicious stretch, pure pressure that floods you full, spreads your poor pussy open, and you can feel it as he sinks deeper still.
Kento mirrors the broken sound you make. Hot and sticky warmth swallowing the final inches of his thickness when he pushes himself all the way in, bleary eyes focusing on the little inflation in your belly, right where the length of his cock stops. And the sight makes him stutter, huffing slightly in pride. He lets the budding pleasure simmer, just savoring the feeling of being buried in you, pressed intimately full of him.
“K-Kento,” You stumble out, finally curling your arms around his neck to kiss him. “Please move. Please.”
Drawn out of his haze at your sweet voice, Nanami presses a tender kiss to your temple, wrapping his arms around your waist, bringing you impossibly closer. “As my wife wishes.”
The first roll of his hips is sensually slow, followed by a filthy squelch and shaky whispers. Steady and deep. It kisses the best spots inside you—that spongy area that makes you cry his name and drags carefully along every nook and cranny in your gummy walls. It’s enough to both ground you in pleasure and punch the air from your lungs in hot pants against his lips.
The second thrust, just as gentle and deep as the first, makes you dizzy from ecstasy, lightheaded from his firm body rocking against yours. And by the third and fourth, you’re wrapping your legs around his waist, pressing wet kisses to the column of his neck, voice lost in a quivering tremble when he begins to shallowly fuck you, barely pulling out before he plunges back in, flesh meeting in a sinful crack like a final sound of desire raging between you two. "H-ha—fuck… ‘s big…”
“Take it.” The words rip from his throat as he bucks his hips harder into yours. Sharper, meaner. “My wife can take it. Just be good and fucking take it.”
You can’t do much but nod. Nod with a mess of slurring words on your tongue and let him set the tempo he knows makes you come the quickest. Oblige because you know he’ll make you feel good anyway. He always does, and Nanami does it by angling you up, pushing your legs over his shoulders so you feel every curve, every spasming vein, and every aching throb of his cock as he fucks you mercilessly.
Groaning your name in broken syllables, stirring up your insides with every mind-numbing thrust, Kento seeks your hand out, lacing your fingers together like an anchor. Pleasure burns through his veins, but the cool metal against hot flesh brings him back to the moment, to you. You—his wife—fucked, and his in every way now.
This is the first step to building your future together. One day, he wishes to have a home with you. One full of warmth and safety, even a child, children—little ones that look like you. Who inherit your stubbornness and sense of humor that he knows he’ll come to love, just like their mother. He’s thought about it before—too much, really. Thought about you, round and full and absolutely glowing with his seed.
It’s a future that used to seem so far for him, even during the moments under shared nights and bodies on bodies. But now, with his ring on your name, sharing his last name, and claiming you so thoroughly—it can be real. And that thought, that dangerous and tempting idea that plants itself into his head, hurls him closer to his orgasm. His wife. Kento’s cock pulses so hard that it takes everything not to cum in you right then.
And yeah, it might be irresponsible, and maybe it’s an image that’s caused by the push of pleasure and warmth around him. But he wants it—so, so bad. You’re his wife now; this is a marital duty. You wanted him to satisfy you, and he knows this will. He knows pumping you full of his cum will satisfy you beyond anything else he can give you. After all, he only wants to give you everything he has.
“Lo-love, ah, sh-shit…” He gasps out, pressing a heated, messy kiss to your lips, hips faltering and stuttering until his rhythm falls into sloppy humps.
And as your husband knows your body so well, you know him just as intimately. The telltale signs of his impending climax—the twitch of his dick when it drags out from your greedy cunt, his eyes fluttering shut, brows clenching together like he’s trying to hold back, no matter how many times you’ve told him not to. You want him to lose himself in you—you like seeing your husband lose control.
It’s only you who can do this to him. Only you who makes him this needy and desperate.
You’re no better off than him. With the crown of his cock repeatedly smooching your g-spot and his hand snaking down to circle tight pressure on your clit, you feel the tension in your belly grow painfully close, back arching to meet his heavy thrusts.
“Ke-Kento–” You choke out, pulling him down into a crushing kiss.
The whiny name makes him lose it, mindlessly rutting into you now. The bed creaks and groans beneath your ravenous bodies, salacious and gooey strings of slick slinging from his hips to your puffy folds as if pure arousal can keep you two tied together forever, locked in the ambling haze of euphoria.
“Fu-fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He rasps, strangled against your skin, choked in his throat. “I’ll fill you up, get you round and pretty. Please, my love, please, p-please.”
“‘M c-close too. Wanna cum with you.” You moan against his lips. Your mind feels like it’s melting; whatever's left is his. You're his, and he is yours. It’s never been so clear—there’s no room for anything else. “Cu-cumming–”
Kento lets loose a choked groan, a low sound from his chest as you come for the second time that night. The heat you emit, the fluttering of your pussy that milks him, and again, the vision of you pregnant and glowing statics at the corners of his mind—it’s all an overwhelming indulgence of you that he can’t live without. And with a moan of your name on his lips, he pushes himself flush against you, heavy balls resting on your ass and cock twitching, spilling his warm seed into your waiting womb in viscous, white ribbons that paint your walls ivory.
Claimed. His.
Sticky, hot warmth leaks into and out of you, drooling onto the hotel sheets and into a puddle beneath you. Dripping more as his cum sloshes in your weeping cunt, still cumming despite little thrusts dissipating into gentle grinds, clammy pelvis rolling over your sensitive clit when he draws you into another kiss.
You’re not sure how long you kiss for, only how long you wish for it to last. You want this moment, under the bright moonlit stars and under your handsome husband, to last for an eternity.
“I love you.” You breathe out finally, pulling away. “I love you, husband.”
With one last kiss to your lips, he smiles, nuzzling his head against yours.
synopsis: you love your boyfriend, really, you do. but sometimes you just want to shower peacefully without him trying to start anything frisky… well, that’s a lie actually. you love it. and you fall for satoru’s whining every time.
“Satoru, I don’t wanna shower with you.”
“Baby, pleaseeee. It’ll be good for the environment, I swear!”
Your boyfriend peers up at you from beneath snowy lashes with jutted lips turned into a pout. He’s sitting at your feet, hugging lanky limbs around your legs to anchor you down, just a little ways away from the bathroom door.
“I just want to shower without you trying to start something.” You sigh in exasperation, futilely prying his hands away with no progress. “We can shower together next time, now let me go!”
“No!” Satoru shakes his head vehemently, looking up at you helplessly. You swear you can see imaginary ears folded back in sorrow and devastation—like you just ruined his entire world—and in Satoru’s mind, you might as well have. “At this point, just say you hate me and wanna break up and want me to live on the streets and sleep by myself in the cold forever and ever!”
You roll your eyes, a teasing grin shaping your lips, “If I say I do, will you finally let me go?”
“Wh— huh?” The whining giant at your feet sputters indignantly, appalled at your words, his own response faltering. Gojo Satoru is speechless in your presence. “Okay. Unnecessary. Want me to beg? I’m not above begging, I’ll beg.”
“What? I never said—”
“Please! Please, baby! I’ll be good! I won’t touch you, just let me be in there with you, just wanna see you. You’re so beautiful and pretty and special, and I’ll be good if you just let me be in there! I promise, I’ll be your good boy—”
His arms wind tighter, almost tripping you. His chin perched upon your thighs, blinking up with bright lashes, a pretty pout etched on his lips, quivering in that way that he knows makes you melt. He may be the strongest, but right now, all he wants is to shower with you… amongst other things brewing in his mind.
“I’ll even wash your back and lotion you afterwards! Please, please, please, please, pleaseeee—”
“Okay! Goodness, fine.” Immediately, he brightens up as soon as the syllables leave your lips, bouncing up to his full height and encasing you in a tight hug of wrung-out victory. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” You sigh and yet can’t help the smile spreading across your lips when Satoru’s mouth meets yours. “But no funny business, okay? I really do need to shower.”
“I already said I’d be good, baby.” He smacks a wet kiss onto the apple of your cheek, previous blunder cast aside for a bright stretch of pearly whites. His breath is hot on your cheeks, voice deep and whispery against the shell of your ear. Already, you feel shivers sprint down your spine like an impending doom of consequences.
“And I never lie.”
Gojo Satoru is a liar.
He’s a dirty, filthy, freaky liar who has you bent over the shower walls, hands pressed flat, cock-stuffed, and moaning his name as his hips slap against your ass with every cervix-kissing thrust. Each roll of his body has air snatched from your lungs into little, heated puffs onto the glass panes, fogging up before erased with the rivulets of the water cascading over your bodies.
You should’ve known better than to trust a sly-tongued man like him. Satoru and his pretty blue eyes, lush lashes that flutter in the way that makes you fold instantaneously. Satoru and his large, dexterous fingers that clasp tight around your waist to prevent you from falling, pressing down onto the slight bulge inflating in your lower belly every time he sinks in deep. Satoru, who moans your name in your ear in that lilting coo that makes you burn despite the cooling water.
“Now look at who’s being bad, pretty.”
“Shut up!” You bite through a broken moan, glaring at him over your shoulder. “You—fuck, right there—fuckin’ liar.”
Through the steaming shower and barrage of the water, you catch the damp, white strands that fall over striking azure irises, rosy hue coating his porcelain skin, fueled by the heat of the shower and the warmth of your cunt hugging him. But it’s that stupidly smug grin on his face that makes your legs weak; if he weren’t holding you, you’d be melted on the floor by now.
“Yeah? Want me to shut up?” As if it’ll soothe you, he presses a tender kiss to the slope of your shoulder, lifting you higher on your tippy toes, hands splayed on your lower abdomen and hips, drilling into you like he’s trying to fuck any negative thoughts out. “Didn’t want me to shower with you either, and now look, got this ass bouncing on me and you cryin.’”
“‘M not!” You cry out, folded into a filthy arch. Your fingers fly to bury in his hair, pulling at the silky strands, just enough to have him groaning into the crook of your neck. The cool glass rubbing along your nipples adds to the stumbling pleasure building in your veins, creasing over itself in your stomach under Satoru’s relentless pace.
Each heavy thrust sends you against the shower wall, brought back down when he slides you back onto his cock like a fleshlight, a little thing for him to use with how easily he manhandles you. It’s scarily accurate how the crown of his shaft kisses perfectly against the gooey target in your velvety walls; every teasing nudge against it dissolves your thoughts into a pool of euphoria.
“You might not be cryin’, but this pussy sure is.” On cue, your cunt flutters around him in betrayal, milking him like it has a mind of its own and actually understands what he’s saying. And Satoru, the bastard that he is, only laughs at your struggle. “See? Even she agrees, such a good girl, workin’ so hard, ain’t she?”
A whine is your only response, moans spewing where your mind fails to form words. The steaming bathroom fills with the cacophony of shower water raining down on you two, mingling into a symphony with erratic bodies smacking together in a shared chase of instinctual pleasure.
Your cunt’s slippery, weeping, and absolutely stretched. Everything is filthy, drenched—from the water or squelching arousal between you and him—you can’t tell. No matter how many times you’ve taken him before, it always feels like it’s the first. And Satoru always fucks you like it’ll be his last. His cock pumps in and out messily, the fat tip dragging across bullied walls, smooching your cervix with every stroke.
“Who’s the liar now, hm? Who’s cryin’ over this dick?” He lilts, bending his head down to look at the way your pussy sucks his cock greedily. “You gonna answer me or do I listen to this pussy?”
You try. Really. But you can barely breathe, let alone speak, as his hips snap into you. Your syllables die on your tongue, breath stuttering as hard as your furious pulse dancing in your body. And you can only respond with his name in slurred moans, rising even higher in pitch when the pads of his fingers find your clit, rubbing you in tight, quick circles.
Even without a coherent answer, Satoru takes your wanton answer in stride. He knows your body even better than yourself—teetering on a blade’s edge of unraveling on his cock. Fingers pressing hard on your clit, his other hand groping and fondling your tits, pinching one peaked nipple with an amused grin. To him, the only reaction he needs is the sweet sensation of your pussy clenching around him—adding to the trembling knot that curls taut in his gut.
“S-Satoru!” You cry, fisting his hair like it’ll steady the torrent of ecstasy ripping through you. “‘M gonna cum! C-can’t take it anymore!”
“M-mhm, baby.” His voice is breathless in your ear, a low tremble that’s barely above the roar of the shower, just enough to show that he’s as close as you are. “Gotta forgive me first. Forgive your ‘Toru and I’ll let you cum.”
Like a bastard with a devilish grin, Satoru slows his heavy thrust into little grinds, fizzling out the rapid pleasure that was pushing you over—ruining both you and him. It makes you whine, pushing helplessly onto him to gain the steady friction back, a move he stops easily with his fingers clasping around your waist.
“Nuh-uh, princess. Answer me.” Satoru bends over, blue eyes peering at your fucked-out expression fondly. “Forgive me?” He pouts.
“Yes, yes, fine!” You whine, hands tugging at his to return them to their previous position—one large hand perched on your tits and the other pushed incessantly between your thighs. “Please, I forgive you.”
He grins. Wide, pearly teeth biting down on his lips in glee.
Gojo Satoru knows how to make you forgive him.
Instantly, he moves again. Unbridled. Raw. Pumping you so full that you think he was holding back earlier. He groans into your skin, vibrations rumbling through you under the warm water. Calling your name through ragged breaths, Satoru turns you to him, capturing your lips in a kiss so fond and gentle, you’d forget that he’s fucking you mindlessly.
That is, if you weren’t cumming hard around him.
Your body bursts at the seams, succumbing to the cascade of euphoria that catches you into its web, sobbing out his name as white, hot bursts shoot through you. Your brain statics out into an infinite void, knees going weak, and your head lolls back onto his shoulder as you unravel completely.
But he doesn’t stop.
Just fucks you into his own orgasm. Hips stuttering in one, two, three more brutal thrusts before he’s spurting white, warm ropes of seed into your walls—filling you up completely and fully with a whine of your name on his tongue.
“Fu-fuck… ‘m cumming, s-so good… I love you—I fucking love you.” Head falling forward onto your shoulder, Satoru pants, brow furrowing as he rides your highs out together, strong arms locked tight around you comfortingly.
For a while, both of you remain in relaxed silence. The warm water sprays over you two as he pulls out, little sparks of pleasure and globs of his spend leaking out before the water washes it down the drain. He makes a silent reminder to get a another load into you before the morning.
But for now, “Forgive me?” Satoru asks, stamping a kiss to your soaked temple as he shuts the water off.
“A little too late for that, don’t you think?” You shake your head fondly, but his words make a laugh bubble from your mouth, arms wrapping around his neck to tug him closer. “I’ll forgive you only if you don’t lie about lotioning me after our shower.”
He blinks. Once. Twice. Before a familiar smile crosses flushed cheeks.
“I never lie about taking care of you.”
you get the divider? it’s bubbles cause they’re y’know, showering? hehehehe
synopsis: It’s Sylus’s first birthday with you. As a gift, you decide to give him your first (and his too)
Content. mdni afab + f! reader, established relationship, virgin! sylus, virgin! reader, mutual virginity loss (but honestly only reader’s is noticeable) oral (f! receiving) fingering, vaginal penetration, sylus finishes inside, no protection, praise, pet names (sweetie, kitten, good girl) reader wears lingerie, implied that reader and sylus have both touched themselves before, this is honestly really soft idk
a/n: can we pretend that this isn’t late… I forgot to save half my draft, spent the next day crashing out over it, but at least i got it done. Also my first time writing Sylus.
Staring at yourself in the mirror, you’re suddenly feeling nervous. Clammy hands, quick breaths, and shaky hands. Your heart thumps rapidly against the bones of your caged ribs, hard and fast and only increasing with the dwindling time that Sylus spends in the shower, he should be out any minute now.
Tonight’s the night, you tell yourself. Tonight’s the night that you allow yourself to be lost to Sylus. To be his completely and celebrate the first birthday you’ve spent with him.
Your eyes rove over the red-laced clad form of your body, hands adjusting the straps that cling tight to you. A crimson lace set that hugs your curves like a second skin. The stockings clench around the middle of your thighs so the plush flesh spills just over the edge. The set is perfect enough to accentuate your figure, eye-catching and elegant—like Sylus.
And despite your repeated words to calm yourself, you still can’t help but feel nervous. You’ve never done this before, dressed up, given yourself up, especially to the leader of Onychinus. To the most powerful man in the N109 zone. But you aren’t giving yourself up to that man — you’re giving yourself to Sylus, just Sylus. To your lover who has done nothing but make you feel loved and cared for, to the man who has proved his love over and over again in countless ways.
He’s never pushed you whatsoever, never overstepped boundaries, or tried to persuade you to do anything you were uncomfortable with. Even in moments during his vampiric schedule when you two found time to sneak away to share messy kisses full of teeth and tongue, he’s never escalated it to anything, always stopping (to which you find yourself disappointed) and excusing himself with a sweet kiss to your cheeks. Charming, as always. So this time, you should be the one to initiate, to show him that you’re ready.
That thought is enough to encourage you to slip into your shared bed, pulling the silky covers up to your laced chest. You still in that position, shifting slightly in different positions while you listen intently to the sound of the shower. The rush of water extends to your ears and the brief image of your lover under the wet rivulets of water immediately causes your cheeks to heat with familiar warmth and a pool of heat to bubble in you.
A flush rises to your cheeks, burying your face into the inky sheets at the scene your mind has just conjured up. You can vividly imagine water droplets cascading down his toned body, streams of liquid running down his length, and even the way he looks under the lights that most certainly illuminate the sheen of water on his skin. The thought is intoxicating, as are the many other thoughts you’ve had of Sylus.
Amidst your flushed cheeks and wild images blaring through your creative mind, you fail to notice Sylus exit the bathroom. His toned torso is on full display, comfortable in your presence, and a little too comfortable with the way his skin is open, offering you a clear sight of the dipping V-line as his towel hangs dangerously low. His crimson eyes are quick to notice you on his bed, covered with his blanket and face buried into the sheets. It’s clear that you’re not sleeping, and from the tint of rose painting your ears, he easily deduces that you’re blushing. Yet, from what?
His lips quirk into a soft smirk, a low chuckle rumbling from his throat that finally draws your attention to him. “You’re blushing, sweetie.”
Upon hearing his gravelly chuckle, a familiar one that never fails to send waves of shivers down your spine, your head snaps up to him. And if your cheeks weren’t burning red before, seeing him in his half-nude state certainly has caused your cheeks to be coated in the prettiest shade of red — a perfect reflection of his eyes.
“Sylus! Uh…” A quiet laugh (if you could even call it that) escapes your lips, suddenly feeling exactly like a bundle of nerves once again. “I’m not, I was just…” Your words trail off, brain blanking out on what to say. What does one say in this scenario?
“Hm?” He hums amusedly, that smug smile tugging at the edges of his pink lips (and your heart) his eyes crinkling in mirth as he observes you intently. “Were you hiding instead? I’m sure I can find you much faster than when you were looking for that brooch.”
His teasing tone immediately causes you to scowl, narrowing your eyes at him. If Sylus had any say, he would compare you to a kitten with its ears flattened back, claws out, and ready to swat at him.
“I’m not hiding!” You defend yourself indignantly, yet unsure of how to approach the situation. Of course, you could be upright and just tell him that you want him to fuck you and mark you up like he does in all your fantasies. Tell him that you have obscene thoughts about him in your mind, ideas that plague your dreams, all about him. “I just… have another gift for you.”
“Oh?” The soft words that leave your lips cause him to raise a smooth brow, stepping a stride closer to the bed. Closer to where your tantalizing body is hidden beneath his covers. Closer to your pulsing heart and warm body. Closer to the place where you long to have him. “Give it here then.”
He gestures with an open hand, two fingers beckoning you towards him in a silent urge to offer your gift.
“We-well…” You stammer softly, eyes zeroing in on a bead of water that breaks free from the trap of his silvery strands of hair, sliding down the length of his body, disappearing into the waistband of the towel wrapped snug around his waist. Even the simple, most natural action of a glob of water has your throat going dry, fingers itching under the sheets to fling them off of you.
And you do, slowly.
Inch by inch, you tug the blanket down to reveal the expanse of your body, laced in crimson, to the gaze of Sylus who stands a mere few feet away. His room is chilly but with the flush of embarrassment sitting heavy in your cheeks and warmth surging through your body, you’ve never felt hotter.
Once finally bare to his eyes, you will yourself to look at him. He’s suddenly closer than before, eyes dark as he stares down at you. His large hands are clenched tight and from the close distance, you can see the way his chest heaves, a difference in his normal breaths.
A beat passes. One. Two. Three. Before you hesitantly open your mouth, concerned if you’ve miscalculated the moment. “Sy-”
“Is this your gift to me, sweetie?” The man steps closer, hands almost reaching out to ghost over you but he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps his clenched fists down at his sides.
With a small nod, you finally sit up on your knees. Your hands reach out, easily clasping his and pulling him closer. You move closer, bringing his large hand to rest on your cheek, nuzzling into the warm palm of his hand that seamlessly encases your face. Turning your head, a small kiss is pressed to his inner wrist, reverent in its creation.
“Only if… only if you want to.” A soft whisper. A plea for his approval. An acceptance of your gift and trust you’ve placed into his hands. It’s okay if he isn’t ready but you want him to know that you’re ready. You’re ready to be his completely and wholeheartedly, in every way, his.
From your close proximity, you can see the way his Adam’s apple throbs, saliva sliding down his throat, mouth watering at the delicious sight of you. Clad in a shade that mirrors his eyes, batting your pretty eyes up at him like a kitten — it’s all he’s ever wanted.
Sylus is a gentleman. Never overstepping his boundaries, never asking for too much, always allowing you to take the relationship at a pace that suited you. But this? A special gift for his birthday, to lose himself to you completely, to devote himself to you more than he already has declared? It's his declaration to the world, to show everyone that he finally belongs to you and you to him.
So, with a reverent sigh, he allows his thumb to brush along the familiar skin of your cheeks, smooth and soft. The touch is familiar, so gentle and divine. But with the air charged with unspoken tension and his heated gaze, it's more intimate than a simple touch on your cheeks. His vermillion eyes smolder as he roves over your kneeling form. Your heart picks up pace, thumping faster than it's meant to against the curved bones of your ribs that hide your heart — bared open for him.
An amused chuckle falls from his lips, gravelly and grisly. He leans in closer, watching as your lashes flutter shut in anticipation of a kiss. The sight only makes his mouth curl into a satisfied smile, body heating up in a flush when he hears your words. You want to if he wants to? He’s been wanting for a long time, no, he’s needed you for an eternity. He’s desired every part you’ve bared to him longer than he can remember.
“I want you, if you’ll have me.” His sweet words are punctuated with the sweetest kiss to your hot cheeks. A stark contrast to the hardening length hidden by the towel. It’s so easy for you to get him worked up, and you aren’t even aware of it. Not aware of the effect you have on him, not aware of what your proximity does, or how many nights he’s spent bucking his sticky cock into his wet hands while he thinks about how gorgeous you are.
“I want you.” You reaffirm gently, cupping his warm cheeks. He pulls you in by your hips, leaning in ever so slightly so that his warm breath brushes across your lips. “I want this with you, Sylus.”
He groans softly at your keening words, tilting his head, finally pressing his lips to yours in a kiss. He takes his time kissing you, slow and steady, and so very like him. Sylus is a man who enjoys the finer things in life, savoring the mulled taste of wine or lavish silks. And what could possibly be more exquisite than his beautiful lover dressed up on his special day? This closeness of your first time together, an experience you both haven’t had, shaping and exploring the contours and creases of your love.
So, he kisses you slow, savoring the intimacy of your lips locked together.
“Gorgeous. You’re gorgeous in this, sweetie.” The words come as a groan from Sylus who moves on top of you, towel slipping dangerously to expose the prominent lines of his Apollo’s belt. “So perfect, for me, no?”
You fall easily onto your back, feeling exposed with the absence of the blanket, but Sylus quickly comes to replace that weight. Your hands find purchase on his broad shoulders, pulling him closer towards you as soft lips continue to gently press along yours in smooth undulations, soft swipes of tongue and teeth.
“Sylus, I- let me,” Broken murmurs escape your lips through his worshipful kisses, pushing him away so he sits up.
The soft towel finally falls from his hips, pooling onto his black sheets. Of course, the towel isn’t what catches your attention — rather, what it was hiding. Your gaze drops to the main prize, standing big and hard against his torso. You’ve imagined him plenty of times, large and girthy, but not like… this. It’s pretty, like the rest of him, perfectly proportioned to his 6’2 frame, almost elegant in the way the pink head dribbles pearls of pre down the throbbing veins that dance along the underside.
And perhaps it was because you’re breath caught in your throat, cheeks hot and mouth dry, eyes trained onto the way it throbs with ache that he finally speaks up, a low grin heard in his syllables.
“You’re staring, kitten.” The words ring true, you are staring, quite unabashedly. But he too, doesn’t seem to care, rather, he doesn’t act shy or nervous. Even in moments like these, even if it’s your first, Sylus will be Sylus.
“It’s just… so pretty.” Your whisper, hands coming up to run along the smooth crevices of his collarbones, fingers dancing down to the creases of his chest and abs. Your actions earn a low groan and shiver out of your lover, white hair falling to his eyes as his head falls forward, crimson eyes fluttering shut. “Can I touch you, Sylus? Can I make you feel good, my love?”
The honeyed words and praises that fall from your lips almost has him folding, almost. If he were anyone else, perhaps he’d have given in, but his desire for you overpowers his want for pleasure. After all, who would he be if he didn’t take care of you first, especially since this is your shared firsts.
“Not yet, sweetie. Let me take care of you.” He rebukes you gently, veiny hands rising to wrap around your wrist. He pulls you away, raising your chin for a kiss to soothe your adorable pout.
“No, Sylus. Let me take care of you! It’s your birthday.” You pull away, pressing light kisses down the smooth column of his neck, lingering along scars and every perfect imperfection that makes him — him.
The only response from Sylus is a light chuckle before your world is tilted on its axis and you’ve fallen under him once again. Smoldering crimson eyes meet yours, filled with mirth and amusement while he pins you down underneath his broad body. His lithe fingers find yours, lacing your hands together in a sweet embrace and he hushes your protests with a flurry of kisses.
“This is my gift, no? I should unravel you properly, won’t you indulge the birthday boy?” Each of his teasing words are punctuated with a trail of kisses down your body that has your breath hitching. Before you even try to argue that it’s his birthday, and you should be lavishing him in your attention and care, he’s claimed the final word, lightly kissing down the length of your hot torso. “Besides, this is my first time too. Let me learn you, sweetie.”
Instantly, you melt at his words.
You've imagined this countless of times in the quiet of your room, filled with the sound of your sticky fingers pistoning into the messy channel of your squelching cunt. Countless of times you've imagined how he would kiss down your neck like he currently does, sucking his gentle claim into your flesh. You've imagined his lithe fingers deftly unhooking your lacy bra, trailing hot kisses down the valley of your breast. You've always imagined the experience of being utterly loved by him.
The next feeling you receive from him is the wetness of his warm mouth, wrapping gently around a single nipple, suckling softly on the sensitive tit. His vermillion eyes look up to meet your gaze, the great leader of Onychinus, alternating his attention on your heaving breasts. His silky hair is ruffled with your fingers buried in the silver strands. But the sensations are muted with the unfamiliar length that presses insistently against your sopping clothed core, a reminder that he desires you just as much as you do him in this moment.
"Sylus," you plea his name softly. Instantaneously, he looks up, pulling his mouth away from your chest. A part of you wishes he didn't do so. The action leaves a salacious strand of his warm saliva connected to the tip of your nipple, hardening with the onslaught of the cold air in his room.
"Hm?" He replies quietly, continuing to mark your skin. His hands slide down your sides reverently, admiring every crevice of you. Unwrapping you like a dutiful devotee. With every article of lace that slips from your body, he explores the new expanse of flesh, memorizing every mark, every scar, every millimeter shown. "Do you want me to stop, kitten?"
Instantly, you shake your head, a light whimper slipping from your lips.
Pleased, he finally kisses down to the supple flesh of your inner thighs, mouthing at the skin that exposes itself from the crimson lace. Your needy pleas and whines fill his ears, waves of pleased hums course through him, vibrating against your thighs. His experience is few and far between (zero) but he knows you and that’s already enough for him to understand you inside out.
“Patience, kitten.” He chuckles softly at your pleas, eager whines filling him with an unfathomable amount of pleasure. Large hands knead the flesh of your thigh. Your lacy red underwear outlined your sopping core, drenched in your arousal that he’s so close to. His warm breath ghosts over your damp cunt, shivering in excitement and slight embarrassment. No one has ever gotten this close, this intimate with you, only him. It will continue to be only him. And though he crooned to you to be patient, he could feel his own patience disintegrate when faced with you, all spread out and eager for him. “I want to take my time savoring you, unwrapping you.”
It pleased him that could leave as many marks as he wished; no one else got to see you like this. He could dance his lips across your skin, planting seeds that would blossom later, bloom into hues of ruby and violet, reminders for the next time undresses you. No one else would see them except you and him. A secret buried deep inside when the two of you would soon connect. You would be reminded of the sparks shivering through your body where his lips sucked, and he would remember the pleasure that rushed through him as he marked you for himself.
"Can I take these off?" He speaks low and soft, nuzzling his pink lips against the wet lace, clinging pitifully to your pussy.
At your eager nod, he mouths at your cunt. A low groan cuts through him at the taste of you, leaking through the article of lace. Leaking because of him. It pleases him to see that he has this effect on you, having you spread open with legs hooked over his shoulders and flushed so prettily.
Innately, your hands bury into the strands of his hair, tugging and whining for his touch. He grants it to you through the fabric, tongue flattening against the lace, dragging slowly up until he suckles on your throbbing clit. A sharp gasp is elicited from your kiss-bitten lips, mouth falling open in a silent moan.
"All this for me, sweetie? How kind, a sweet cunt for a sweet girl." Sylus chuckles slowly, the sound vibrating through his lips and through your cunt, an action that sends shocks of sharp pleasure shooting through you.
“Mhm… for you, Sy. All for you.” You pant, hips bucking impatiently into his mouth.
A veined hand runs up the garter that decorates your thighs, raising just higher to hook over the waistband of your red-laced panties, tugging down to reveal his present.
"So pretty, kitten. You smell so good, so sweet.” With your legs thrown over his shoulders, cunt glistening in the low light, he admires you quietly, almost divinely in your presence. Your pussy on full display, sensitive bud throbbing and hole clenching around nothing. Drool builds up in his mouth at the delicious sight, unable to tear his eyes away. Embarrassment flushes through you, crawling up your spine to settle on your already-flushed cheeks.
His large hands raise, thumbs parting your slick folds, opening you up to feast on you with his heavy gaze. Your lover leans in, mouth open, coming closer until his nose bumps your clit, tongue dragging through your silky folds, and relishing in the gasp and moans that fall heavenly from your lips. Hands tug at his hair, whines and sweet sounds come from above him, raising higher in pitch when his thumbs swipes at your sensitive clit, rubbing in tight circles. Infinitely better than any of the times you’ve ever touched yourself.
“Sy- fuck!” You throw your head back, thighs threatening to close around his head. He could die happy like this, drunk off of your taste and love. He would give you the world on a diamond platter, each bite filled with nothing but love and security, it’s the least he could possibly give you after you’ve allowed him to take a sacred part of you.
The way you moan and quiver around him is a gift in itself, a gift to him that he takes readily without hesitation. Anything from you is a gift. And anything from you, is more sacred than his life in whole.
For someone who has never been in bed with someone, it feels like Sylus knows your body like the back of his hand. Maybe it’s his close observation skills. His vermillion irises carefully watch each and every twitch your body makes in creation to his touch. From a certain way you shiver when his tongue swipes at your clit, to the moan that tumbles when he dips his wet muscle into your tight heat. He notices it all.
His tongue expertly slides along your folds, scooping copious amount of your sweet slick onto his tongue while savoring your pitchy moans. Your lover laps you up like a man starved, tongue slipping along your damped folds, no difference between your sweet taste nor his drool. He relishes everything you offer him. From the way, your fingers tug almost painfully at his scalp to the unbridled noises that resonate through his room.
“Sy-Sylus, ha… please, I wanna make you feel g-good too.” Through your messy haze of pleasure shooting through your spine, you manage to find words that aren’t the broken syllables of his moaning name.
“You are, sweetie. You're making me feel so good, letting me have you so nicely like this. So kind, so sweet, aren’t you? My sweet girl?” His praises are spoken through milliseconds away from your soft cunt, diving back in like a dragon greedily guarding its most precious gems. After all, what gem is more precious than the one he has in his grasp right now?
You don't find it in you to argue, mind succumbed to the pleasure he so readily offers you. Your plush thighs, decorated with lacy vermillion garters, clench around his head, threatening to shut with the quick rise of your impending orgasm. It climbs rapidly, settling into the pit of your stomach, bubbling into hot sparks.
"Can I put a finger in, kitten?" He murmurs softly. His thumb swipes at your sensitive bud, looking up at your pleading expression. He clearly doesn't need your words, actions and your lovestruck expression etched onto your face is enough, but he wants to hear you. He needs to hear your confirmation, to hear that this moment isn’t one of his many dreams he has of you. Another when he gets to hear the melody of your heavenly mewls and the feel of your thighs against both sides of his head. He needs to hear that you need him just as much as he needs to in this moment.
“Yes, please, please. Sy, I want you, I wanna be yours.” With eager hands, your fingers wrap around his wrist that squeezes at the plush of your thighs, bringing it closer to your achy hole. Not only does he need you in this moment, you need him. It’s an act of reassurance, love, and trust that you’ve so generously given to him.
“You do, hm?” His smile returns, lovestruck and full of adoration. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll make you mine.”
With that, he slides a calloused finger through your folds, slick with his saliva and your own arousal. He takes his time, savoring your flesh and the feel of being the first man down here, with you. Your face contorts into one of mild discomfit as he slides a finger in, easing it into your virgin walls. His eyes never leave your face though, watching every twitch of your muscles and flutter of your lashes as your mouth etched to create the syllables of his name in a whine.
“Do you want to stop, sweetie?” He murmurs against your aching clit, in hopes of alleviating the discomfort of his digit.
And it pleases him. The way you immediately shake your head, quickly protesting that idea. “No! I can take it, Sy. I wanna take it for you.”
So he continues to give you what you want. With your slick arousal coating his hands, he pumps his finger gently along your gummy walls, lewd sounds of your squelching pussy reverberating throughout his room. He continues suckling on your sensitive bud, flattening his tongue against the wetness, slurping you up. It’s obscene, the sounds behind the closed doors. His groans, lewd squelches, and your moans — it sends all the blood in his body rushing south, to his already aching cock.
Your hips sloppily humped against his mouth, a physical beg to have his fingers stroke deeper into you. You already felt so full with a single finger, insistently prodding at your gummy walls until your back arches beautifully for him. Your fingers pull at his silky hair, toes curling, and your head falls back into the black pillows as your stomach grows taut and rivulets of ecstasy shoot through every nerve.
“Fuckfuckfuck, ‘s so good—”
You cum so hard it feels like fireworks ignite behind your shut lids as you ground down onto Sylus’ face to chase the aftershocks of the high. His finger stills but your hips don’t, grinding onto his finger to catch the remaining effects of the hot sparks in your stomach.
"That's it, good girl. So good for me, sweetie, you came so beautifully." His praises are spoken through your quivering cunt, twitching at his smooth praise. "Good girl, it's okay, kitten."
He finally pulls away from your pussy, webs of his saliva stuck to your sweaty body. Sylus sits up on his heels, hand coming to wrap around the hard length of his cock, giving himself reprieve of slow pumps. Your eyes drop down to his shaft, angry and dribbling more pre from the turgid tip with every drag of his large hand. It looks heavier than earlier, even more delicious bucking in his fist.
His soft groans, twitching of his hips has a new wave of heat coursing through your body. You feel an indescribable urge to relieve him of the ache, to have him fill you up, and to love each other thoroughly once more. But before you can pull him on top of you, he speaks.
“We can stop he—”
“No.” Your response is quick, pulling him over you in a swift motion. You don’t want to stop. Rather, you want him inside you. You want to make him yours and you, his.
Your hand trails down his torso, fingers finding his hard cock that bobs eagerly when you gently brush along it. It’s hot and thick, sending waves of anticipating shivers down your spine at the prospect of having this part of him inside you.
But for now, you enjoy the way the leader of Onychinus shivers from your touch. His Adam’s apple bobs with the gulp of his saliva, low groans escaping him as you trail kisses along his neck. Your hands slide smoothly from his turgid crown and down to the base, giving him light squeezes that has his eyes fluttering shut and head lolling into the sweaty crook of your neck.
“Fuck, kitten. You feel so good…” His words escape as a breathy sigh, dwindling into low groans. He allows you this, just as he allows you into many things; his heart, mind, body, and soul. Whatever you wish for, he allows it.
“Yeah? I wanna make you feel good, Sy. Just wanna make you feel good.” Your response is whispered out, leaning up to lock your lips with his in a gentle kiss.
His hands, resting on your hips, drop down to your thighs to hook it over the curve of his waist. He sighs into the kiss, breaking gently with a long string of saliva connecting the two of you.
“Can I put it in then, kitten?” His hands capture your wrist, lacing your fingers gently together in an intimate embrace. The silvery strands of his hair fall onto your forehead as he leans down, pressing his temple to yours.
Your response is a nod, arms tightening around his neck when he lines himself to your quivering hole, already feeling himself shiver at the contact of your hot folds sliding along the length of his dick. You can feel the blood throbbing through the veins that run along the underside of his cock, warm and bobbing against you.
Gently, he finally pushes the tip in.
A sharp gasp is elicited from both of you. Your eyes instantly flutter shut, features contorting into a grimace at the large intrusion, pressing into the deepest parts of you. Sensing your pain, Sylus peppers kisses along your neck, fingers tightening on yours in a soothing hold, his free hand weaves between your flushed bodies to rub tight circles to your clit, alleviating your pain.
“Good girl, it’s okay. You’re doing so well, just breathe, just breathe.” His praises fall reverently, kissing away the pearls of tears that pool at the edges of your eyes, gentle and loving.
His praises continue as he finally bottoms out, filling your walls completely full of him. He pants against your lips, watching your expression form from one of discomfort to one of pleasure and love. He moves his lips down your body, sucking on your neglected tits to coax soft moans from you.
“Sylus… you can move, please.” Your soft plea has him folding immediately. Gentle, hoarse voice and a body that takes him in perfectly. You truly were made for him.
The first roll of his hips is meticulously steady in its movement, like he’s holding himself back, caging himself in. He barely pulls out, cool air meeting the slicked skin of his cock before he slides back in with a punctual sway. The simple movement makes you dizzy and numbed, oxygen flying from you, escaping in a soft blissed sigh, and mewls falling from your kiss-bitten lips. It feels euphoric to be split open by him and feel inches of his cock drag along your spongy walls, filled up by him. It’s like you’re ambling in a haze of heat, wandering through the fog of hot shocks of pleasure with his body securely locking you flush to him, and nothing but him in this moment, a satisfying overwhelming indulgence of his scent and touch.
“Oh,” you keen instantly when the tip of his dick delicately, repeatedly nudges that soft, spongy part of your walls. It has you raking your nails down his back, relishing in the presence of him, senses filled with nothing but him. “I love you, Sylus. I love you, s-so much.”
His swift thrust has your words getting caught in your throat, air knocked from your lungs from his punctual movements.
“Yeah? I love you too, I love you, I love you. Fuck— I love you. You were made for me, weren’t you? Made for me to love and cherish, made for me to have you like this?” The words are whispered out, barely heard over the obscene sound of flesh on flesh, wet and intimate.
You can only respond in babbles, murmuring mewls in a symphony of his name. Arms wrapped tightly around his neck and whimpering out your devotion. Heat simmers between your flushed bodies, the only space separating you two is the repetitive cadence of his rolling hips.
The two of you render speechless, allowing the harmony of bodies and reverberation of your shared noises to speak for itself. He pants softly into your ears, groaning sweet nothings at the feeling of your perfect walls hugging tight around his cock. It’s almost painful for him to pull out, instantly missing your sweet heat and that has him diving back in again and again and again, until he feels the aching knot bubbling in his stomach. A familiar and unwelcome feeling that has his cock twitching and pulsing. He doesn’t want to come yet, not without you. Not until you do first.
And as if sensing his dilemma, cock twitching inside your sensitive walls, your hands come up to cup his cheeks. Your lips raise, meeting his in a kiss full of tongue and teeth, messy in all its glory. He isn’t the only one close. Your nerves feel shot, ignited on every expanse of your glistening skin. You want him to cum, you want to come with him.
“Sylus,” you pant against his lips, “Can you— nngh come? I wanna feel you, Sy. Please come, I wanna fe-feel you.”
“Yeah?” He breathlessly chuckles through blissful, broken sighs of your name. “I’ll give it to you. Sh-shit, I’ll give it to you, kitten. I love you, fuck, I love you.”
Your words coax the knot in his stomach to unravel. And with a moan of your name on his lips, he buries himself deep inside you, spilling his warm seed into your fluttering walls. Your fingers card through his hair, gentle pressure guiding him to hide into the crook of your neck, which he eagerly does.
With his head buried in the crook of your neck, fingers rubbing light circles on your clit, and his hip rutting sloppily into your spent pussy, you quickly follow his lead. Your back arches into him, cumming with the sweetest cry of his name on your swollen lips.
Sylus doesn't stop.
Your lover continues to messily thrust up into you, hands gripping the soft flesh of your ass to keep you impossibly closer to his thumping heart. Even with your nails digging into his shoulders, even with your legs trembling around his waist, or the rapid pulsing walls that greedily milk his hot cum into your welcoming womb. Filled, and fucked back into you, over and over and over. He doesn’t stop.
Not until you’re sniffling his name and clinging onto him like it’s your life’s mission. Only then does he slow his pace, peppering kisses up your sweaty sternum until laying one to rest on your sweet lips.
Sylus stops to admire you, an act he performs every day with the utmost importance. His beautiful lover, dressed up for him, flushed the prettiest shade of red because of him, leaking his cum because of their passionate coupling.
“Sylus,” you whisper, the first to break the silence but not the touch.
“Hm?” His answer is soft, taking pleasure in your smell and flesh. The two of you are sweaty but it doesn’t bother him, never if it’s you.
“Happy birthday.” The words are spoken softly, mumbled against his flesh.
His response comes in the form of a soft ‘thank you, my love.’ Words that have your heart warming and cheeks flushing more than they already are. You press your palm to his cheek, cupping his face to pull him into a kiss that devotes your being to him.
He nuzzles into the crevices of your neck, panting softly in the intimate ambiance of his room, soothed by the beating of your heart — a remembrance that you’re here, with him.
It’s no secret that Sylus loves you. No secret that you’re his and he is yours. But in moments like these, just you and him, it feels so much more real, more intimate than anything he could have ever fathomed. Tonight is his day of birth, the first that he’s ever spent with anyone (not just anyone — you) It’s almost terrifying how quickly you’ve assimilated into his life, slotting yourself in because you belong with him — made for him in every way.
And he wouldn’t have it any other way, ruin him if you wish. It’s okay if it’s you.
This year, next year, and many lifetimes to come — he wants it all with you.
synopsis: As an Agriche maid, it's a responsibility and expectation to follow and serve your master, even if that means indulging in the desires and whims of Dion Agriche.
Content. mdni afab + f! reader, master and maid relationship so power imbalance, ngl dubcon if you squint but only bcs it's dion, fingering (f! receiving), edging, overstimulation, dacryphilia (duh it's dion), pussy slapping, choking but it’s like one sentence, vaginal penetration, oral (m! receiving), deepthroating/facefucking, dion bites you and then licks your blood, reader is a little iffy abt dion bcs it's dion, no aftercare bcs dion is dion.
a/n: this is me going back to my roots for the small dion community since i never got over him, and he's the toxic ex i run back to. dw dion i love you though. i tried to do him justice.
Dion Agriche is a kind master.
Somewhat.
Dion Agriche is a kind master when he's not present. It's in your fortune that the coveted son you are assigned to is usually sent away on missions by his father; being Dion's maid is easy when your master, known for being ruthless and bloodthirsty, isn't home for weeks at a time.
It's no secret that Dion's family is, well, insane. The Agriches aren't exactly known for their hospitality or kindness, and it's a trait that Dion has taken in, raised in such an environment, with even harsher rules as the favored son. No warmth or kindness from the man you serve.
To you, Dion is the same way. Cold, ruthless, a predator to prey.
Which is why you don't even quite remember why exactly your little physical relationship with your master came to be. For months, you served as Dion’s maid (who knows why you were even assigned to him), mostly cleaning around the estate because he was never home to even tend to or go through the familiar routine of tidying up his untouched room. But you never would’ve expected Dion to take a sudden interest (if you could even call it that, for interest is far too kind a word) in you that particular day he came home months ago.
Perhaps it was because he came back from a longer mission or because Dion is your master who had the sudden realization that he could torment you all he wanted and you could never retaliate lest you meet your death (probably by his hand), but you distinctly recall that day, a few months ago, greeting him properly and primly as you always had.
Back then, months ago, his hair had grown longer, and his eyes somehow even deader than before, stared down hard at you, an insignificant little thing in his eyes, before he simply walked past you. Typical behavior for the man, as you have come to learn.
That day, diligently, you trailed after him to his room to prepare his bath as you had always done. And somehow, that very same day, you found yourself sat on your master's cock. His cold hands latching to your waist in an iron grip, bouncing your pliable body on top of him, and filling you up full. Hot, thick cock drilling into your gooey walls and your nails raked down his skin, red welts carved in its wake against pale skin.
You remember that evening clearly, since after that, Dion just... left you alone, returning to the normal relationship between master and servant. As if he wasn’t bucking his hips up to meet yours, sloshing water around in his ridiculously large tub, as if his hands didn’t leave bruises on your hips that stained for days, or that he didn’t shoot loads of his sticky cum over your stomach before looking at you expectantly to wash him off.
That day was months ago, and since then, you've found yourself tangled up in the devil's web that comes in the form of Dion Agriche too many times for it to be a fluke or a dream (rather a nightmare) like you once thought it was.
Somehow, your coupling almost becomes routine when he comes home. Undressing him while tension crackles through the dead air, a bath, in that very same tub months before, where your hands explore his scarred skin—feathery, light, almost too delicate to be considered a wash, yet too meek to push further—and then his bold look up and down your body when you dry him off in his room.
A look not even like property, but like a slab of prime meat, searing you alive with a smoldering gaze that injects hot and reluctant shocks of arousal and fear through your veins.
And now, you find yourself in the same position when he has, once again, returned from a successful mission.
Like every other evening, you cleanse the young lord of the iron scent that always seemed to cling to him, toweling him dry before robing him in dark silk as you attempt your best to shrivel into nothing beneath his scorching glare, looking away only to meet his pale and hardened torso that you’ve become quite acquainted with, scarred after years in battle. In his presence, your senses know only him.
“Bed.” He utters, raspy voice cleaving through the tension. Well, adding to it, really.
Like routine, your footsteps are silent as you step away from him. Slow. Steady. Calculated. The air in the chilly room seems to heat and shift with every step that you force yourself to haul, taking utmost care not to trip or stumble. Even with the small distance between your two bodies, Dion’s eyes carefully track your movements, deliberately picking you apart piece by piece as he follows you to the silken bed you made just earlier that morning.
He makes it hard to breathe. Hard to stand still and relax as he presses up behind you, towering over your rigid frame. His breath beats hotly against the helix of your sensitive ear, and it makes you want to turn away. Rough hands easily find the curve of your stiff torso, trailing up and up until his large hands are cupping your breasts through your uniform, lithe and familiar fingers tweaking your nipples through the fabric, pulling and teasing whilst his crimson eyes stare intently down at your contorting features.
Dion Agriche has long decided that he likes watching you squirm.
Like a patient hunter, he enjoys watching your expression warp with the different pressures and textures of his hands. What touches will make you want to buckle and fold? Which sensations he dances onto your flesh will have pearly tears welling up in those eyes of yours until you let them fall? Dion wants to see it all, play the role of some twisted and magnificent conductor that can maestro the symphonies of your body and hear what sounds you can sing.
Now, you wouldn’t say you particularly like Dion Agriche. No, anyone in their right mind with any sense would keep far away from the Agriche lineage, polluted blood and pure venom in their souls, haunted by the dreadful actions of their forefathers and their present misdeeds. You only comply with the pleasure his body provides because he is your master—a collar on your honor and name, a shadow that gropes your future like a toy. You’ve fallen far too deep in his netting to leave now.
So no, you do not like Dion Agriche. Therefore, you should not like how he makes you feel. Which comes to your misfortune, the small, numbingly irritating fact that you do like how he makes you feel.
Some cruel and visceral part of you likes his touch.
The way his rough and calloused hands that've reaped souls glide over your skin, because no matter how high and mighty he reigns, the favored son and sword of his father, Dion Agriche chooses you.
Out of any servant in the estate, any noble or civilian, Dion chooses you to sear his touch into. It’s you he brands and touches. And in a ruthless world that you've been fighting in for the entirety of your seemingly insignificant existence, it makes you feel good. It makes you feel wanted by the untouchable man, riddled in blood and fury, and it numbs you to the reality of life.
While Dion is your collar, he is also your escape.
So, you let him slide his hands around your body, slowly popping the buttons of your dress off. Each button undone is like a sentence, a verdict hanging heavy on the weight of your soul. The articles of clothing slip flimsily off, bare skin exposed to the cold temperature. First, your shoulders, further down to your torso, until your dress bleeds into a pool of black and white at your feet, clad in nothing but undergarments that serve no purpose in hiding you from Dion’s gaze.
The moment is quiet and mechanical. It’s always quiet. You, too wary of making any sudden movements, like any breath too loud or shuddery, will morph you into more of a target than you already are. A mixture of heady fear and arousal settles in your veins because while you may not be pleased that it is Dion who makes you burst with euphoria, you cannot deny his attractiveness, nor can you deny how he makes you feel. And Dion, well, is always quiet.
He's quiet even as he motions you down on his soft sheets with surprising gentleness, the very ones you made this morning before he came back from his mission. It crinkles under your combined weights, his arm coming up beside your head, enclosing you within his presence while he peers down at you, his potent gaze running down your body in a way that makes goosebumps dance along your exposed skin, arousal simmering within your body, settling into the rushing web of blue and red underneath your skin.
His toned torso looms over you as he moves silently, too silently, sitting on his heels as his hands round the tops of your thighs and down under, hooking your legs atop his lap. Though his body is cold, his touch burns, and it makes you gasp, a sound that has his crimson eyes meeting yours. His robe has practically fallen from his body at this point, hanging precariously, one shoulder already exposed to the cold air’s touch whilst the other slipped dangerously yet covered him decently—a mock to your nude state. Tendrils of ebony hair curled lightly downwards with gravity’s embrace, catching the glints of moonlight.
You’ve seen him like this plenty of times, more than you would have liked. Some nights it would be in the bath, his skin glistening with rivulets of water that slither down every scar on his built body while he took you fiercely until the water ran cold and mixed with your tears. Or like now, towering over your supine form, red eyes gleaming with something you can’t pinpoint on his features as his hands meet your skin, calloused touches that slip you completely out of your undergarments.
Either way, it makes searing shocks of concentrated heat melt into your traitorous body like silky nectar.
In this way, Dion finds himself almost amused. Almost. It's a twisted satisfaction that finds gnawing within his chest whenever he has you in this vulnerable position, propped under him and so hesitant to move. He's not sure if you're even aware that you act this way. First, shy. Then, writhing, moaning, and crying from his touch. And while those reactions come as a familiar stranger from others, he finds it subtly different when he wrenches it out of your body.
He's had people quiver before him many times: his own family, his targets, monsters, and humans alike. But it's a distinct pleasure with you. He doesn't dwell on it. Dion Agriche never dwells on anything; he wants it, he takes it. The same way he takes you, because he wants you. He discovers some mangled beast in him when tears bead at your eyes, finds his lips curling upwards when those pearly tears of pained pleasure fall down ruddy cheeks.
"You've done this quite a lot," his voice breaks through your senses in a stoic murmur, "Yet, you quiver every time."
His words pull a grimace from you, shame oozing from every one of your pores when you look away.
His touch traverses down the planes of your body, cold hands slipping into the wet fabric of your panties, pulling the clothing off before his hardened glare finds your spread cunt. Soft, soaked, silky with arousal. You’re perched so meekly on his lap, legs stretched out and face flushed with that coyly shy expression he just can’t put a finger on. The contrast presents itself starkly, registering briefly in his mind. You, with your legs splayed on his in a lewdish manner, yet your expressions quiver and shake, unable to even look at him.
Not that he cares much. It's better for him, really. Makes it more enjoyable to see you lose yourself when buried in your contorted emotions wiggling inside you.
Dion lets his thumb glide along your slit, dragging his calloused digit slowly through, taking in the way your slick gathers on the finger, catching on your achy clit before he presses down, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves just to see how your back domes off his sheets. With his other hand, his lithe fingers tweak your nipple harshly, such contrasting pleasure has you crying out a meek noise—half mewl and half gasp.
The quiet sound sends a tremble of delight over his body, and it triggers him to repeat the action again and again. It pleases him immensely when you respond, gasping like a frail doe, eyes squinting shut when his thumb rolls your sensitive clit.
One body, writhing in the moonlight. Another, gazing down with such intensity, crimson eyes burning into squirming flesh.
His thumb eventually drops from your raw clit, earning a soft cry from you that trails into a desperate gasp as his middle finger prods at your tight heat, breaching the resistance. Slow. Slow. Slow. Almost gentle, even though it’s anything but. Slow enough that you can feel every thick inch that invades your sensitive walls, stretching you full. Slow enough so Dion can etch every contortion of your face into his memory.
He goes steadily, almost gently. Not for you, but for him. Gods, it almost makes you wish he’d go faster, just to get it over with, maybe it wouldn’t make you feel so good. But it does, it feels so horrendously good.
Your pussy is so wet for him. Silky and soft like you’ll melt in the watchful moonlight, ice under the blazing sun, he finds that he wants to grope and squeeze and knead your body until you’re disintegrated into nothing but a mess of tears and soft cries. Within his chest, a black pit of nothingness, he likes feeling you like this, molding you from the inside out. Vocal cords tightened with his title hung on your lips as he adds in yet another finger. Too full.
Just earlier, you were so hesitant to even look at him, tense like a doe caught in headlights. Now, you’re twitching with every smooth pump of his thick fingers in your gummy walls, thumb back on your sticky clit as he intently watches you convulse under his touch.
Your cries and moans fill the air, thighs threatening to shut around his hands, back arching off the bed; into his hand, away from his hand—you can’t even tell anymore. Anything to stop the overwhelming pleasure that suspends you in the hazy mist of want and need. God, it’s just too much. It’s too much, too fast, too stimulating, and you can’t do anything but take it. His fingers are long and thick, filling you up so well. Cunt weeping in obscene squelches every time his digits go in knuckles deep, erotic webs of slick cling to the heel of his palm as it meets your clit in wet plaps.
"You're crying," Dion states with the slightest curl of his lips, his words barely audible over the filthy sound of flesh on flesh. "You're crying, but you’re enjoying it. Enjoying it so much that you’re about to cum, no?”
An enigma, Dion thinks. He knows you’re feeling good, really good. With the slick dripping down his wrist and the tips of his digits repeatedly kissing that spongy spot in you that makes you keen, he knows well what he’s doing. Velvety walls flutter sensitively around his fingers; he knows you’re close. Mouth open in pleasured cries, body tensing and twitching under his onslaught of pleasure, it’s like you’re trying to run away, yet your own hips pump sloppily over his fingers. And your tears… pretty rivulets of ecstasy slipping down ruddy cheeks.
It makes his cock hard, bobbing free against his toned stomach, leaking. More. He wants more from you.
His fingers curl just right, pressing against that sensitive spot in your pussy. It hurls you towards your orgasm, pressure building and coiling deep in your lower organs. Dion’s digits thread you right on the precipice of delight that simmers in your rushing veins. You're close. So, so devastatingly close with your features scrunched, droplets of pleasure dripping from your pretty eyes and onto the pillow, his title falling from your lips in hoarse, broken pants.
Until you’re not.
His hand suddenly retreats from your core with a sob from you. The loss of the satiety sensation of his fingers leaves behind an agonizing emptiness that futility claws your orgasm back. It tears a cry from your throat, barely recognizable to even yourself. You're left pathetically yearning, aching for more, and you’ve been mercilessly cut from the mesh of pleasure by a man with too much power over you, extinguishing the flames of ecstasy rushing in your ears.
"M-my lord...” You hear yourself whimper out, hips jerking in retaliation of the sudden denial, thighs attempting to flutter shut around his hand (though you don't prevail). "Please... Why?"
Amidst your helpless babbles, you brave a look at the man whose palm your pleasure resides in.
And illuminated by the aching gleam of the silver, watchful moon, crimson eyes shining with what you can only identify as amusement, he answers with a smile. Dion Agriche’s lips curl into a damned smile, blessed by divine sin incarnated into whatever soul harbors his body.
Bastard. The thought runs briefly through your mind at his expression. Beautiful bastard.
"You give reactions such as these," he muses quietly, swiping a wet thumb past the rivulet of pleasure slipping from your lachrymose eyes, thumb no doubt slick with your arousal, "it puts me in a good mood."
His words do nothing to soothe the raging plea in your body. As if such condescending speech could comfort something so cruelly stolen.
You can only haphazardly imagine what goes through his mind, how you must look to him. You feel ruined, and you’re sure you must look it too. Clit throbbing, pussy clenching around the gaping emptiness of your core, and the orgasm that was so close, slipping away. Your cheeks feel wet, whether with sweat or tears, you can't tell.
What you don't expect, though, is for Dion to lean in, pushing even deeper into your space, his tongue simultaneously darting out to lave at the streaks of salty tears, adding to the dampness pooled on the apples of your cheeks. It’s sudden. Hot and warm and smooth is the sensation of Dion’s tongue on the corners of your eyes, how they mop up the wetness of pleasure and frustration like he isn’t the one inflicting such onto you.
And it’d be almost comforting, almost gentle. Almost. If he weren’t doing it for himself. Cleaning you up only to ruin you again.
Dion’s smile remains on his lips as his middle finger taps gently against your honeyed folds, eliciting a light whine from your lips, swollen from your own incisors. His large hands easily part your cunt once more, index finger tapping lightly against your clit, feeling the little pulse in your hypersensitive bundle of nerves respond to him. His eyes never leave your face. Ever watchful, ever overbearing. Just the slightest touch and he can tell how your climax trembles through your bones again, rising steadily through frayed nerves.
Your pulse races under his palm. So alive, so very alive with a heartbeat that jumps and quivers in time with the jerk of your desperate hips, eagerly meeting his fingers that dance along your clit. Open-mouthed moans that trail into a surprised gasp when he suddenly delivers consecutive smacks on the soaking folds of your sex.
A sharp yelp leaves your lips at the stinging contact, simmering into pleasure when the sensation seeps deep into your pounding veins. Despite your whimpering cries, Dion doesn't let up. He spanks your pussy again, once, twice, a third time for good measure as you sob. Tears stream down your face, merging into fat globs and flowing in heavy currents, distorting your vision while you tuck your head away into his ruined pillows (you’ll have to wash them tomorrow). From the overwhelming sensations, the denial, Dion’s piercing gaze and amused smile… it all hurls your traitorous body back to the precipice of pleasure.
“Please…” You sob, “Please, please, please… give it to me, please.”
Mind muddled into a tensed pool of desire and need, body taut with the promise of release, you barely make out the widening of Dion’s smile. Only his presence invades your muddled perception of the world, narrowed down to only him, a hot overindulgence of a man enjoying your misery. You feel his slick tongue sliding up your cheeks, hand wrapping around your throat with the lightest squeeze to make your whimper dwindle in hoarse, broken whines. Thankfully, he doesn't stop.
It’s one sloppy slap to your raw clit that sends you hurling over the edge. The impact makes the tight knot in your belly coil and crease over itself, winding tight until your body quakes and folds with exaltation. Helplessly, you wither away from Dion’s touch, scampering to the pillow to bury yourself from the euphoria, which he, surprisingly, lets you do with a riveted grin. The intense climax blurs with what you think registers as over-sensitive pain, crawling in a haze of ecstasy and into the void of hot shocks of pleasure which linger through frazzled neurons.
Your limbs fall lax as the seconds, or minutes, or hours pass by; honestly, you can't even tell. Time seems to stand frozen as your body recovers as best as it can, but it's Dion nudging your legs apart once more that brings you back to reality.
“Wa-wait, my lord—”
“Don’t.” His cold voice suddenly slices off your sentence, no words for anything else. “We both know what you want, and we know how this ends. No need to delay.”
His quip words are sharp, rendering you hushed as he makes himself at home between your thighs once more. His hands find your knees, and there’s a quick passing thought pressing into your head to instinctively squirm away despite knowing it’ll do nothing. You fight the urge, choosing to lie compliant as he opens your legs, encasing himself between the empty space, and allowing the cool air to kiss the dripping folds of your pussy as well as the drying tears on your cheeks.
Your eyes follow his other hand, watching it wander down his body until his lithe fingers fold around the thick girth of his cock. You've seen it before, had it inside you on multiple occasions, but, as always, there's a biting anxiety eating at your mind. Just the sheer size and look makes you think it’ll break you. It’s heavy in his hand and dribbling more beads of pre that roll down the course of veins along the underside with every slow drag of his large palm.
“Stay still.” He murmurs, hands in an iron grip on your hips as he pulls you closer.
Your breath hitches when his leaky tip notches against the rim of your entrance.
He doesn't give you time to process the swiftness of his movements, pulling your legs over his shoulder, and swaying his length into your heat in a single snap of his hips. The sudden stretch makes you hiss and squirm, nails digging into the poor pillow's flesh as your velvety walls part way for the burning intrusion, body coiling up as he sinks his cock all the way down to the hilt.
"Oh, fuck..." You moan out loud, sounds of pleasure when the blunt crown of Dion's cock kisses that sweet spot inside you, flickers of white bursting behind your watery lids because you swear, you swear he tries to fuck a hole through you. All of a sudden, it's like your last orgasm comes creeping back through hypersensitive nerves and blends into an intoxicating puddle of lust, festering in your blood.
The full feeling of him sits deep in the well of your gut, earning a myriad of whines and pitiful babbles from you into the sizzling air. It's not the first time you've taken him in so deeply, hell, you've had him stretching the flesh of your mouth too, but he makes sure the sting of his bulging veins squishing into your cunt is one you never grow used to. His hips sit snug against your thigh's underside, balls resting on the curve of your ass. Filthy slick mixing with filthy slick, a low, raspy groan crawling from the depths of his throat when he looks down at the mixture of expressions flitting over your face, and he feels something deep unfurl and condense tight in his gut.
His hips begin moving before you can fully adjust, pushing somehow deeper before swiftly pulling back with a smooth sway of his hips, barely pulling out before he plunges right back in. The large bed underneath you two groans in protest, falling in time with every lunge of his cock as he fucks brutally into your sopping sex, intent on pulling out more tears, more cries, more of anything he can carve out. Skin on skin colliding in loud slaps of wet flesh that reverberate throughout the chambers, melding incomprehensibly with the loud moans and sobs of your own voice. Dion Agriches fucks mean.
"Look at you." He groans out, his low voice barely audible over the obscene sounds of your bodies mingling passionately. "You're crying again, for what?”
Just to prove a point, his hand snakes between your two bodies, swiping a finger over your sensitive clit, relishing in the way your stuffed pussy flutters in reply, and your eyes squeeze out more tears. How could he stop when you give him such responses? He's had many people cry before him—from pain, for mercy, love. But none quite so as you, who always seems to cry so pitifully when he hooks your legs over his shoulders, digits digging deep into the plush flesh of your thighs, mounting himself above your body and stuffing you so deeply that you can feel him fucking the air out of your lungs.
Gazing up at him from below, through teary eyes, Dion is… certainly a sight. Sweaty and flushed, the lightest pink on his pale skin.
For a man used to long endurance and stamina, he pants softly into the air, beads of sweat building on his dark, furrowed brows. Quiet and heavy groans fly from his throat to blend with the cacophony of wetness and heated pleasure. Ruby red eyes keep trained on your pinched features as he releases your straining legs from their throne atop his shoulders, letting you drop the aching muscles to his waist, where you curl your legs instinctively, pulling him impossibly closer.
Slick oozes out from the squelching seam of your pussy, coating his thick cock as he bends himself over your body. One strong arm serves as a pedestal beside your head to support him while he covers your sweaty torso with his, leaning down to run his hot tongue over the bands of briny tears. The proximity makes it so you feel his feverish body, though, he doesn’t touch you, only his slimy, scorching muscle licks up the pillar of your slickened neck that tears trickle down, tasting the evidence of pleasure whilst you turn and twist away from him, body wrecked with fiendish bliss.
And Dion doesn’t really care. Doesn’t really care that you seem so keen on trying to act like he isn’t the one making you feel good. Doesn’t really care that you try to squirm away, even though your body betrays you with fervid hips bucking to meet his and tears that sprout from euphoria blooming in your brain. It only makes him harder, makes him fuck you faster into the mattress until he can feel the familiar flutter of your walls mouthing and milking at his shaft. You’re close, really close.
His cock just feels so thick and filling in your walls, lewd and obscene and hot. God, you’re close, so close. So close and you can only hope he doesn’t deny you of it. Warm tears and syrupy thighs meeting sweaty flesh in loud, resonating claps of detached passion. You’re close, you want to come, bad. You need to come, desperately.
“Dion, please! I need it, don’t stop! Please, gods, please don’t stop!” You wail out, not caring any about propriety or titles at the moment of tipping release. Your nails carve into the muscle of his built forearm, drawing blood that neither you nor he seems to care about, both chasing after the rapid unraveling in your organs.
A sharp pain in your neck is what sends you over the edge. The piercing of his canines through the tender skin of your throat, pointed pain dissipating into bliss, and the roll of his tongue collecting orbs of your life’s essence make you shake. It’s all too much upon the onslaught of your body, and you come with a shuddering cry of his name. The pleasure ripples and expands across your body, the light flaring behind shut lids and the sound spewing forth, dunking your senses in an ocean of ecstasy.
In the midst of rolling waves of euphoria, you hear what sounds like Dion’s voice, muffled like cotton pushed into your ears. For a moment, you see Dion, smiling like the goddamned devil. You feel him still pistoning into you, the sudden overwhelming and prickly sense of over-sensitivity seizing your body when you realize he isn’t stopping. Determined to reach his own end and perhaps end you in the process.
Dion's rocking maintains its pace, pushing deep into you without slowing down. Your attempts to squirm and crawl and retreat from the overstimulation are pathetic, only causing the intensity to escalate as you catch a breathless whisper of what sounds like Dion’s remark about your pitiful sniffling. Pleasure seeps and swirls with the biting, sensitive ache of your spent body, voice hitched, caught in your throat and gasping out at the overtake of that delicious pressure. Caught in the torrent of his punishing hips, you can only sob his name and take what your uncaring master so generously gives.
In the overwhelming barrage of sensory overload, you cry out Dion’s name, mingling with whimpers and moans that are sure to leave your throat sore tomorrow. Unfazed by the flurry and babbling of your noises and sensitivity, Dion profusely continues with his deep strokes, sprinting for his own climax. His powerful strokes make you tremble furiously underneath him, silver drops of liquid pleasure and sensitivity slipping from your eyes and onto his pillows.
It’s not enough, not enough for him.
And in a single motion of his hips, Dion pulls out, leaving you gasping for air from the sudden loss of fullness. But you don’t have time to even think about the aching emptiness as his hand finds the nape of your neck, practically scruffing you and pulling your trembling, limp body onto your hands and knees, ultimately coming face to face with his raging cock. Still hard. Still aching. Still throbbing.
The man doesn’t think twice before pushing the head of his member past the barrier of your lips, groaning lowly when he slides into your warm cheeks, moist and slick, molding your throat to the ridges of his dick.
You taste yourself on his shaft, your arousal, your cum, and his all swirling together in the tightness of your throat, stretched wide to fit him all the way down to the thick base. His hand buries into the tendrils of your hair, pushing you down until your nose smushes against his pelvis and the blunt head of his cock tingles against the back of your throat. Too big, too wide for your poor mouth, that it makes you want to gag, choke at the sudden intrusion, despite having been in this position before. Though you try to accommodate its thick girth, letting your jaw fall slack as much as possible, there’s a familiar ache that forms when he begins to move, humping his hips against your slobbering mouth, thick webs of spittle connecting him to your swollen lips.
He pounds away at your raw, moaning throat, hot groans escaping him as fucks and fucks and fucks, sharp snaps of his hips like he’s fucking your pussy. For a moment, Dion turns his ruby gaze downward, cursing under his breath at the sight of your sloppy maw stretched wide and tears dripping down your stuffed cheeks, escaping down to the pillar of your bitten neck. Mouth full of cock and eyes full of tears; Dion doesn’t keep pets, but for a moment, he might just consider it now.
And Dion never loses control. But as the corners of his vision pulse a static white while he ruts into your mouth, he finds that his hips buck uncontrollably, veins pulsing frenziedly against the slope of your tongue, each sway of his hips pumping liquid bliss through his limbs as he chases to unfurl the tight gnarl sitting in the pit of his stomach.
You feel it before you can rationalize it (if you could rationalize anything now). Thick and hot torrent of salty bitterness floods your throat, gooey ropes of cum sliding down your esophagus that makes your watery eyes squeeze shut, trying your best to breathe through your nose while your master’s hand collars you down to the base of his throbbing length. You want to gag, to cough up at the globs of semen and the pulsing veins that match the cadence in his heart, thumping on your wet muscle (much too slow, almost inhuman, for someone who was panting and shooting ribbons of semen down your throat, but it’s Dion, so you don’t question).
His voice is strangled from above you, a series of curses leaving as the last few spasms of bliss tear through him, and it feels as if the moment stretches out indefinitely, his body winded like a taut string and heaving, release seemingly endless, shuddering gasps rattling his ribcage.
He keeps you against his cock for a few seconds longer, just watching you from above. It’s always his preferred sight of you, even more than when he has you bent over yourself or crying from his touch. He observes you intently, vermillion eyes trained on your mouth and clumped lashes before he speaks, voice raw and strained.
“Look at me.”
You do.
You look up at him through blurry eyes, making out his tall figure and familiar crimson irises, light-headed, half from exhaustion and half from a lack of oxygen. Your sore throat milks his cock as a reflex of trying to force out the thick appendage in vain before he finally, finally releases you with a slick ‘pop’, granting sweet permission to pull your mouth off, salacious strings of saliva, cum, and everything else still attaching your lips to the shaft.
Your lungs expand in your ribs, intaking heaps of needed oxygen, eyes fluttering shut as your hands wipe the mix of slimy liquid off your mouth. It’s sore, everything is sore and wet and sticky. Your body trembles, jaw aching, and cunt spent. The sensation of his rough thumb swiping the last stray ribbons of tears down your cheek is felt before he backs off completely, letting you sit back limply on his bed.
Dion spares you a final look beneath the sweaty mop of raven hair, deep pools of crimson blood bear into you, another devilishly stoic yet ethereal smile of condescending amusement, akin to a predator full from prey, standing to reach for his discarded robe and speaking as he slips it on like he hadn’t just fucked you within an inch of your life.
“Draw another bath.” He murmurs, walking away into the deeper shadows of his chambers.
Indeed, you think, tuckered and shriveled on his bed, your eyes trailing after his blurry figure, Dion Agriche is a cruel master.
just something small for my boy, a late valentine's day gift
Content. mdni afab + f! reader, unprotected sex, oral (f! receiving), swearing, ig angst if u squint, caleb finishes in reader, L-word drop, he does call you pipsqueak im sorry, slight spoiler for 'verified rumor' memory
fake boyfriend! caleb who calls you up one day, asking you to come to skyhaven for a teeny-tiny favor that only you can help him with.
fake boyfriend! caleb who tells you he'll do anything for you if you pretend to be his fake girlfriend because there are too many people interested in him and he doesn't want any of them (he's only wants you)
fake boyfriend! caleb who says this is a "win win" situation. He gets to fend off his admirers (prove that you belong to him) and you get some needed relationship experience in. Of course, it's all fake and there aren't any feelings at all — besides, you two grew up together and this is a normal thing, right?
fake boyfriend! caleb who is just so charismatic and falls perfectly in place as a boyfriend, your boyfriend. It's almost like he's made for you (he is)
fake boyfriend! caleb who introduces you as his needy girlfriend, with an arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush to his warm, toned torso. The way he so easily takes on the role is absurd, the way he easily introduces you as his girlfriend sends your mind reeling but it feels so... right. It feels right in a way that causes your cheeks to burn and chest to tighten.
fake boyfriend! caleb who looks at you so fondly whenever you're interacting with one of his friends, telling them stories of how you and him 'met.' He feels his heart swell with so much love and he wants to kiss you until with lungs cripple and lips sore. It's even worse because you fill the role perfectly (you're made to be his) it only makes his pants tighter and the apples of his cheeks red.
fake boyfriend! caleb who keeps the act up even when his admirers die down and he isn't so bombarded with love letters and lunchboxes anymore. He keeps up the act long after you leave skyhaven, even carrying it over when he visits you in linkon, taking his precious girl out on dates and spending long nights at your apartment. You don’t even realize how cemented he is in your life, how your heart beats just a little faster when he nears you, placing a braised chicken wing on your plate or when he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
fake boyfriend! caleb who starts to feel a little less like a fake boyfriend and more like a real one. It begins to feel so much more real when you catch your heart stuttering in your chest, when you catch him gazing fondly at you, when you sleep in the same bed because you’ve begun to feel bad for making him sleep on the couch. It’s so much more real when you realize how easily he slots himself in your life, how routine it is that you don’t even have to change anything because he’s always been there. He’s always been there for you.
fake boyfriend! caleb who, once again, spends another night at your apartment. He’s in your bed this time, lying next to you as you use his arm as a pillow. His soothing fingers pat down your hair, your own trailing down his chest before resting on the expanse of flesh where his collar meets his jaw. It’s then you become alarmingly aware of the proximity, the shared breaths, and the intoxicating space between your bodies. You’re so close that you can count every speck of stars in his violet hues.
fake boyfriend! caleb who lets silence marinate between you two, neither wanting to break the thin veil that masks your relationship, whatever it is or whatever you want it to be. But he's the first to turn away, breaking the hypnotizing eye contact with you. He turns his face to bury in the soft pillow, ears, and cheeks flushed the same shade as his favorite asiatic apples. His voice comes out in the muffled murmur, you’d be unable to hear if you two weren’t so close.
“It’s late. You should get some rest, pipsqueak.”
A light scoff leaves your lips and disappointment stirs in your heart. You aren’t sure what drives you to surge forward, fingers fisting into the blue cotton of his shirt, pulling him towards you, and mushing your lips together. It’s messy and forceful but you’ll swear it isn’t your fault — it’s all because of Caleb. Everything is because of him.
You seal your lips together, spurred by sudden want and need, heat surges through your veins, fogging all logic in your fuzzy mind. The kiss is longer than it should be, a minute, two, or three until all the air crawls away and leaves your lungs crippling and aching for air.
And then, you breathlessly pull away. Out of breath like you’ve climbed to the top of the highest mountain, you think it might be similar to how you’re feeling right now. A familiar heat pools in your lower stomach when you brave to see the state Caleb is in.
fake boyfriend! caleb who’s eyes are half-lidded, lips swollen, and a heavy blush settled onto his pale flesh. His lavender eyes hold swirls of yearning and want, mirroring your own. Shared breaths and heated air are stifled between you and the pilot before he pushes forward, connecting your lips again with a needy groan that's greedily swallowed.
fake boyfriend! caleb who hovers over you, violet eyes boring into your soul. His hot breath beats against your cheeks, a quiet groan escaping his pretty lips when he buries his face into the crook of your neck, and it takes everything in him not to mark you up, to claim you.
“Did you mean to do that? Did you mean to kiss me?” His voice is soaked in desperation and he’s completely and utterly entranced by you. The pretty, sweet, stubborn girl from his childhood. The girl he’s watched grow up into the woman under him, the woman who has clawed into his heart, making a home of him.
fake boyfriend! caleb who loses his mind once he sees you nod your pretty head, teeth biting down on the plush of your lower lip. His body feels numbingly hot, the air is stifling, and his pants are suddenly too tight. He isn’t close enough, he wants — needs — to be closer. He wants to settle into your body, carve himself into your heart, meld his soul with yours. He wants whatever bone you’re willing to throw his way.
fake boyfriend! caleb who strips the two of you out of your sleepwear and in an instant, his lips are on yours. The kiss is in no way tranquil or soft, it’s greedy and messy, and downright sinful, pushing his tongue in your mouth and completely disregarding the mixed saliva that drools down the side of your mouths. He takes in all of you as he feverishly kisses his way down your body, biting and suckling at any glimpse of skin he can reach.
fake boyfriend! caleb who lavishes wet kisses from your breast and down to the navel of your body, fingers curling at the edge of your panties, inching the fabric down once he settles between your thighs. An audible groan is ripped from his throat when he sees how soaked you are, the fabric sticks to your skin as it’s peeled off with strings of your wetness clinging to the thin fabric. A wave of embarrassment washes over you when he comes face to face with the most intimate part of you and it’s better than any fantasy he’s ever had.
“Fuck, pipsqueak… you’re so soaked.” His voice comes out as a raspy cadence of love, eagerly pressing his nose to the wet material of your panties, taking in your scent.
fake boyfriend! caleb who suckles sloppy, dark hickies into the plush fat of your inner thighs, working his way up to your core. Bruises bloom across the expanse of your skin, trailing wherever his lips find purchase on you. You’re aching now, desperate for him to devour you but helplessly watching him litter his love on your thighs. Your fingers thread into his dark locks, pulling him closer with a soft whine.
“Caleb, please…” You can hardly recognize your own voice, whiny and needy for his lavish attention. “Please don’t tease.”
fake boyfriend! caleb who chuckles softly and abides by your sweet pleas. His soft, wet tongue makes contact with your soft folds, laving the wet muscle over your throbbing clit, groaning like a starved man at your sweet taste. It's better than he could've ever imagined. Spurred by the delicate harmony of your moans, he devotes himself to pleasuring you, intently watching your expressions with great care. He wants to know everything— what colors you blush, what makes your toes curl, he wants your fingers pulling at his hair, and whining his name like a prayer.
fake boyfriend! caleb who makes you cum alarmingly quick when he pushes two fingers into your sopping hole, stretching out his pretty girl. He watches his fingers piston in and out of your squelching hole, enamored with the way your cunt sucks him in like a black hole. Your cunt spasms around his digits, velvety walls fluttering around his fingers as your orgasm washes over you.
"You're so cute, pipsqueak. So, so cute." He coos, pressing light kisses to your throbbing bundle of nerves before smearing his fingers, covered in your release, across your lips.
fake boyfriend! caleb who asks for consent (he would never want to make you uncomfortable) before pulling out his cock. Your jaw falls slack when you see his pulsing length. He's big and thick with one prominent vein running on the underside and pearly beads of pre-cum dribbling from his tip. For a moment you wonder what it would feel like if it pulsed on your tongue, how it would feel to have him shooting ropes of cum into your womb. 'I'm screwed,' you think to yourself but your body opposes and your core aches to be filled again.
fake boyfriend! caleb who thinks he's just ascended above skyhaven when his tip notches against your entrance.
"Oh, fuck—" His forehead falls onto your shoulder, a series of whines and pleas falls from his lips, feverishly pressing kisses onto your skin, anything to make him last a little longer as he pushes inch by inch into the velvety walls of your tight cunt.
fake boyfriend! caleb who watches your eyes roll back when he finally bottoms out, balls resting against the soft curve of your ass. He takes a moment to admire your pretty frame, the sweat glistening on your chest, heavy breaths that leave your tits heaving, and the dull pain of your nails leaving crescent shapes in the meat of his biceps. Caleb doesn't think he can ever let you go.
"I love you. Fuck, I love you." The words fall from his lips like a mantra as he fucks you, folding your knees onto his shoulder. His cock splits you open, pressing and abusing your g-spot every time his hips meet yours. The room quickly fills with the harmony of desperate whines and moans, littered with I love you's that're quickly engulfed in messy, hurried kisses.
fake boyfriend! caleb who cums with you when you whisper your confession into his ear, like a little secret between the two of you. His hips stutter and he's suddenly shooting hot, white ropes of cum into your fluttering pussy, milking him dry and filling you up.
fake boyfriend! caleb who collapses onto you, wrapping you up in his toned arms and pulling you close to his warm body, pressing soothing kisses to your temple, cheeks, nose, and finally onto your lips.
"I love you," he confesses. His words are hushed and speak of the longing and teetering of the line that the two of you hesitated to cross for years.
"I love you too," you reply, pressing a trail of gentle kisses along his jaw as your fingers intertwine with his. Your body feels sore and full, heart content, and so, so loved.
He presses his lips to yours once again, smiling gently before soothing you to sleep. He'll always be by your side, no matter what happens. He'll be right there.
lovesick! caleb who... loves you a little more than you realize.
