Im Here For A Good Time Not Long Time 🤪

What can I say , I like what I like She/Her 23

[amaranthinespirit]

pt. 1

it had been a long, hard day at the office. your feet were killing you, your back ached, and to top it off, your—male—coworkers were being misogynistic, cruel assholes. what was new?

the blissful silence of your apartment called your name. simon, your roommate, was gone on a mission. you weren't sure when he'd be back, but it allowed you to do whatever you wanted. blast music during weekends, lounge on the couch with your feet propped up on the coffee table (simon hated it when you did that), or walk around naked.

that last one especially.

you fumbled with your keys before managing to stick them in the doorknob, twisting and granting access to your living space. a wave of relief washed over you when you pushed the door open, threw your keys in the bowl by the front door, and kicked off those stupid heels you swore every time you'd never wear again.

making your way to the kitchen in search of the toy you put in the dishwasher that morning, you were desperate for some stress relief, and you knew just the way to do it. a warm bath, salts and essential oils with candles and music, and your perfectly sizeable dildo you, more often than not, pretended was your roommates. (its not your fault he gets you hot and bothered).

problems arose when you opened the dishwasher and found the rack empty. your heart sank, checking the bottom in case it fell. no luck.

"lookin' for sum'thin?"

you yelped in surprise, stumbling backwards into the counter whenever you whipped around towards the familiar, gruff voice. amusement obvious in his tone.

simon. he's back.

tall, clad only in a towel around his brute hips, he's leaned against the back of the couch.

and your glittery pink dildo is in his hands looking measly.

"give that back!" red, hot embarrassment flushed your face, and you stomped your way to him. fists clenched at your side as you refuse to meet his eye. that dildo had been inside you—numerous times—and not to mention, it was his name that fell from your lips as you stretched yourself open on that toy, and he's holding it.

god, how fucking humiliated could you get?

simon chuckled, the sound a deep, mocking rumble in his chest as he held it out of reach. "did ya leave tha' surprise in the dishwasher f'me on purpose?" he twisted it in his hands, inspecting the detailed replica of a dick. "this yer way of insulatin' you want m'cock to replace it?"

you bite down on your tongue, hoping to hide how your face reddens further. because yes, you do want his cock instead of that—sad—excuse of a sex toy (you convinced yourself it was big enough for you).

"no!" you sputtered out in denial instead, refusing to admit to your roommate you get off to the thought of him taking you.

"y'sure? awfully red, bird."

you nod.

his eyes narrowed, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he looked you over. "nah, use y'words." the order sent flutters over your entire body, already feeling the results of his authority.

your resolve weakens. you couldn't trust the words to come out of your mouth, but simon was a man of patience. he was military, it was his job to wait, to strike when the time is right. you couldn't wait him out to leave you alone on this topic, and the longer you denied it, the more he was going to press.

which is how you ended up on the coffee table, cowgirl style with the pink, glittery dildo suctioned to the material and stuffed into your pussy. your hips moved up and down with uneven thrusts, faltering to keep your balance due to the embarrassment.

simon sat across from you with widespread legs, not bothering to hide the massive tent under the towel he still wore. eyes glued to where your pussy glistens with how wet you are, soaking your thighs and the toy to the point where lube isn't needed. soft squelches and breathy moans fill the air.

your legs burn with the movement, trembling as you struggle to stay upright. you didn't want to resort to begging, but what choice did you have? simon was devouring you with his eyes allow—pupils blown wide and hand adjusting his cock every few seconds. his breathings gone heavy, and a soft, red flush coats the pale skin of his chest.

"simon..." you cringed at how warbled your voice sounded. "please."

his brows lifted in interest. "please wot, luv?" he teased, the crease in his eyes betraying the smirk under his balaclava. "use yer big girl words."

humiliation burned through you, but you already lost your dignity by fucking dildo on the coffee table like sort some of debauched stage with a one member audience. how could it get any worse when you asked him to fuck you?

"please, fuck me." you pleaded, hot tears welling in the bottom of your eyes. a thin layer of sweat coated your skin, and your hair was already sticking to yourself.

his amusement grew more obvious with the smugness in his tone when he asked, "with what, dove?"

internally, you groaned. this smug bastard was going to be the dead of you, and you have a mind to toss the dildo towards his face—and knowing simon, he'd like it.

"your cock. fuck me with your cock." with the words went the last of your decency but seeing simon move from his spot of the couch made your heart pound in your chest and relief to wash over you again.

a yelp escaped you when he ripped you off the dildo, tossing it across the room, where it most likely caused a dent that would be hard to explain to the landlord, and flipped you around faster than you could process.

his towel must've fallen off in that whole debacle because within a second, the head of his thick cock was pressed against your weeping entrance. desperate to be filled, your hips pushed back, earning you a hiss and a slap to the ass before he gave in to exactly what you wanted.

simon wasn't sweet about it. he was rough and callous, shoving the entirety of his lengthy, meaty dick into your pussy, forcing your walls to accommodate the thick girth. it burned in a delicious stretch, pain mixing with pleasure as he offered you no reprieve.

he was brutal with his thrusts, keeping you flat against the table with a large hand between your shoulder blades. the head of his cock brushed your cervix with every thrust, knocking the breath from your lungs every time with a strangled screech. his free hand clamped over your mouth, doing a poor job to muffle you, but it'd have to do.

"can't be havin' noise complaints, bird." he grunted, only pounding you with his cock harder as he hit a spot you didn't know could be reached.

simon's cock was obviously much larger—in girth and length—than your toy, offering a pleasure you had never known before. you felt so full, so complete as your mind became blissed out and numb.

after the first orgasm, the rest passed with a blur. each one mounted a new level of haziness to your conscience, the only thing able to leave your mouth was, "simon," and the only thing you could feel was him. his heavy cock, balls slapping against you, hands roaming everywhere he could reach—before landing one on your throat and the other on your clit.

your legs twitched and tingled, drool leaking from your lips whenever he had finally stilled inside you, spilling thick, pearly cum deep in your cunt with a throaty groan and a soft, "fuck, such'a good cunt. all mine, yeah?"

when he pulled out, you winced, sensitive beyond belief. your body thrummed with weariness and lingering need. his cum leaked from your pussy, and simon spread your cheeks just to watch it drip.

"fuckin' gorgeous." he grunted before standing.

wait, what? where was he going? you lifted your head with confusion, your vision still struggling to focus because he fucked you stupid.

was he just leaving you there?

a large hand pushed your head back against the coffee table. "stay. i'm gettin' a towel." it shouldn't have, but your heart warmed. he was staying, and that was all you wanted.

in the short time it took him to gather a damp towel for a basic clean up, your sight returned to normal, and you only realized now that the coffee table was not in its original spot. instead, it lay—rug dragged with it—nearly against the wall below the tv.

jesus. he had fucked you across the room, and the only thing you could think about is how you wanted more—with the way simon looked at you when he cleaned you up and took care of you, you didn't doubt he would provide.

[qqchurch]

[cumchiato]

୨୧ — “Hey.” Valko's voice is rough, scratchy, but he's trying for lightness, “You still in there, sweetheart? Or did I fuck you into another dimension?”

“Mmm.”

It's the only response you can manage. Your brain is still offline, your thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm. You feel boneless, liquid, like someone has scooped out your insides and replaced them with warm honey.

“M’good,” you finally manage, the words slurring together, “‘M’really... really good.”

A soft huff escapes him- almost a laugh, edged with disbelief. Valko's palm cups your cheek, thumb brushing a tear track, smearing salt and sweat- and then he really looks at you.

His golden eyes travel slowly down your body.

The bruises blooming on your hips. The red marks circling your wrists. Your cum smeared thighs, your puffy, fucked out hole still weeping his seed onto the already ruined sheets, cunt gaped and swollen from his knot. Body absolutely limp against the mattress, trembling faintly with aftershocks…

The playful smile on his face... falters.

“I…” He swallows hard. His hand hovers over the finger shaped bruises on your hip, not quite touching, like he's afraid to cause more damage. “...I lost control again.”

“S’okay-”

Look at her. Wrecked. Because of me. Because I couldn't- …She's pregnant, the thought slices through him. She's carrying your pups and you still couldn't- you still-

“Valko.” Your hand finds his jaw, weak and trembling but there, “M’okay. Promise.”

He doesn't look convinced, “I should've been more careful. You're-” His gaze drops to your belly, the swell of it unmistakable now. “-you're pregnant. With twins. And I just-”

“Fucked me exactly how I wanted?” You manage a tired smile, “Yeah. Terrible. How dare you.”

A laugh escapes him, “Brat.” 

“Hmm~ But I’m your brat.”

His thumb traces your cheekbone, impossibly gentle, “In my defense, you make it really hard to hold back when you beg like that.”

You try to swat at him, but your arm just... flops. Pathetically.

He grins, “Cute.”

"Sh'up."

“Make me.” He leans down, pressing a feather light kiss to your sweaty forehead, “Actually, don't. You can barely move. It wouldn't be a fair fight.” Another kiss, this one to the tip of your nose. “Don't move a muscle, not one. Doctor Valko’s orders.”

“You're not- not a doctor-”

“Hmph, well i’m your personal one tonight.”

He vanishes into the bathroom -click of the light, hiss of running water- before returning with a warm washcloth draped over his shoulder and a glass of water in hand.

“Drink first.” He tips the glass to your lips, patient, waiting while you take small sips.The first swipe of the warm cloth across your cheek is heaven. He works with focused gentleness that steals your absolute breath away- wiping the mascara threatening to stain your cheeks, the pearly streaks from your belly, the slick mess from your inner thighs. 

But his movements are almost too careful now. Like you're made of glass. Like he's terrified of breaking you further.

The cloth moves higher, and his expression shifts again- guilt flickering through the warmth as he reaches your collar. The bite mark there has dried, crusted with blood, the perfect imprint of his teeth purpling against your skin.

“Shit.” He winces, dabbing carefully at the wound. “I really did a number on you here, huh?”

“I liked it, felt good~” you mumble.

“Yeah?” A hint of that playful smirk returns. “Liked getting marked up by your big bad wolf?”

Then his gaze falls on something in the corner of the bed, “Oh, perfect.” a silly gift he'd given you months ago that had somehow become a permanent fixture in your shared space. The little stuffed wolf has button eyes and an embroidered smile, and it's quite possibly the most ridiculous thing he's ever purchased.

He loves it. (He loves that you love it.)

“Look who's here,” he says, voice warm and playful as he makes the stuffed wolf bob and weave in front of your nose. “Mr. Wolfie was very concerned. He heard all that screaming and thought something terrible was happening.”

You snort weakly.

Valko pitches his voice higher, making the plush nod sagely. “‘Are you okay?' Mr. Wolfie asks. ‘That big mean wolf wasn't too rough, was he? Should I bite him?’”

“Oh my god-”

“‘I'll protect you,’” Valko continues, completely shameless, pressing the little grey snout against your cheek in a playful kiss, “‘I'm very brave. Very fierce. Grr.’”

The childish gesture is so at odds with the man who just fucked you senseless- who'd knotted you so deep you'd sobbed- that you can't help but giggle. “Valkooo,” you finally manage, pinching his nose weakly, “I'm okay.”

Then you look up at him, one hand drifting to rest on your belly, “We're all okay. All three of us. I promise.”

His ears perk up at that- both standing tall and alert, swiveling toward you like satellite dishes catching the most important signal in the world. Something in his expression cracks open, the playfulness still there (never fully gone, with him) but bleeding into something rawer underneath. Something that looks like home.

He stretches out beside you, gathering your tired body against his chest and tucking Mr. Wolfie securely in your arms. His face nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in like you're the only air worth having.

“All three of you,” he repeats softly. His palm spreads warm over the swell of your belly, right where his pups are growing. “My little pack”

His lips brush your forehead as his tail wraps around your legs and hips like a living blanket, soft fur warming every inch it touches.

“My pups,” he whispers, quiet and wondering, thumb tracing slow circles over your bump. “My beautiful wife. All mine.”

His chin comes to rest atop your head. The tail curls tighter, cocooning you in red softness,

Safe. Loved. His.

When sleep finally pulls you under, it's to the steady thrum of his heartbeat and the soft rumble of some half remembered lullaby hummed against your hair.

[kamiflix]

▶︎ Generous (starring . various jjk men)

synopsis . How watching a movie with your roommate goes wrong. pairings (separate) . Toji x f!reader, Choso x f!reader, Gojo x f!reader, Nanami x f!reader. content . afab!reader, non-curse au, unprotected sex, dry humping, degrading, praise, dirty talk, filth, pussy slapping, tw: spitting, they’re all pervs, heavy tension, pet names, pining, men losing their confidence once they feel you, submissive men, taunting, cockwarming, manhandling, rough sex, teasing, begging, etc.

word count . 9.6k || author's note: doja release the full song pls </3 banner art from “Kubitsuri Danshi to Nikushoku Joshi” (this is a slightly revised repost)

☆ Toji Fushiguro — "There's a sex scene coming up."

The first thing you do is laugh at the man. He told you that as if you hadn't seen a thousand sex scenes before.

Rolling your eyes, you barely move in your seat, "So?" You huff back to your awfully smug roommate.

Now, you and Toji get along relatively well. The attraction between the two of you is noticeably mutual so it doesn't fully surprise you that he felt the need to announce the next part of the movie to you. The two characters were already slopping each other's faces up so it was pretty obvious where things were going.

As such, that doesn't exactly prepare you for the next thing your roommate decides to say to you.

"We should recreate it," Toji suggests, completely catching you off guard.

You and him have done… things before but, never sex. Or at least, you’ve never had his cock inside you. Maybe you’ve sucked him off once or twice and maybe he’s returned the favor two or, six times but—who’s keeping track of all that? The point is, you’ve never had traditional sex with the guy.

He was more of your roommate-with-benefits at the end of the day, if you needed someone to help you get off after a long and stressful day, Toji was offering himself to you and the same vice versa. 

So when he suggests recreating a sex scene with you, the last thing you expected was what the actual scene itself was…

“Well, what is it?” You ask curiously, turning your head to look up and the man who was already right beside you.

Toji tips his head to the side and keeps his eyes focused on the screen, “Watch it and see for yourself.”

Feeling slightly annoyed by how he suggested something to you only to not explain what it is he wants to do, you just turn back to the TV and do just that—watching as the movie plays out.

You think you’re turned on rather quickly once the two character on screen start fucking like goddamn rabbits—position after position, moan after moan, and noticeably rough sex occurring onscreen. There’s one position in particular that Toji nudges you at, to which your eyes widen and you tense up.

The man on screen has his partner in a headlock as they fuck them from behind. All you can do is bat your lashes as the scene with that position plays out far longer than the others, words of filth being muttered and the moans sounding awfully real.

Your mouth opens to ask your roommate something but he’s already in your ear before you get the chance to, “Yeah, I wanna try that with ya’,” Toji whispers.

A wave of heat flashes over your entire body and you’re squeezing your legs together at the thought alone. Toji behind you like that, shoving his fat angry cock inside you while his beefy arm constricts around your throat, limiting air from you and—

Yeah, you weren’t shying away from that offer, even though you had your fears.

“T-Toji, you wanna-, hah, you wanna put me in a headlock?” You sputter out in surprise, “We’ve never even had sex in a normal position… I don’t think I can take-”

“You can,” He cuts off rudely, “Jus’ gotta let me prep you. And I’ll be gentle,” He murmurs to you, even though you know that’s a lie, “…’Til you get used to me.”

You chuckle nervously, “I dunno… You-,” A sigh slips from your lips, “You wanna do this now?”

He nods, “Mhm,” Then his hand is moving to yours and he pulls your touch over to his crotch, “Got hard jus’ thinking about it.”

Instinctively, your hand moves to feel around and your fingers shape around his erection, cupping his stupidly hard cock and feeling him throb beneath your touch. You gulp before you glance down at your hand and the way it looks sliding down along his length against his sweats, outlining his shape with your touch and pulling your lower lip into your mouth at the thought.

You remember how difficult it was to fit the guy in your throat so you could only imagine him stretching your pussy open, giving you long and deep thrusts just so you could get used to him, and the way he’d force you to feel every thick inch of his.

“You’re droolin’,” Toji points out suddenly as he brings a hand to your face and swipes his calloused thumb across the corner of your lips, bringing his finger to his mouth moments later, “Figured you’d like this just as much as me but look atcha’,” He licks whatever taste from your mouth he got off of his thumb. “A mess already, tsk.” He teases.

You’re just sitting there with your eyes still on his cock straining against his sweatpants, trying to mentally prepare yourself to have that inside you. You swallow thickly, “Toji…”

“Hm?” He hums lowly with a slight cock of his head.

You bring your gaze up to him and his green eyes are already low on yours, “I wanna do it.”

Famous last words…

The smirk that stretched across his scared lips was probably one of the most sexy looks you’ve ever seen on the man. Not to mention the immediate jump of his cock in reaction to your agreement.

And in God knows how many minutes, your clothes were scattered on the floor and he had you bent over on the couch as he prepped you with his fingers. Toji knows how big his dick is– hell, he’s a little too aware of it, so he had to make sure you were extra soaked for him.

Talking to you in that rasp and deep tone of his, “I think you can take me jus’ fine,” He murmurs to you, fucking his fingertips deeper inside yo u with each passing second, “You’re already takin’ three of my fingers so, what’s the difference?”

You moan against the couch cushion your cheek is currently resting against, “Mgh, your cock i-is waaay bigger,” You admit in a horny little slur.

Of course he smiles at that, glad you can’t see his face right now because your words only stroke his ego more and more, “Is it?” As Toji asks you that, he drags his fingers out of you, moving to suck your most recent orgasm off of them before repositioning himself behind you. Then he shrugs, “I dunno, I don’t think there’s that much of a difference..”

He’s still talking but you’re refusing to believe a thing he says. You’ve had your fair share of studying his cock up close so you already knew how he’d feel inside you. Even so, you feel a glob of spit land on your cunt and it makes you flinch out of your thoughts. After that is followed by something fat and hard pressing in between your folds.

The arch in your back furthers and your lips part, “Toji?” You whisper.

A big hand comes down on your ass before he’s gripping onto you, “Mhm, that’s me you feel,” He teases, his other hand busy rubbing his cockhead up and down your sopping slit.

You think a moan leaves your lips already at the mere tease of his cock, “I don’t think-”

“You’ve been doin’ a little too much of that lately,” He huffs, lifting his tip from you before letting it smack against your pussy a few times and then smiling to himself at how wet you were, “Just let me take care of ya’, I'm not gonna hurt you unless you want me to, silly girl.”

A little mumbled curse is heard coming from your mouth but Toji’s only response to that is easing his hips forwards, squeezing his tip inside you slowly as he watches the way you turn your head to stuff your face into the cushion and your hands gripping onto the couch. Toji takes it slow at first, easing his tip in and out of you a few times until you relax a little.

Then he’s pushing an inch or two inside you and he can hear your muffled moans against the couch. Not to mention the way you move a hand back as if to push him away already.

Toji just rolls his eyes at that point, “I’m not even halfway in,” He chuckles, “Relax f’me.”

You try, you really do. It is a bit difficult but you try not to be so tense as he continues to push into you. It’s the first thrust that really had you gasping and holding onto the couch for dear life because after that, Toji repeats the action—drawing his hips all the way back before thrusting himself in fully, all the way to the hilt of your cunt. You’re practically clawing at the cushion below you and your eyes are tearing up from the sheer stretch of his cock.

You could feel him in every corner of your dripping cunt, his thick shaft leaving you gasping for air and his sharp hips clashing against your ass. You hardly register the groans he’s letting out or the curses about how tight you are.

His hands are everywhere on your ass as things start off slow, a few thrusts in and he feels your walls clamp around him before you’re cumming already. He hadn’t even gotten you into the position he wanted you in and you were already whining his name. Toji grips onto the fat of your ass, spreading you further for him as he watched his bulging angry cock ease in and out of you, your sloppy juices coating his veins and dripping all over the damn place.

The mess makes him smirk, “Fuckin’ filthy,” He hums. Then he’s leaning down and you feel your heart sink because after that, a surprisingly gentle hand is creeping around your neck before he lifts your face up. Getting a good look at you, he meets your gaze with a smirk before whispering, “You okay?”

The way he checks on you had your cunt squeezing around him again. “M-Mhm,” You mumble, mouth messy with drool and lashes coated with tears that’d yet to fall yet.

Toji tips his head to the side, still gently rocking his hips into yours and barely humping his cock in and out of you, “Ready to keep goin’?”

It takes you a second to agree to that but when you feel his tip brush against somewhere particularly sweet inside you, you nod eagerly, “Uhuh,” You murmur almost dumbly.

All he can do is smile and lean back up, “C’mere then,” Toji instructs. You follow suit and lean up with him. “Tip ya’ head back for me, here,” He’s still buried inches inside you but he’s instructing you with no problem, moving a hand to your chin to tip your head back, “Just keep lookin’ at me for a second, m'kay?”

You let out a shaky breath of air before keeping your eyes back on his, feeling and watching him lean closer to you and then slowly wrap an arm around your neck, making your breath hitch slightly.

“You sure you're ready for this, doll?” Toji asks as he soon has you take your eyes off of his so he can lock your head into place, “Might break ya’,” He teases.

Your hands move to feel his arm around your neck, caressing his skin before you smile a little, “That’s okay,” You whisper in response, your excitement getting the better of you, “You can break me a little, Toji.”

His hold on your head isn’t the tightest yet, since he doesn’t literally wanna choke you out but, it’s tight enough to where you can’t move and his next thrust has you gasping again. And then it all goes downhill from there because Toji swears you’ve only gotten tighter since he’s put you in this position and you’re so soaked that you’re drippin’ down your thighs.

He can’t help but get a little rough with you. The first few movements were merely experimental but the second you’re comfortable and start moaning for more, Toji’s pouring out a heavy groan right into your ear as he starts to really fuck you. 

The couch creaks and your cunt is so loud and messy as his heavy balls smack against you with each bruising thrust of his angry cock. You could feel him throbbing and pulsing deep inside you every time you uttered his name in pleasure. The position had you weak, your legs shaking within minutes and your nails scratching at his arm.

All as he whispered filthy things in your ear, “So fuckin’ messy for me,” He huffs, earnig a whine from you, “You like this, huh? Like bein’ my messy lil’ thing?”

“T-Toji, oh fu-uck, s’too much-,” You choke, feeling his arm tighten around you just to shut you up.

“You're takin’ it juuust fine, baby,” His tone is far to sweet for the way he’s bullying your pussy right now, stretching you and fucking you so full that it was getting hard to think.

His hips were harsh against yours, smack after smack, making your moans come out in a stutter and a slur as he murmured degrading little nicknames into your ear seconds later.

“Gonna cum for me again? I’ve already gotcha’ folded up like some whore-, mgh… it's the least you could do for me, doll,” Toji grunts into your ear, his swollen cockhead pounding right into where you need him most.

Your eyes practically roll to the back of your skull and you’re spasming, “Tojii, I c-can’t-, ah, hahh-, hnngh.. p-please,” You mewl, dewy slicks from your cunt glistening all over his fat cock that it even has him panting and losing his breath.

His lips are right against your ear, breath warm and dick throbbing wildly inside you with the way he doesn’t let up on you for even one moment, “One more, pretty. Jus’ gimme one more,” He whispers.

Your breath hitches and you can feel your orgasm building right back up, you were so close and he was fucking you just right. His hold on you gets a little tighter and he pinpoints his thrusts deeper against your sloppy pussy, the filthy squelches only growing louder and louder before you’re whimpering his name.

Toji kisses the tip of your ear softly—feeling the way your cunt just sloshes around his cock and making his eyes go back. You were squeezing him so tightly that it was almost hard to cram his cock into you. Your pussy was so damn heavenly that Toji felt lightheaded for a moment, despite you being the one getting choked out right now.

Before he knows it, he’s fucking a thick creamy load of cum inside you while grunting your name out through slightly gritted teeth. The way you were moaning and whining in return drove him crazy, the sight of your jaw dangling open, drool sliding down your chin, tears rolling down your face—the entire sight and feel of you had his head spinning in pleasure.

Which is exactly why he’s emptying himself into you while you milk him for all he’s worth. He doesn’t even realize he’s released you from that headlock until the sounds of your moans are muffled again. Toji barely remembers shoving your face down and pressing a hand into your arch before ramming whatever's left of his cum deeper inside you.

Then there was the way your legs were shaking and how filthy it was to watch his cum drip out of you as he pulled out. Oh, he was definitely having sex with you again after this.

☆ Choso Kamo — He's too attentive.

You're too focused on the way your favorite actor's busy on the screen going down on the love interest of the movie to realize that Choso's got his eyes everywhere except the TV.

He notices the way you're shifting in your seat, the thumb you bring up to your lips and the nail you nibble on anxiously as the sex scene ahead continues. Choso zones out from the fake slurps and forced moans from the TV, his eyes and ears completely focused on you and you only. Even when you let out a sigh as your thighs squeeze together, he notices.

And he doesn’t mean to stare at you but he couldn’t help it. What about this particular sex scene had you so squirmish? He’s watched them with you before but it was obvious this one was different. Was it the actor? Choso can’t help but glance at the TV to remind himself of who was in the movie, wondering if the big muscular pink-haired man on the TV was your type.

You were practically drooling at this point, hanging off of every word the man said all while Choso quickly put two and two together.

Clearing his throat, you flinch as if you’d been caught doing something you had no business doing, “You alright over there?” Choso hums.

You slowly turn your head to him and your lashes flutter as you pull your thoughts away from where they’d been previously, “U-Uhuh, yeah… Why?” You respond hesitantly.

You were far too caught up in the movie to have noticed how much Choso was paying attention. 

He shrugs, “You keep moving,” Choso points out before looking at the TV, “Is the scene making you uncomfortable or something?”

Your brows twist up, “What? N-No, not at all! It’s actually uh,” You had to pause for a second before you decide to tell him the truth, glancing back at your favorite actor on screen, “Well, that’s one of my favorite actors and the scene is pretty hot.”

“Oh,” Your roommate responds, nodding in acknowledgment, “You like guys like that?”

You snort, “Guys like what?”

“Tall, muscular, face tatts….” Choso lists carefully as he narrows his eyes on the actor ahead, “...Pink hair?”

You roll your eyes, “N-No, I just… Well, okay maybe that is kinda my type.” You’re slow to admit that because as soon as the words leave your lips, you’re looking at your roommate and realizing that aside from the hair color, he pretty much fits that description.

Choso turns his head to you and lifts his brows, “Yeah?” He huffs, smirking a bit, “You do know I basically just described myself, safe for the pink hair…”

“O-Okay… so?”

“So, I kinda resemble your type and your favorite actor.”

“Y’know, now that you mention in,” Your head tilts and you lean a bit closer to Choso, studying his facial features closer, “You two do look like you could be related.”

“Wait seriously?” Choso lets out a laugh, “If so that’s kinda funny since, just like him in this movie, I’ve never given anyone head.”

“You’ve never-,” You choke on whatever it is you were about to say as you realize what he just said. “Huh? You’ve never given anyone head?”

He shrugs, “No?”

And your curiosity practically spirals from there, “Have you had sex before?” You ask.

“Yeah,” Choso smirks at the immediate questions you have for him. “I’m not a virgin. But, well, my mouth is, I guess,” He explains steadily before looking to the TV again.

Your eyes remain fixated on his face, “Do you want to?”

“Want to,” His eyes trail right back over to you, “What?”

You lean in again, “Give someone head?”

“Are you offering?” Choso replies casually, licking his lips seconds afterwards. 

A smile spreads across your face and you try to flip it back onto him, “Nono, are you offering.”

He stares at you for a long moment, trying to figure out the right way to go about all this. Every muscle in his body was telling him to say yes because, technically, he was offering. He’d been offering silently ever since he first said something. You looked so focused on the damn TV that it almost irritated Choso, he could do whatever that actor’s doing ten times better.

…Even if he’s never done it before.

“Yeah,” Choso breathes out, not wanting to pass up on this opportunity in the slightest.

You gulp, “You-”

Before you get to finish, Choso’s shifting against your bed—maybe movie night in your room wasn’t the best idea. He’s moving closer to you and soon placing his hands on the bed at your sides as he brings his face close to yours. Your eyes are all wide and you’ve sat up completely, heart thumping in your chest at how close he’s gotten.

“Cho,” You whisper, watching the way his gaze changes, “You actually wanna-”

“I can do it,” He utters carefully as he places one hand on your thigh and slowly parts your legs for his body to fit in between, “I saw the way you’ve been looking at the screen anyway so, I know you’re worked up.”

“I-I’m not-,” You’re cut off yet again when Choso leans in and his lips brush over yours for a split second before he shifts to kiss your cheek.

Then he trails those soft little kisses over to your ear, “I’ve always wanted to try, y’know…”

“Try what?” You breathe, feeling his breath caress the crown of your ear.

“Pleasing someone with my tongue,” Choso explains, one of his legs sliding up in between yours up until he brushes against your core and you instinctively move a hand to hold onto his arm. To which he smirks, “And you’re needy for it so, just let me try.”

“I’m not needy for anything, I-” Again, he cuts you off. This time he just pushes his leg forward a bit so that he’s fully pressing against your clothed cunt, earning a pathetic little gasp from you.

“You were saying?” Choso taunts as he tips his head down to your neck.

You scoff, “Shut up.”

“Shut me up,” He huffs back before kissing your neck.

“Fine,” Is the last thing you said to him before the two of you started acting on your whims.

He doesn’t even remember what he was thinking or how he got to this point by the time he’s got his face buried between your thighs. He can hardly think of anything else aside from the glistening slick drooling out of your exposed cunt moments after he’d tugged your panties down. Choso swears he’s never seen anything this wet in his life, his eyes hungry as they study your pussy closely before he even thinks about touching you.

All while you lay before him, your legs held open by his big hands and your eyes low on the way he looked, staring at you so lewdly. For someone who’s never even done this before, he damn sure looked as though he were about to devour you like you were his last meal. 

“Shiiit,” Choso whispers as his head tilts along with the excessive dripping from your hole. He’s just watching your cunt twitch and ooze without him even touching you yet. Was his staring doing this to you? (It was). 

You gulp, “Don’t just stare, Cho…”

“But she’s so pretty,” He mumbles, almost in awe at the way your cunt only gets wetter, “And responsive… haven’t even touched her yet ‘nd she’s leaking for me.”

He feels the way your thighs try to closer together out of embarrassment but the steel grip he has on you wasn’t allowing that to happen anytime soon, especially as he finally leans in and does nothing more than plant a sloppy kiss against your even sloppier pussy. The wet little mwah that emits into the air as he pulls away slightly makes both you and him gasp.

“Choso,” You practically whine, “Please don’t tease.”

He licks his lips and glances up at you, “You gotta remember, I don’t really know what m’doing,” Choso mumbles in response while he presses his lips against your cunt once more.

Then, his tongue lulls out and he keeps his eyes on yours as he gets that first raw taste of you. His brows immediately twist up and his tongue slicks upwards as his lips shift to cup your cunt. Choso has no idea what he’s doing but you spasm a bit when he slurps your taste into his mouth and lets out a groan against you.

Completely clueless, Choso just does what he thinks would feel good for you after that and for whatever reason, it fucking works. He swears he’s never given head before but the way his tongue was lapping against you said something entirely different. He swirls the slipper pink muscle upward and he’s at your clit within a few moments, flicking the tip of his tongue against it before just toying with you using his mouth.

All as his eyes remained fixated on you and the way you moan whenever he does something right. It’s so sloppy the way he fucks his tongue inside your drooling hole, digging more and more of your taste out of you so he can get it all inside his mouth. Muttering small, “Tastes s’sweet,” against you as he works his lips and tongue.

Even whenever he pulls away for a few seconds, he just spits on your cunt to watch it get messier, smiles at the filthiness of it all, and then dives right back in. Your hand is soon to get lost in his hair and his usual messy ponytails come aloof with the way you tug and pull at him.

Choso worships your cunt, kiss after kiss, lick after lick, and groan after groan. At some point his hands move away from your thighs just so he can feel your legs close around his head as he shoves his tongue in deeper and the tip of his nose rubs against your clit.

“Mmmgh,” Choso grunts against your sopping hole, his eyes flickering back for a moment as you lifted your hip against his face.

He soon tugs his face away for a second just to slap his tongue against your pussy, making you whine in pleasure and call out his name, “Cho, oh fuck… are you sure y-you’ve never-”

“Uhuh,” He’s cutting off as he latches his mouth right back onto you, slobbering all over your cunt like it was the only thing keeping him sane and moaning against you. 

It’s a filthy mess in between your legs—hickies you hardly remember him leaving decorating your inner thighs, a bite mark or two spotted, sweat and saliva left just everywhere, a few splatters of his spit mixed with your juices, and most importantly, a very disheveled Choso feasting on you with not a care in the world.

You don’t even know if you cum, or how many times you do so because Choso doesn’t stop until you’re trembling underneath him. And because it was his first time, that took quite a while but he didn’t care. His jaw had started to hurt and he thinks his tongue was going numb for a second with how long he’d been in between your legs, slurping your pussy, and using nearly all of his face to please you.

You may not have known if you came but Choso did—swallowing everything you gave him down without a care in the world, letting out a whiney moan every time the slick slithered down his throat, and groaning in pleasure each time you came for him.

He wasn’t even talking as much as he thought he would be because he was too focused on your taste and getting more and more and more of it from you. 

Maybe next time you let him do this he’ll be a little more talkative but, for tonight, he had a secret intention of making you squirt—no matter how many hours that may take.

☆ Gojo Satoru — "Why're you sitting so far away?"

The moment you were hit with that infamous question, you knew things were going to go left. Of course, if anyone's hitting you with something so cliche mid-movie, it's Gojo freaking Satoru.

You give your roommate nothing more than a side glance from your eyes, noticing how all his attention is on you, "I'm not that far away, am I?"

Gojo weighs his head to the side, one muscular arm relaxed atop the back stretch of the couch as he cracks that annoying little smirk at you, "You're all the way over thereee," He whines before gesturing a hand to the distance between you and him.

The couch you were on could seat a total of six people and you were roughly an arms length away from the guy so you really didn't know what he expected from you.

All you can do is laugh at his childish antics, "Satoru, you said you wanted to watch a movie with me—not cuddle and watch a movie with me."

He wets his lips before smiling at you, "Well, maybe I want a lil' more now..." To which you scoff and he scooches a bit closer to you, “Plus, the movie’s gettin’ boring.”

You roll your eyes at the guy, “No, you’re just impatient. It’ll pick up in a second, give it some time, ‘Toru.”

God, he loved it when you used that nickname with him. Neither of you remember when you first started using it but you know he likes it and he knows the nickname makes his heart race every time you say it.

“You were seconds away from falling asleep before I said something,” Gojo argues. He’s still gradually scooting closer and closer to you but you don’t even mind it at this point.

He’s always been a man who doesn’t understand the concept of personal space anyway so this doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. Before you know it, the side of Gojo’s thigh is brushing against yours and his arm is right behind you, fingertips dancing near your shoulder.

“I was not,” You protest before finally giving him your full attention. Okay, maybe you had been falling asleep on the movie but you really just wanted a regular movie night with the guy.

…Not whatever it becomes within a few minutes. Because of course the second your eyes are meeting his, his gaze is down on your lips and he’s lowering his voice as if everything was going according to his plan.

Gojo scoffs, “Yeah you were. There’s no need to lie, sweets. If you were getting sleepy, I can think of a few things we can do that’ll keep you awake…”

You swallow and it takes everything in you not to shift away from him because the masculine scent of his expensive cologne is creeping into your nose and you can feel your body heating up simply because of how close he is to you. “Like what?” You practically whisper even though you knew where your question would lead.

And y’know what, you can’t even say you’re mad at where it leads because you’ve had your eyes on Gojo ever since you moved in with him. So when he bluntly offers himself to you with a swift hum of, “We could always fuck,” You’re left speechless for a moment.

Then he’s leaning in and you’re finally looking down at his lips, your breath stuttering with each inch of space that disappears between the two of you until his lips are practically on yours and you feel his skin brushing over you as he speaks.

“You can even keep watching your lil' movie while we do it,” Gojo whispers, “Just say the word and I’ll-“

“Okay,” You huff out faster than you have time to think.

Because who on God’s green earth would deny Gojo Satoru of sex? Especially when he’s so stupidly close to you and staring down at your lips like the lack of connection is driving him to the brink of insanity.

So as soon as your agreement hits his ears, his lips are on yours, and your arms are moving to wrap around his neck to keep him close.

It’s hot, heavy, and even a bit sloppy as he tugs your lips apart for his tongue to slither in. Once Gojo gets that little taste of you, he can’t get enough. Letting out a low grunt into your mouth as his tongue swipes at the corners and crevices of your mouth, hands moving to your waist and then your thigh just to urge you to hurry up and get on top of him, and his body quickly yearning for more and more of you as the seconds pass.

Then you’re on top of him and he’s letting out a groan as you straddle him, your weight plopping down on his crotch and making his hips buck up against you instinctively. Gojo’s pale veiny hands are grabbing a hold of your waist and he’s deepening the kiss with you, feeling eager and almost starved for more.

Pulling away with a messy little cobweb of saliva hanging in between your lips, he grins, “Why didn’t we do this sooner, huh?” Before you can answer, his hands are sliding down to your hips and he’s quick to guide your body against his, making you grind against his growing erection, “‘Know how many times I thought about this?” Gojo huffs.

All you can do is let out a soft pant that fans over his wet lips, “No but, you should tell me all about it while we fuck.”

Then you’re pushing your lips onto his again and his brows are twisting up in pleasure. Things were moving a bit fast but that didn’t stop the wild twitch of Gojo’s cock as your words registered to him.

Tell you about how he’s pictured you like this while he’s buried inside you, huh? Well, whatever his cute roommate wants, she’s sure to get from him.

A few sloppy kisses and teasing grinds later and the two of you are undressing one another. The movie was almost long forgotten until Gojo told you to turn around for him, he still wanted you to enjoy the movie you suggested. As such, he soon has your hands on his knees as you held yourself up, your back facing him, and your body bare above him safe for the lacy blue panties hugging your lower half.

And lord knows Gojo couldn’t hold back his smile when he caught sight of your panites. They matched his eyes. Surely that was no coincidence? Surely you put those on with the intention of this very scenario later playing out, right?

Gojo’s behind you shirtless by this point, his sweatpants messily tugged down just enough so that he could pull his cock out from the confines of his boxers—his blushing pink tip grazing your noticeably soaked panty clad cunt as he does so. He’s got one hand on your hip and the other tightly gripping the base of his thick cock, angling himself just enough so that he can caress your clothed pussy lips with his tip.

His bottom lip gets caught between his teeth as he watches himself slip in between your folds against the wet fabric of your panties. The slick from your cunt was leaking from that pretty lace you had on, glazing and coating his tip with a sexy mix of arousal soon sliding down his cock and causing you to let out the most heavenly little sound he’s ever heard leave your lips.

The noise snaps him out of his daze and he looks up to see your head turned to the side as you look back at him with a gaze of pure need. Gojo’s fat tip slips as his eyes meet yours and you feel him brush up against your clit, making your jaw drop slightly and your hips roll instinctively.

He wasn’t even touching you raw yet and you were already a needy mess. Gojo’s slow to glance down at where his cock is leaving sloppy kisses against your cunt, smirking at the sight all over again, “So wet,” He whispers, “Fuckin’ soaked f’me…”

It sounded as if he were talking to himself, his mind in some sort of daze the longer he rubbed himself against you. The tease of it all was driving you crazy. So much so that all you could do was arch your back a bit more for the man and attempt to grind yourself against his tip.

Your movement makes him groan and you watch as he slowly retracts his hands completely just to watch you lather his cockhead up with your arousal, the small squelches from the movement making his face and ears flush with red. 

“S-Shit,” Gojo breathes out. It was like all his confidence and cocky demeanor had flown out the window and, again, he wasn't even inside you yet.

You soon grow tired of the teasing and lift your hips a little, earning a whine from Gojo as your warmth is pulled away from him for less than a second. Then, his eyes were glued to your hand and the way you tug your soaked panties to the side, revealing that pretty pussy of yours to him and making his cock jump in reaction. 

Gojo couldn’t even try to lift his hips up to make his cock meet you once more because he was stuck in awe as you lowered yourself once more. Watching your pussy part over his tip was one thing in itself but then how fucking soft and wet you are makes his head fall back against the couch and a groan pour from his mouth.

You watch him move an arm to hold onto the back of the couch and his other hand grips onto the cushion beside him. His abs tense as you wiggle your hips against him, his cock just barely kissing your leaky entrance.

Hell, it almost makes you flinch when he moans, “Put it in,” Gojo pants, his entire body failing to move as the need for you overwhelms him, “Please,” He lets out a whine as you inch down on him ever so slightly, “F-Fuckin’ sit on it, baby-, sit on my cock, please? Wanna be inside you s-so bad.”

His hips twitch and he nearly lifts them just so he can sink the rest of his inches deep inside you— especially when you torture him and lift yourself, causing a brush of air to graze his tip where you two had previously been connected.

“Satoru…” You utter, watching his eyes flicker up to your face. “Did you just whine for me?”

Gojo’s quick to swallow whatever weak sound was about to leave his lips again due to the sultry tone of your voice. “N-No,” He huffs, trying to play off his moment of begging for you, “Course’ not… Just,” He gulps, “Just wanna feel you, c’mon.”

Now you’re the one smirking at him, “Beg for me again,” You whisper, to which a groan gets caught in the middle of his throat.

“What?” Gojo rasps, his body going rigid at your sudden command. Yeah, sure, he just begged for you but it’s different when you tell him to.

The way you chuckle at his confusion makes his body so unbelievably hot and flushed in embarrassment, “You heard me…” You purr, easing yourself back down and riding only his tip for a few seconds, “Beg for me, ‘Toru.”

Gojo’s jaw falls and his eyes drop to his cock again— precum was dripping all down along his veins and he was twitching to feel all of you, “Please?” He breathes out as his brows twist up, “I just…” His hips lift again and he tries to force himself up inside you, “Need it, sweetheart,” Gojo grunts before tossing his head back.

At that, you find yourself satisfied and you’re finally sinking down on his cock just like he wanted you to. Your eyes remain back on his face and the way his eyes roll back as an airy groan leaves his throat. 

“Fuuuck,” Gojo moans into the air, his bottom lip quivering at the way your pussy sinks down around him, your sloppy walls making the filthiest squelch the further down you go, up until you stop when he’s only half way in.

Which makes his breath hitch. All he can do is roll his head back into place and look at you, catching the gape look on your face, and the clear struggle your cunt was having. You’re so wet around him that your moisture is just oozing down what’s left of his cock that’s yet to be inside you. 

“Sweetheart, please,” Gojo pants, “Need you to sit all the way down,” He hums before moving his hands to your hips.

You let off a moan, “So big, ‘Toru…”

Every fiber of his being almost snapped his hips up into you at the sound of that. You had no idea the things you did to this man—letting out a moan like that, telling him how big he is, and using that goddamn nickname…

He can only nod, “Uhuh, I know, I know,” Then, Gojo’s attempting to collect himself because everytime he speaks in that low tone of his, your cunt is gripping onto his fat cock tighter, “J-Just-, hah, just take your time, sweets.”

That’s the last thing he wanted you to do because half of his cock was feeling absurdly neglected at the moment but, he couldn’t help but want to take things slow. After all, the sex was just to keep you from falling asleep, right?

As such, Gojo tightens his grasp on your hips and helps you ease down another inch or two— a hiss leaving his lips with the way your walls squeeze down on his cock.

“So fucking tight,” He breathes, “R-Relax, sweetheart… gonna make me cum before I even get all the way in.”

You start to lift yourself again as if to escape his thick inches squeezing into you, “S’too much, I-I can’t-“

He’s cutting you off and pulling you right back down with a groan, “Shhh, yes you can-, fuck, yes you can,” Gojo coos, leaning up and helping you sink onto him once more.

A moan of his name leaves your lips at the stretch of his cock, your eyes fluttering shut. Gojo’s steady to ease you all the way down until your cunt is meeting his heavy base, and both of you moan once he’s fully inside you.

You’re both panting in sync as you sit there with his throbbing cock inside you, his hardened tip kissing your sweet spot, and your walls clamping around him with every subtle movement of his hands or your hips.

You end up leaning back against his chest and Gojo buries his face into the crook of your neck, breathing hotly against your skin. His arms wrap around you and it was like he didn’t even need you to move yet. This was perfect for him. Just relishing in the warmth of your pussy for a few minutes, feeling every twitch and every squeeze whenever he kisses you was simply perfect.

The movie that’d been playing in front of the two of you is soon remembered as you return your attention back to it and keep Gojo’s cock sitting inside you with little to no movement for a while.

He was okay with that because, hell, part of him never saw himself even getting this far with you. Although, at some point, without him even saying anything, he feels your hips roll forward and a grunt is ripped from his mouth immediately.

Given his sound, you only grow encouraged to continue and barely lift your hips to bob your cunt up and down a few inches of his cock. The movement was minimal but it was enough for both you and him. Gojo’s hands dance up and down your sides. One moment he’s holding your waist and the next he’s slumping back against the couch and holding onto your hips, watching his cock disappear in and out of you as you ride him in earnest.

“Fuck me,” He ends up moaning. That alone has you bouncing on his cock within a few minutes.

Gojo’s usually so confident and suave with his words and actions but here he was moaning so prettily into the air due to the way you were riding him in reverse. Every roll of your hips and the way your sheeny slick made his cock glisten under the dim living room lighting had him gasping at some point.

He’s pretty sure even you forget about the movie at some point because you’re just throwing your ass back on him over and over again, the constant thwack of your rear against his toned pelvis as you plopped down on him was making his moans come out in a stutter.

You’re pretty sure that if you listened closely enough, you could hear the man choking out some small whimper at some point. But he masks that by giving your cunt one experimental thrust, earning a delicious moan from you.

And of course, it doesn’t stop there. He only continues after that, matching the way your cunt sinks down on him with heavy thrusts as he holds onto your hips for dear life.

“‘T-Toru, fuck, m’close,” You soon whisper.

He hardly hears you because he’s too busy trying not to cum inside you, “You feel so fuckin’ good-, God-, fuuck… s’too good,” Gojo babbles, completely pussydrunk at this point and struggling not to finish before you.

Your pussy’s just gushing around his shaft and he swears he can hardly think at some point. Maybe it was because he hadn’t had sex in a while, or maybe it was just you in general and the way you have the nerve to look back at him again and purposefully clamp your goopy walls down around his cock but, either way, Gojo can’t even warn you before he’s shooting a thick load of cum deep inside you.

One look from you and he was losing his damn mind, throwing his head back in both pleasure and embarrassment, fingertips trembling as his hips stutter, and a shaky groan slipping out from his lips while you just keep going.

Then he faintly hears your voice, “Did you just cum?”

All he can do is give you a hard lucid lil’ nod, “Uhuh,” He breathes, still cumming inside you like he had no care in the world.

His cum is warm against your insides, making his cock a creamy mess as you slide your pussy up and almost all the way off of him just for him to catch sight of the filthy mess he’d just made.

Gojo doesn’t even care at this point because all he does is slam you right back down, the squelch louder than ever and one of his hands snaking around you. He’s quick to bring two thick fingers to your clit and lean up to your ear, “Need you to cum for me now, p-please, I'm s-so fuckin’ embarassed,” He admits right against the shell of your eat hotly.

You can feel his desperation in the way his fingers roll messy and needy little circles around your sensitive bud. Then he’s whispering plead after plead into your ear, his cock throbbing and twitching against your pussy, cum forming a ring of filth around his base, and your mind going blank with how eager he is.

You think you cum after he says something along the lines of, “Need it-, shit, need it sweetheart, need you to cum on me,” through slightly gritted teeth and his voice cracking somewhere at the end of his words…

☆ Nanami Kento — You wouldn't stop moving.

He should've known better than to let you climb into his lap like that. Each time something exciting or interesting would display over the screen ahead, your hips would roll 'n swerve about his lap and his body would tense beneath you.

From the first shift he should've moved you off of him. Hell, from the moment you asked to sit in his lap to "platonically cuddle" he very much should have told you no.

Alas, Nanami is a very simple man, and for you? He's a very simple, perverted man who couldn't pass up the opportunity to feel the weight of you on top of him.

It wasn't long before you could feel him twitching just under the soft curve of your ass, dick begging for some proper attention despite the way his mouth refused to move with the intent of acknowledging it.

And since you happened to be just as much of a pervert as he was, only a couple of his twitches went by before you were moving yourself. You were dizzy between your motions, turning around and giving him glossy fuck-me eyes for a few seconds before his mouth was on yours.

It would've been one thing to have you beside him and squirming about, but what was he supposed to do when you were sat on top of him and gyrating your hips in the most gorgeous of patterns?

Somewhere between his tongue slicking past your lips, his hands had begun to travel the expanse of your skin—leaving no tense inch untouched.

Next thing you know and you're underneath him, falling victim to the repercussions of teasing him via dragging your ass across his lap for one minute too long.

It didn't take much for you to realize Nanami likes rubbing his thick, drooling cockhead in between the syrupy slit of your cunt for what feels like forever before he slips inside you.

He lazily dragged his plump tip around your twitching clit in tantalizing lil’ circles and let out low curses in reaction to the way you drip all against him—making the filthiest mess on the couch below. His steady hands would have the meanest grip on your thighs, keeping you spread nice and wide for him the entire time.

All he’s doing is rutting his hips back and forth and back and forth, watching his fat cock slide against your pussy over and over again. It’s almost more arousing than when he’s inside you.

Nanami loves the expression you make when he does this too. The way your brows twist up right as you grow impatient, the greedy hand you shot down to try and angle him into yourself, and the honeyed whines that exit your throat in such raw desperation.

Those fawn eyes of his would soften at the gorgeous sight of you below him and his cock would throb directly against your soaked folds.

Of course he wants to he inside you, he wants to make you feel good and listen to you moan his name all sweetly but… this—the heavy draggg of his cock all over that drooling hole of yours, the feeling of you lathering him up in aroused slick, and the mix of his precum all makes him dizzy with lust. Plus, it's only fair that he gets back at you for teasing.

Somewhere deep down inside, he actually wanted to finish that movie you put on.

Eventually though, he moved one of his hands and wrapped his fingers around his girthy base, tugging his cock a few centimeters up before slapping the weight of it back down against you and causing the nasty sound to flit into the air. Then he’d do it again.

And again, and again, and again until he can feel your leg twitching beneath his palm. “You want it, huhh?” Nanami would drawl out in that stupidly deep and lust-driven tone of his. “‘Want that cock deep inside you, sweet girl?” He’d slowly angle his tip against your hole but his hips are unmoving.

All you feel is the heat of his cockhead pressing against you, the thickness of it, the fucking throb. You can’t even manage out a reply before he’s just barely pushing into you.

Nanami always stretches you so steadily when he fucks you but, after making you wait for so long you can’t help but crave for him to just thrust every inch in at once. You want that rude stretch, that mean, unforgiving spread of your cunt around every pulsing vein of his cock.

Yet, being such a man of aggravating patience, Nanami pulls back just as quickly as he pushed in. You’re left whining without thought, “Kenn—“

“Hmm?” He’d cut you off in a way that lets you know he did that on purpose.

What a tease.

Then he’s pulling back a bit more and his hand starts moving up and down the length of his dick. You think you can feel a nasty trickle of drool slithering out from the corner of your lips as you watch him selfishly jerk off in front of you.

“Kento please,” You’d breathe out all over again, as if that would get you a different result.

It doesn’t. Instead, Nanami’s hand picks up and you watch his breathing grown heavier just as his eyes flick up to your face. Then he cocks his head to the side, “Tell me how you want it, love.” He’d request all of a sudden.

You’re confused and too horny to think so all you sputter out is an airy, “What?”

Nanami lets out a heavy pant and his lashes flutter a bit. “My cock. Tell me how you want it.” He repeats ever so sternly.

Defiantly, you fight back a groan before mumbling to him, “You know how I—“

“Easyy, sweetheart.” Nanami cuts you off in that cooing voice he knows you love.

His head weighs to the left a bit and you watch the way he brings his free hand up to your face. “Look at me,” He whispers, smiling once your eyes so politely meet his own. “There she is, there’s my gorgeous girl.” The praise, uttered so huskily that you’re left dazed beneath him. “Now, talk to me nice.”

With glossed eyes and a slight pout you can’t seem to control, “Ken,” You mewl, reaching your hand down as you desperately ache to feel him.

As if to taunt you, Nanami watches your hand move with a smirk on his face—his own hand tugging at his cock faster now.

He’s all breathy for a moment as he lets your hand wrap around him and pull him closer to you. “Hm? Is that it?” Your roommate whispers, allowing himself to be guided back to your drooling cunt.

The second his fat tip slips against you again, he’s cursing under his breath and letting his hands go to the underside of your legs.

“Fuck.” Nanami breathes, “Is that how you want it?” Then he swats your hand out of the way and moves his own to your lower abdomen. “All that teasing’s got you desperate for it now, huh?”

You whine and he groans at the sound alone. God, you drove him insane. Just looking at you as you laid beneath him a complete desperate and aching mess would be enough to make him cum.

“Kento,” Your voice finally sounds a bit more steady now and you place your hand over his while sprawling your legs out all the more wider. “Just fuck me already.”

It’s rare but, Nanami flashes this cocky expression before tilting his head, “And if I don’t?”

You can feel yourself soaking his tip even more from his taunting alone. Your brows tense and you’re whining all over again, “Please-,”

He cuts you off, “Mhmm, thaaaat’s it.” Nanami praises as he finally finally starts to push his hips forward, letting his cockhead slide right into you. “Beg for it.”

The hand you have on top of his claws at his skin and your hips lift in an attempt of getting him to push deeper, “Kento, fuck..”

“Beg for that cock, c’mon sweetheart.” He teases again, tugging his hips back as he then starts to fuck only his tip in and out of you. “It’s right there, don’t you want it?” He coos—mocking you now.

“Please,” You’re gasping once he lets himself get an inch in, “Shit, Kento please keep going.”

At that, he can’t help but push all the way in. Nanami could only deny you for so long before he was stretching you nice n’ wide for him, sliding every mean inch of his in until he could feel the bulge beneath his palm.

“Fuck.” He curses sharply, appling a bit a weight to his hand just so he can hear the way you moan out his name. “Look at that,” His hips draw back just barely before he thrusts in again, “Can you really feel me in there? Am I really that deep?”

Your eyes lull on back to your skull and now you’re holding onto his wrist as he works up a mean pace. Nanami hits the spot that’s got you drooling in seconds—fucking you exactly the way he’s learned how to.

It takes you a moment to reply to that question of his since you’re too busy moaning at how his filling you up but eventually you babble a cute, “Uhuh..”

To which a fucked-out smile spreads onto his face and his hand presses down harder “Yeahh? Then cum on it,” He instructs, his thrusts beginning to match pace with the not-so-distant knocking of the headboard against the wall.

He feels the way you’re squeezing around him and sees the utterly slutty expression you’ve got on so of course he encourages your orgasm when he begins to feel it.

“Mhmm, all over me, pretty.” He huffs, letting his hand slip just to rub that gorgeous clit of yours, “Just. Like. That.” He grunts between each pounding thrust of his.

You cry out as you make the sweetest mess around his cock and Nanami can’t help but let out a moan of his own. Watching you shiver through your very hard orgasm, he just has to lean down and press his lips to your ear.

“Such a good girl for me.” He whispers with a deeper and heavier roll of his hips as if to fuck you all the way through it.

perm multi tags (1/2):

@cupidstrace @navyllll @grignardsreagent @kingofpiratesiguess @etsuniiru @not-a-glad-gladiator @2kool4skoolll @daxphoriax @gorouenjoyer @blubearxy

@wonderfullymickey @iaintblockinnobody @kitassecretgf @iam-souless @nanamitiddiechomper @ohreallyfriend @withersworld @lilacsforveins @suguphile @megottheswaskikacooooke

@kvsqkiii @yourlocalcatscammer @lucy-lulu @sukubusss @sweetieelilii @lisabelhyhn @serenadesvt @riameriash @arminseas2 @palanggaaa

@cherslop @makingtimemine @theodoresvalentine @blcknebula @babblybebe @iluvatsumuuuui @remscreams @satorusdreamer @jaibunni

@a-jazzy-bee @miksde @zombiiesandmaltesers @sktvienna @dawnsoblivion @chloeee20 @naoybby @lateforlatte @lanamyersismywife @anosreep @inciseleviathan

[cumchiato]

୨୧ — You were drooling, eyes rolling back as you dug your nails into his shoulders trying to slow Valko down. Useless. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as he drove into you, his name falling from your lips like a prayer between desperate pants.

“V-Val- hhahh- Val-ko- s'too- m'gonna- too m-much-“

Words? What were those? Your brain had turned to mush about three orgasms ago.

A whimper caught in your throat. Tears pricked at your lashes at the stretch, at being so fucking full, like he'd shoved your organs aside to make room.

“Hah-“ His voice broke, and you could feel every muscle in his body trembling, fighting something feral as his tail lashed wildly behind him. “Tryna be gentle but you-“

He fucked you like a beast anyway. Forehead pressed to yours, ears flat against his head, panting into your mouth. Your slick made the filthiest sounds every time he thrust home and when his teeth found your neck hard enough to break skin, the noise you made had his rhythm stuttering.

“Sorry- ngh- didn't mean-“ But he didn't stop. Couldn't.

His hand slid under your back, arching you up into him. The other pinned your wrist to the mattress. Blood smeared across your throat from his lips.

“That's it, that’s my good girl-“ Completely gone. Ruined.

You came screaming and do you think that made him slow down? Fuck no. He didn't slow down even a little.

“Again.” Barely a whisper. Begging. Pleading for just one more scream from those pretty lips…

“Valko- can't- no more-“

His ears drooped, this wounded little sound in his chest, “I know babe, m'sorry-“ His hips snapped forward anyway, “what’s a pup supposed to do? You just feel so good- cant- shit- can’t stop-“

Your cunt was a sloppy, ruined mess at this point- syrupy strings of your cum and arousal coating his cock, smearing creamy across your inner thighs. You could feel yourself dripping between your ass, making a puddle beneath you.

Then something big started pressing at your entrance.

You felt it before your sex stupid brain could process it- this thick, swelling pressure at your already stuffed hole. Stretching you wider. Wider. Too wide-

His knot.

It shoved inside with a wet POP and you shrieked, back bowing clean off the mattress, nails carving bleeding trenches down his spine. The sudden fullness -that fat bulge locking him in, plugging you up, pressing against every sensitive nerve- had your vision whiting out again. Your cunt spasmed around him, another orgasm cresting before the last one even finished, milking his knot in desperate fluttering clenches.

“Huh? What happened?” Total confusion. His ears shot up, head tilting, “You alright babe? Did I do something?”

“Your- your fucking knot- fuckfuckfuck-“ you choked out.

“What?” He blinked down at you, all golden puppy eyes while his monster sized knot split you in half, “What's wrong with it?”

“Ser -seriously? Sh’too- It's s’too big-“

“It is?” As he smirks he shifts his weight and you damn near passed out, “seems fine to me?”

You laughed -or sobbed, hard to tell- and it broke into a moan when he rolled his hips experimentally. You grabbed his hand and shoved it down between your bodies, pressing it against the bulge in your lower belly. Obscene. Fucking obscene.

“Valko.”

He looked down. Blinked. His tail started wagging. Actually wagging!

“Oh wow.” Like he'd found something mildly interesting, “That's pretty crazy.”

“YEAH.”

“Does it actually hurt?” He pressed against the bulge with genuine curiosity and your eyes nearly rolled back into your skull. Tail still going.

“Do you- hahh- do you seriously not know- how huge-“

“Dunno, never measured?” He dropped a casual kiss on your forehead, sweet as anything, while his fat fucking knot throbbed like it was trying to reshape your insides. “Always been like this. Annnnd those noises don’t really convince me you’re in pain.”

You were gonna fucking murder him. Right after you finished losing your mind on his cock.

He ground down into you and you came so hard you forgot your own name, pussy clenching around him like a goddamn vice.

“Oh- shit- shit-“ Finally cracking, his voice going high and whiney, “Squeezing me so tight, you’re gonna make me-“

He buried his face in your neck and came with a broken whine, and you felt it- pulse after pulse of hot cum pumping into you, filling you up til your belly rounded out even more. His arms caged you in, tail thumping against the mattress as he bred you full.

“S'good,” he slurred against your throat…

“Valko,” you whimpered, brain leaking out your ears., “M'so full-“

“Mm?” He sounded so pleased with himself.

Still absolutely clueless.

Way later -who even knows how long- he was still on top of you, weight braced on his elbows so he didn't crush you. His knot pulsed lazy and another warm gush filled you up.

“Hey,” he mumbled into your hair, and you could hear the grin in his voice.

“Mm.”

“So...” His fingers walked playfully up your side, making you squirm- which only made you clench around his knot and whimper, “You think my knot's big, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“Nah but like-“ He propped himself up to look at you, smirking, tail swishing, “You were really loud about it. Pretty sure the neighbors know now.”

“I hate you.”

“Mmhm.” He rolled his hips just slightly -enough to make you gasp- and his grin widened. “That why you're still milking my cock right now?”

Your face burned, “I- I can't- it's involuntary-“

“Sure it is.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, nuzzling, “S'okay baby. I think it's cute how much you love my huge knot.”

“I never said-“

“‘S'so fucking big Valko,'”he mimicked in a breathy voice, and you smacked his chest while he snickered. “'Your knot Valko, oh my god-“

“I do NOT sound like that.”

“You kinda do.” Another lazy grind. Another gush of cum. His eyes glittered. “Wanna hear what else you said? Got real creative toward the end there.”

You shoved at his shoulder uselessly. He didn't budge, just laughed and buried his face in your neck, pressing smiling kisses to your skin.

“M'just teasing, babe” His tail curled around your thigh, “youre cute when you're embarrassed.” He nuzzled the tippy top of your head.

“I'm gonna kill you when your knot finally goes down.”

“Mm, that's fair.” He snuggled closer, entirely unbothered, “Gives me like twenty more minutes to annoy you though.”

His hips shifted again, lazy and deliberate, and the noise you made was mortifying.

His tail wagged harder.

[heartyluv]

Let's Press Play! ▷

summary ♡ losing your job takes a serious toll on you and when your roommate’s "co-worker" isn't able to make it for a stream, an unforeseen idea sparks

content ♡ camboy&roommate!valko/reader, livestreamed sex, oral(fem!receiving), p in v (obvi lolll), he calls you pup bc why not

wc ♡ 4.7K (WOWOWOWOW)

a/n ♡ SURPRISEEEE!!! this may not be good, not too much

Trying to find a job was hard.

Trying to find a job while also being unemployed was even harder.

But you swore not to be too hard on yourself when you knew well in your heart that you were trying your best. Doing such a thing served you no justice and only made what was already a stressful experience, even more difficult.

No one anticipates being grouped into their company’s massive layoff, not when they swore that they had been a good little sheep in the communism hamster wheel of meetings, late night projects, and stacks of paperwork. Though with luck almost as bad as a cursed cartoon character, of course life would play out in a way that delivers you such heavy-hearted misfortune.

So, as you step into your apartment, trying your hardest not to breakdown after another shitty interview and realizing that you’ve officially been jobless for nearly five months now, all you can think of is some good food and your bed that you plan to rot in indefinitely.

“You look exhausted,” Valko says to you from where he lounges on the couch. “Another bad day?”

You’ve been disassociating so much the last few weeks that you actually tended to forget that you cohabitated with another person. Rather than being able to sulk in your feelings and waste away from the never-ending disappointment, your roommate wasn’t exactly the kind of man to let you if he had any say.

When you decided to share a space with one of your closest friends, especially one with a personality as out there as his, you figured it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Although it took you a few days to consider his offer, eventually you knew that the benefits were far too great and as time progressed, it proved to be a dynamic going strong for the last three years.

Where you kept to yourself and avoided the unnecessary, he was quick to speak up and make his voice heard. Truly, it was perfect.

You just never anticipated being the one who would be forced to hear it the more your frustrations and grievances became harder to mask.

You kick off your shoes and remove your cardigan in silence, intentionally ignoring him and focusing on whatever commercial that had put a pause to the media he was streaming.

“Am I asking for trouble if I say anything else?” he adds as you plop yourself down on the couch next to him and take a piece of beef jerky from the bag he’s nearly finished with.

“You're so greedy.” He raises a brow and tilts his head with confusion like a lost puppy at your comment.

“You do know that you’re the one eating my snack, don’t you?”

“I thought you didn’t mind sharing with me.”

“I don’t mind. Not at all.” He pauses his wildlife documentary, clearly ready to keep the conversation going and for all of his attention to stay on you. “But you’re the one raiding my stash and calling me names. Then you don’t even say hi. Do I mean nothing to you?”

“You just got this bag this morning and it’s already pretty much gone, dude,” you chuckle. “Greedy, dramatic, and sensitive.”

“You’re pivoting, you know? Not very good at being subtle about it either.”

You didn’t want to talk about it. You really, really didn’t.

You didn’t want to explain what he clearly already knew and didn’t feel like hearing the same reassuring words that weren’t doing anything to ease your constantly racing mind.

Valko leans over and snags the practically empty bag from you and tosses it somewhere out of your reach.

“What the hell is your problem—”

“You’re trying to shut me out again and I’m not letting you do that.”

“Does it kill you to not overstep?”

“That was so damn cheap.”

“How about add nosy to the list while we’re at it.”

“Concerned is more like it,” he corrects. “Why are you pushing yourself so hard when I told you to ease up? You do know that besides being your roommate, I am your friend. And friends don’t let their friends do and experience shit alone. You’re not doing this by yourself and I wish you stopped acting like you are.”

Already, you want to cry. Again.

The tears burn behind your glassy eyes and the uncomfortable tingle in your jaw makes it tick with the urge to let the waterworks flow freely.

Ever since you’ve been trekking through these unexpected hardships, Valko has been covering everything. Rent, groceries, utilities—the whole nine yards. He made you promise to not dip into your savings or to overwork yourself to try compensating for anything he wasn’t expecting of you.

What should’ve been relief had been a nightmare for you ever since.

You’ve always been able to have his back in some way, always have been able to be a dependable counterpart in your two-party pack. But ever since you lost your job, you’ve had to lean on him 100% and never have you ever felt so helpless.

Sure, his job does pay well. Very well, in fact. So much so that necessities and wants for both you and him were expenses he had no qualms about paying.

When he suddenly told you that he planned on seeing what it was like to be a camboy a few years back simply because he had the face and body for it, to say you were stunned was an understatement. At the time, he quite literally said one of his biggest reasons for contemplating such an idea was because he was “bored”. You weren’t one to discourage him if he had the confidence for it either.

Valko’s always been one to try his hand at something if he figured he’d be good at it. Combine that with his carefree-like approach to almost anything he sets his mind to, it shouldn’t be shocking that not only was he right in his assumptions of anticipated success, but he practically became one of the best known in the business what felt like overnight.

Working independently, it wasn’t long before agencies were reaching out and established workers wanted to work with him. Playing his cards right, he chose to remain solo, but when he partnered with the right people and produced the content the fans were begging for, his popularity and finances boosted exceptionally in record time.

To some extent, it’s been a rollercoaster for the both of you. He had to adjust to the recognition and demand while you had to do the same with all the things that could possibly come with the territory of having one of your closest friends be both your living partner and someone who has sex with others on camera.

You felt guilty for your lack of contribution irregardless of the reassurance he gave you and with the sincere look on his face, you were almost certain he could see it.

“We’ve already talked about this, Val.”

“So why does it seem like you still don’t get it?” He sighs, placing his hand on your head and making you turn it to face him instead of the coffee table like you’ve been doing this whole time. “It’s pretty bogus, if you ask me.”

He raises an eyebrow when you sit there silently with such a defiant expression, chuckling at the pouty lips and blank stare.

“Because you don’t get it. You’re not in my position, how could you even?”

“I don’t have to be. I know which one I’m in and I told you what it’s gonna look like until something changes. Nobody’s rushing you around here but you. Funnily enough, you’re the one that doesn’t see that.”

“Oh, you’re sooo inspirational,” you comment sarcastically as you drag out your words. You go to remove his hand from you. Ignoring the truth in his words helps you cope. “Let’s get this one a talk show.”

But he doesn’t let you discard his touch so easily, hand slipping down to the back of your neck to evade your move. He sees the way you tense as much as he can feel it, smiling to himself when your eyes widen and your lips press together.

“Nervous, huh?” Valko’s thumb swipes across your nape gently. “It’s always so easy to mess with you.”

He’s a friend. He’s always been a flirt. Don’t read too much into it.

“You’re so annoying. Get off me.”

“You think just because you’re wallowing in your emotions that I’d let you off easy?”

“Off,” you repeat, trying to shrug him away, but to no avail. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work anyways? Isn’t that guy coming by? Caleb or whatever?”

Valko raises his arms in amused defeat as he follows your stern order. “He cancelled today. Had something come up. I was gonna tell you later.”

Then that meant… “What about the stream you have to do today?”

“I’m still doing it, just by myself. Probably won’t be as fun for everyone since he can’t make it, but I’m nothing if not resourceful.”

If they were truly present in your head, certainly the both of you would’ve been capable of hearing the gears turning.

You stay with the egregious thought for a minute—a long minute, actually.

Valko, a popular and overly loved camboy with copious amounts of supporters. A job where he makes and earns money in real time. Thousands of fans in one stream surely has to equal the same in revenue, at least somewhat.

You don’t have a job.

You need something to not feel so awful.

It’s quick and relatively harmless.

But this is your friend. This will change the dynamic drastically—forever. Maybe he could handle it, it’s just work to him after all. Another day in the “office”. But could you? Do you want to add more turmoil to your already raging flame?

“Can I...” You stop yourself.

Should you really be asking this? Are you ready for something so extreme and sudden? But the opportunity is sitting in your face and begging to be taken.

“Can you what? Don’t give up, I believe in you,” he jests, leaning into you slowly and close to nudging you with his shoulder.

You push him away immediately and ignore his exaggerated look of betrayal. “Could you be serious?”

“If you could finish your sentence, I can think about trying.”

Rolling your eyes and huffing out a shaky breath that he hears too clearly, you muster up the courage. Or whatever this kind of audacity is.

“What if… what if I take his… place?”

The room falls silent. Too silent. For a second, you think you might’ve actually stopped his heart.

“… What the fuck.”

Not what you were hoping to hear, but it’s a fair reaction nonetheless.

“We don’t have to show my face,” you urge. “I don’t want to show it at all, actually. Just hear me—”

“Are you insane? Absolutely not.”

He doesn’t get to shut you down like this. Maybe it’s the adrenaline coming from what you’re genuinely considering or the desire to make some kind of progress in something that’s been so dormant, but if he would just work with you.

“I’ve been feeling like shit for months, Valko!” He freezes at your voice raised so suddenly, gaze flickering between your clenched fists and avoidant eyes. “Maybe it’s just desperation. Maybe this is so irresponsible of me and… and m-maybe I’ll regret it in the future. But I can’t keep sitting here and failing, okay?”

“How many times do I have to tell you—”

Your head shakes immediately to swat away what’s supposed to be uplifting if you’d let him finish.

“I trust you. I trust you get where I’m coming from and why I’m trying to do this.” You move closer to him, trying not to let it sting when he watches you warily like you’re not in your right mind. “If you don’t want to do it with me, I rather you just say that. But… but I can do it. If you let me, Val, I can show you. Please.”

He tries to ignore the way his dick twitches from the softness that claims your tone. His sweatpants feel like they've suddenly shrunk three sizes and are suffocating him. But the way you cling to him, how you beg…

“I don’t want to take advantage of you being in such a vulnerable place, pup. That’s not my style.”

“You aren’t if I’m asking for it. I want… I want to feel like I’m doing something—that I’m helping and that I believe it in my own terms.”

His features soften. He’s always given you everything you wanted. How could he deny you when you come to him like this? Even with his concerns, he can’t ignore the temptation.

“… Nothing’s gonna change about us? You won’t run when it’s done?”

Your head moves side to side, decision firm and resolute. “I promise not to.”

It’s been hours since you had that conversation and only now were your nerves trying to get the best of you when the act itself was this close to happening.

Seeing Valko live and in his element was different from watching behind a screen in secret. Of course you watched him from time to time, it wasn’t abnormal to be curious. How could one not be?

Were you proud to say that you’ve seen your friend’s cock? Or that you’ve seen what he looks like when his strong thighs are covered in his cum? Or how he sounds when he edges himself for over an hour? No, not really. But you’d be lying if you said you regretted seeing or enjoying it.

The minute he started, having you sit beside him and out of view until it came time to do what the both of you were there for, his stream was flooded with donations, comments, and viewers, instantly.

It almost made you nauseous, seeing the number of watchers jump from 0 to 20, 500, then surpassing the thousands faster than you could blink. He gave them that flirtatious banter and cocky energy effortlessly, teasing a few supporters and playfully reprimanding others for their smutty dialogue.

This was easy for him, at least it had become so with time, and it forced you to observe with admiration.

He didn’t even have to do anything different outside of who he is naturally, simply sitting at his desk and staying dressed in the same comfortable attire you found him in after coming home.

There was something about Valko that you could never put your finger on, and that amplified as you paid close attention to the way he interacts with the people who love him and his body.

valsbabydoll: isn’t caleb supposed to be here today??

locawerewolf: can we get to itttt

valkosprincess: he’s so sexy, i’m dripping

“Don’t be mad at me,” he smirks, eyeing the way they urge him to reveal what he’s been holding onto. “But Caleb couldn’t make it tonight.”

You can already sense the kind of reaction he’ll get for telling them something so disappointing when their expectations were so high, but he continues with confidence. Whether it’s in you or him, you can’t tell.

“I’ve got something else you might like. Someone I know I will.”

Valko looks your way and throws you a reassuring wink, tilting his head for you to stand and come to him. Was it wise to read into his words or was all of this “on the clock”?

The camera’s been angled in a way that only shows your body from the chest down, keeping it safely away from revealing your face. Your body is completely covered in goosebumps, and the jitters are buzzing from your fingertips all the way to your toes.

Turning in his chair, he looks in your direction and caresses you from your ass to the back of your thighs. “Pretty, isn’t she?”

It takes everything to not let your knees give out as he feels on you so tenderly, switching from grabbing the flesh of your ass through your shorts to tracing his fingers dangerously close in between your legs.

“We’ll both do good for you tonight, so make sure you let her know how much you appreciate it.” His hand slips up your tank top from the side, making him grin when you twitch. “I think it’s about time we got started."

“When I’m touching you, you focus on me. They’re paying you to feel good, remember that.”

That’s what you try to keep in mind when Valko’s lips connect to the exposed part of your stomach. It’s what he told you after you reassured him for what felt like the hundredth time that you were not changing your mind. Besides safe words and mutual understandings set, he needed you to feel good. He needed you to have fun and he would put in all the effort necessary to ensure that outcome.

So instead of trying to see what his fans think of you, your body, and unexpected appearance, you fixate upon the warmth of his tongue as he leaves sloppy open-mouth kisses on your tummy and the strong arm he keeps wrapped around you so that you can’t slip away from him. You find your back arching the slightest into his affection the more he gives it and that alone was already surreal because of how natural it felt.

Your fingers cling to the soft strands on his head, running them through his scalp as stimulation for his own satisfaction and as a way to keep you grounded. All you have is the dimmed off-white light coming from his computer monitors and the lamp he has lit to see how he almost loses himself in catering to your torso alone. With you being so reactive to how he nips at your soft spots to make you whine and hiss with pleasure, he could see himself staying there for a very long time.

“Val… p-please” you whisper through a gentle moan when he hums against you in acknowledgment to the sounds you make in response the sensations.

“Don’t be impatient.” It’s ironic for him to taunt you this way when he says that with his sentence muffled since he won’t pull away. “Savoring my treats is what I do.”

He goes for your bottoms next, hooking his thumbs into them and slowly tugging them down whilst seemingly trying to leave an imprint of his lips on your skin.

deepspace4val ~ Donated 300 Chocos - take them off. panties too

The automated voice reading out the note attached to the gift makes Valko laugh and sends vibrations through you.

“Everyone’s just as eager as I am.” He looks into your lust-filled eyes, searching for approval and making a silent promise. Your quick and little nod is what he needs before pulling them down your legs completely and following them to the floor as he removes himself from the chair and falls to his knees.

He has your leg hooked over his shoulder fast, burying his entire face in your pussy as if he’ll die now if he doesn’t inhale you deeply from the source. You have to regain focus quickly and brace your palms to his broad shoulders as he pulls a hearty cry of pleasure from your unexplored depths.

The sounds of him licking and sucking you in such a place, feeling him groan and lap you up as if he’s been stranded in a desert—right here and right now, he owned you.

Donations were coming in waves as you looked out the corner of your eye through hazy vision. Watching your friend taste you like this for thousands to see… you wanted more. The way his jaw moved and how the muscle in it jumped the harder he worked to consume you was intoxicatingly addictive.

“I’m gonna… w-wait. Hold on…!” You try warning him, but your pitched cries and nails digging into his skin is his reason.

Valko sucks your clit into his mouth the more you squirm, focusing all his attention on the swollen bud that pulses against his tongue as his mouth is flooded with your sweetness. He then widens and flattens the muscle along the slit of your puffy cunt, forcing you to nearly hunch over from the dizziness of his overwhelming gluttony.

You can’t utter another word when the tip of his tongue slips into your quivering hole. That and his nose nudging against you is what has the expert holding you by the ass to keep you rooted on his greedy mouth that sucks you dry when your orgasm confiscates all your senses.

You’ve never wailed from such a thing this loud in your life—ever.

“Even better than I expected.” You can’t tell if the glow on his face is from your slick or the fact that he’s thriving off your essence. It’s like he’s almost in disbelief himself. “Fuck, I’m so hard.”

imcumming77 ~ Donated 500 Chocos - fuck her already, i can’t last long

0rgasmsRlife ~ Donated 450 Chocos - i wanna see her tits

“What a coincidence. So do I.” Even breathless and covered in you, he’s still so cheeky.

He presses another kiss to his new favorite place, leaving a trail as he begins to stand. Your shirt rises with him until it’s off completely and a nipple is claimed by him immediately.

“Ah—Hold… Mmph, Valko, that’s s-so…” You’re incoherent now and leaving you speechless has become his guilty pleasure.

His cock brushes up against you and you feel just how much he’s been holding back. Taking his time to tend to you, to relax your mind and body to be ready for both him and this experience, you realize now you could never repay him for something of this magnitude. But, you’d be a liar to say you’d never try.

With newfound boldness, you snake a hand past his elastic waistband and into his pants. As soon as your hand wraps around his cock, you give all the attention to his leaking tip that now creates the same mess in your palm as it’s done all over him.

“Trying to kill me?” he rasps, nose buried in your neck as if your scent will keep him from truly collapsing. “Goddamn, y-you… shit, that's good..”

You look at the screen again and this time he does the same to see what everyone else does. His cum just barely seeps through his pants and the motion of your hand taking care of him underneath sends shivers down his spine.

Your tits glisten with his saliva and having your naked body on display for so many to see yet it only being for him to touch and feel is a reality he can’t quite believe, but he yearns to stay there.

“Not like this.” Although they can’t see your face, it’s clear to everyone when he claims your lips. The taste of yourself flooding your senses and his eagerness to make you savor both it and him, were dizzying. His teeth tugging on them and licking away the dull ache until he pulled away only left you craving more.

Valko takes your hand, bringing you close as he sits in the same chair that he was before everything began. His cock stands tall, thick, and completely flushed in the prettiest pink. He strokes himself a few times while his other hand fondles one of your tits, then flicks a nipple with his thumb while teasing his slit with his other. Only when precum beads and slowly falls down the side of his length does he guide you to stand in between his legs.

“Ready when you are.” Sitting back and waiting for you to make the next move, Valko leaves the ball in your court.

His hands know what to do as you climb into his lap with no hesitation. He looks over your shoulder to see how erotic it truly is and if he were a viewer, he could see himself going bankrupt if it allowed him to witness you spread out with a dick primed and ready to slide into you.

“H-help me,” you plead shakily, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding onto him with an unrelenting embrace. He kisses your shoulder and runs a hand down your back almost lovingly.

“Lift your hips,” he murmurs, placing a kiss below your ear.

The donations were still coming is droves as he grabs his cock and lines it up with your dripping entrance. Valko teases everyone including himself, pushing pass your pussy lips but not fully sinking into your warmth. Rather than continuing to wait impatiently, you work your body to meet him and guide yourself down with an unspoken eagerness.

“That’s it, pup,” he coos, teeth gritting the more your pussy swallows him inside and shapes around his dick to the hilt. “Let them see you take it in good since you can’t wait. Easy… there you go, you’ve got it.”

Your uneven breath fans against his ear and your cunt clenches around him over and over like an unforgiving vice. He takes the lead for you now, his large hands grabbing you by the hips then snaking down to the underside of your thighs.

The first stroke was capable of turning him into a pussy drunk fool. Thousands watch how your juices coat his cock and his cum being dragged down to form a creamy ring at his base.

“More,” you mewl. “Keep—nngh, g-going, Val…”

He couldn’t give a damn about who was watching at that point. In fact, he couldn’t say that he ever did after you graced him with a chance to have you like this.

You’ve always been on his radar yet something he considered untouchable. He respects you, values the things that you say, do, and think. Rejection wasn’t what deterred him from trying but the potential for you to demand any kind of separation, did.

Now that he’s had a taste, good luck trying to act like he’ll never want it again.

Valko grabbed you as securely as he could before he began drilling into you from beneath, his heavy balls slapping against you every time you sunk all the way down. Every viewer was bound to be staring at how you fucked yourself on him and attentively listened to the sounds of both of your ragged breaths and desperate yet filthy panting.

“So damn tight,” he praises, licking the outer shell of your ear and grabbing you harder with promises of marks that you’ll undoubtedly be embarrassed to look at once your high subsides. You were ridiculously soaked for him, and it just wouldn’t stop. Obscene squelches and constantly meeting skin slickened with sweat echoing in his bedroom was enough to prove the heights of your arousal if the visual alone wasn’t enough.

daydreaminlongevity ~ Donated 1000 Chocos - cum in her. don’t waste it

“It’s okay.” Your pussy tightens around him again with anticipation. “I want it… I can take it.”

He brings you in closer as he feels his orgasm coming quicker than he expected it to. His muscles bulge when he envelops you in his embrace, keeping the same breath-stealing momentum as your voice and body shakes uncontrollably from his lack of control.

All it takes is four more deep thrusts before you’re collapsing onto him from exhaustion and feeling the rush of his cum spill into you. You’re held down so that as much as possible stays inside your sensitive cunt, and you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck until the rush washes over.

More people than you could imagine are watching how your thighs shake and your pussy quivers around him. They can see how he raises you just enough to display how his cum overflows and spills out. You both were a mess and all they wanted was more.

*************** ~ Donated 2000 Chocos - again again again

********* ~ Donated 1200 Chocos - eat it out of her

****** ~ Donated 3000 Chocos - can we get a different angle?? i wanna see her better

All the automated messages flowing in has your body on fire more than it already was.

“Seems like I’ve got competition.” Valko’s hand outlines the curves of your body as he lets you rest. “You hear how much they love you, pup?”

You nod. “Again. I wanna go again, too.”

How could he not fulfill such a request? This time though, he planned to show you firsthand for why he was so highly favored.

Could you keep up?

a/n: i was sitting on this for daaays 😭 and i dunno if it’s actually any good.. but i didn’t wanna say anything in case i didn’t finish it lmfaooo BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOYED, MY CUTIES!!!

creds to @/angeliicide for the bratz dividers & @/astroyosei for the lily divider!!

[sincerely-star]

⋮ 𓏲ּ𝄢 ┆when a villain’s quirk forces katsuki bakugo to spend twenty-four uninterrupted hours glued to your side, the two of you quickly realize that being unable to keep your hands off each other is only half the problem.

⧼ 🛍️ ⧽ ∿ pairings 。 ⸝⸝ katsuki bakugo x fem!reader 𓄲 genre ⨾ tropes 。 pro hero x pro hero, romance, friends to lovers, forced proximity, mature themes, explicit sexual scenes 𓏲 contains 。 ᵎᵎ nsfw, 18+ only mdni, language, mutual pining, smut, dirty talks, dry humping, fingering, unprotected piv sex, spooning, cowgirl, choking, slight degradation, pet names (baby, brat, slut) ꩜ ⋆.˚ word count 。 6.0k ꔛ

꒰ star speaks ꒱ ✮ this fic is based on this blurb ᵎᵎ i posted months ago which has been long overdo. . . oopsie 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯

﹙m.list﹚ ﹙nav﹚

you woke up expecting your first mission of the day to end professionally with a quiet victory. your routine usually flowed with a seamless rhythm because you had spent years honing your quirk and your instincts. you took a certain pride in the fact that your missions tended to end successfully and remained relatively calm, at least from your perspective.

you did not consider yourself cocky, but there was a comforting predictability to the way you handled villains. you could usually predict a criminal's next move before they even thought of it, leaving you to wrap things up with a clean arrest and a polite nod to the authorities.

you imagined today would be no different, just another entry in your record of efficiency.

but boy were you wrong.

your day started that morning at tokyo’s largest shopping district. the air felt crisp and the streets were filled with the usual hum of commuters and tourists.

you were paired with katsuki for a team up mission targeting a group of high profile robbers. these villains had a penchant for the finer things, having spent the last few months raiding museums for historical paintings and priceless jewelry.

the objective was simple. apprehend the group, secure the stolen assets, and ensure no civilians were harmed.

for the first hour, the mission played out exactly as you had envisioned. you and katsuki moved like a well oiled machine, your quirk complementing his explosive one. you managed to corner the group in a side gallery, neutralizing the muscle while katsuki blasted the leaders into submission. the civilians were ushered to safety and the jewels were recovered in record time.

“took you long enough to wrap that one up, you slow ass,” katsuki barked, though there was no real heat in it.

"i had it under control, katsuki, you just wanted to blow things up," you replied, glancing back at him with a smirk.

the calm shattered during the final moments of the arrest.

one of the villains, a scrawny man with a desperate look in his eyes, lunged forward as you were securing a pair of handcuffs. he didn't aim for the jewels or the exit. he aimed for you.

katsuki saw the movement a split second before you did. he didn't hesitate, shoving you hard to the side and taking the hit directly to his chest. there was no explosion or flash of light, just a strange, shimmering ripple in the air that seemed to snap onto him.

you both stood there for a moment in total silence, blinking in confusion.

katsuki looked down at his chest, then back at the villain, his face twisting into a scowl. “what the fuck was that?!” he didn't feel anything unusual, and you assumed the attack had failed.

but as katsuki reached out to grab your arm to pull you away from the scene, the world seemed to tilt. the moment his fingers brushed your skin, there was a violent, audible clack, like two industrial magnets slamming together.

you were suddenly jerked backward, your back slamming into his chest with such force that the air left your lungs in a sharp wheeze.

“what the hell?! get off me!” katsuki roared, his voice echoing off the museum walls.

“you get off me!” you retorted as you tried to push away, planting your feet and leaning forward with all your strength.

“i am not staying stuck to you all day,” he snarled, his palms sparking. “i will blast this quirk right off of me!”

“don't you dare blast us into a wall,” you warned, though you were already feeling the dizzying proximity of him.

you managed to create a gap of maybe three inches before an invisible force yanked you back. you flew backward again, hitting him with a dull thud that made you groan.

that’s how you ended up here, talking to the authorities, finishing the mission by sharing all the intel you have gathered. you could physically feel the headache coming as you scolded yourself for your wishful thinking that today would be a good day because you were so wrong.

the very angry and very agitated katsuki bakugo who was literally stuck to you was living proof of that.

“that fucking bastard! get us out of this, you pathetic excuse of a villain!” he yelled at the villain who was cuffed being escorted away.

“katsuki, stop moving! you’ve already tried pulling away once and it didn’t work. what makes you think trying over and over again would be any different?” you snapped, though your voice was strained from the impact of his chest on your back from the constant forceful pulling.

“i am not moving, you damn brat!” he was screaming even louder now, his face inches from your ear. “i shouldn’t have agreed to do this low tiered mission.”

“you’re a hero! we did our job, get over yourself.” you knocked your head back to his, hitting him square in the forehead making him groan.

“fuck you.” katsuki growled at you from behind, biting onto a section of your hair from the back before tugging.

you rolled your eyes in anger before stomping on his foot. “stop acting like a child.”

“hit me again and i’ll throw the both of us into traffic.” katsuki threatened you.

you rolled your eyes as you turned your head back to look at the police officers who were still processing the scene. you tried to maintain your professional composure while katsuki was essentially glued to your spine.

he was leaning back with all his might, trying to keep his chest from pressing against your back, but it was a losing battle. every time he drifted a few inches away, the magnetic pull would snap him back into you with a forceful slam that pushed you forward, nearly making you trip over your own boots.

“for the love of god, i am just trying to finish the report,” you told the katsuki before turning back to the detective, ignoring the way katsuki was vibrating with rage behind you. “please ignore him and his temper tantrum.”

“shut your mouth!” katsuki yelled, his hands gripping your waist tightly, not to keep himself from slipping but because he physically can’t let go. “i am not having a temper tantrum, you're just annoying! and you!” he turned his head to glare at the captured villain who was already in police van. “you piece of shit! i am going to blow your limbs off one by one! do you hear me! i will blast you into the next century for this!”

“katsuki, shut up!” you yelled back, snapping your patience. “can’t you see i’m talking to the authorities! just stay still for five fucking minutes!”

he spat a curse, his breath hot against your neck. “do you want to be stuck here like this the entire day?! if i hadn't taken that hit for you, we wouldn't be in this mess! you're lucky i'm even touching you, you brat!”

the detective cleared his throat, looking between the two of you with a mixture of pity and amusement.

“from what we can see so far, all five of the villains captured today aren’t japanese citizens. this means their quirks are completely unregistered in our database.” the detective eyed his phone before meeting your eyes once more. “i have already informed the lab about you and dynamight’s situation. they will be analyzing the specific properties of the magnetic quirk. once we get the villains to custody, i will personally question the villain who hit you with the quirk and get more information on it.”

“for now,” the detective continued, “i will inform the hero commission that both of you are off duty. no missions, no patrols, and certainly no work at your respective agencies. you are physically incapacitated as a pair. i suggest you both go home and discuss where you will be staying. hopefully, the quirk effects will wear off on their own within twenty-four hours.”

“thank you, detective,” you said, giving a tired smile. “we appreciate the help.”

katsuki didn't thank anyone. he just growled, a low, dangerous sound in his throat, and glared at the detective as if the man had personally glued them together.

the ride back to katsuki's agency was a chaotic affair. once you arrived, you were greeted by mina and kirishima, who had been briefed on the situation. mina nearly collapsed in fits of laughter the moment she saw you two stuck together.

“oh my god!” mina squealed, pointing at you. “you guys are literally like a human sandwich! this is the most romantic thing i have ever seen in my entire professional career!”

“it is not romantic, you idiot!” katsuki screamed, his face turning a deep shade of crimson. “get over here and help us get these damn costumes off before i explode this entire building!”

the process of changing into regular clothes was a nightmare of coordination and physical strain. because you couldn't be separated by more than a few inches, you had to change in separate rooms with people literally holding you back.

mina and two of katsuki's assistants gripped your arms and waist, anchoring you to a heavy bolted table in one room, while kirishima and another sidekick did the same for katsuki in the adjacent room.

it was a grueling exercise in willpower. every time you tried to slide a shirt over your head, the magnetic pull would tug at you, threatening to launch you through the concrete wall and right back into katsuki's chest.

you were sweating, your teeth gritted as you gripped the edges of the table, your knuckles white. i can't believe this is my life right now, you thought, feeling a bead of sweat roll down your temple. i expected a calm day, and now i'm being held back like a wild animal just so i can put on a t shirt.

rom the other side of the wall, you could hear kirishima grunting, his voice strained as he fought to keep katsuki in place.

“bakugo, man, listen,” kirishima gasped, sounding completely out of breath. “i think you should just go pee or do your business in the bathroom while we're still here. i don't think you'll be able to do that once you two are back home and stuck together. there won't be anyone to pry you off each other.”

“i will kill you!” katsuki's voice boomed, followed by the sound of a small explosion. “stop talking about my bladder, shitty hair! i can handle myself!”

“it sounds stupid, but kiri is right,” mina said to you, her voice shaking from the effort of holding you still. “you might want to consider it.”

you paused, the reality of the situation sinking in. you looked at the wall separating you from the most stubborn man in japan and sighed. “fine,” you called out. “take me to the bathroom.”

after another thirty minutes of torturous maneuvering, kirishima and mina drove the two of you to katsuki's penthouse.

the car ride was an exercise in sensory overload.

katsuki had claimed the back seat, spreading himself out with his back against the door. because of the magnetic pull, you were forced to sit with your back against his front, tucked between his legs.

you tried your best to focus on the scenery passing by the window, but it was impossible to ignore the loud, frantic thumping in your chest. your face felt hot, a deep blush creeping up your neck.

you could feel every inch of him. his chest was hard and defined, digging into your shoulder blades, and his hands were firmly glued to your waist. the heat radiating from him was intense, a constant, pulsing warmth that seemed to seep through your clothes and melt your resolve.

why is he so warm? you wondered, biting your lip. and why does he always smell this intoxicating.

kirishima and mina were kind enough to make sure the two of you were settled, ordering a massive amount of food and eating with you both in the penthouse before they had to leave for their own duties. they left you two alone in the silence of the luxury apartment, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife.

the rest of the afternoon was spent in his bedroom, which had become a battleground for the remote control. you wanted to watch something light, something that would distract you from the fact that you were physically fused to your long time crush, but katsuki wanted to watch literally anything else.

“we are watching a rom com, katsuki,” you insisted, leaning back into him as you both sat on the bed. “come on, it will be fun. plus it'll calm you down.”

“i am not watching some garbage movie about people crying over flowers!” katsuki yelled, though his voice lacked its usual bite. “put on an action movie! something with explosions!”

“do you even need any more explosions when you are a already human bomb?” you countered, a playful smirk on your lips. “oooh! how about we watch mean girls? it's a classic.”

“i don't care if it's a damn classic! it's stupid!” he groaned, but he didn't fight you as hard as he usually would once you pressed play. he seemed exhausted by the day's events.

you wore him down with a combination of stubbornness and a few well placed pouts. eventually, he caved with a loud, dramatic sigh that sounded like he was conceding a war.

“fine! watch your stupid mean girls movie! just stop talking during it!”

you ended up lying on his bed with him (duh), the movie playing on a large screen in front of you. because of the way you were stuck, he was positioned behind you, his arms forced to wrap around your waist in a permanent spooning position. his chest was pressed firmly against your back. you could feel the steady, heavy beat of his heart matching your own.

“this is so stupid,” katsuki muttered, his voice low and husky right against your ear. “why are people so obsessed with who sits where at lunch? it's a school cafeteria. eat your fucking food and go.”

you chuckled, the sound vibrating through both of your bodies. “i don't know, katsuki, you tell me. i think you could definitely pass as a mean girl. you've got the attitude and the temper for it.”

he stiffened, his grip on your waist tightening. “what did you just say to me? i will blast you into orbit!”

you just laughed, feeling a surge of boldness. “admit it, you'd totally be the leader of the plastics. you'd just scream at everyone until they did what you wanted… which you already do. and you’re blond as well. it’s perfect casting!”

katsuki didn't yell back this time. instead, he let out a huff of air that felt like a kiss against your skin.

you weren't normally this chatty, but the proximity was making you reckless. you were desperately trying to distract yourself from the heat of his body. for hours, you had been glued together, and the friction was starting to create a feverish warmth between you. you could feel the slight dampness of his sweat against your back, the nitroglycerin scented moisture making your skin tingle.

i can't believe he hasn't blown us up yet, you thought, your heart racing.

you had carried a torch for katsuki since your second year at u.a. high. it had started as admiration for his drive and evolved into a deep, aching attraction that you had kept hidden behind jokes and professional courtesy. now, with your agencies located close to each other and your friendship deepening, the feelings had become an obsession.

you shifted your hips slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position to ease the strain of being fused to him. as you settled further back, pushing your backside against him, you felt something hard and unmistakable pressing against the curve of your butt. you froze, your breath hitching in your throat. it was his cock, already thickening through the fabric of his sleep pants.

you felt his breath hitch. the fingers that had been awkwardly and tensely gripping your waist earlier were changing. he wasn't just holding on anymore. his fingertips began to move, subtly drawing slow, rhythmic shapes on your skin, tracing the curve of your hip and the dip of your waist. the touch was almost shy, which was completely unlike the man who had spent the morning screaming at police officers.

you moved a little bit more, trying to settle in further into the bed.

katsuki let out a long, shaky breath that fanned across the nape of your neck. you felt his fingers tighten on your waist, his grip almost bruising. “stop moving,” he growled, his voice a deep, guttural vibration that resonated through your entire spine.

you knew you should stop, but a spark of mischief flared in your chest.

you shifted again, a slow, deliberate grind of your hips that pressed you deeper into his hardness. you acted innocent, humming softly as if you were still just trying to get comfortable. “i'm just trying to get settled, kats, it's a bit cramped,” you whispered, though your voice held a teasing lilt.

he let out a sound that was halfway between a groan and a snarl. you could feel him growing harder, the length of him stretching against you, hot and demanding. the heat between your bodies was becoming unbearable, a fever that blurred the lines of friendship.

“you're doing that on fucking purpose,” he hissed, his breath hot against your ear. “you like playing with fire, huh? you damn brat.”

“i don't know what you're talking about,” you replied, tilting your head back to look at him, your eyes dancing with challenge.

katsuki's restraint snapped. he shifted his weight, pushing his body more firmly onto yours, pinning you to the mattress. he leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous, predatory whisper. “you think you're so clever, don't you? teasing me when you know i can't even pull away from you.”

“katsuki,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“you're just a little tease, begging for me to fucking lose it.” he muttered, his words laced with a slight edge of degradation that made your stomach flip.

“maybe i am,” you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribs.

“look at me,” he commanded, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. you could feel the heat of his skin, the roughness of his tongue as he grazed your collarbone. a low moan escaped your throat, and you felt him shudder against you.

you turned your neck, straining against the magnetic pull to face him. the moment your eyes met, he crashed his lips onto yours.

the kiss was explosive, tasting of desperation and years of suppressed longing. his tongue pushed into your mouth, tasting of cinnamon and heat, sucking on your tongue with a hunger that left you lightheaded. you moaned into the kiss, your hands reaching back to tangle in his spiky blonde hair, pulling him closer even though there was nowhere left to go.

the kiss deepened, becoming wetter and more frantic. you could hear the sound of your saliva exchanging, a wet, shlicking noise that only fueled the fire in your gut. he shifted his weight, pinning you further into the mattress, his thighs sliding between yours. the friction of his trousers against your own was driving you insane.

“i can't... i can't stand this,” katsuki gasped, breaking the kiss to bite your earlobe. i want you. i want all of you.

“oh—please…” you arched your back, pressing your rear into his crotch. you could feel the hard, thick length of his cock straining against his pants, a rigid pillar of heat that was pulsing against you. you whimpered, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

he began to move, his hips grinding rhythmically into your backside as he continued to kiss your neck and shoulders. every thrust was heavy, his hardness rubbing against you through the clothes. you arched your back, grinding back into him, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps of pleasure.

“k-katsuki,” you pleaded, not sure what you were begging for, but you were.

“god, you feel so good,” he muttered against your skin, his voice rough. “i've wanted to do this for so long, you stupid, beautiful idiot.”

katsuki struggled against the magnetic effect that was very much a nuisance as it was a push, his muscles straining as he fought the pull to lift his hand. he grunted with the effort, his face contorted, but he managed to slide his hand down between your legs. his fingers brushed against the damp fabric of your underwear, finding the heat of your pussy.

“ha—! kats…” you squirmed at the sudden pressure.

“you're already wet,” he chuckled, a dark, triumphant sound. “look at you, soaking through your clothes for me.” he began to play with you, his fingers circling your clit through the cloth of your pants, sending jolts of electricity through your nerves.

you whined, your head tossing back against his shoulder. “katsuki, please,” you begged, your voice trembling.

he was impatient, the hunger in his eyes mirroring your own. he didn't want to waste another second with fabric between you. with a sudden, violent surge of strength, he gripped the waistband of your bottoms and tore them. the sound of fabric ripping filled the room, a sharp crack that made you gasp. he didn't stop there, his hands moving to your top, ripping the material away with a focused aggression, fighting the magnetic pull that tried to snap him back.

“be patient, damn it,” he growled like a hypocrite. he slid his hand down, his fingers diving into your wetness. you were already soaking, your juices coating his fingers as he slid them through your folds. he let out a low whistle, his voice thick with lust. “hah! not only are you a tease and impatient as fuck, you're also so fucking wet for me, aren't you?”

“yes, m’sorry… just please,” you breathed out, tilting your head back.

katsuki didn’t need to be told twice. he found your clit and began to rub it with a punishing intensity, his fingers sliding deep inside you. the sensation was overwhelming, the friction of his skin against your walls creating a wet, squelching sound that filled the silence.

“k-kats—hah…” you called out his name, your body squirming against his touch, your muscles clamping tight around his fingers.

“mmh?” he nipped lightly at your shoulder, his other hand moving up to cup your breast through your blouse, his thumb finding your nipple and rubbing it to a hard peak. “tell me this is wrong. tell me to stop.” his voice was a dark challenge.

you arched back into him instinctively, pushing your ass more firmly against his hardness. a low groan rumbled from his chest. “it doesn’t… f-feel wrong,” you managed, your own voice husky. “f-feels so good…”

katsuki was losing it as much as you were, he was just good at hiding it. he was breathing hard, his chest heaving. he gripped his own clothes, his muscles bulging as he fought the magnetic force one last time to rip his pants and underwear away. as soon as he was free, the magnet slammed his bare body back against yours with a heavy thud.

the feeling of his bare cock grinding against your bare behind was almost too much to bear. he was huge, hot, and leaking pre-cum that lubricated the space between you.

“sh-hiiiit…” you breathed, eyes rolling from the weight of his bare cock behind you.

“yeah?” he cut in ruthlessly, his hand squeezing your breast, his hips grinding again in a rhythm that was becoming unmistakable. “found the opportunity and started grinding your ass into me like this,” he rocked against you, the friction deliciously maddening. “you’re such a fucking tease. always been f’me, huh? you get everything little thing you want, don’t ya?”

“ngh, no m’not—” you moaned, your head falling back against his shoulder. “you’re the one… who’s being a tease. katsuki, please…”

“hm? what’s wrong?” he taunted softly, biting your earlobe. “please what, baby? tell me. what happened to your damn confidence now, huh?” his long fingers curled deeper inside you, the slick wet on his fingers.

“oh—mmh, yeah… just like that, k-kats,” you gasped, bucking against his touch.

“you hear yourself?” he fucked you harder with his finger before adding another, his thumb finding your and rubbing in tight circles. you cried out, your hand struggling against the magnet as it flew back to clutch at his thigh. “so fucking wet and loud—mmm’fuuuck.”

katsuki was grinding against you relentlessly now, his cock hard and demanding against your ass, his fingers working magic through your slit. the friction between you was building a frantic heat low in your belly. your breath came in ragged pants that matched his own.

“w-want it— shiiit. katsuki, please. i want you inside me. want you so bad,” you begged again, the thought of him fragmented by pleasure.

“god fucking dammit, you beg so pretty f’me,” he growled, his voice guttural with need. he pressed his face into your neck, inhaling deeply. “been wanting this for so long.” he pulled his soaked fingers out of your pussy making you whine at the emptiness. he didn't need to be told twice. he positioned himself, the head of his cock probing the entrance of your heat. he pushed forward slowly. “fuuuuck… you feel good,” a low growl ripping from his throat as your tight walls gripped him.

you whined, the feeling of him filling you up stretching you to your limit. he was thick, far thicker than you had imagined, and the sensation of him sliding deep into your cervix made your toes curl. you arched violently, a loud moan tearing from your throat as pleasure spiked through you. “oh god! katsuki!”

katsuki began to move, his thrusts rhythmic and powerful. because of the magnetic bond, he couldn't pull away completely, which meant every thrust was deep, hitting your most sensitive spots with punishing accuracy. the sound of your bodies colliding filled the room, a rhythmic squelching noise as his cock slid in and out of your drenched pussy.

shlick, squelch, shlick.

“that’s it, baby,” katsuki purred against your skin, his fingers kept pressure on your clit, circling it around while his hips never stopped moving “take it. take what you’ve always wanted from me.”

“fuck yeah. yeah, right there…” you were full on begging and purring now as you moved your hips meeting his thrust, the pleasure overwhelming your senses. you could feel the sweat from his chest dripping onto your back, mixing with the fluids of your union. he was panting, his breath coming in short, jagged bursts against your ear.

“look at you—fuck. made for me”, he groaned, his voice breaking. i'm going to ruin you. he increased the pace, his movements becoming more overzealous. in his desperation to get deeper, his cock slipped out of you for a fraction of a second, only to slam back in with a wet thud that made you cry out. the sound of air being pushed out of your pussy created a loud, popping noise that only made him more aggressive.

“m’don’t think… gonna last looong—oh! yes, fuck! harder, katsuki!”

“come on then,” katsuki commanded, his voice rough with strain. he bit down on your shoulder blade. “cum for me. show me how good it feels when i finally touch you like this.” he curled his fingers harder, pressed his thumb down fiercely. “let go for me, you slut. let me feel you cum around me.”

he gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, leaving red marks that you knew you would cherish tomorrow. he was hammering into you now, his balls slapping rhythmically against your ass, the sound of skin hitting skin filling the air.

you felt your orgasm building, a tidal wave of heat that started in your toes and surged upward. “katsuki!” you screamed, your muscles clamping down on him in a series of violent contractions.

“fuck, i’m close,” he growled against your skin, his hips bucking up, driving his cock impossibly deeper where your bodies joined.

the feeling of your pussy pulsing around him was the final straw. “god fucking damn it! mgghfuuuck…” he let out a roar, his body stiffening as he shot his seed deep inside you. you could feel the hot, thick spurts of his cum hitting your cervix, filling you up until you felt like you were overflowing. he groaned, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his chest heaving as he slowly came down from the peak.

katsuki breathed heavily, his heart racing. he suddenly gripped your waist. “turn around,” he commanded. “face me.”

“i can't, kats, the magnet,” you panted from your orgasm, trying to shift.

“fight it,” he growled, his voice regaining its dominant edge. “i want to see your face when i fuck you again. fight the damn thing.”

that was all the motivation you needed. you both gritted your teeth, straining against the invisible force. you pushed away from him, your muscles screaming, and with his help, you managed to swivel. for a second, you were almost face to face, before the magnet snapped you both back together with a loud groan, your bodies slamming into each other.

he didn't let you settle. he strained his muscle against the pull and manhandled you, flipping you over so you were on properly top of him. he gripped your hips, pulling you down as he entered you again.

you looked down at him, your eyes locking with his vermillion ones, the intimacy of the gaze making the pleasure of him inside you feel ten times more intense. “katsuki, baby.”

“that's it,” he whispered, his hands digging into your ass. “take it all.”

you tried your best to ride him, your breasts bouncing, your breath coming in ragged whines. he reached up, pulling you down, your lips meeting his. it was messy, your tongues dancing in a feverish rhythm, the taste of salt and desire filling your mouths. eventually, you collapsed onto his chest unable to fight the pull of the magnet, your face tucked into the crook of his neck. he took over, doing all the work, lifting his hips to drive deep into you.

“ngghh—oh, fuck,” you whined, your fingers clutching at his shoulders, your skin slick with sweat. “please, katsuki, harder,” you begged.

“shut up and take what i give you, brat,” katsuki replied, though his voice was thick with affection. he began to fuck you with a renewed aggression, the sounds of your bodies interacting becoming more visceral.

the squelching of your joined heat and the heavy thud of his chest against yours created a symphony of lust. he gripped the back of you neck, lightly squeezing, the sensation that only pushed you further over the edge, making you clench tighter around him.

“m’gonna cum again… baby, pleeeease—oh, make me cum,” you choked out a moan, your body tightening as you felt another orgasm building.

“fucking hell, baby, ya gonna milk me dry, huh?” he snarled, bucking his hips up, his hands clamping onto your ass. “yeah? just like that. scream like that. let everyone in the building hear you scream through the fucking walls.”

you moaned loudly, your body still trembling from your orgasm as he began to move inside you again. “agh! f-fuck—kats… m’cuming” you threw your head back.

“cum with me,” he commanded. “fuck, do it now.”

you screamed as you peaked, your internal muscles squeezing him tightly. katsuki let out a guttural roar, his body stiffening as he came deep inside you, his release filling you again with warmth.

the room fell silent, the only sound being your labored breathing. you stayed in that position for a long time, the sweat cooling on your skin. for a long time, neither of you spoke. you were both covered in a mixture of sweat and fluids, the scent of sex and nitroglycerin filling the room.

“does mean you actually like me? or do you just let anyone fuck you?” you broke the silence, your voice clearly teasing and mischievous to get under his skin.

katsuki scoffed, though he didn't move his arm from around you (not that he can). “tch. whatever the hell that means. i don’t even like when other people breathe close to me. what else would this nonsense mean?”

“is that your way of being romantic? because calling what we just did just now ‘nonsense’ is a bit low… even from you,” you teased.

“shut up,” he muttered, his ears turning a bright shade of red. “… listen, tomorrow… or whenever the fuck. after this damn quirk wears off. you're going out to dinner with me.”

“wait, as in a date?” you snapped your head up from his neck to look at him only for the stupid magnet to slam you back down his chest with a thud.

“stop fucking moving—and it's not a big deal,” katsuki snapped, holding you tighter almost subconsciously. “i just don't want you starving to death because you're too clumsy to feed yourself. just say yes, damn it.”

you giggled, kissing his chest. “yes, katsuki. i'd love to go on a date with you.”

“stop pushing it!”

after a couple more yells from katsuki, you both fell asleep in each other's arms, the magnetic effects of the villains quirk finally feeling like something you wanted to keep.

the next morning, the shrill ring of a phone shattered the silence.

katsuki groaned, his eyes fluttering open. you stirred on his chest, your face nuzzling into his neck, half-asleep and warm. he reached out with one hand to pick up the phone, his other arm cradling the back of your head. as he moved, he paused.

he felt his hand slide away from you without any resistance. there was no pull, no snap, no invisible force. he moved his arm further, realizing that the magnetic effect had worn out.

“what?!” he barked into the phone.

it was the detective from the previous day. the man's voice was professional but held a hint of amusement.

he informed katsuki that they had finally identified the specific nature of the villain's quirk.

“upon further investigations and quirk research through quick blood samples, we received word back from the lab. the villain confirmed it himself not long after. his quirk allows him to make someone he hits with the magnet physically stuck to the person they desire the most. after the questioning, we were told that the effects should wear off after a day, so the two of you should be good by now.”

katsuki froze, the phone still pressed to his ear. physically stuck to the person they desire the most.

you, who had been now awake and listening, began to snicker against his skin. you looked up at him, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “you know, katsuki, you didn't really have to take the hit for me after all.” you whispered, “if the quirk works that way, we would have ended up stuck together regardless of who got hit.”

katsuki stared at the ceiling, his face flushing a deep crimson. he slowly hung up the phone and pulled you closer, his grip firm. “whatever,” he muttered, though he couldn't hide the small, satisfied smile on his lips. “just shut up and go back to sleep, brat.”

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© 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐘-𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 (　　𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽　　) all rights reserved. do not copy, repost, rewrite, or feed my work to ai. translations and inspirations are allowed only with prior permission and proper credit afterwards.

[tonycries]

Hips Don't Lie - G.S.

Synopsis. Gojo Satoru: he’s the best striker the Japanese national team has. The strongest, the sharpest, the fastest—and the hottest. With a 66% accuracy rate and a goal headed straight for your heart. You: a reporter for the FIFA World Cup, and the greatest at goalkeeping Gojo’s flirtations. You just can’t stand him- or so you say… You—1. Gojo—0.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!sports reporter!reader, football pIayer!Gojo, FIFA World Cup AU, Football AU, enemies-to-Iovers, sorta, he has a BIG crush on you, yearner!Gojo, fIirting, banter, bets, first date, paparazzi, fan cIubs, pússydrúnk!Gojo, MUNCH!Gojo, oraI (f + m), 69, bets in BED, fíngering, spítting, p taIking, sIight p sIapping, bj’s, cIit bíting, goals, races, bIack cards, tongue f, doggy, wearing his jersey, manhandIing, making it fit, stopping you from running, he’s FÉRAL, cervíx smooches, counting, he BREAKS, babbIing, sIight overstím, making him whímper, making him cry, getting together, happy ending aww, PDA, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 13.9k

A/N. In honor of the FIFA World Cup heheheh I just had to-

“—Geto—a beautiful pass to Gojo. The one and only Gojo.” Booming. If there was one word that could describe the FIFA World Cup then it would be simply that: booming. Everything from the bacchanal cheers; the resounding noise of the football coming into contact with flesh; and excitement mixed with fear that was an amorphous neighbor next to where one sat.

Speaking of seats; everyone was on the edge of theirs.

They watched as Gojo Satoru stopped the football using his chest. Alternating it to a dribble—he’s quickly bypassing some of the opposing team’s defenders- and it doesn’t take long before Gojo’s coming face-to-face with the goal.

“—the famous Gojo technique, Limitless, because of the sheer unlimited speed and strength. It’s a play unable to be recreated by another, with a 100% scoring…” Gojo takes a deep breath. He points. He kicks.

And he misses.

And in-between the commentary and the chaos, Gojo’s eyes can’t help but meet yours pitchside. Amongst the cameras and the anchors-

—you were laughing.

At him.

“And it seems the world-famous Gojo Satoru has missed! He missed! Oh—what a blow for the Japanese team—hey Mech, can we get a close-up of who he was pointing at before missing the goal?”

As requested; the wedding replays the moments before Gojo’s missed goal: his look of determination, his deep breath, his arm raising for mere split-seconds to point…straight at you. And then it’s cutting to you outright laughing at the missed goal.

Fucking laughing.

Gojo himself pauses to watch the unfortunate sequences of events from below. 

“Aaaaand that’s half-time, folks!”

He immediately feels a wave of adrenaline strike him - nearly knocking him over at the force. The molten lead sensation floods every corner and crevice of him, and it makes his fingers tremble, it makes an unexplainable heat rise to his cheeks. Where the hell was this energy when he needed to score that last goal?

Gojo’s eyes remain fixated on you like two frozen-over lakes- made only brighter, not warm, in the face of the Sun.

As you’re finding yourself at the edge of those lakes, you wind down that laugh of yours- that stupid, gorgeous laugh of yours. It makes his heart ripple. And then with a soft smile upon your lips, you’re mouthing an apology. Instead of backing from those stone-cold lakes, daring to dip a toe in. Mocking, surely.

Fuck.

Gojo feels his clenched fists unfurl.

And his irritation.

He doesn’t suppose that you’re feeling guilty in the slightest - but what sort of world-famous sports reporter would you be if you got caught laughing at the star player? 

And Gojo Satoru is the star player—mind you. He’s just…having an off day? It’s exactly 45 minutes and 22 seconds into the quarter finals of perhaps the biggest football tournament in Gojo’s life: the FIFA World Cup. Japan has been facing off against an opponent they’d already been told would be a tough match to beat, with the odds stacked 79% against them- it just surprised Gojo that that 21% included him, too.

After all, he’s motherfuckin’ Gojo Satoru (don’t quote that).

With his signature white hair- and his ‘twinkling’ blue eyes- and that dimple at the corner of his smile. See that dimple? That dimple’s insured for ¥2,000,000.

But it wasn’t just fanfare and his dashing good looks. There’s no football without Gojo Satoru, and there’s no Gojo Satoru without football.

Ever since he was a young kid, the game just seemed to…call for him. 

Just starting out as some stupid sports channel he’d put on in order to avoid having to do his chores; then he’d started watching. Then he started paying attention. Then he started remembering their names and collecting his pocket money to buy some markers and a red, red t-shirt. He still remembers sprawling the t-shirt out on the floors of his cramped living room, and scrawling on Akers 10. Gojo Satoru was raised by Michelle Akers, Alessandro Del Piero, Roberto Baggio, Homare Sawa, and Jay-Jay Okocha as much as he was by his parents.

And then he’d started playing. 

He’d begged and begged his parents to get him a football for Christmas- even going to do extra chores around the house to butter them up.

And once they caved - making him promise not to play inside - Gojo had stumbled out to the playground faster than his legs could keep up. Although he remembers thinking that he’d make them- he’d make them keep up.

He admits he wasn’t instantly amazing - just slightly above average, if anything. But kids on the playground used to think he was the coolest thing.

Wanting to become a professional footballer? Every kid wanted to become a professional footballer at that age. So he’d gather the teams, he’d assign their roles, he’d play with them until the streetlights turned on and the crickets started chirping - except the only difference between Gojo and the rest…was that he wouldn’t go home. Refused to.

Not until his parents had to come down and physically drag him back home.

Until then, Gojo would kick and kick that damn ball as long as he had to to become good enough. Until his feet had to fuse with that damn ball, if it had to.

In middle school they adored him just as much.

The best football player and he’s got dimples to boot? 

He won’t lie - Gojo understands why he was called out for a confession at least thrice a week throughout the entirety of middle school. His grade, lower grades, and even some in the grade above. Manga club captains and school presidents- and some friends of friends not even going to this school. Some of his friends. Most…who’ve never even talked to him. 

And he doesn’t regret not letting any of that ‘sweet Spring love’ that his father always talked about blossom. He just wished his middle school-self had a bit more tact when rejecting girl after boy after girl.

Although he admits that the attention was nice- and those onigiri they brought him after practice was a sweet touch. But Gojo could never quite understand—what did they see in him?

He was hot, yes. He was talented. He was smart. He was funny- yes. But he just wasn’t…like the heroes that he looked up to. Not yet.

Gojo Satoru could never quite understand how he could love another as much as he loved football.

Sometimes when the confessions and the onigiri got a little too much, he’d go to the school rooftop and kick his ball around until the bell rang. Sometimes he’d simply sit and stare off into the distance—what was love? If we should love another as we love ourselves, then perhaps one doesn’t need it? Who said love had to be a person, not a dream?

Around this time, Gojo applied for the local junior football club.

He smoked them all- hah!

Then high school rolled around and here people started giving him looks - still dreaming of becoming a professional footballer? Wasn’t that child’s play?

Popularity was measured, at least for most guys, by how many girls you’d banged or whether or not you’d actually tasted beer. He himself wasn’t one to subscribe to such notions - but the status quo meant that people started…distancing themselves from him.

Reaching for him- if only to point at him like a party trick. Maybe throw a volleyball at him during gym classes, or puncture his football.

They actually did puncture his football.

He beat that boy until his knuckles bled - Gojo had gotten a temporary suspension, of course. He didn’t argue with the punishment. He thinks they went so lenient on him because it was his first offense.

But when he came back, it was even worse. There goes that freak still obsessed with football- isn’t he just going to get his dreams crushed? Isn’t he going to wake up? Grow up? He didn’t need them. He didn’t need a single fucking one of them.

Gojo threw himself into playing football more than ever around these years; until every bone in his body seemed to ache, and he always tasted metal from how hard he’d grit his teeth. He imagined their sneering, snickering faces at the end of the goal and kicked and kicked and kicked that fucking ball. And it was also around this time that he’d gotten the offer.

The offer.

He was glad to leave it all behind.

He was the youngest player in Japan to get a national team offer - oh, he remembers how nervous he’d been then, walking, wondering whether they’d look at him like they all do - and the second-youngest in the world to join an international club. He was an express - and damn expensive - pick for Real Madrid, and the only Japanese player to make a first-team appearance. He was the youngest player to win a major tournament at the UEFA European Championship. He was the youngest Japanese football captain leading them into the FIFA World Cup- and the only one to lead them into the quarterfinals. Not to mention his rabid fan club and his four-time title as the world’s prettiest striker!

But fuck, man. 

All that…for this.

Today, Gojo Satoru was having an off time. And he’s blaming it on you—was that necessarily fair? 

Hm…not likely. But nothing matters when he’s in the zone and he’s supposed to keep his eyes on the football- but they keep somehow drifting to you.

Fuck again.

This was on him, he knows. He knows. And yet-

And without a single word to any of his teammates or Coach Yaga…he’s marching straight over to you. Behind him, he hears Yaga’s choked-up call of his name and his teammates’ confusion. 

The cameras follow him with every step he takes- of course they do, he’s Gojo fucking Satoru. In the distance he can practically hear the tension tighten, as the commentators mention something about him, as the big screen zooms in on his steadfast path, as you’re turning around to see him nearing and your eyes widen.

For a mere split-second - before your hand tightens ‘round your mic, and you’re immediately holding it towards him at the ready.

“And here we have the star player-” It amuses Gojo how your lip tightens around that little phrase you just have to say when referring to him. “-Gojo Satoru’s…best friend in the distance—can the camera capture Geto Suguru during his pre-match stretches?”

The. Fucking. Audacity.

Gojo’s mouth drops as the camera hastens to focus on that damned Geto next to Coach Yaga behind him. He isn’t even the one that came up with those stretches! He stole them from Gojo-

Pointedly—he coughs into his fist.

And then you’re turning towards him with a faux-shocked expression on your face. Lashes fluttering. Those glossed lips of yours dropped into the perfect ‘oh’.

Gojo gets the urge to mimic the exact same expression - and just his luck, the camera’s turning to him at that very moment. There’s a small smirk at the edge of your lips as you’re bringing the mic up to your lips.

This wasn’t his first match interview with you.

Not in the very least. 

Gojo was the greatest in his field, and you were (admittedly) the greatest in yours. So it was inevitable that the two of you would meet- match after match, interview after interview, you’d fired your questions away at him.

And sure…there were the usual ones he already scripted for. But you’d quickly climbed up the ranks for asking on-the-spot questions specific to each player, to pick their brains - and in Gojo’s case, to make him squirm.

You asked him about his elementary school nickname as ‘The Strongest’ (which he later adopted as his actual field name so hah- jokes on you!), and his affinity for sneaking sweets into his strict athlete’s diet (Yaga lectured him after that one…jokes on him), and his utterly barren love life.

For someone so flirtatious, one must wonder why he’s never seen out and about with anyone. Maybe he’s simply football-sexual?

That particular interview had racked up quite a few (…million) views across various social medias as Gojo had turned red and stuttered - the first time someone had managed to get the chatterbox to pause - s-something about well, if you really want you can date him-

But he digresses. The point is that Gojo has had interviews with you before - so this should be a piece of cake. Really. Actually…Gojo’s first ever professional interview was almost with you- but that’s a story for another time.

“—and we’re live at the FIFA World Cup Quarterfinals with Gojo Satoru, Captain of the Japanese team.” You’re plastering that camera-ready smile of yours; though honestly he finds your priggish one more- “It’s your first time at the FIFA as a team captain. How are we feeling today, Gojo-san?”

His heart leaps a little at the honorific. “G-good. Good.” And then at the little raise of your brows - did Gojo Satoru just fucking stutter? Again? - he’s instantly shaking his head free of…whatever. Splashing on his own irresistible smile- dimple? Check. “Oh- y’know me, sweetheart. I’m always good~”

“Is that so?” You ask. “I’m glad to hear that. Because it seems like we’re going to need all the confidence we can get, Gojo-san. Tell me—what changes might the defense have to see in the next half if we’re going to beat the opponent’s two-point lead?”

“Well, I can’t share every secret here now, can I~?” Gojo chuckles. “But just know that we’re going to make good use of Geto in the next half- I know Coach Yaga has some good plans for him.”

You nod. “Speaking of- how is Geto Su-”

“We’re talking about me.” Gojo whines. And he’s sure that this part of the interview is going to get clipped to hell and back—but it doesn’t matter when you’re smiling…like that. When you’re throwing your head back and gesturing at that Japanese jersey of yours- number 4?

Geto Suguru.

“My apologies, I do tend to be favorable towards defenders.” You hum. “But I see you’re rather defensive yourself today, Gojo-san. What changes might the strikers have to see for this next half-”

“Nothing.”

That makes you pause. Your smile falters, though you manage to salvage it. “Erm- my apologies, I didn’t seem to hear you over the crowd. Did you say nothing?”

“I did.” And for how priggish you might act - you’d never amount to his sheer levels. His haughty hair flip that sends a few fan club members fainting in the front row, “Absolutely nothing. I’m perfect.”

“Oh-”

“I’m Gojo Satoru, don’t you know? Neeeeext question~”

“Yes I…I am aware.” You mutter under your breath. “Unfortunately.”

“What did you just-”

“But whilst we absolutely erm- adore your confidence, Gojo-san, one really does start to wonder with the two point lead…” You have a fire in your eyes - for how much you might be exasperated by him, it was undoubtable that you needed this win, too. “And I have only one more question for you: will we win?”

He pauses at that.

Just a split-second.

It’s a fleeting moment, yet it seems to hold the world. You’re not letting your gaze waver from his, and he’s not letting his gaze waver from yours. That fire in your eyes? It’s spreading across his own cheeks and then down his neck, across every inch of his body and coiling around his heart. And who’d have thought…that the great Gojo Satoru was flammable?

Gojo shoots a quick look down at himself to make sure that he’s not actually- before then wrapping his hand around the mic handle. He doesn’t exactly take it from you - just keeps his fingers resting on top of yours, and you’re not letting go either..“Nah, I’d win.”

Someone’s breath hitches- either yours or his.

He’s leaning in - down -so close that his lips are nearly grazing the grille. 

Gojo keeps his summer lake-blue eyes directly on you as he speaks—“And if I do…how about I get to take you out on a date?”

“You what-” Around you, cheers are erupting. And you’re wondering just what might have been shown on the big screen, only to realize that it was…the two of you. Glamorously displayed for millions of people to see.

You wonder if he can hear your heart race.

You wonder why he wasn’t paying attention to the thousands of people nearby that were chanting ‘say yes, say yes, say yes-’

“So, Miss Reporter?” Gojo cocks his head, a smile upon his lips. “What’ll it be?”

You’re biting down on the inside of your cheek- and it’s only too late that you’re realizing it’s to keep yourself from mirroring that world-famous smile. “Yes.” Your heart leaps.

And you’re sure that Gojo heard you- you’re sure of it. But he’s taking the mic completely now, and turning it upon yourself—“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said…” Something akin to…adrenaline? Something akin to…excitement? You didn’t know what name to put on it, but it’s making it difficult to keep your voice exactly steady. “-yes.” Thank goodness it was just a one-word answer.

Gojo smiles wide.

And as the commentators recite the entire interaction in various languages, Gojo’s hearing a call of his name from the coaches’ bench. Realizing that he’d nearly spent the entire break with you- he’s throwing a dazzling smile your way - and several flying kisses at the fans - before making a break for it. 

Reaching Coach Yaga, Gojo’s ducking his head and listening to every word the older goalkeeper has to say. There’s a fierce look of concentration on his face—

“You’re staring~” Shoko, from behind the camera, croons. “He really is even better-looking in person, huh?” She’d long since known about the little tension between you and Gojo Satoru- not any kind of good tension, that is. You’d just somehow gotten on his nerves as much as he got on yours.

And you shake your head free of any suggestions that Shoko might put in it. “I wasn’t staring-”

“Mhm.”

“I was just imagining the look on his face after he loses that bet.”

Shoko smirks. “That’s if he loses that bet.”

“Well…”

And then you’re glancing at him once more. Gojo was now jogging in place and doing a few warm-ups before the second half of the quarterfinals started.

Because for all that talk- Gojo Satoru wasn’t going to win that easily, was he?

Was he?

.

.

.

“It’s incredible—Japan has won! The Japanese team has really won!” The commentator’s voice booms across the stadium, making it shake with sheer excitement. It was contagious. The taste of victory was often sweet. “Gojo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals—!”

2-3 to Japan.

All the way from 0.

And you knew the scores - you watched the game unfurl before your very eyes. And yet - surrounded by it all - you stand stunned.

From your right, you’re feeling Shoko euphorically shake you. Her camera equipment nearly slips out of her hands before she’s back at it and recording close-ups of the players’ tearful reactions. 

Most of them had surrounded Gojo and were crushing themselves together in an embrace. They’re pushed so far together that you could only make out a flash of white hair and an uproarious distinct laugh. The microphone damn-near slips out of your hands.

“I repeat, folks—Gojooooooooooooo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals for the first time in history! It’s a momentous occasion for the underdogs- Gojo Satoru and his Unlimited hat-trick, everybody.”

They’re replaying those historic moments on the big screen: when Gojo dribbled past four players to strike his first goal of the match, just two minutes into the second half of the game; when Gojo upset the game by drawing the score 2-2 with a goal from the 18-yard box, a goal that went around the fucking goalkeeper; when Gojo finished with a flourish with a head-butted goal just over the goalkeeper’s shoulder, at the 89th minute.

At that last goal, he’d pointed right at you- a hatrick. A hatrick.

“Who’s gonna win?” He’d mouthed, as his teammates were drawn to him in embrace like magnets flying across the field.

You’d simply rolled your eyes.

It was a match for the books - and for generations of footballers just like him to watch and rewatch and watch. And maybe…just maybe they’d buy their own blue t-shirts and scribble down: Gojo 66. Around you, reporters were already chattering about Japan’s succession into the semi-finals—could these underdogs actually have a shot?

Japan had risen from an impending bitter defeat- and that very same Gojo 66 was breaking free from his teammates and flouncing across the field. And the MVP - surely - beamed as he lapped up the attention; running across the pitchside and blowing sappy kisses to his fainting fan club. He’s getting thrown a water bottle- and wastes no time before tearing it open and letting the cool water run on top of his head. Water making his jersey stick to him even more so.

Long legs slightly shaking from fatigue. Blue eyes brighter than ever. If there was one word to describe him, then it would be- dazzling. His skin glistened with sweat, and small droplets of water like diamonds - his jersey was practically glued to him—a part of him, in every single possible manner. Celebration seemed to cling to Gojo just as tight as that jersey did.

And Gojo then catches sight of you watching him- and runs. Runs. 

To you.

And stops right before you.

“So…” He pants out, and makes sure to flash a quick smile at the rolling cameras. “-about that date…?”

You sigh.

But you can’t help yourself- you chuckle.

“Fine.”

“Fuck yeahhhh—!” And then Gojo’s darting back onto the field in celebration - his team engulfs him once more, and before you know it he’s being thrown into the air. Cameras shift between his ecstatic celebration, and your more muted watching, because honestly…you had no idea what to say. What to do.

You just bagged yourself a date with Gojo fucking Satoru - and you hadn’t even thought you’d be able to tolerate him just about an hour and a half ago. 

But that earnestness in his eyes…

You wonder if-

Nope. And then you’re watching Gojo threaten to take his jersey off and throw it somewhere into the crowd - you’re sighing and wondering just how you’re going to get through this. When a mic happens to be shoved into your line of vision—and you’re just about to take it and get ready for your post-match interviews, when-

“Ah ah-” Shoko tuts, amusement lacing her tone. “The interviewer holds the mic. The interviewee answers the question on how it feels to be the future girlfriend of the MVP of the match? Japan’s pride and unofficial prettyboy?”

“Terrible.” You state, extremely seriously. “In fact, I’m considering breaking up with him this very second.” Well…partially seriously.

Shoko faux-gasps. “After a hatrick like that? Why?”

You’re waving breezily. “I’ve always been more of a Geto or Modrić fan myself. Strikers aren’t my thing.”

“Well they’re about to be your thing because you’ve got a date with one-” Shoko checks her watch. “-in just a few hours.”

It’s sinking in. And although you don’t regret saying yes- “Fuck, the fan clubs are gonna kill me.”

Shoko nods. “I won’t disagree with that. I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”

“Shoko- darling- sweetheart- you’re supposed to disagree to make me feel better.” 

She shrugs. “You’re a reporter- give ‘em hell. Whack them with your mic or something.” She’s then finally handing you the mic—and you’re smoothing out your suit with a sigh. “But until then- try not to kill Gojo Satoru. We need him for the semi-finals.”

“No promises.”

And as Shoko and the rest of your team start counting down until you’re On Air again, you’re stealing a fleeting look behind at Gojo Satoru. It seems he hadn’t tired of the fan service yet- and now actually had taken off his jersey and thrown it at the fan clubs- was that a brawl up there in the stands?!

He catches your eye and sends you a flirtatious wink.

And a flying kiss.

You mean to swat it away- but then you’re rolling.

.

.

.

“Shoko- what does one wear to a date with a football star?”

“I don’t know, ask the Akinator.” 

“Shoko, that’s…actually I should have done that.” It seems that all around you was defeat: having the team you were rooting for win the quarterfinals for the FIFA World Cup, scoring a date with the MVP of the match, getting a promotion and a bump in your paycheck all because of it? All in all, you were having a terrible day. 

And not to mention- you hadn’t even begun to check your social media—according to the way that Shoko had painted it: the football side of the Internet had crashed into your little circle of the Internet, and then it’d been set on flames and trampled with cleats five times over. And that’s not even beginning to dive into Gojo’s stan Twitter…the horror…

The edits. The speculation. The articles. The fanfiction- out of curiosity, you’d searched a few up.

And you’d have to say…that they were very…descriptive. @tonycriesaboutfootball you were looking at her.

All in all- it’s safe to say that your little agreement had caused a little break in the Internet.

And here you were: cooped-up in your humble hotel room for the match. On the phone was Shoko <3 your biggest help since after the match and right now- gathering your thoughts…and your look…and yourself. After putting her on video call—the two of you worked together to sort through your suitcase and find something half-decent for some fancy schmancy date.

In the end, you’d decided on a chic outfit you’d actually planned to wear when reporting the FIFA World Cup Finals.

And nevermind how much you protested and lamented and complained about how expensive shopping for another dress is going to be, Shoko had simply replied- “Just get your millionaire athlete boyfriend to buy one. Take his black card, duh?”

Ah…

And right now you were simply putting in the final touches- slouched over your hotel vanity. 

She disappears from the screen for a minute and comes back wielding her chunky laptop. “About 21% of people think this is a PR stunt…18% think you two won’t actually go on the date…and 44% think that this is true love and both of you can bear their children. They also may or may not be camped outside the restaurant.”

You take one last look at yourself in the mirror. Hell yeah…“And the other 2%?”

“Ah- well they’re out for blood.” Shoko casually closes her laptop. “Ready?”

You shudder. “As I’ll ever be. Do I look okay?”

“You look good enough to eat- now go.”

Someone from what you assume to be Gojo’s team had actually approached you after the match - something about exchanging numbers, and then letting you know the details about the date. And around 5PM that evening, you’d just been getting off of a final few interviews from another match- when they’d texted you.

He’d texted you.

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): guess whooOOoooooOooOOO~? (⌒▽⌒)☆

You: ?

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): hehehe you have three guesses. clue no. 1: i’m hot asf. clue no. 2: i’m even hotter wwwww. 

You: I’m blocking you.

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): waitヽ(O_O )ﾉ

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): wait nooooooooooo 

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): don’t block me ( ◣∀◢)ψ

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): i was jokinggggggggg

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): it’s satoruuuuu ☀(▀U ▀-͠)

You: Ah, of course. 

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) added to your contacts.

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) changed to (Foot)ballz.

You: Hello, Satoru-san.

(Foot)ballz: hehe

(Foot)ballz: no need to be so formal with me when we’re going on a date~ (͡o‿O͡)

(Foot)ballz: i’ll come pick you up at your hotel so just lmk where you’re staying!!

You: You just want to find out which hotel I’m at, you perv…

(Foot)ballz: I’VE BEEN CAUGHT (ʘ ͜ʖ ʘ)

Ultimately you ended up sending your location to the ridiculous man - however you’d expected Gojo Satoru to text like…it certainly wasn’t this. But you found yourself tolerating it, for the most part.

You suppose.

And once you’re done spritzing on some of your favorite perfume, your phone lights up with a new message.

(Foot)ballz: here ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝

With a small huff of laughter, you’re grabbing your things and heading out.

The car parked outside was anything but inconspicuous. 

And you don’t exactly know what led you to think that in the first place—because when has Gojo Satoru ever wished to fly under the radar? 

What was sprawled across the hotel porte-cochère was a gleaming red feline of a vehicle; that type you’d see on the covers of car magazines, or parked outside stadiums with fans surrounding it. Many, many fans. It had all those sorts of curvatures and indents that made it built for speed just like the athletes that owned these types - spoiler wagging behind it, bumper pawing forward, iridescent tyre rims catching the light and showing off. Even stopped outside the hotel, it purred as though impatient to get back on the prowl once again.

From the driver’s seat, Gojo Satoru is opening the door and standing tall- and your breath catches in your throat. 

Gojo had cleaned up nicely. He was dressed in a form-fitting suit—such a dark blue that it was nearly black. The velvety fabric draped around his trim waist, flaring ever-so-slightly where his broad shoulders were- it made him look so much more handsome than was fair. His long legs were covered in the same fabric, and at the ends peeked out shoes so polished they were almost painful to look at- you wonder how long he spent on that…

That usually-messy hair of his had pushed backwards, and on his face were semi-opaque round sunglasses. On his face was a smile.

Where a celebrity often wished to blend in, Gojo stood his six-and-a-something feet high above the rest.

In seconds, Gojo’s reaching inside the car and pulling out a massive bouquet of red roses. Thus he crosses the short distance between you both in two strides, and gently hands them to you- you take it with bated breath. “This is…”

“I know I know-” Gojo cocks his head with a smug smile. “I’ve outdone myself.”

And without further ado, he’s tipping the valet well - the elderly man catches your eye, and you’re shrugging at him helplessly - and helping you inside the car. “You look gorgeous, by the way- although, of course you always do and this isn’t just me saying-”

“Gojo.” You smile. “Shut up and get in.”

He wastes no more time.

“D’you like the car?” Gojo asks as he buckles up, “It’s a Ferrari F80. I was thinking of buying this here as a little congratulatory present for myself- you’re the first one in here besides myself.”

“Seriously?” You ask. And he holds your gaze earnestly. “This is amazing.”

His smile flashes as he sets his hand on the wheel. “Then buckle up, sweetheart. We’re gonna be the hottest couple in town.”

“Not a coup- oh.” He speeds away.

.

.

.

“GOJO- GOJO—LOOK HERE—! GOJO IS THAT YOUR PARTNER?”

“GOJO HOW DO WE FEEL ABOUT THE HISTORIC WIN TONIGHT—DID HAVING YOUR GIRLFRIEND THERE HELP?”

“GOJO HOW DO YOU MAINTAIN THE TITLE OF PRETTIEST STRIKER FOUR YEARS IN A ROW?”

That…last one Gojo actually stopped to give a thorough answer.

And as for the rest, he’d given those paparazzi a coy smile and a wink before diving into the restaurant with you. The maître d’ quickly helped you get escorted to your private table.

The restaurant was…fancy. Right. That was one way to put it.

Another way to put it would’ve been: it was the type of restaurant that you honestly would’ve talked shit about with Shoko, then spent the next hour scrolling through its pictures. Then you’d catch a glimpse of a menu…and have immediately turned your phone off. Because in no conceivable world would you attend a restaurant of that high a price, for portion sizes no bigger than the meat rations you’d given yourself during your impoverished intern days.

And yet, here you were.

Gojo Satoru seemed to fit right in amongst the decor- the abstract artwork on the walls that looked like phalluses, the lights on the walls that also looked like phalluses, and the bowl of oranges upon every table - like a piece of the furniture himself. You don’t doubt that such a place was as casual as walking into a fast-food restaurant for him—but for you…let’s just say that whilst sports reporting jobs may pay high - especially for someone of your ranking - it wasn’t phallus-restaurant level quite just yet. 

“So uh…what did you say the name of this place was, again?” You ask Gojo after he’d ordered…whatever he was having. You’d gone with the same primarily because you didn’t want to butcher the pronunciations of the menu.

“Hm?” Gojo delicately folds his napkin. “Big D’s, why?”

You’re biting back a laugh, “No reason.”

He sends you a look. “And um…how was your day?”

“What are we, an old married couple?” Though there was something strangely…jarring about having the world-famous football player - the very same one you’ve rolled your eyes at or been forced to interview about a million times over - speak about something so…mundane with you. What else could you have expected? Maybe to talk stats, maybe updates on his fan club—maybe what ranking he’s surpassed now. You sigh. “But if you must know, the usual- oh, although I did get to interview Gakuganji for the first time in a while today—so that was fun.”

“Gakuganji Yoshinobu?” Gojo’s interest clearly piques. “Oh, he’s a legend. Did you know that since retirements he’s taken up-”

“Electric guitar.” You nod eagerly. “And he’s damn good at it, too.”

“I was thinking that after my retirement I should take up writing or something.”

“You seem like the type to never retire.”

And so the conversation…had strangely enough flowed- not something you would have expected from the haughty football player, but it was a pleasure nonetheless. And it had been about two hours into the conversation - currently on the topic of whether sharks were misunderstood - when the two of you looked down at your empty plates—and servers that seemed to be flitting about literally every table…but yours.

“Do you think they forgot about us?” You whisper to Gojo.

“Maybe they were so stunned by my devilish good looks that-”

“Okay.” And with a semi-fond smile upon your face, you’re standing up in your seat. Gojo’s mirthful expression drops—but before panic can start setting in, you’re gesturing for him to stand up as well. So you weren’t going to leave him in the phallus restaurant…you surprised even yourself with that. “C’mon- I know this great place downtown that sells the largest pizza you’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, please.” Tipping the servers, you two darted out of Big D’s through the back entrance where no paparazzi roamed. And into a night that was wild and untamed, you snuck into the darkness between stars and created light of your own—you copped a few good slices of pizza, greasy and not half-bad for the price, before walking down shadowed alleys where no one could find you. Almost no one. A few pictures snapped here and there- surely it couldn’t do much harm?

Oh, who were you kidding.

You could see the headlines forming already - had this been anyone else, you’d have been the one writing it. But tonight…“Everyone’s going to think we’re dating after tonight.”

“I know.” Gojo had replied, half of his profile illuminated by the neon shop signs. The two of you were walking around the less-nicer parts of town, or so one would say…how strange it is that where things are discarded and dilapidated, the lights shine the brightest and the moon seems to sing softly tonight. “But strangely enough- I don’t mind.”

“Getting dating rumors?”

“Getting dating rumors with you, I mean.” Gojo’s saying- before he coughs into his fist and attempts to amend. “Although, of course, you’d be lucky to get dating rumors with the Gojo Satoru~”

“You mean the Gojo Satoru who’s never gotten a dating rumor in his life?” You scoff. “Y’know before tonight they were calling you No-game Gojo?”

Gojo’s gasp is so loud that it startles passerbys.

In order to soothe him, you’re forced to buy this grown athlete ice cream. He asks for three scoops with extra sprinkles, and the two of you walk together - close but not touching - down by a nearby waterfront—the river around the massive city and pulled it into a tight embrace. You yourself felt the strange coil of something at the pit of your stomach.

“Did you really mean it?”

Gojo, who’d been eying your own ice cream cone, startles. “Hngh?”

Sighing…you hand him your final bite. “Did you really mean the thing about not minding dating rumors with me?”

“I did. Why?”

“No…just thinking that if I had to get dating rumors with anyone- at least you’re not the worst option.”

“Awwww-”

You smirk. “Although, Geto would have been-”

“Let me have this moment—”

His pinky finger grazes yours as you two walk.

.

.

.

The door slams behind you.

And following right behind it, Gojo’s doing the same to you.

He has his hands clutched at your waist, and his mouth down your neck - leaving hot, slimy strings of spit wherever he’s pepperin’ the most filthiest kisses. You’re moaning as you let yourself get engulfed in Gojo Satoru’s wave of need—molten desperation shooting through your veins.

There’s something wet forming at the in-betweens of your pretty legs- and it seems as though Gojo almost has a sixth sense. Because he wastes no time before sliding a hand down your front and cupping your throbbing pussy through your dress. “Mmm-” He grunts off against the side of your ear. The hot breath sends goosebumps skittering down your exposed skin. “And who are you this wet for, sweetheart~?”

“Mmm, dunno.” You bat your lashes up at him. “Probably the best player on the team.”

A priggish smile toys at Gojo’s lips, and he’s leaning ever-closer to you. “And just who might that be?”

You’re pulling Gojo down as though this was a secret just between the two of you - and the man eagerly reciprocates closing the distance between you. You’re basked in his likely maddeningly expensive cologne as he leans in—“Geto Suguru, of course.”

And Gojo’s letting out just the softest surprised gasp—

He leans backwards with slightly-parted lips, and you’re getting the feeling that no one’s ever said anything like that to him before. Gojo’s eyes sweep down where your pretty body is pressed up against him- and before you know it, he’s crashing his lips onto yours. “Mmm—” He’s lappin’ at your moans- and the edge of your bottom lip. There’s a squeaky noise that’s being let out as Gojo tastes the lipgloss slathered on your maw. “Cherry.” He notes.

You’re stringing your fingers into his pure-white hair.

With the pad of his thumb, Gojo wipes off the remnants of glossy make-up on his mouth. “You taste sweeter than you are, y’know that?”

And with your fingers twisting into his hair so that he moans- you’re dragging him right back to you. “And you’re better when you shut up.”

Eventually, you’re backing him into your bed.

The hotel room wasn’t all that spacious, and it’s only a few hasty strides before you’re preparing to push him onto the mattress—

But Gojo’s reflexes are too quick. And he’s flipping the two of you around so that it’s your back that’s coming into contact with the springy bedcoils, falling onto the cloud-like bed with the MVP of the match. Mr. Hotshot Gojo Satoru himself.

Gojo smirks as he hovers above you. “Wanna hear a magic trick? I know exactly what you’re thinking about, pretty girl~” He husks.

And you’re letting out a gasp as his lips come kissing down your neck once more. You can’t help it - you’re arching into him already. “And what’s that?”

“Me.” 

As he chuckles, you’re rolling your eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“Oh?” Gojo raises one of his white brows- like a challenge. If there was anything he was weak to—then it was a challenge. And maybe you, but…you didn’t need to know that just yet. “Then let me be clearer…you were thinking about me—” As he speaks, his dominant hands are exploring your body - starting at the right side of your tits, and massaging for a few moments before switching to the other one. “-running these trained hands everywhere on your body like this, weren’t you?”

Your heart leaps to your throat- and down there. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

He chuckles. “And then you must’ve thought about my fingers- I did have a little stint as a goalkeeper—” Through your fabric, he’s pinching your left nipple and you moan. “-did you know that?”

“I did.” You admit. Your reporting habits left you investigating every single nook and cranny of these footballers’ careers and lives.

“And then maybe these spectacular abs- I have them insured, did you know that?” The urge to roll your eyes is immense—but you’re more focused on the way that the world-class player was shuffling his body purposefully down yours, letting the button-up underneath his suit push against your core- you’re feeling his abs. As though he could read your mind, Gojo flashes you a devilish smile and keeps going down- “Or these arms.” Down. “Or these thick thighs. Heh.” Dooooown.

All the way until he’s between those tremblin’ legs of yours. At least his face was.

“But most of all…how about this glorious face?” Gojo shoots you his camera-ready smile inches away from your clothed cunt—pearly-white teeth and dimple to boot. “And I know m’fucking pretty- but I get the strange feeling that I’d look even prettier between your legs.”

And just as he’s about to lean in-

You’re sitting up and putting a hand on his shoulder. Stopping him.

Gojo looks up at you with a face full of concern. 

But you’re merely shaking your head. “You’d be hard-pressed to think that I’d let you get all the bragging rights.” You scoff. “Get up. Let me sit on your face.”

His blue, blue eyes gleam in delight. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

“Shut up and get over here.”

And you’re sure that Gojo murmurs something about ‘making him shut up’ (you’d be more surprised if he didn’t) and yet within seconds you suddenly have his 6’4 toned frame stretched-out beneath you.

With your knees making the mattress upon either side of his head dip, straddling him, you’ve straddled the two of you into an oh-so-perfect 69 position - but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he doesn’t care. Looking underneath you, you notice that the white-haired man has hunger consuming every inch of him, with his eyes half-lidded and his mouth slightly-ajar, licking his lips as he fucking chases your clothed cunt—

“But just ooooone thing.” You’re placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back down- Gojo lets out a cracked whimper. He stares up at your clothed cunt like the gates of heaven above.

“Yes, my demanding girl~? More demands? Isn’t having the great Gojo Satoru underneath you and begging for your pussy enough?”

“Hmm, nope.” You pop the ‘p’. Without wasting more time, you’re fumbling with Gojo’s outrageous dress pants until they’re managed off. What’s revealed to you first is his v-line that stands out—moving with every one of his impatient bucks; then his bulging boxers; then looooong smooth legs, toned from so many years of training. And then you’re almost done. “How about a bet that whoever makes the other cum first gets a reward?”

“A reward?” You’re not turning to look at him- but you don’t need to to know that Gojo’s eyes were probably shining by now. “What kind of reward?”

“Hmmmm, how about…” You suggest. “The winner gets to decide the position for se-”

“I’m in.”

And that’s all that’s being said before Gojo reaches up n’ pushes your dress up. He titters as he takes in the way your pussy was oh-so-wet being outlined against your underwear—that already-thin fabric hugging to your pretty lips n’ soaking wet for him already.

“What’s that about not being so wet?” Gojo hums. He makes the loudest noise as he leans in and presses a great big smooch right on top of your sopping lips. You’re keening out sweetly on top of him- he didn’t even know you could sound that sweet-

“You said that out loud.” You’re grumbling behind at him. “Don’t tell me you’re pussydrunk already, hotshot?”

“Awwww—” Gojo’s spankin’ that swollen exterior of your cunt. “You think I’m hot?”

And now about that damn evening dress obscuring his view- ah, he knows…

Soon enough, you’re hearing a rip-rip-riiiiip—! that makes your blood grow cold. The sensation of cool air biting into your skin is registering in your brain - and then only the realization that Gojo had just fucking ripped your best dress- “Now, I know that isn’t what I think it is.”

“Ah…” He grunts distractedly. Before reaching down to his dress pants and pulling out something dark, sleek, and cash-cold. “Buy yourself whatever you need usin’ this, sweetheart.”

Gojo reaches forwards and stuffs his black card between your pretty drivelling lips. And then he’s divin’ nose-deep between your legs and eating you out with the panties on—letting his looooong luscious tongue zigzag across your slit and accumulate every wad. Once he’s done stealing every drop of slick leaking out of you, Gojo wastes no time before slippin’ aside your panties using his tongue, then making your inner lining feel eeeeeevery coarse tastebud of his taking over you.

It’s just so much.

You’re arching your back and letting out a prolonged moan - or at least you’re attempting to. But what’s really coming out instead are a few muffled sounds as the black card holds firm between your lips.

Your eyes widen.

How could you let yourself be swayed by Gojo Satoru’s black card, of all things…?!

Spitting the black card out, you throw a glare at Gojo. “D-don’t think you’ve won the bet just because you’ve gotten a headstart.”

“Oh?” Gojo coos. “I think I’ve won the bet regardless by how much you’re stutterin’ and whining like a slut on my tongue.” He’s spitting every syllable out against your pussy- literally. He’s drizzling a splash of saliva that he’s using a hand to smack- to smear across every inch of your sodden lips.

You let out a sudden whine, and he laughs.

“Was I wrong~? Mmm- shell me. Who’s the bwest—?” Muffled by his burning-hot kisses.

And you won’t let yourself be bestest just like that, would you? Especially not when he sounds so silly already drunk on your pussy?

In sultry seconds, you’re spittin’ out his damn black card and dragging Gojo’s boxers down. By how much he’d been showing through his bulge…you’d already assumed that he’d be massive.

But Gojo was…really massive.

Mentally you’re counting about eight or nine inches- seriously. And each of those inches were fat and throbbing, the girth of a Coke can and the length of something you’re sure would leave you unable to walk. At least for a week.

As though somehow sensing what you were thinking; Gojo’s thickened tip pulses. Grows even pinker.

“Cock got yer tongue?” He giggles wetly. “Why’re you stupefied, huh? Looks like m’gonna win~”

From the top of his shaft, he’s ooooozing out a constant source of precum—and you’re leanin’ in to sweetly kiss away the syrup that clings to his tip. Just the softest kittenish kiss- but it’s enough to make the football player yelp from underneath you.

His toes curl. His hips buck up without him even seeming to realize - and Gojo lets out an echo of your name - like a prayer - as his fat tip sticks inside your mouth. “O-ohhhh, now you’re playing dirty, sweetheart.”

“M’just doing the same thing you’re- mmm, doing.” You answer- purposefully keeping your mouth on Gojo so that the vibrations shoot up his veins.

“Tch- yeah.” Gojo admits. “But s’only fun when you’re the one getting all drunk on my tongue-” And just because he’s babbling away doesn’t mean that he’s stopping his ministrations for a single second - he’s lavishing and lavishing the tight rim of your hole with his tongue. Licking. Lingering. Letting the top of it hook inside and stretchin’ you out just a little bit more. “Why can’t I be the one to have all the fun—?”

“Do you always have to win?”

“Yes.”

As ridiculous as that sentence sounded, it doesn’t surprise you that it came out of Gojo’s mouth.

The very same mouth that’s becoming more n’ more feverish on your cunt - as some form of revenge, you suppose. Gojo’s grabbing a handful of your left ass cheek and using it to drag you deeper into his mouth.

His jaw unhinges. His nose pushes against your skin. 

He’s sucking onto every tender spot of your pussy- eventually resting his pinkish lips on your hole and shoving his tastebuds in so deep. “Tch- this is my fuckin’ win—and this should be my pussy, girl.” Deeper. “C’mon. C’mon. Forget sucking my cock- just fuck back in t’me, sweetheart.”

“F-forget? Sneaky…you just wanna win.”

You can feel him smile against your cunt. “Awww, you know me so well—”

“So selfish, Satoru.” You huff. 

“Ohhhh.” And he’s shivering- wracking with something primal all the way head-to-toe. “Call me that again~”

“Satoru.” You’re plopping your mouth over his puckered, pretty head- he was just so cutely needy.

It wasn’t something that you’d expected over the hotshot player. Even though Gojo Satoru might not look like it upon first impression—his cock was so sensitive, so very honest with you that it almost gave you secondhand embarrassment to see. The moment you’re putting your mouth on him n’ starting to suck, he’s spurting out the sweetest honeyed wads of precum here n’ there. The moment you’re leaving him- Gojo throbs even angrily bigger and shuffles his hips to chase your warm mouth.

One of your hands reaches down to squeeze at his balls - so plump and perfectly-shaped. It was annoying that everything about him seemed to be handcrafted by the heavens themselves.

And you’re massaging his most sensitive spots using the mountain of your palm, grinding him against your hand every time your mouth sucks on him. You’re repeating this sequence a few more times. 

But he’s not holding back either - Gojo’s now started using the side of your waist as a handlebar, almost.

And he’s grabbing you hard- dragging you onto his awaiting mouth even harder.

“Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart- sweetheart.” He repeats like a broken record player. All whilst his tongue was open and ready—he hones it at the tip, sharpening, so that it can probe even deeper. Slithering it inside again and agaaaaaain until you’re soaking all down his face. “Mmm- again, sweetheart.” Gojo whispers, feeling the mess start to trickle down his chin. “C’mon- Satoru needs to hear you say his name when you cum.”

“Satoruuuuu—oh.” You’re gasping. “But you’re not winning before I do-”

 He’s immediately reaching for your throat with a vicious thrust of his hips.

You’re relaxing that muscle there so that he can delve deeper into your velvety cavern- the tresses of his veins scrapin’ against the roof of your mouth. Breathing through your nose as you have to win this. You fucking have to. It’s the competitiveness that’s getting to the both of you—and you’re moving in a fucking frenzy.

A stalemate.

Every zap of electricity, both of you reciprocate it twofold.

With your thighs wrapped around his head, with Gojo’s cock shoved down your throat. And the two of you move in synchronous tandem - you with the rapid bobs of your head, slobberin’ all down his plump inches—and him eatin’ away like a ravenous fucking wolf between your legs. The both of you were starved. 

But you have to realize…that a draw just isn’t enough for Gojo Satoru.

Because Gojo Satoru was a competitive motherfucker.

And without warning; he swipes three slick-buttered fingers ‘round the orifice of your cunt. ‘Round and ‘round a few times. Before he’s then letting them sliiiiiiiip in—he replaces his tongue with those long fingers of his that just manage to stretch you out so right.

You’re removing yourself from Gojo’s cock with a lecherous pop! Just to gasp n’ moan away as Gojo opens you up using his fingers.

“How about it now?” Gojo coos. He elongates his words- and something about it just makes your limbs twitch—as he’s probin’ inside in loooooong yearning thrusts with his seemingly never-ending digits. Again and again. “How about you say- ngh- ‘Satoru you’re the best~’ and maybe I’ll go easy on you when I win?”

Gojo mocks your voice by pitching it about a zillion octaves higher and making himself sound ridiculously flirty.

You scoff, embarrassment sizzling across your skin. “You fuckin’ wish.”

“Now, that’s not very nice~”

And he wasn’t going to play easy. He reaches his fingers back- then slams! them down all the way till the knuckles. The curvaceous tops of his digits were slightly thicker than the rest of him—so he’s able to drive apart your sticky walls n’ stick himself into every hidden spot and crevice. 

He was filling you up sooooooo good - “Oh p-please…” Tears drizzle down your cheeks. “That feels so good-”

“That’s not what I wanted you to say…” Gojo had amusement laced into his every syllable. “C’mon- tell your Satoru that he’s the best.”

“S-Satoru—” No—you can’t give up so easily. And lazily…you’re instead slobberin’ down his thick, vein-covered shaft instead. You can’t even take him in by now, because you were too afraid a sudden graze of Gojo’s fingers along your tender spots would leave you scramblin’ for air.

Speaking of tender spots…

“Y’know I’m real close to the goal.” Gojo trundles. Those long lashes of his flap, as though innocently. “Real close. I could just…” 

“O-ohhhh, fuck-” All three of those fingers are slippin’ around your g-spot - you get the impression that he was missing it on purpose, and it made you nervous over just what he might have planned next. Fuck he was massaging the softest areas of your cunt’s channel. “You’re bluffing.”

“By how much wetter you’re getting…” He smirks. “-I think the fuck not. C’mooooon the world’s strongest striker is eatin’ your pussy out, and you can’t even be nice?”

“N-no-”

“I sure can be.” The area of Gojo’s knuckles were practically gluuuued like adhesive to your cunt’s folds. His other hand lifts off of your hips- starting to knead your swollen nub—you’re starting to see stars as Gojo toys with your clit. “But only if you admit m’the best. C’mon, tell me I’m the best- tell me…and I miiiiiight just go a little easier on you.”

“S-Satoru…” It’s inevitable - between the constant probing, the suckling ‘round wherever he could reach, the targeting of your clit - that you’re about to reach your high. It’s simmering right underneath your skin. “Oh no-”

“Oh yes.” Gojo’s eyes glimmer with delight. “Close, huh? And what do you have to say—?”

“Satoru—” You knew that you’d have to do this if you wanted a satisfactory orgasm- Gojo would’ve gladly left you high and dry just to prove a point. “Y-you’re the best…”

The words feel sickeningly sweet leaving your tongue.

But just as soon as they’re rollin’ off- Gojo probes deeply into your g-spot. Hitting that exact area of nerves dead-on. And your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave - it’s burning hot and feels more blissful than anything you’ve ever felt before. Anything.

You hate to admit it, but you’re seeing stars as you cum on Gojo’s tongue.

And he has the audacity to giggle- giggle, pussydrunkenly. “Mmm, you think I’m the best, sweetheart?”

“Yeah…” You breathe. “When you shut up.”

Immediately, you’re pushing back into Gojo’s mouth - shutting him up. His mouth drops open for you on instinct. His cock’s floooooding silver, satiny spurts of precum at the mere act of being used—your walls fluttering around his tongue. Sucking him up. 

Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head. “G-goal…”

Your jaw drops.

His fingers are tunnelin’ straight to your g-spot during every peak of your high - those twinges of extra pleasure that he’s managing to prolong using his fingers, his mouth, his other set of digits kneading your pulsing clit. And what’s driving you even further past that tipping point is the way that Gojo whispers ‘goal, goal, goal, goal’ every time he strikes your g-spot.

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

There’s no use trying to make him cum soon afterwards—you’re too drunk on your pleasure, and Gojo’s attempting to squeeze his thighs together to keep himself from cumming. Once your clit’s properly massaged, he uses that hand to squeeze his thickened hilt and prevent anymore beads of pearly-white from leaking.

Fucking unfair. 

By the time you’ve ridden through your high - you’re well and fully wrung out. Struggling to catch your breath. Struggling to stop your limbs from shaking- sensitively.

He’s left you oh-so-sensitive.

Gojo Satoru hadn’t even had to fucking try to overstimulate you—he’s just that good with his fingers. He’s just so flexible with his tongue. He’s just so-

“Is this some sort of subliminal? Why are you whispering those to my cunt?” You ask him. And it’s with a final squelch! - and Gojo whispering for a goal once his fingers detach from your g-spot - that you’re managing to untangle yourself from his ravenous mouth.

Though it wasn’t for a lack of trying from his part—Gojo chases after your drippin’ wet pussy like a bee chasing his beehive. Were you the Queen or were you the honey? He’s having a hard time deciding, as Gojo finally sits up on the bed- dazedly.

“Woah-” Now sitting opposite him, you steady him with a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay there, Satoru?”

His cock twitches. For both your dignities, you pretend you don’t see that. 

“You’re fucking asking me if I’m okay—?”

Using that same helping hand you’d lent him- Gojo flips your positions around so that now your back’s facing the creaky hotel headboard. And then you’re both shuffling down the mattress, so that you’re being bent into-

“A mating press.” Gojo grins. His eyes twinkle with something so…dark. “Since I won our little bet, I choose the mating press- oh, and that’s not all.”

To your astoundment, Gojo suddenly stands up and flounces off the bed. He scans for something on the floor- “Give the great Gojo Satoru one second.” And then saunters up to your open suitcases of clothes as though they were his—it doesn’t take long for Gojo to find what he’d been looking for. 

And you’re feeling embarrassment curdled with something akin to an unfamiliar shyness start to rise in your chest. Because in Gojo Satoru’s hands…was his own jersey.

“You had Geto’s jersey.” He smirks. “I knew you must’ve had mine in there somewhere, too.”

“Someone should teach you not to go through others’ things.” You huff, crossing your arms.

“Oh, my apologies.” Gojo says, sounding utterly unapologetic. “How about I make it up to you? Arms up, baby.”

And, well, a bet is a bet.

You’re raising your arms and letting Gojo take off the rest of your clothes. Before you know it, the Gojo 66 jersey on you—one you’d never even admitted to Shoko that you’d bought. In your defense, it was a buy-one-get-one-free deal that they’d been doing for the FIFA World Cup- but you doubt that Gojo would be open to hearing about your transaction history right now.

Not when he’s admiring the look of his name - his last name - emblazoned against your back. The look of his team’s colors rising and falling with every deep breath.

Your hardened nipples looked so pretty against the athletic fabric that he can’t help but reach out and pinch—

“Change of plans.” Gojo grunts- breathless, as if he hadn’t planned to say this. “We’re doing it doggy style so I can look at my name across your back while I hit it from behind.”

You grumble but you’re changing positions anyway. “Ever heard of the story of Narcissus, Satoru?”

“Are you the river because you’re so wet, or…?”

“No, don’t worry- that dried me up enough.”

He temporarily shoves a knee between your legs. “Lies.” Smirking.

You’re on all fours now. And Gojo shrugs off whatever else is left of his garments- and his rock-hard abs press into your back from behind, practically gluuuued skin-to-skin. A line of goosebumps shoot up your spine at the sudden feeling of him pressing into you—and Gojo takes the opportunity to lean down and kiss up your back.

All the way sloppily to your shoulders.

Your neck.

“Mmmm—and this is my win, isn’t it?” He rasps against your skin- there’s a…slightly crazed tone in Gojo’s voice that you’d never heard before. You shiver. You nod. “Mhm- then this is going to be how a winner fucks, sweetheart.”

In the time that you’d been distracted by Gojo’s incredible body, his ruby-reddened cock had slipped between your legs. There, Gojo had been keeping his length cushioned by your pretty, pretty legs.

Only now was he lettin’ his drivelling tip sliiiiiiide down your slit- giving you an experimental stretch along your first rim. “And yer wearing my name, aren’t you~?” It makes him fucking blush - out of everything…this is what breaks him - to see Gojo 66 and the blue jersey against your skin. You can’t help but nod again. “Then you’re doing to- fucking- take it- like a winner, sweetheart.”

Between each word, Gojo pauses to give a thorough slashing of his thickened cock.

He’s not even fitting in all the way at first- just the globular tip.

Just that decadent girth; where his shaft had flared out massively - all blushing red and plastered in precum - and then honing out into a perfect point to just dive right into you. Gojo’s length also had a slight curve reaching towards the top of your cunt—and he was built oh-so-perfectly to itch at your sweetest spots inside.

Not that you were going to admit it, of course.

“Cock got your-”

“You already used that line, Satoru.” You’re grumbling- though it’s a proper task to keep your voice steady in front of him. To pretend you’re not as affected as you really are.

And Gojo notices. Of course, Gojo Satoru notices. “Y’know…you might not be honest.” He titters in your ear. And then he’s shovellin’ in a few more thick inches—you’re feeling the near-spherical end of his shaft slip inside without too much resistance. You just wanted him so badly. “But this pretty cunt sure is. And what do you think she has to say about me?”

“I-I don’t need to—”

“She’s saying…”

Gojo trails off. Though not without reason.

Almost that very instant, he’s un-velcroing his chiselled abs from your back. A soft whimper leaves your lips as you’re startin’ to miss him already. Already.

But Gojo’s merely pattin’ at your utterly stuffed pussy. You only had a few inches of him pushed inside and throbbing inside you, but your cunt still struggles to take him. “Needy girl. Be patient for a fuckin’ minute- sheesh.”

And then he’s tugging at your jersey.

You’re looking up in confusion.

Then he’s pulling at your jersey—

And only too-late are you realizing that Gojo has that hem of your - his - football jersey bunched up. Using just a single one of his hands, he’s twistin’ his fingers around the velveteen fabric and trapping you right along with it—then he’s dragging you- just by the hold he has on your jersey. He falls back on his haunches.

And he’s taking you right along with him.

Now you’ve got your arms lifted off the bed- in a praying position…except Gojo’s fat cock was drilling into you from behind. With your ass cheeks against his pap-pap-papping hips, with his thick meaty thighs kneading into yours.

His hips are pushing and pushing and pushing—wielding his cock into yours so deeply, so furiously, that it’s as if the man’s entire body has been set alight. 

Raw desire runs through his veins instead of blood- and Gojo’s letting out such an animalistic growl- “S’my fuckin’ name on you…”

His mouth waters- waters at the mere notion.

Shit, what an effect you had on him. Maybe all that adrenaline during interviews was…

Gojo’s never felt so utterly drunk than he was in this very moment—pussydrunk. Like the most intense of alcoholics chase their vise, he’s chasin’ the back of your gooey cunt. Every thrust manages to scrape his pumping veins against that snug channel of yours, every thrust manages to push him a little deeper than he already was. What a wonder he’s managed to fit in the first place.

You were just so fucking tight and heavenly that it’s as though you were sucking Gojo’s sanity - and soul - right out of him.

“My fucking name.” He repeats. Breathless. Gojo thwacks! his extremely tight balls against the front slit of your cunt. More beads of syrupy slick end up leaking out of you—n’ they’re pouring down Gojo’s vast shaft. “My fucking number on you.”

“Sh-shiiiiit—” You’re clawing for a lifeline: anything. Your only hope is to bend your arms behind your head- and start clawin’ at Gojo’s own sweaty scalp instead. 

As he rams in again and again and again—your poor ass cheeks were stinging.

Gojo’s almost all the way bottomed-out now. It makes your back arch, and your throat bubble over with moans instead of answers. “Fuck-”

The audacity that he has…no one but Gojo Satoru could have. He’s mocking your moans- “Satoru, fuck~” Before rolling those azure eyes of his and emptyin’ every inch of himself into the back of your pussy. “Yeah, yeah- fucking you is exactly what I’m—oh.”

Oh, was right.

It was exactly right.

Because just then Gojo finally - finally - bottoms out. He’s gotten all of his inches happily trapped between your gorgeous legs.

And it’s not just that.

Just then Gojo’s breath hitches.

Just then Gojo thinks he can’t breathe- his entire upper half collapses on top of yours—and you’re being pushed back into a regular, sloppy doggy position. Gojo’s letting shivers run amok across his skin, Gojo’s letting his handsome features twist into something of pure euphoria as he bottoms out- how can it feel this good?

This fucking good?

And in the time it’d taken the self-proclaimed world’s best striker to shatter on your pussy- you’d gathered yourself up.

At least to the point where you can look at Gojo over your shoulder and smirk. “Pussy got your tongue, Satoru?”

He frowns. “Har har—very fun- fuck, don’t squeeze me like that.” Gojo’s eyes flutter shut- on the edges of his lashes, you think you’re seeing tears. “I th-think I might cum.”

“Just that from a winner?” You’re tutting. “I thought you were the strongest, Satoru.”

“I-I am-”

“Then wouldn’t the strongest also have incredible stamina?” You’re looking at him—Gojo’s peripherals are glazed-over with a thick layer of lust. His hair was a mess. His lips were kiss-bitten. There’s a sort of unleashed hunger within him that makes you wish for him to ravage you…You pout. “And here I was hoping we could go- all night.”

He shivers at the words - cock pulsating deep inside you.

But you’re not done just yet. “But ah…I suppose if you can’t, then maybe Get-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - not even your thought - before Gojo’s hips are pinning yours down. His upper half is cushioned against you. His bodyweight fully keeps you delightfully trapped- as Gojo’s starting to fuck you like an animal. 

He pushes you into the mattress.

He fucks you into the mattress.

His thrusts deeeeeep and loooooong—all the way from the slick-embellished top of his shaft, and then down, down, down until you’re feeling your cunt struggling around his incredibly thick base. The scruff of Gojo’s white pubic hair pushed n’ pulled against your pussylips-

Grinding.

And before you could even register the different sensation, Gojo already has one of his hands looped underneath you. The calloused tips of his fingers are instantly finding your clit, like magnets find one another, and he’s teasin’ that sweet nub. Again and again—tuggin’. “I c-can’t believe…” Gojo chokes out eventually.

“What was that?” You’re asking with a pointed clench of your sopping wet lips. 

And the man above you instantly shudders. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, girl.” He somewhat snaps- but rather than irritation it’s simply pure need in his words. Gojo pinches your clit. “It doesn’t matter h-hoooooow many times you clench- or just hooooow pussydrunk you’re getting me…”

You’re keening as he swabs your g-spot several times.

“But I- won’t- forget- whose- jersey- is on- you—” Gojo says between thrusts.

Every one of his movements was getting more n’ more erratic by the second- sweat drenched every part of him, and a curtain of his white hair obscured those laser-blue eyes. Locked in on his target: you.

Gojo’s touch is searing as he’s pinching your clit once again—“But just in case this pussy does- heh, get too rowdy…how about you remind me?” Your eyes are jerking open at his words. What does he…“Because it feels fucking gooood wearing the winner’s jersey as he fucks you, huh? Huh?”

Your lips quiver. Pressure was building at the pit of your stomach. “Y-yes…”

“Oh yeah? What does it say, then?” The team captain whispers. He’s using his dexterous fingers to twist your too-sensitive nub, and you’re whimpering.

“Fuck-”

“I already told you before- oh. M’already fucking you.” Gojo’s mirthful grin spreads across his face. He had that pussydrunken look about him as his hips accelerated. Even more. “But that’s not the- hah, question. What number is it?”

“S-six six…” You’re letting out in a defeated gust of air.

“Mmmm, good girl.” Maybe because you’re being such a good girl - Gojo takes the time to lazily and lethargically draaaaaaag his vein-covered cock wherever he felt like you were the most delicate. His zig-zagging patterns were getting outlined deep, deep inside you—and you’re shivering as he inches close to your g-spot. “And what name?”

He can’t stop himself from nudgin’ himself just a little closer and puuuushing down hard and thoroughly on that nerve-covered spot. “O-ohhhhh, fuck, there-”

Gojo’s face contorts - his brows furrow, his jaw drops. “Tell me the fucking name, sweetheart~”

“Gojo Satoru.” Barely even audible.

He leans in with an exaggerated smirk. “What was thaaaat?”

“Gojo Satoru- fuck.”

“And how many goals did I score today, Miss Reporter?”

You’re clawing at the pillows by now. “Th-three—!”

“Oh yeah?” Gojo hums. “M’gonna double it tonight.”

You don’t need to wait too long to find out exactly what Gojo meant- because in mere split-seconds, he’s reeling his hips baaaaack and snappin’ them. Once from the very blushin’ tip-top and down to the hilt. “Goal.” He whispers as he grazes past your g-spot - activating the white-hot pleasure from your cunt to your brain - and striking his target of your cervix. “H-heh.”

“Yellow card for being such a dick.” You whisper.

“Oh, but you love a winner’s dick.” He counters. And it’s barely three seconds later that you’re feeling another forcefield of carnal vibrations that set your teeth on edge—“Oh- and goal.”

Saliva puddles on the pillow in front of you. The hotel headboard has your nail marks on it- dammit.

Gojo repeats- faster this time. “Goal- oh, look at that…a hatrick.” His voice is on the verge of shattering- “Can we make that double hatricks?”

“O-oh my god, Satoru-”

“It’s captain.”

And then he’s pumping out those final few thrusts—hands a blur upon your throbbin’ clit, hips a blur between your legs. That jersey bearing Gojo’s name was drenched in sweat and stuck to you like a second skin- “Goal.” It’s radiating the heat that your body was giving off. “Goal.”

It’s displaying that number and that name so proudly. So fucking proudly.

And for that last and final score of his—Gojo’s bending down until he’s able to press his mouth against the area between where your shoulderblades should be. He kisses that spot. He licks his name on your skin. “Goal.”

And it’s inevitable that you’re crashing into your high as one.

Gojo holds you closely as incredible bursts of pleasure make your cunt convulse- you’re practically keeping him glued to your walls. It just felt too good to let him go, even if it was just to fuck you through your high. And it’s by pushing past that little resistance that Gojo’s managing to probe his rounded tip into you- to press those invisible buttons of yours that prolong your high.

More and more and more. This was an orgasm even better than your last one- and you hadn’t even known that’d be possible (not to boost Gojo’s ego).

Counting underneath his breath, he times the exact moment of your euphoria peaking—and then he’s bangin’ his rock-hard tip right on time. Bruising the back of your pussy.

White-hot pleasure was sizzlin’ just beneath your skin every time he did—and you felt as though your heart was beating too fast for you to keep up with. It’s a pounding drum in your ears, your chest…and your pussy.

Wrapped so vehemently ‘round Gojo’s own twitching cock.

He was pumping out wad after wad of looooong white cum that sticks to the inner lining of your pussy. Groaning. Grinding. Pleasure was tingling at the tips of his fingers, and all around him- soon enough you’re feeling a few tears of bliss splatter down your back. “You’re…” You just barely manage to breathe.

Gojo humps your behind like an animal- just shaking at the sheer force of his high. Gojo hums as he collects the droplets on the tip of his cock, and starts fucking it into your deepest depths- inside. Inside and inside.

It was just so warm and gummy inside you. Spreading. Seeping. 

Overspilling.

There wasn’t to be a single ounce wasted.

Gojo’s fingers alternate between rolling over your clit n’ helping push the excess amount of cum frothing around your entrance back inside. Some of it was currently forming a ring around his hilt, and he’s swiping it away using his thumb—popping it inside his mouth. “N-not bad for a guy you hate, huh~?”

Your eyes are shooting open. “Hate?” You frown. “I’ve never hated you, Satoru.”

And that makes the smile slip off his face. “Huh? But I always thought…you always asked me those probing questions and-”

“Satoru, that’s because I’m interested in you…as a player. Of course.” You’re admitting somewhat shyly. The two of you were past your orgasms by this point, and Gojo had taken to spooning you from behind whilst his cock was still inside. “I thought you hated me-”

“Me?” Gojo gapes. “When have I ever hated you? I flirt with you all the fucking time-”

“You flirt with everyone.” You huff. “But it’s just…that time after you’d gotten your offer for the national team. I don’t know if you remember, but it was my first interview then and-”

“Of course I remember.” He interjects.

Something warms in your chest. “But then- why didn’t you show up?”

“Pardon?”

“You promised you’d do your first interview with me- and I promised you’d be the first athlete I interviewed.” There’s a sadness in your tone - not overwhelming, just missing what might have been. “I waited and waited for you, but you never showed up.”

“You waited for me?” Gojo gasps.

“Yeah? I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the field-”

“I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the media room.”

You stare at Gojo. Gojo stares right back.

You sort of want to laugh- no wait, you’re laughing.

And he’s following right after. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

“Mhmmm, but first how about you pull out, Satoru?”

“Aw, man.”

“And then next I’ll let you put the black card in my mouth while you fuck me.”

“Fuck yeah.”

.

.

.

Eight years ago.

“Are you new here?”

Gojo startles.

The Japan Football Association (JFA) had a meeting room…as Gojo Satoru supposes that all football headquarters do.

He wouldn’t know.

But outside was the waiting room. 

He also wouldn’t know whether other places had such purgatories- but then again, he digresses.

It was a hallway with two rows of chairs pushed against either side of it—gleaming plastic chairs that sat emptily - and strangely ominously - before photographs of some of the JFA’s most famous recruits. Gojo felt a strange sense of pride and fear soar up in him as the only chair occupied—perhaps mirror images of all the great players that had sat in them years prior.

Well, as the second chair occupied.

So focused on reciting his name, his age, and his position to himself - things that should come as naturally to him as breathing, now strangely so foreign in this stuffy waiting room - he hadn’t noticed you until you actually spoke to him. Which…you must forgive him.

Everything tends to slip Gojo Satoru’s mind when he thinks of football: people, places, eating and sleeping. 

And yet…with your soft call- he turns to you. There’s an instantaneous and mad urge for Gojo to flash his best, most flirtatious smile that’d gotten him voted as Most Handsome Boy for every year of elementary school and middle school. And yet, the memories of high school come rushing to him unbidden—and Gojo’s suddenly tampering it down.

Expressionless. “Yes?”

“Don’t do that.” You huff. You looked about his age- and by the uniform you were wearing, it didn’t seem that you were another recruit. He wonders what you were doing in such a place. “That smile of yours is so pretty- did you know that you have a dimple?”

“I…” Gojo watches as you point at the edge of your left lip. He reaches a hand up to feel for that very spot, softly smiling—just for the experiment. “Oh- I suppose I do.”

You shrug. “Win ‘em over with that smile, I tell you. You’re Gojo Satoru—the youngest recruit for the team, aren’t you?”

He feels his heartbeat pick up. “I don’t know…I hope so.”

“Tch- don’t be silly.” And it shocked Gojo just how casually you’d waved away his uncertainties - as though they were mere annoyances, like easy-to-catch mosquitoes, and not blood-thirst buzzards. “The interview’s basically a formality. The entire building’s talking about you. Gojo Satoru: the youngest recruit in Japanese football history, the football prodigy from a small town in Hokkaido, the new generation of Japanese football.”

The more you spoke, the more Gojo’s eyes widened. The more he held his breath.

“You’re like the Luffy of football right now, man.” You smile. “Have some more confidence- you’re Gojo Satoru.”

At the time, he hadn’t known how to respond to that. So he’d simply asked—“And are you…”

“Not a player.” Turning to the chair on your other side, you pulled out a notebook and a pen, an audio recorder, and a camera. “I’m an intern for the sports reporting department- it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do when I was young.” And he watched in something he’d later come to recognize as awe as you stared at the photographs of players in much the same way he did. “All those photographs? All those articles? It’s because of reporters—and if I can’t play on the field, maybe I can write the field’s stories, y’know?”

You sigh. 

And he simply keeps on staring like a buffoon.

“Everything that happens on that field is a tale to be told.” And as Gojo’s awkward silence stretches, your smile turns sheepish. “Or- something like that…I don’t know it’s just-”

“Don’t do that.” He interrupts. This time, there’s a faint smile on his lips—and you could see the dimples. “Be confident, erm…”

You share your name.

He repeats it like a winning scorecard, a legendary play, maybe a last-minute unexpected goal. Extremely unexpected.

And from inside the meeting room, there’s a call of his name. Gojo’s jerking up to his lanky feet and looking at you- you shoot him two thumbs up. He nods.

He turns.

And he’s just about to enter through those doors that could very well change his life—

But, Gojo Satoru turns back.

He looks at you and flashes you that too-handsome smile. The first sight of it seems to shock you. “How about if- when I get back you can be the reporter to get the first-ever exclusive interview with the Gojo Satoru~?”

You blink. “I’d like that.” Surprise melting from your expression and letting you smile. “I’d really, really like that—oh, shit, I should get my good camera for the photos- good luck—!”

And with your cheerful tone echoing down the hallway, Gojo huffs out a chuckle. He’s almost at the meeting room door when he realizes that he hadn’t exactly gotten a time and place for this interview - and who knows how long this meeting will last - but when he’s looking back you’re already disappeared. 

Ah, that’s fine. He supposes.

He’ll find you anyway.

.

.

.

Gojo Satoru’s first-ever professional interview was alongside Coach Yaga with some veteran reporter he now can’t remember the name of.

Your first-ever professional interview as a sports reporter was with the long-retired striker, Gakuganji, who’d taken time out of his busy electric guitar shredding schedule.

The two of you shouldn’t have drifted apart.

But then again, the two of you shouldn’t have found each other either. We are all parallel lines of the same football field; untouching and unceasing—not unless there’s bound to be a—goal

Gojo Satoru was face-to-face with the goal.

He takes a deep breath.

He points.

He kicks.

He scores.

There’s a second of silence before anything happens - like the brief yet somehow deafening pause before a rocket takes off. And just as loudly—the cheers of fans, Japanese and non-Japanese supporters alike, erupt raucously until the very frame of the stadium seems to rattle itself. They were crying. They were jumping. They were cheering themselves hoarse, because—

“Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! For the first time in history, Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! Gojo Satoru has done it again—!” 

1-2 to Japan.

To say that the match had been close would be the understatement of the century; but you suppose you’ll write all about it in some exclusive article. Later.

Right now, your gaze was fixated on the flashes of white n’ blue barely discernible through the explosion of confetti. As what seemed like hundreds of members of the audience break through the bars and run to the embracing team, there’s only one that’s untangling himself free from the embrace and running straight—to you.

You’re in Gojo’s strong, sweaty arms before you even know what’s happening.

“And is that Gojo—?! Our MVP Gojo is breaking free from his team- running to the lovely lady, eh? All because of that bet. And here we have more celebrations from—”

His face pushed into the crook of your neck, and his chest hammering against yours- “We did it.” Gojo pants - and you’re vaguely aware of Shoko zooming in on the scene with a cackle. “We did it, sweetheart.”

You’re pulling back slightly from him and smiling. “I always knew you could.”

He kisses you and he’s never meant anything more.

A/N. WHERE’S MY GOJOOOOOOOO?? Anyways ugh I’d been SOBBING during Modrić’s final match.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[forksocket]

🐻 | bear!simon x bunny!reader

neighbour!simon, fem!reader, explicit.

simon was not the type to enjoy moving house. as much as he were used to moving away for long times from long deployments, simon hated it. he hated how moving required picking up what life he'd established, even if it were small. he didn't understand how people could pack their lives up and ship across the country just like that. and plus, being deployed was different. a home was somewhere he could stay in peace, away from the gunfire.

but even he, too, needed a move here and there. wasn't really a must, but he wanted to downsize—he needed something a little smaller than what he had. it's not like he spent all his time there anyways—he was usually on base, and taking care of a bigger apartment was asking too much.

so he packed up, moved a few blocks away, holed up in a little apartment building. the day he moved in, carrying just a few boxes (he didn't have much to begin with), he couldn't help but notice the person right beside his door.

cute. you were wide-eyed and cute. stared at him across the hallway before sheepishly asking him if he minded moving out of your way so you could get to your apartment. lo and behold, you opened the door beside his and slipped in.

simon didn't give it much thought, to be honest. didn't really care how cute you were. he wasn't the type to want anyone, let alone a sweet little bunny. he doubted you could defend yourself if you joined a fistfight with a gun—he needed someone who could protect themselves while he was gone on long deployments.

but you thought differently. walked past his apartment extra times a day, hoping you'd catch him on the way out so you could get a better look at his biceps, or the scar on his cheek, dragging down to his lip. the bear was handsome as hell.

you lengthened your grocery lists, made sure the bags were a tiny bit too heavy, just in case you might see him in the parking lot and ask him for help.

you knocked on his door in the afternoon, shyly looking up at him with those big doe eyes, biting your lip and asking him, "um, sir, do you mind helping? my sink is leaking... and i just don't want to... bother anyone else."

simon had been pissed, the first time he had met you. he always heard some kind of excited prattling from through the thin walls, as you excitedly rambled to a friend. you just talked, and talked, and talked—simon's ears were going to fall off, subject to your loud conversations through the walls.

so maybe, if it shut you up, he'd entertain your silly little requests.

so here he was, under your sink, on his back, his shirt under his head as he'd taken it off.

(you'd increased the AC in your room, hoping he'd take his shirt off. sneaky little thing.)

you sat on the counter, uncaring about what he was saying about your sink. he kept talking and talking about the mechanics of it so you could fix it for yourself next time, but you were hooked on the slight rasp of his voice and the way his abs flexed as he tightened your pipes.

then simon was done, and you grabbed his arm as he sat up. you didn't want him to leave, not so soon."sir? can i pay you? um... don't have much money on me to give you, but i could give you something else."

and fuck him, you were so needy. felt your hand on his arm tighten every time he moved as if to leave. simon knew he was falling straight into a trap, and if he was being honest, he's not sure he minded. he sighs, the crease between his brows deepening. "'yer alright, luv. ain't gonna ask y'for anythin'."

you pouted. like a sad, kicked bunny. pouted at him with wide eyes and flattened ears, tail twitching unhappily. "please? stay a bit, let me... um. i can make you something to eat. cookies? i make really good cookies."

simon was really good at dodging negotiation tactics. really good at surviving the harshest forms of torture. but he hadn't been trained to dodge the torture suddenly straining in his pants as he took you in, pretty pink frills on your skirt, your thighs which dissapeared under the fabric. so he stayed, sat there whilst you busied about the kitchen, whipping together some cookies.

when they were done, you presented them to him, real giddy, jumping on your heels. "here, try one."

before he could reach for one, you sat yourself in his lap, right on top of him, offering the cookie to his lips. simon grunts, his hand instinctively moving to grip your hip. "watch y'rself, luv. don' wanna start somethin' you ain't gonna finish."

shame, that you were so confident, really. maybe then you wouldn't have ended up grinding on his lap like a bitch in heat. maybe then he wouldn't have bent you right over the counter, pushing your pretty skirt up to leer at the sopping wet patch of underwear over your cunt. "mh, she's real pretty, eh, luv?"

you were so confident up until you came on his fingers. simon didn't even give you a second to think, his fingers pressing deeper, squishing against your gummy walls. "c'mere, darlin', jus' wanna have some more."

you were losing your mind, hands gripping against the table, cheek mushed to the wood, your ears barely registered the thumping of the chair's legs every time he forced his fingers back into you. then it stops, and before you can whine, the sound of his fly unzipping reaches your ears.

in one smooth stroke of his cock, the rest of your confidence dissipated. the stretch burned, like he was splitting you in half, god, he was too fucking big. "s-sir, sir, it's too big..."

"hush, take it. y'asked for this, bun," he grunts, practically folding you over, his hips forcing against yours, his hand on your jaw. his thumb rubs over the corner of your mouth, swiping up the drool that slips from your mouth.

poor thing. you shouldn't have poked the bear, but you just couldn't help it, could you? craved the way his cock filled you up so good. he was going to ruin you for everyone else.

"ah, m'gonna fill you right up," he grunts out into your ear, heavy breaths puffing against your skin.

"ah, fuck... yes, please. please, sir, want you..." you're cut off by a desperate moan as he thrusts into you heavily, his bodyweight pressing against you. the chain around his neck, dog tags, press into the skin on your back, branding against your skin, leaving a little red mark, pressing his name into you.

when he comes inside you, he huffs, rubbing your clit gently as he pulls out, softening cock resting against your thigh. "good fuckin' girl."

(you may just have to poke the bear a little bit more.)

── .✦ masterlist .

[rawme-price]

Inspired by [this] post by @bluecarolina

Ghost is hardly a jealous man, he doesn't really care about things enough to be jealous.

Well, except for you.

You, and the bloke who's practically been attached at your arm for the past two weeks. You two talk like old friends, like you've known eachother for years. Ghost knows from eavesdropping that "me and him were always close, you know? Kind of impossible not to miss eachother after I had to move."

The thought of it makes ghost seethe. It's a startling feeling considering he's never felt so territorial over someone before. All ghost wants is a moment alone with you, just to talk, and everywhere he turns your boyfriend is there.

Well. He assumes boyfriend, with the lack of a ring. But it's impossible to know when ghost avoids him and by proxy you. The worst part? Ghost didn't realize he liked you until that dickhead came around.

"Oh, ghost! I've been meaning to catch you!" You smile when ghost finally breaks during lunch, boyfriend sat across from you at the table.

You gesture to him, missing the way ghosts hand pulls his balaclava just above his nose, "this is my—"

Ghost kisses you, both hands holding yout jae steady.

The whole mess hall goes dead silent, not that he'd care. He leans in further, having to bow down at the awkward position, licking into your mouth with a wet tongue. You can't help but melt into it a bit, ignoring the gasp from next to you.

When you finally pull away, ghost is blushing beneath the mask, your own face heated.

"This," you say, all smug and pleased as you point to the man ghost has genuinely considered killing, "...is my brother. He's visiting for the month.

....oh.

....ghost grabs your arm and drags you away. He can deal with an angry brother later, right now he's aching to kiss you more and he knows you are too.

[kamiflix]

▶︎ Supernatural (starring . various jjk men)

synopsis . Simple touches you make that finally cause them to snap after having them on sex ban for heavens know how long. pairings (separate) . Sukuna x f!reader, Gojo x f!reader, Nanami x f!reader, Toji x f!reader, Choso x f!reader, Geto x f!reader. content . afab!reader, premature ejec, established relationship(s), heavy breeding, pussy slapping, hints of perversion, dirty talk, pathetic men, rough sex, fluff if you squint, begging, nipple play, filth, praise, gojo’s an idiot, oral sex (f!receiving), finger sucking, masturbation (m!receiving), cum play, manhandling, they’re all downbad, spit, overstim, degrading, creampies, biting, pet names, etc.

word count . 7.2k || author's note: newjeans never what? banner art from “Kubitsuri Danshi to Nikushoku Joshi” (this is a reworked repost btw)

☆ Sukuna Ryomen — The back of his neck

"Mmgh! 'Kunaa," You're moaning from a widely gaping mouth, "S'too muuch," Eyes puffed with blissful tears streaming out of them as he drives his bulky cock deep inside you like he were afraid you'd run away from him any second now or something.

Your husband merely tips his head to the side, and lets his hand fall down over the fact of your ass to smack! meanly, "You continued to tempt me," He claims, albeit a clear lie, "I'm only giving you what you wanted now."

He was pretending to be far too casual about what was taking place now as if his plump balls weren't actively kissing your clit with the rudest meetings, soft plp plp plps echoing out from each connection. Sukuna's way of acting like the most mundane thing didn't lead the two of you to this very position was truly astounding to you.

"This is what you wanted," You argue back the moment you manage to capture your breath back into your lungs. Brows all furrowed and hips bouncing back against his sharp pelvis, "N-Not me—mmfph, fuck..."

You couldn't see it but he did break out a knowing smile as if you were wrong, "Yet you've made quite the mess around my cock already," Sukuna points out. His lusting red eyes dive downwards and he unintentionally begins to fuck harder the moment he catches sight of your mixed cum dripping off his balls and leaving a mess onto the living room floor. "It must be so difficult to tell lies like that when you've such an honest pussy," He comments.

You swear you hate the way that has your cunt sucking him in more, gushing squelches left trickling out of your hole each time he came forward with yet another hauling thrust of his achy cock, "Ohmygod."

Just a few minutes ago, he had the grumpiest pout weighing his bottom lip down and his eyes were glaring over at you all meanly, cursing you extensively within the safety of his mind but never daring to utter any of said curses to you.

Why?

Because he felt himself growing throbbingly erect after you'd done nothing more than graze the back of his neck with the tips of your fingers as you'd walked by.

After years of marriage, you'd think he'd have gotten used to you and your loving little touches but…

"Hear that? Hear how she always tells me the truth? Perhaps you should take notes," He's groaning now with you bent over the living room couch in the most debauched way imaginable. It's the same place he was sitting moments ago, the same place he felt a deft tent begin to make itself present against his sweatpants—which are now somewhere on the floor—and the same place he felt as though he needed to give you what you were, allegedly, asking for.

How exactly was the playful gesture of you trailing your fingertips against the back of his neck as you walked behind him a sign of you tempting him? You haven't a clue, really.

"S'not m-my fault you're-, ah! Sensitive," You moan, teeth occasionally clasping onto the pillow you have your face resting against as you feel your legs grow temporarily numb with his every other thrust.

You didn't realize the affect an entire month of no sex would have on the two of you until now. Hell, you can barely remember what made you place the ban in the first place with the way he's plowing into you now.

"Oh but it is your fault. Only your fingers against my neck invoke such reactions from me," Sukuna says to you, as if this were commonly acknowledged information shared between the two of you prior to this, "You know that."

Feeling the way air exits your lips along with another moan of his name, "N-No I don't." you just barely get out to him. His cock is quite busy readjusting your inner honeyed walls to its size with rather barbarically frantic slotting.

"Yeah?" He smiles at that, "Well, let's see if my girl down here does, hm?" Sukuna's hand shifts beneath you and then feels up against your perky clit just to catch how it tremors to every touch, "Oooh, look at that, she knows exactly what she does to me, unlike you—apparently." He scoffs.

You think your legs almost give out for a second due to the pleasure thrumming all throughout your body but you still force yourself to throw a defiant, "Shut up." his way.

Head cocking back as if offended, "What was that, brat?" He doesn't give you a second to reply properly because he's driving his other hand into your hair and then grabbing onto it and tugging the upper half of your body up up up! until his lips can run against your ear, "I couldn't quite hear you, speak up when you're talking to me."

You're mumbling even quieter now and your words seem to break off somewhere through their exit of your throat, "S-Shut up..."

"One more time, wife." He taunts purposefully as his head angles down into your neck and his mouth opens so that he could let his teeth sink into your skin.

You don’t know if you’re going insane by simply being married to the man but you swear the meaner you are to him, the rougher he gets during sex. Either that or the more desperate he gets for something you’re not quite sure of yet.

With drool starting to slip out the corner of your lips, "Sukuna, hahhh-, I-I can't... fuuuck, I didn't mean to-"

"Awhh, yes you did," He cuts off. The heavy tip of his cock was now sandwiched clean against your sweet-spot and he was intentionally not letting up on you, leaving your body a trembly mess against his just so he could talk all soft against your skin, "S'okay, I just wanna hear you say it again for me. I like it when you try to be mean to me."

"S-Shut up," You finally manage. This time though, there wasn’t an ounce of malice detected in your voice, which overall meant that he’d gotten exactly what he wanted from you: obedience.

Kissing over the recent bite mark he’d made, "See? Was that so hard?" Sukuna hums. You wish the laugh you wanted to release actually left you but unfortunately you’re caught off guard by his loud groan as his voice dips down an octave and something fervent and milky sloshes out into your cunt, "Such a dramatic slut…”

☆ Geto Suguru — Fingers in his hair

You always run your fingers through Geto's long dark tresses of hair, telling him how affectionately jealous you are of its length, and complimenting him on it time and time again. Right now was no different, of course.

Except for the fact that his dick was hard enough for him to be uncomfortable where he sat. He was barely hearing what you were saying and all his attention landed on the way your fingertips felt grazing his scalp. You'd avoided doing that these past few days because you knew how it got him, but now that the short-lived ban of yours was over, you had returned to your previous gestures.

So, surely, you expected to have him in between your thighs within the hour?

Truth be told, he begged to eat you out at least three times within the past few days just for the hell of it, but each time it got more and more torturous since he had to stop himself from cumming in reaction to earning that gorgeous little glare of yours.

But now nothing was holding him back from slobbering in between your juicy cunt, "Mmgh, missed this pretty pussy s'much," Geto practically gurgles against you, a real nasty spread of your slick left slathered all over the lower half of his face. His slim purple eyes were trained especially up onto your expression so he could truly drink up your every reaction, "I finally get to-, agh, mwahh.." He pauses to kiss at you, "Taste you again-, fuuck."

"S-Sugu, slow down-, hahh," You end up smiling halfway through your warnings because you honestly missed how depraved he got while eating you out. You never said anything because you didn't want him to feel bad but he definitely was not slobbering against you like this the last time he ate you out. Which, of course, was to be expected... but still. "M'not going anywhere!"

Geto grunts as if pissed off that you'd even suggest him taking his time with you right now, "Don't care." Then he pushes your legs apart impossibly wider and suckles your clit in between his slippery lips, "Need you-, need this..." He moans prettily.

There's a shimmery gloss of something pussydrunken resting in his eyes that just refuse to stray away from you but, you try not to pay too much attention to it. Even though that proves to be quite difficult when he lets his looong tongue slither back in between your weepy folds to lick up every drop you had to offer him, "Hnngh, Suguru!"

"So fuckin' sweet," He moans again with watery eyes. Geto only tugs away a few centimeters to leave spit 'n drenched kisses against your pussy, "Cum on my tongue baby, lemme taste it."

"Fuuck," Your back arches up away from the bed at that gorgeous angle he can never get enough of and that seems to make him all the more feral.

Now pulling at your clit with his lips, very much using the tip of his tongue to swirl around the quavery bud in a way that leaves you twitching, "Look at 'er, she missed me eatin' her out just as much," He slurs out in between his perfected oral movements, "My poor baby, you were probably dealin' with half-assed orgasms for all those days jus' cause I'd been selfish..." Geto coos softly as if you weren't absolutely losing it right now and clinging onto the sheets to stop yourself from squirting right onto his face. "M'sorry, gorgeous. Pwah," He spits again, "Won't happen again."

And by selfish, he only means that you banned him from sex in response to coming home and seeing him getting off without you. It was a harmless thing, really. But so was the few-day ban, in your opinion...

There's nothing but the sound of wet lil' claps coming from his mouth whenever he draws it away from you and licks at the rest of your taste sitting on his lips. You never thought you'd find yourself with a guy like Geto who literally cums as soon as you start pulling on his hair again. It's a phenomenon you can hardly ever wrap your mind around but, it happens every single time.

While you're whimpering out his name all prettily, "Suguru!" he's busy grinding his fat cock against the soaked sheets below that have a small pool of cum sitting there just from eating you out.

Then you hear him grunt again and his hand leaves your thigh just to slap your throbbing cunt and listen to the sound of the wettened contact. "Give me a few minutes and-, fuck, m'cumming inside you," Geto hums softly before patting your cunt a couple more times like the reaction it caused was some type of response to his words. "Cute lil' thing, you like the sound of that, don't you? Well..."

Geto trails off for just a moment to move his hand down in between his legs and gather some of his own cum up onto his fingertips before bringing them back up to your spread and then smearing the mess all over it. You think you manage to make a new expression in reaction but you find it hard to think when he shoves those same cum-coated fingers into you.

"This should work for now, right?" He asks softly-, almost innocently like he wasn't currently doing the nastiest thing you've ever seen him do before. "I think if I get inside you now, I'll pass out," Geto admits before planting one last chaste kiss against your cunt and then looking up at you again, "Later though, okay?"

You're somewhere in between another orgasm and overstimulation so your eyes are completely hazed on his, "U-Uhuh, whenever you-, mmgh, want, Sugu..."

He starts french-kissing your cunt in something that looks 'n feels like slow motion before whispering, "S'sweet to me."

☆ Gojo Satoru — A hug from behind

"Shh, shhh, jus' take it for me, my love. P-Please," He's groaning desperately, hips bucking up in tandem with the half-broken words flopping out his mouth, "I missed stuffin' you like this-, hahh, fuck... Gotta' make sure it takes, e-every fuckin' drop."

You'd think after going a whole twooo days without being inside you, the last thing that'd get him like this would be a mere hug. Yet, there the two of you were just a few minutes after you'd made the mistake of pressing into him for an embrace and Gojo's blushing tip had started to drool creamy slick against his boxers.

You don't know if it was the warmth that exuded from your body that got him like this, or perhaps the soft curve of your breast pressing into his back muscles through the thin top you had on while his torso was left bare but, now you're on top of him.

He's watching your ass slam down on the hard length of his cock whilst his hands smooth over your tits—grabbing and squeezing at whatever he can as you whine, "Toru! I-I can't-"

After the forty-eight hour span of hell he just went through, your whines of not being able to take him were going straight through one ear and right out the other, "You ha-hahh, you have to, sweetheart. S'not fair if you don't..."

"Not fair?" You gasp as his slim fingers pinch your perked nipples, making your cunt spasm around the rest of his dick buried deep inside you, "Satoru, you're the one who-, fuck! watched that episode without me! I told you no sex for a week 'n here you are two days later."

Gojo's lips are hot 'n messy against your neck as you bounce up and down his cock, the filthy mess of cum at his tip busy kissing your cervix lovingly despite how needy and rough he was being. "Mmgh, that's not true," He argues, hands slipping down to hold your waist now, "You said it was okay beforehand."

Now he’s got a mean grip on the thick of your hips, letting his ears tune into the sound of your honeyed walls salivating around every inch of his length instead of your words, "That's only 'cause you asked me—fuck, right there—while I was half asleep."

His eyes roll elsewhere before he’s hauling his tongue out to lap against the side of your neck, slightly tickling you with it as he smirks and then whispers, "Well, I apologized like ten times and rewatched it all with you, didn't I?"

"Satoru-"

Pulling back before you can finish, Gojo presses his fingertips into your spine to make you arch further and then his eyes trail down, "God, what a fuckin' mess..." He comments as if majority of said mess wasn’t his seed. Letting his hips lazily roll up again, "Stop acting like you actually care, you just wanted a reason to be upset with me so I could make it up to you like this."

You have to swallow down the next dewy moan that threatens to spill past your lips, voice airy, "Make it up to me how?"

"Like thissss, baby," Your boyfriend emphasizes with yet another lazy, yet eager, roll of his hips. It’s as though he longed for you to feel every ridge ‘n edge of his cock stretching you open whenever he started moving slow like this. Then his arm snakes further around your frame and his fingers meet your clit with welcoming rubs.

Lips to your ear all of a sudden whilst his free hand keeps your body anchored to his so that you couldn’t pull away like you so desperately ached to, "Me rubbing right against here," Gojo explains, "Right where you need me.”

The combination of his cock just resting inside you all languidly—leaving globby streaks of cum against the stretch of your walls—and his fingertips now spelling his initials out against your clit like you’d forgotten who it belongs that short, but torturous amount of time, is all enough to have your eyes fluttering back.

Stammering something stupid in denial, "I-I didn't…”

"Oh yeah?” His lips twitch further up before his teeth clasp the edge of your ear in between them, “You didn't miss me inside you like this?" Gojo taunts, knowing he can—quite literally—feel the answer to that.

"N-Nope," You manage to chuckle, body squirming to pull yourself up so he’s not leaving you overly stuffed for a second long enough to catch your lost breath.

He leans allll the way back and cocks a thin white brow, "Heh, you're a horrible liar," Then he uses those large palms of his to spread your cheeks apart enough to get a whorish view of your puffy folds still struggling to swallow the entirety of his cock up. Clicking his tongue at the sight, "You're drooling all over the place, slutty girl."

Your pussy clamps around him just as he points that out, "That's because-"

"Ohh, wait, wait, I know." He cuts off impatiently. It’s almost like he wasn’t even listening to you right now. “That's because you want me to breed you, right?" He says randomly.

You blink and then angle your head back to look at him, "W-What?"

Despite your confusion, your body merely betrays you again. To which he bites his lower—also drooling—lip, "Mmngh, you just got tighter… I think I'm right." Gojo claims as he finally lets you lift yourself up a little, revealing a few of his cum-slathered inches that stick up to your skin in gorgeous strings of filth like glue. "What do you think, 'Toru Jr.?"

You halt exactly where you are and your expression of struggle falls flat, "Stop calling your cock that stupid nickname, please." You whine out to your lover for the nth time in your life.

"Hush, m'not talking to you right now," He scoffs annoyingly, blue eyes gleaming at the pretty sight of his cum all mixed around and nasty where the two of you are so soakingly connected. "But you, my prettiest girl, what do you think, hm?" Gojo asks your cunt instead of you.

You hate the way your body responds before you can get any more displeased whines out to him, the next clench from your pussy leading to yet another spumy sliiick of release trickle downwards and gather around his heavy base. His bright happy trail was just as wet 'n sleek as everything else between the two of you was by this point.

Whispering now as if to somehow leave you out of the conversation, "Do you agree with 'Toru Jr.?" Gojo continues, his thumb drawing over to tug one of your lips apart so he could feel the next little twitch his words invoke against the pad of it, "'Think you wanna be bred?"

When you unintentionally whine at the thought of feeling yet another slosh of his cum slot itself into you, his response is practically immediate, "Yeahhh? Well, who am I to deny such a nice girl," he finishes off with a sly wink sent your way.

Your brows furrow more and a great many curses build up on your tongue in reaction to his ridiculousness, “You’re so fucking—“

Before you could get another syllable out past your lips, he's maneuvering the two of you and next thing you know, your face is meeting the bedsheets below. Whatever verbal rudeness you were about to throw at him gets muffled and sandwiched into the bed but you don't get enough time to grow upset at that when Gojo picks right back up where he'd left off.

One hand holding your face down against the sheets, the other using your hip to tug your body back as his hips thrusted forward with a sudden quickness, and a stupidly smug smile stretched out across his slightly saliva-glossed lips, “Quiet while I stuff my favorite girl, yeah?"

Your eyes shoot open all wide-like and you force your head to turn to the side, causing his palm to press against your cheek and your gaze to peek through the space in between his fingers. The very second the two of you make eye contact, you could almost swear you saw little hearts in his eyes, as if your annoyance was exactly what turned him on.

Midway through the way his cock glissades at a new angle into your cunt, you manage a short gasp of, “Excuse me?”

To which your boyfriend begins to spill yet another load inside you—like your little huff was precisely what did it for him—and then lets out a snort in between his rather orgasmic grunts, “Whaaat? We-, hahh, we both know you were never really mad at me to begin with. So shut up 'n let me stuff you properly.”

☆ Nanami Kento — Holding his hand

Something about the way your palm fits against his makes his cock throb in a way that's so utterly dizzying he can't help but feel pathetic.

The two of you have been together long enough for this kind of thing not to faze him anymore but for some reason, whenever you grab his hand just to walk by his side, resting your head against his sturdy shoulder and rambling on about fuck knows what, all that harmless physical contact has blood rushing straight in between his legs.

This is the last thing he expected to set him off after the sex ban that managed to last four weeks but, here he is now, holding that same hand of yours tightly while he fucks you into the mattress a mere few hours after you both got home.

"When was the last time I felt you, hm?” He asks soothingly. You’ve never seen his face twist up in so many different colors of pleasure as it was now, as if he’d never been inside you before or something. Breath ragged and almost virgin-like, “F-Feels like it's been years…” Nanami moans.

You smile prettily enough for his hips to clasp forward a bit harder, leading you to stammer with your reply, "K-Kento, it's only a few weeks!" you remind the poor man.

His blonde brows knit up tightly at the center and the fingers tucked in between yours seem to squeeze, "No, no, surely it's been longer than that…” He whispers more so to himself than to you. Then his usually softened fawn eyes seem to narrow on you before shooting down. Lower lip pushing out to frown, “Awh, she can barely take me now, look at her," He notices.

You decide to look down as well and catch the way the lips of your pussy are quivering around just the half of his thick cock that’s easing its way into you, a particularly glossed-up vein of his catching your eye under the dim lighting of your shared bedroom.

“Poor thing's struggling to wrap around me,” Nanami coos, feeling his balls grow heavier with the need to pump you full of everything he’s not been able to release for weeks.

You’re left to moan as he pushes forward a little more, "Ah, maybe you just got-, mmgh, fuck... bigger!"

"Ohhh, don't say that," He grunts out all in one breath. The rest of his dick slides into you with one firm ‘n mean thrust to follow, "Unless you really mean it...” Nanami adds, plump cockhead caressing a new spot inside you all of a sudden, “Does it feel like I've gotten bigger, honey?"

You're nodding more than you are actually processing his words or even the very idea of his cock having grown within the time it's been unable to enter you. A sexdrunk babble of, "Mhm, y-yes, Ken!" spilling over your lips before he slumps even more of his body weight down against you so you could really feel every inch of the man you'd avoided physical contact with for all thirty days of November.

His hunky chest presses firmly against yours and the smooth slicks of sweat between the two of you mix just as evenly as your breaths do when he begins to whisper against your lips, "Do you like it? Y'like how big I've gotten?"

You only nod again, lashes fluttering with the way your gaze falls onto his lips that are far too close for him not to be kissing you right now. "Uhuhh, I love it," you whine before forcing a pout.

The little gesture in your lips doesn't go unnoticed by him so, of course he captures them up with his own within the next second, swallowing up every moan that exits your throat. His body rolls and humps down against you, the one grip he has on your thigh tightening harshly enough for his fingerprints to be noticed much later.

His thrusts get sloppy before he even realizes it, cock slipping out of you long enough to invoke a whine out of your lungs. To which he accidentally lets his florid shaft glide up over your clit in tauntingly pleasureful waves before craning back to angle himself into you properly.

Nanami is normally focused during sex, all intent on getting you to your high before he's anywhere near his because that's what's important to him but now...

"Hold onto me tighter, darling," He's huffing, balls plap plap plaping! against your skin as he prepares you to receive the very thick load of cum that was already starting to spill out of his mushroomy tip. His hand to yours with an ever-presently strong grip, "Squeeze me," he husks gently, fighting back a smile when you do exactly that, "There you go, perfect."

Your fingers wiggle in between his and he could see the bliss coating your delicate face just as your jaw began to dangle open. "Kentoo, m'gonna cum," You uttered in his most favored pitch.

Nanami doesn't even remember to respond for a second because he's too busy fucking you to that point and not realizing he's already pouring velvety ropes of his cum into you. It saps all against your walls and makes the filthiest sound ring out around the room but he could care less.

Especially not with the way he continues with his thrusts and leans up—face all focused, despite being every but—and then tugs your hand up to his lips. You're a mess below him by the time he takes your ring and middle finger past his lips before sucking on the two digits as if to muffle the purely pathetic sounds flinging out of him.

You're sure you've seen Nanami feral like this before but you almost forgot what a sight it as to see after four weeks.

He quickly goes from sucking on your fingers to plucking them out of his mouth and then kissing every inch his lips could possibly meet, searing his words into your skin as if to tattoo them there, "Cum for me then, cum for your husband," he whines. Then his eyes flick over to you and you feel yourself do exactly that whilst he grins and adds a tender, "Make me proud."

It was almost funny the way he'd acted like this, as if he wasn't the one who initiated the sex ban after he forgot to pick up something you'd specifically requested from the store.

What a man.

☆ Choso Kamo — Holding his face

He always loved it when you took his face into your hands, running your thumbs under his tired shaded eyes and talking all softly about how much you missed him throughout the day. But, something about today in particular was making it especially difficult to think.

He would've never held the door open for that blonde chick if he'd known you'd do this to him—restrict him from all things sexual with you for a tormentingly long five days. Now that the torturous banning of intimacy has finally come to an end, your boyfriend is acutely aware of the fact that he's allowed to cum inside you now.

Poor Choso doesn’t think he’s ever gotten hard so fast. You’re sitting in his lap yapping away about your day—like you always do—and he’s supposed to be listening but your palms are just so warm against his face. Something deep inside him aches for you to slip your hands down and wrap those same pretty fingers of your around his throat.

Oh God, the thought alone made his cock jump up and leave a snugging bulge against you. That’s probably why he ended up pushing the two of you over and shutting you and your rambling up with a heated kiss, groaning into your mouth about how you could tell him about your day later.

You know your boyfriend could get needy sometimes but this was something else entirely. He practically tore your shorts and panties clean off, letting his dick slap against your softly soaking folds shortly after whilst telling you he needed to fuck you before he lost his mind.

"Cho," You’re choking out now, arms loosely hanging around his neck as he plows his cock into you and grunts against your lips as if possessed.

He’s hardly uttering anything coherent with you anymore, nothing but slippy hums of, "Mhmmm.” exiting him between the way his cock got caught against the especially tight crevices of your pussy.

Your boyfriend isn’t allowing you any space to think, much less speak to him outside of the distant croaks of, "Choso! Ngh-, fuck… C-Can’t breathe-," you let out.

"Don't need to," He heaves right into your lips, tongue practically drawing the words out against the center of yours, "Lemme be your oxygen."

Oh, he’d lost it entirely. But, he wasn't exactly incorrect in his words. He was being your oxygen in the moment with the way he'd inhale every time you exhaled and the same vise versa. It was a fucked out tangle of breathy moans and groans between your equally kiss-swollen lips whilst the sticky tip of his cock bobbed sinfully against that doughy sweet spot of yours.

Muttering, "See?" in between his thrusts before he sliiiiiid his hips forward and let his dick oh-so-smoothly coast into your quenching walls, "In," Then he's doing the exact opposite motion and draaaaging it right back out, "And out, jus' like that, princess."

Your eyes were barely open but, as he sweet-talked you and had you a soaking mess under him, he also managed to maneuver your hands to his face so that you could focus entirely on him and the expressions he made against your palms while he fucked you. The dark strands of his hair dangled around you and he almost looked like he wanted to cry from how good he felt.

"Mmgh, right there," You gasp as soon as his cock mashes against that erogenous place within you again.

Choso turns his face into your hand a little and then kisses your palm, "Yeahh, that's my favorite spot inside you," He admits before his eyes seem to darken, "Look at me while I fuck it."

He feels your saturated cunt seem to get wetter the moment he says that but what really makes his hips snap forwards a little harder is the way you so keenly follow his instructions and keep your eyes directly on his.

"There she is, hey baby," Choso praises tentatively, "G-Gonna cum soon," He says in between a particularly loose swat of his tongue over his lower lip, "Y'ready for it?"

You use your grip on his face to tug him down for another sloppy connection of lips and as soon as your tongue filters its way up into his mouth, he's letting out something throaty and then letting clumps 'n clumps of his raw cum bloom out into your warm cunt.

Drunkenly murmuring a low, "S'all yours. Saved it just for you these last few days. Shiiit, never opening a door for another girl again. I p-promise."

"Huh?" You gape, batting your lashes rapidly as he plucks his lips away from yours for a split second, "Choso, it wasn't about the-, ah. It wasn't about you holding the door open. It's cause you flirted with her!"

"O-Oh." His eyes get impossibly droopier before he frowns deeply. Then he's tucking his face down into the crook of your neck, nuzzling into your skin rather puppy-like. "M'sorry. I didn't mean to."

You wanted to accept his apology, honestly. But with the way he starts smirking against you...

"You didn't mean to say her ass looks nice in those jeans she was wearing?" You huff, trying to ignore the pleasure for a moment to remind yourself why you'd banned him from sex in the first place.

Choso chuckles softly before angling his lips up so he can lick at your neck. Then he drools against you, "You said it first. All I did was agree." Oh, you understood where he was going with this now. Especially with the way he leans up to meet eyes with you again, "And I did that on purpose cause I wanted to see you mad at me."

An easy roll of your eyes is prompted right them, even as your cunt clamps around the curve of his cock, "That's kinda toxic, Choso. What if I put you on sex ban for a month?"

He pauses for only half a second. Then he frowns again, "I'd die."

You scoff playfully, "Loser."

Aaaand with that, he's cumming inside you with a strangled grunt bumping out of his throat. "Y-Your loser, yeahh.."

☆ Toji Fushiguro — Rubbing his thigh

"F-Fuuuck," You finally have your hand wrapped around the stupidly thick base of his cock, stroking upwards with great fervor that has him groaning all shamefully like some idiot, "Mmgh, I needed this."

Cooing, "Aw, did you?" in that tone you know he can't stand just to tease him some more for letting a very "innocent" run of your hand over his thigh lead to this.

In your head you just wanted to touch your boyfriend a bit while the two of you watched some movie but apparently that was too much for him to handle after two months of nothing. By the time you just-so-happened to look over, his head was tossed back and it was taking every muscle in his body not to start grinding up against your palm and working his cock over so you could rub your hand over that instead of his thigh.

Luckily for Toji, you're the sweetest girl on the planet so of course you tugged his cock out for him and started jerking him off like he so desperately needed you to.

But, that was thirty minutes ago and for some reason, he's hard again. You've both lost track of how many times he came in your hand but you don't think you mind it much since now he's too high off his own orgasms to mind the way your silky tongue is lapping around his sensitive nipple.

"Don't tease me," He huffs, jaw taut with tension like he didn't do all this to himself, "Agh-, not when I'm like this..."

You suck on the flushed bud against your tongue a little more before pulling away and kissing around the swollen area, "Like what? A mess in my hands?" You plant another kiss in between your words and your hand jerks at the heavy shaft against your palm a little faster, "A mess against my tongue?"

"Fuck," He groans like it hurts (in a good way), and then his hips thrust up to meet your hand some more and encourage your mouth against his nipple.

Usually, he tries everything in his power to avoid letting you do all this to him but he couldn't care less today since he's been more than eager to cum lately. There's a slop of white trickling all in between every crack and crevice of your hand by now—a feeling of which he's sure would be a sensory nightmare in any other situation—but he just can't stop thrusting into the curve of your palm.

"S'okay, Toji," You whisper way to lovingly for him not to continue to lose his mind, "I missed having you like this too, y'know."

A crooked smile spreads out against his scarred lips and he's trying his best to get ahold of his panting, "Did ya'?"

He felt like some puddled mess under your touch and he wasn't sure if he hated every second of it or secretly wanted more 'n more. The latter quickly proves to be true when you start humming, "Mhmm," as you take his nipple back into your mouth.

The vibrations against it, paired with your thumb caressing the underside of his most tender vein as you glide upwards with your touch, and then swirl the pad of your thumb around his plump head and then in between the slit of it to push at the silky cum spilling out leave him to moan. The pillow on his other side that he's mindlessly holding onto looks almost lifeless due to his current grip.

"W-Why?" He stammers, cursing himself for it as soon as the hoarse tone leaves him. Then Toji's pouty-like eyes flock onto your body and how pretty you look sitting beside him and pleasing him as if you didn't even care about getting yourself off right now, "'Cause you like seein' me make a fool of myself?"

"Yeahh," You whisper honestly, smiling and then leaving a trail of kisses upwards until you meet his neck and then his tense jawline, "You always get soooo grumpy as if you didn't bring this on yourself," Your voice is too much of a purr and it makes his balls feel impossibly heavier like you haven't almost milked him dry already.

So, of course he takes the annoyed approach and scoffs, "Shut up 'n keep makin' me feel good," Toji tells you.

With a mean squeeze to his cock, you hear his breath tangle up in his throat and the way his entire muscular body tenses up and reacts to the motion, "A whole two months you haven't been able to fuck me and now you wanna be a brat when I finally give you some attention?" You tut, no longer moving your hand and only leaving it to squeeze at his hefty shaft to prevent him from cumming again.

Toji's eyes roll all the way into the back of his skull and his hips jerk upwards in a pathetic attempt at getting his cock to slip upwards within your grasp and give him some more movement 'n friction against it. "O-Ohh fuck-, doll... m'sorry," He spews out instantly, "F-Fuuck.. Please don't-"

"Should've been nicer to me," You cut off as you take your hand off of his dick and watch it wave in the air helplessly.

Technically speaking, he could've taken matters into his own hands (literally) at any given moment now but that couldn't possibly compare to the feeling of having your touch wrapped around him.

The man almost whines as he reaches a shaky hand over to your wrists and urges you back to his weighty cock to start touching it again, "Don't stop, please. P-Please, doll, m'right there."

You roll your eyes and merely keep your hand in an O-shape so that he could fit himself back into your touch, "Do it yourself then." You instruct with a nod of your head. "C'mon, put on a little show for me, Toji."

He didn't need to be told twice. Toji steadies himself on the couch and instantly begins to fuck his cock up into your hand without you moving a single inch. His breath is uneven and all over the fuckin' place as he gets off on just using your hand without your help.

He's never felt so helpless and pathetic like this before that it's quickly beginning to make his head spin. To make matters worse, you move your lips over to his neck again and start kissing him to encourage what he's doing as if he doesn't look stupid with what he's doing right now.

"S'this what you wanted? Huh?" He heaves out, nostrils flaring and voice frayed.

You smile into his skin and nod, "Uhuh, this is exactly what I wanted."

To which Toji rolls his eyes and lets his hips get sloppier with their thrusts, his cock occasionally slipping out of the little hole you've created for him, "Yeah, I bet it is. Fuckin' perv..."

You snicker and look back down at how cute his dick looks missing the very simple hole he desperately aches to fit into, "I could always move my hand, y'know."

"I fuckin' dare you," Your boyfriend challenges.

As if you'd ever been one to back down from such a thing...

The very second you take your hand away again, that submissive 'n pathetic side of his snaps and you're only given a moment to blink before he's got you on top of him within the next second.

Scoffing like everything is your fault, "Such a fuckin' brat... Always makin' me work for what I need."

You quickly feel his bobbling tip kissing up against your pussy lips with swabby slicks of wet cum, "T-Toji, what are you-"

"Shut up 'n sit," He orders like he wasn't a whiny mess a total of six minutes ago.

So, naturally, you fold your arms and keep yourself hovering over his dick, "Say please."

"Fuck that," He breathes, hands at your hips abruptly giving your body a swift pull downwards as if you were the lightest thing on the planet (to him, you were), "Don't you feel how hard I am f'you?"

"Toji-," You're cut off by your own gasp as his wide-set cockhead slips up into you with a loud 'n wetly ringing pop!

"Always a sloppy whore f'me, aren't ya?" Toji asks, eyes glued to the drip and drips of sleek arousal drooling out of your cunt. Then he finally cocks his head to the side and looks back up at you with a look in his eyes that says he already knows the answer to the question he's about to ask, "So are you gonna sit now or do I have to make you do that too?"

"Fine. But if you fall asleep like you did two months ago, I'm makin' you wait five before you even get to touch me again." You explain.

Toji shudders, his hands holding onto you for dear life whilst his eyes widen a fraction as if to prove he'll never make the same mistake again.

Deep down inside he'd realized you may be the craziest chick he's ever been with—banning him from sex just cause he fell asleep during it one time—but he'd be lying if he said he didn't love that about you.

perm multi tags (1/2):

@cupidstrace @navyllll @grignardsreagent @kingofpiratesiguess @etsuniiru @not-a-glad-gladiator @2kool4skoolll @daxphoriax @gorouenjoyer @blubearxy

@wonderfullymickey @iaintblockinnobody @kitassecretgf @iam-souless @nanamitiddiechomper @ohreallyfriend @withersworld @lilacsforveins @suguphile @megottheswaskikacooooke

@kvsqkiii @yourlocalcatscammer @lucy-lulu @sukubusss @sweetieelilii @lisabelhyhn @serenadesvt @riameriash @arminseas2 @palanggaaa

@cherslop @makingtimemine @theodoresvalentine @blcknebula @babblybebe @iluvatsumuuuui @remscreams @cursedkisss @jaibunni

@a-jazzy-bee @miksde @zombiiesandmaltesers @sktvienna @dawnsoblivion @chloeee20 @naoybby @lateforlatte @lanamyersismywife @anosreep

[burgundysnow]

i’m so curious if you’re willing to do a short continuation of the simon imagine where he asks you to go to the gym? lol it’s laser engraved into my brain fr

Sorry this took so long to the people who were patiently waiting!!! Thank you for reading!!! Word count: 0.6k Part one here.

As soon as Simon gets home he takes off the mask, his blond curls and rugged face out in the open. The right side of his lip having a little scar among big ones on the rest of his body and the door shutting closed behind him. 

Even though his face is beautiful there is one particular thing you notice. How after Simon works out there’s a pool of sweat in the middle of his chest. His shirt soaks it up and makes a semi perfect heart, even though it’s been a little while since he came home from the gym, it still looks like he’s all sweaty. A gentle shine on all of this skin. 

“Wow.” You flirt playfully from the couch. Looking over the top of your book to admire the way he walks— shifts, moves. Anything. “I can tell it was arm day. You look so good Simon.” 

It’s hard to actually give a compliment. So your voice is filled with sarcasm. But that doesn’t make the words any less true. His biceps look bitable. Meaning they look really good. 

“Fuckin’ finally.” 

You hear Simon whisper. It’s not the usual grunt back or blushy face. Your brows furrow. “Excuse me?”  

“Said ‘fuckin’ finally’ S’time you realized.” 

“Realized what?” You show your affection for Simon every day. Maybe not through words, but every night before bed you kiss the biggest scar on his arm and shove your hands under his shirt to warm you up. It was all silent admiration. 

Simon gets all embarrassed at your question, You can tell because he won’t let you see his face, turning towards the ground and busying himself with taking his shoes off. 

“Realized s’been a while. Since your praise.” 

You bite back a smile; Simon lives for praise (don’t we all?). But him especially. It’s not like you’re going to withhold how beautiful he is, but if it’s been a while since you’ve given a compliment and Simon himself noticed? maybe you’ve been too busy. Too far away from Simon. 

“Thought you’d wanna see me work out.” 

“Of course I do, why wouldn’t I.” 

“Then why’d you shoot me down?” 

Your brows furrow. The idea of watching Simon at the gym, lifting weights twice your size and seeing the muscles strain against his shirt sounds like a dream. Why would you ever shoot him down? 

And then it clicks. 

Everything clicks like a brick falling into place or the subtle flick of a switch before the light comes on. 

“Oh.” It was your first response, and suddenly your heart is flooded with warmth while your whole body relaxes. What were you thinking? If Simon really did have a problem with your body, which he doesn’t. He would have told you flat out. Not through some snide comments or secret messages. 

“I’m sorry honey I—“ you start to giggle to yourself. Just a bit. This was silly, it was all a little silly now that you think about it. 

“What…?” 

Simon walks over to the couch and stands next to you; he has a not-so-secret rule about not touching too much furniture after the gym because he smells rank. But to you it’s the good stuff. 

“I thought you wanted me to go to the gym with you to work out.” Simons eyebrows twitch in confusion, it only expanded on your point. “Like— to gain muscle or become skinnier or something.” 

When you look up at Simon’s he has a very blatant yuck face like the thought repulsed him too. 

“Do you want to get skinnier?” 

That really is a loaded question. Of course everyone wants to become skinnier, but that includes eating better and exercising more and truly that is the least of your worries at the moment. So you shift under his gaze, hoping your words are the right answer. 

“Not really….” 

A small noise falls from the back of Simon’s throat and he leans down to press a kiss on the crown of your forehead. He lingers and you can smell the workout radiating off him. 

“Good. I didn’t want you too either.”

[gutsby]

X

Summary: Simon finds your G-spot.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Disgustingly loving sex (sorry). Soft dom!Simon Talks You Through It™️ Creampie. Brief mention of Reader’s insecurities w sex

Note: I’m on Instagram now (kinda), come say hi :-)

Word count: 2.1k

It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried before.

You’d had your fair share of lovers and experienced more than a good deal of fun. With everyone in the past, climax came the same way, every single time: clitoral stimulation, and clitoral stimulation alone.

By this point in your life, you suspected your g-spot was probably just a figment of your imagination, no more real than Atlantis, Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.

That was, until, you met your boyfriend, Simon.

And things had only been official for a week.

You and him had fooled around a handful of times—made love, as he called it, and kissed and cuddled and occasionally dry-humped until the two of you were both panting, groaning messes—but all of this was new. Simon was still learning you, as you were him.

He finished between your tits. You came on his tongue. He fingered you to the point of tears, and you learned how to touch his sac just right to get him to blow his load in seconds. On this night in particular, you were fucking missionary, and holding hands while you did.

Lovesick puppies, Price would say. Neither one of you seemed able to unglue your lips or unlace your fingers or keep your hips from colliding again and again and again in frantic search of the other’s furthest depths. You were perfectly wrapped up, with no desire to move

Except, you needed to reach down between your bodies to actually get off. That was a minor detail.

You didn’t think the man above you would mind if you moved your touch from his, but then that grip tightened the second you tried pulling away.

“Keep it there, lovie. Like holding you like this,” he said.

You enjoyed it, too. It was intimate, and sweet, and with your hands pinned on either side of you, locked securely in his, you felt safe. You just couldn’t finish.

“But I…I need to come,” you whispered against him. You rolled your hips and felt his cock twitch inside you.

Simon grunted, then swallowed. Nodded slowly.

“Yeah. I’ll get you there. Feel this?”

He slid deeper for emphasis.

You didn’t.

You rarely did, or at least not in the way you figured you were supposed to get when something pressed there.

“I think…sort of, yeah,” you hedged your answer.

Don’t bruise his ego, don’t hurt his feelings.

This is all on me, Si, I promise it’s not you.

Cutting in over your thoughts, Simon moved swiftly. Took your hips in his big, strong hands, lifted up, and plunged his cock to the hilt. The girth of him was enough to knock the air out of your lungs, and you felt your walls stretch, sting, and weep sweet liquid warmth around that intrusion. You moaned.

“Better?” The man’s question was simple.

Before you could answer it, he was sliding a pillow underneath your backside. Sawing his long, thick, leaking cock in and out of you, he reached a new spot.

You made a face, feeling good from that but…strange.

Simon snatched your hands up again and planted them beside your head on the mattress. He thrusted steadily. He peppered kisses all over your face and your neck while the bed frame squeaked in time, and you had to dig your heels into his ass to ground yourself.

“Talk to me, baby. Can’t make it better if you don’t.”

“I—I know, I just can’t—”

At the same time, Simon tilted your hips slightly once more, and the tip of his cock kissed something soft and wet and dizzyingly pleasurable inside your body. A loud, embarrassing cry slipped out between your lips.

You wanted to clap a hand over your mouth, hating the way you’d just sounded, but your fingers were stuck to his. Simon grinned down at you, toothy and approving.

“Can’t do what, now, darlin’?”

The warm, bulbous head of his cock had found its mark, and he just kept prodding that spot, like it entertained him to do it. The fingers laced between your own constricted their grip even more, and Simon leaned down to kiss you while his cock carved a mind-numbing path. In between kisses, he praised you.

“That’s my girl. She’s likin’ it now, isn’t she?”

“Feel good when my cock hits that spot?”

“Your pussy’s fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby.”

But still, somehow, it just wasn’t quite enough.

Maybe you’d never found that place after all.

This was where most men gave up—after a few good minutes of fucking when their balls had gotten to be as swollen as stones and their bodies were aching for release, more often than not, they’d go off chasing their own high. That was when you usually started rubbing your clit, or waited for your partner to finish so they could get you off with their tongue or something.

You hated to feel like a burden, and you really despised the thought of being the reason your sweet Simon couldn’t get to orgasm. So you squirmed again.

Straining to reach down, to try and touch yourself, you whimpered, “Si, please, it just—it takes me too long—”

“Good thing we’ve got all night,” Simon replied bluntly.

Then, once again, he twisted your bodies like you were as soft and malleable as putty in his hands, and this time, he hitched one of your legs around his hip, high.

With one slow-rolling thrust and an audibly squelching sound, Simon’s cock stretched your hole to maximum capacity, and then a little more. Your juices leaked down his shaft, aiding the slide, and he stabbed in a few shallow strokes. Probing. Testing the waters, as if he were trying to find something hidden inside you.

You sucked in a breath. Simon’s gaze slid to yours.

“Let’s find that precious spot, lovie. Easy, now.”

Gently coaxing your body open, he drove a slow, measured pace. He split your cunt like it was the easiest thing in the world, delving within your wet, velvety heat to tease every contour and crevice of your pussy. His tip leaked precome. His balls glistened in your arousal and landed with the gentlest plap, plap, plaps while he explored your insides with his member.

It really was as simple as that, nothing more and nothing less than poking around. Having patience.

“S-Si,” you stammered, nose wrinkling slightly.

“What’s’at, baby? Got something to tell me?”

Like a teacher, almost, he pressed for more.

Like his cock was showing you something new about your body but he needed your help to tell him just how and where to find it, Simon took care to be kind. He smoothed a hand over the crown of your head and then cradled the back of it, one massive set of fingers splayed out against your skull and engulfing it wholly.

He still held onto your other hand tight.

Your cunt pulsed. Ached. Fluttered around him.

Stuffed to the brim, you had only to feel, and murmur:

“Higher.”

“Higher?”

“Um, to the…to the left.”

Simon tilted his hips left.

Yes.

That was just it. So close.

Almost…

Or, maybe…

“Maybe it just…isn’t there,” you huffed out, deflating. “Know you’re trying so hard, baby, but I think I can’t—”

Then Simon hit the same spot as before, only higher.

Just like you’d told him: to the left, and then…

“Oh, fuck,” you cursed. “Oh, fuckfuckfuck.”

The grin above you stretched even wider.

“There, lovie?” Simon goaded you on.

“Right there.” You nodded furiously.

A wave of pleasure swept through your limbs, from your core down to the soles of your feet. Your toes curled, and you squeaked, feeling Simon’s cock graze that soft, spongy, sensitive place—except he’d pushed in deeper. The sensation made your eyes roll back.

“Little dove doesn’t mind my pokin’ after all, huh?” Simon’s words were a tease, but you heard a strain in them, too. The second you were caught in the throes of real pleasure, your cunt must’ve clamped like a vice.

“Keep…keep pokin’, Si,” you choked out. “I like it.”

Your lover kept at it—poking from the inside.

The routine almost felt like losing your virginity all over again, together. Simon cradled your head, told you how good you were doing, how sweet you were for him, and you whimpered under his hold. Squirmed and clung to him for dear life, then kissed him feverishly.

Simon’s mouth was hard and hungry, his thrusts deep. His cock throbbed within the wet, clenching confines of your pussy, and he seemed to be going wild at the feeling. With the idea that he was driving you wild, too.

You realized as much when he whispered it to you.

“Could lose my bloody mind when you’re like this—” Another sharp, labored breath. Another shudder passing through his body when your insides squeezed. “—so why didn’t you talk? Ask for what you needed?”

Your voice was small. “Didn’t wanna be a bother.”

Your eyes were locked with Simon’s, and in his irises, you caught a shade of concern. It flared, hot as anything, then mixed with disbelief. Disappointment.

“Don’t be angry, Si, I—” you started, hurried.

“‘M’not.” Simon blinked. But he gritted his teeth, and he withdrew his cock until the head was bumping and teasing between your folds, then he shook his head. “It’s those fuckin’ pricks who should be sorry, yeah?”

The ones that you’d been with before.

You wanted to protest, insist that you were at least partly to blame, but you never got the opportunity.

Simon was back inside you in a blink.

Hitting that same spot again, and again, and again.

He grinned, the tic of a muscle in his jaw telling you that he was less amused this time around, but proud.

Vindicated.

“Well. It’s not like they’re ever gettin’ a chance in between these pretty legs again, are they, lovie?”

You nodded in agreement.

You smiled back at him, only to have that gentle curve falter a little when you felt Simon’s thrusts accelerate.

“Only thing that’s gonna touch this spot other’n my cock is my seed, splatterin’ all over your walls, right?”

When he gave a playful nip to your lower lip and squeezed your hand tighter, you knew that he meant it. The man had plunged so deep inside you that his pubic bone was now grinding against your skin, and the rest of him was buried. His balls, all full and warm and heavy with his release, rested firmly in your cleft.

And the steady, measured strokes of his cock landed with near-surgical precision on the G-spot you’d convinced yourself up until tonight didn’t exist.

Simon beamed. You were overcome with ecstasy.

“This it, lovie? This spot right ‘ere?” he cooed.

His cock bobbed against that gummy and indescribably dizzying place, causing your last moan to morph into something more akin to a shriek.

You nodded your head: “Y-Yes. Yes.”

“Feel good when I hit it?”

“Fucking perfect, Si.”

You sighed when the man bottomed out for what felt like the millionth time, and the pleasure never waned. He felt just as good now as he did when he first got in.

“Yeah? Gonna come on my cock then, pretty girl?”

“Yeah. I’m— I’m so close.”

“Go on then, love.”

And, shortly, you did.

Maybe three, four, five more stabs of his cock to your most precious, intimate place and you were unraveling beneath him, stars bursting in your line of vision. It seemed dramatic to say, but that was really what it came to—your mouth hanging open, eyes wide, gaze peering into Simon’s while he fucked you through the most intense orgasm of your life. You clung to him, and your walls spasmed again and again and again, milking the man’s release in the next few seconds. Simon shuddered and grit his teeth as he unloaded a thick, gooey load inside, dousing that spongy, body-numbing spot and then some. The two of you moaned in unison.

Your body was boneless, your head a hazy mess.

It took several seconds for your conscious mind to come back online fully, and when it did, Simon was leaning in again and planting kisses along your face.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, breath fanning hot across your skin. “My perfect girl. You did so good.”

You smiled and caught his mouth for a proper kiss.

“Thank you,” you murmured against him.

Then Simon squeezed your hand—the one he’d been holding this entire time. He lifted it gently, like he was afraid too rough of a movement might split you in two.

He turned your wrist and kissed the back of your hand, eyes locked on yours and expression soft while he did.

“That’s what I’m here for, lovie.”

[zaynezone]

"Zayne? I have a...proposition for you."

He stops writing on your chart at the words. Zayne knows you well enough to know that this conversation isn't for Dr. Zayne, so he sets aside the clipboard and gives you his full attention.

"See...the Association offers an all-included week long vacation for all it's employees and their p-partners." You shoot him a pointed look, to which he nods. His eyes dart back to his papers, scanning them.

"I see. And because of your condition, you need a note from me. I'd be happy to provide one for you. I...didn't know you were seeing anyone."

"W-well that's the thing. I'm not. But I'm sure you might...have some spare vacation days."

A long moment goes by. Long enough that your throat goes dry and your heart starts to hammer in your chest. Oh god, this was a stupid idea. Maybe if you pray hard enough, a wanderer will spawn and kill you now, just to free you from the awkwardness.

"Are you suggesting we go together? Isn't being romantically involved a prerequisite?" His fingers interlock, resting on the desk as he stares at you. But he hasn't said no yet, so you press on.

"We could just pretend! It's not like we have to do anything. And I figured you might enjoy some time off! You work more than I do." You smile in what you hope to be a collected manner, but probably comes off more insane.

"I'll check my schedule. Is that all?"

You try not to openly deflate. Of course he wouldn't want to come. Why would he want to spend a week pretending to be your boyfriend for a vacation he could take whenever he wanted?

You're still moping later that evening, scrolling absentmindedly on your phone to take your mind off your humiliation when it buzzes with a text.

Zayne: I have a week's worth of vacation to take at any time. When do we leave?

Well, it's too late to turn back now.

series masterlist // part 1 coming soon!!

[peppermint-toads]

johnny and simon both eat like dogs. like you could actually feed their meals to a dog. sweet potato, ground beef, and whatever veg was about to turn rotten. and no seasoning. time can’t be wasted on seasoning in their household.

dinner is a fleeting affair. both of them hunched over their bowls and inhaling. you’re staring at them in shock as they devour their flavorless, meaningless slop.

then to the couch for tv time. you feel a bit like a zookeeper that’s just thrown a limb of mean into a lions enclosure. the beasts fed, and now they lick their paws and relax.

they don’t even like the two teams playing on the television right now.

“why don’t you two come to my place tomorrow for a change?”

“wot? something wrong with our flat, dove?”

“no, no! of course not!”

they may look like lions but they frighten easily. the last thing you mean to do is scare them off.

“course not, just thought a change of pace might be nice?”

they share a weary look. change isn’t their favorite thing, not after years of strict military routine. they agree nonetheless. and they show up right on time, no surprise there.

they share another weary look when you ask them to take off their shoes before coming in.

“i made dinner. just something light,” you smile despite knowing dinner was far more effort than you care to let on.

johnny barrels towards the kitchen. “what’s the occasion, lass? you did all this for us?” and you shrug.

“just thought i’d thank the two of you, y’know. you’re always around to lend a hand.”

they just gape at you like there’s no brain activity happening within their thick skulls.

“well, have a seat then.” you gesture towards the set table with proper cutlery and a vase of flowers in the center.

you bring them both their plates of food, no ground beef, or sweet potatoes, or cottage cheese. and they hunch themselves over, ready to inhale as per usual.

“hasn’t anyone taught you how two to take your time?”

they stare at you again. just as stupidly as they did moments ago. this time they’ve gone silent because both of them are half hard beneath the table.

“going slowly makes it better, you know. not everything is a race.”

and that’s how you end up with simon between your thighs and your back pressed against johnny’s chest as he rubs your shoulders.

“slow, right? that makes it all better?”

simon is rolling his hips agonizingly slowly, dragging his cock against your warm walls.

“simon, faster please,” you beg him. he’s been going at this for the better part of an hour.

he tuts at you. “none of that. you wanted slow, you’re getting slow.

“that’s not—not what i meant,” you pant. you roll your head back to look at johnny, hoping he might help you out. he just brushes your hair from your sticky face instead.

“dinner was nice, sweetheart. now enjoy your dessert.”

[httpxyeager]

—Simon 'Ghost' Riley

synopsis: You move to the countryside looking for peace, space, and a life that finally feels like your own. Instead, you find routine, watchful silence, and a neighbor who's always there before you ask.

Wc: 15.8k

CW: fem!reader, artist!reader, butcher!simon, lowkey stalker!simon if you rily squint, kinda mean!simon ( he calls you stupid but in a sexy way), slight slow burn, mention of blood, praise, rough sex, fem! masturbation, mention of breeding, unprotected sex, choking, throat-fucking, spit play, spanking, cunnilingus, analingus, brief mention phlegm, brief aftercare.

a/n: this is a reupload bc the og got labeled and i refuse to be silenced so if you read this already no you didn’t🫵🏼. Jk ily<3

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

── .✦ The devil's in the details

A life that felt like your own.

It's all you've wanted for as long as you can remember.

Growing up meant learning the rules of the real world far too early—waking up every morning just to drag yourself to a grueling job, putting up with nagging customers and insufferable bosses who never seemed to respect boundaries.

Work. Pay the bills. Tend to responsibilities.

It disturbed your soul in a way you couldn't explain to anyone else—this idea that life was just endurance, not living.

Yet you always looked ahead. You never confined yourself to the standard everyone else seemed content with—and that refusal was why you were never taken as seriously as you wanted to be.

You learned early that dreaming meant working harder than everyone else.

I wanna make things with my hands!!

You used to squeal as a child whenever someone asked what you wanted to be when you grew up. The laughter that followed always left you quietly confused.

What a cutie.

Wait till she grows up.

As if you weren't standing right there. As if it really was unattainable.

As you got older, that desire only split open and spilled into everything else—into baking, painting, shaping.

Anything that lets your hands create something beautiful. Something meaningful.

Over time, you realized it wasn't just about making things. It was about the space to make them—to exist without being watched, corrected, rushed. To live somewhere quiet enough that your thoughts could finally settle.

It wasn't that you were a complete introvert. You loved people—you loved the ones who mattered. But there was always that persistent pull, that quiet urge to disappear for a while. To exist in a world that belonged only to you. You would spend days on end just imagining.

And lately, that wasn't enough anymore.

You didn't just want escape. You wanted peace. Quiet.

Which was why you took the first opportunity to leave everything behind—a small farming town in rural England, offering work in exchange for relocation. Painting homes. Restoring old businesses. Fixing what had been forgotten.

Everyone had something to say about it. Your family. Your friends. Even your professors warned you against it.

But you didn't hesitate.

You've technically been here for a week already. Long enough to learn the unfamiliar quiet by heart, to wait while the cottage was cleared and signed off and made official. This is the first time you're really standing in front of it.

Ideas crowd your mind faster than you can catch the—paint, repairs, small changes that would make it yours. Your chest tightens, heart swelling, a quiet certainty settling in.

The place is neglected. Weathered. Clearly left behind.

And yet, all you can see is possibility.

For the first time in a long while, it feels like everything is falling into place.

"Excuse me?"

You're pulled from your thoughts by the soft voice beside you. You blink, realizing the man has been standing there the entire time.

He smiles, polite but tentative. "I just wanted to make sure everything was to your liking. It's an older cottage, so...lt isn't exactly our best."

"No," you say quickly, unable to stop yourself from smiling. "It's perfect."

Something about your response seems to catch him off guard. He clears his throat.

"Right. Then there are just a few things we should go over before we-"

A sound cuts him off.

An animalistic, sharp, distant squeal loud enough to make you flinch, the noise carrying unnaturally through the trees. You turn instinctively, scanning the hillside.

Up the slope, partially hidden by the trees, stands a barn. One you hadn't noticed before. The doors open with a loud thud.

For a split second, you don't register what you're seeing—only that something too big has stepped into the light.

Then your stomach drops.

The man fills the doorway, massive shoulders nearly scraping the frame, his silhouette swallowing what little light spills out behind him. He's enormous-not just tall, but wide, built thick and heavy like he was carved for brute force rather than grace.

He's covered in blood everywhere. Dark, soaked into his clothes, smeared across his arms, clinging in thick, ugly patches that glisten wetly in the sunlight. There's a faint metallic smell that drifts through the air, making you scrunch your nose.

To top it off, he had a skull—patterned balaclava covering the lower half of his face.

The printed grin feels out of place against the quiet countryside, against the green fields and open sky. You can't see his mouth. Can't read his expression. Just the size of him, the way he carries himself like nothing around here surprises him anymore.

Your shoulders tense on instinct.

It was straight out of a horror movie.

"Um," you let out a small laugh, more nerves than humor honestly. "Is that... normal?"

"Oh—yeah." The man beside you clears his throat.

"Yeah, that'll be Simon. Local butcher." He gives a small, awkward laugh. "Looks worse than it is."

Suddenly, you remember everything they warned you about.

A woman alone in the woods.

Right.

You watched cautiously as the man walked toward the cottage right next to the barn, slightly more hidden in the woods than yours, slightly smaller as well.

His steps are steady, boots pressing into the dirt with an easy familiarity, like he's walked this path a thousand times.

Halfway there, he slows and glances over.

Just a look - brief, assessing—the kind of look anyone might give when they notice someone new standing where no one usually does. You tell yourself that immediately.

Still, your chest tightens in an unsettling way.

Even from this distance, his attention feels heavier than it should. He doesn't smile. Doesn't wave. Just takes you in for a moment longer than you're comfortable with.

"Don't mind him. He's a private bloke—won't be any bother."

You nod slowly as you turn, stepping back toward the cottage, the normal sounds of the countryside slowly filtering back in—though the image of him, bloodstained and broad-shouldered against the barn, stays longer than you'd like.

His view of you was completely different.

All he saw was a small figure standing out in the open.

Too small for this place.

You were dressed simply, soft neutral colors that didn't draw any immediate attention—yet somehow, you managed to draw it anyway. A long skirt brushing your ankles. A fitted tube top clinging in all the right places, bare skin catching the last of the daylight. Gold glinting faintly at your throat and wrists.

He has been watching you since the moment you arrived.

Could see you almost too clearly.

The thought settled heavy in his chest. The cottage next to his. Empty for years.

And now occupied.

His hand tightened around the handle of the front door as he went inside, the knowledge of you settling somewhere in the back of his mind.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You wake up before the sun does.

The room is still dark, the cold from the night before still lingers stubbornly around the corners. The smell of wood and damp earth seeps into your space as you lie still beneath the covers, listening to the sound of your breathing and distant chirping of birds.

The nerves you thought you left behind start to stir low in your stomach. You barely slept, drifting in and out of shallow rest. It's funny how the waiting -the planning and the packing was easier than actually waking up inside this new life. A whole week spent imagining, filling the gaps with maybes and what-ifs, had felt gentler than this moment.

But now, lying in your own bed, on the edge of your first real day here, the anxiety creeps back into you like it never really left.

You force yourself up, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to shield against the morning cold. The wooden floor bites at your bare feet as you cross the room.

You move through your room on autopilot. Pushing aside clutter and digging through your box filled with your things to wash up. You pull on a simple black crop top and black leggings—easy and practical, something you don't mind making a mess out of. You fix your hair the way you always do before big jobs, muscle memory taking over as you gather your tools, hand steady despite the tight, resistant pull in your chest.

Your first job is a simple mural for a little flower shop in town.

You'd already been introduced earlier in the week.

Names, faces, smiles. Florence, the owner, had shown you the wall, fingers dusted with soil, excitement bright in her eyes. They'd given you free rein over the design, only asking that you keep to a preferred color palette.

"Okay," you mutter to yourself, crouching by your supplies. "One, two, three-"

You line the cans up on the floor. Reds. Yellows. Whites. Count them twice. Then again.

"Four."

You tap each lid as you go, checking them off in your head like that'll keep your nerves in place. Everything's been ready since last night. Packed. Repacked. Adjusted.

You're stalling. You know you are.

Keys cold in your palm, you stand by the door longer than necessary. Your hand rests on the handle. You inhale once before stepping out.

A loud, wet huff greets you immediately.

You freeze.

Right behind you—way too close—is a dog. If you could actually call it that.

He doesn't look very friendly. Honestly, you can't even process whether or not he is friendly by the way he stands there.

He's massive—thick-chested, broad, and you're pretty sure you saw veins popping out of his shoulders, only reinforcing how strong this dog could be. His paws dig heavy into the dirt at the bottom of your porch. Drool clings to the sides of its mouth, slipping free as it stares at you.

And for a fleeting second, the image of yesterday resurfaced. Barn doors, and a blood covered man standing in the middle of the field.

Your heart jumps straight into your throat.

You lift your hand instinctively, bending just slightly at the knees before you can stop yourself.

"Oh-okay," you breathe. "This is... fine."

"Hi," you try, softer. "Hey, puppy."

The dog doesn't move, just tilts his head to the side.

You glance around, suddenly very aware of how quiet it is. No neighbors. No cars. Just you and the beast blocking your path.

The distant sound of a truck came before you could react, stopping abruptly in front of you.

"Oi," the voice is rough and hoarsed.

"Mate. What'd I tell you?" He reaches over and pushes the door open from the inside.

The dog perking up instantly before running toward him obediently, tail wagging like nothing just happened.

It's only then you realized who it is. Who's standing in front of your door.

The butcher straight out of a slasher movie.

"You botherin' this bunny?" he asks the dog while scratching the back of his ears, happily wiggling his short tail.

Bunny?

"No bunny, just me," you laugh awkwardly before you step down off the porch, forcing yourself to stand straight even though your grip tightens on your bags.

He huffs, something close to a chuckle. "Right."

"Sorry about him," he adds.

"He likes to wander."

"You sure about that?" you ask, looking at the dog.

"Because he looked like he wasn't planning on leaving."

His lips twitches, eyes glinting with amusement.

"Saw you movin' your things yesterday," he says. "The place's been empty for a long time."

"Yeah," you reply quickly. "Feels a little weird, but I'll make it a home."

"Takes time," he shrugs, watching you for a second longer than necessary.

"You heading into town?" he asks, pointing at your bags in hand.

You blink. "Yeah. I was just—"

"Hop in," he says, nodding toward the passenger seat.

"I'll take you."

You hesitate, words catching. "You don't have to—"

"Already going," he replies simply.

You pause for a moment, eyes lingering down the road, wondering whether or not you should climb into this stranger's truck. The bark of the dog breaks your thoughts, deciding to climb in anyway. The smell hits you all at once—raw meat, metallic and heavy, softened slightly by the clean interior and a faint pine-scented freshener.

Large freezers are secured in the back.

The dog squeezes itself between the two of you, panting proudly. Still massive. Just... not focused on you anymore.

cute, you think.

"Simon,"' he introduces himself.

“Y/n."

The car ride is silent, tires crunching over gravel as the hills roll out around you. Fields stretch wide and open, cows grazing lazily, sheep dotting the landscape like pale stones. Trees sway gently in the breeze.

You watch it all pass, mesmerized. Though your thoughts are running wild, thoughts going back to the sellers words.

Private bloke

Not private enough clearly.

Your gaze shifts from outside to his truck, trying to catch a glimpse at the man.

Simon drives easily, his hand on the wheel completely scarred, you wondered if he got it from his line of work or something else, the other holds a cigarette out the window. He looks different like this—clean, relaxed, almost ordinary. He looks handsome. In a rough, rugged way.

"Need somethin'?" he asks, eyes still on the road.

"Sorry," you say quickly, eyes snapping away "Just— thinking."

"Didnt scare you too much yesterday, did i?" he asks, looking at you briefly. "You seem slightly jumpy,"

Your neck snaps almost instantly toward his hard face.

"No of course not!" You reply hurriedly,

He hums in understanding.

The truck slows outside the shop, gravel crunching under the tires.

"This good?" he asks.

You nod, already reaching for the door. "Yeah. Thank you."

He watches you for a second longer than necessary, then gives a short nod.

"I'll be back," he states.

You hesitate, but smile anyway. Shutting the door with a loud thud.

You can feel his eyes on you until the bell above the shop door rings and the world shifts back into place.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The day goes by quicker than you expect.

One moment you're unpacking your things, the next you're moving on instinct alone. You work mindlessly— sketching, painting, letting your hands take over where your thoughts would only get in the way. People drift past on the sidewalk, slowing as they pass, curious eyes gazing at your art. A few linger. Most keep walking. You trade small smiles, nods of acknowledgement.

"Lovely," some say as they walk past.

It brings you back to before, when this was only just a distant dream.

At some point, you stop paying attention to the time.

By the time the sun begins to sink, warm light stretching long across the street, you finally step back.

The mural sits before you—unfinished, but already alive.

You begin packing up your supplies. Brushes rinsed.

Papers stacked. Movements slow, trying everything to not break the spell of the day just yet.

"Alright, Miss Florence," you call out as you step inside, setting your things down on the shop's counter.

"I'll be back around the same time tomorrow."

"Of course, love," she says easily, looking up from where she's standing. "The mural's coming along quite nicely. I'm impressed."

You smile at that, a quiet swell of pride warming your chest.

As you turn to say your goodbyes, her hand comes to rest gently on your shoulder.

"Is everything alright, love?" she asks, concern written plainly across her face.

You pause, staring at her, head tilting slightly in confusion. "Of course," you say. "Why?"

She doesn't answer right away-just nods toward the door, past the front window.

You follow her gaze.

A small sound of surprise slips from you at the sight of the red pickup truck parked outside. The big dog hangs halfway out the open window, tongue lolling as he pants happily. And leaning back against the hood is the man himself—somehow larger than he'd been in your memory. Smoke curls lazily around him, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

"He's been waiting out there a while," she says, careful.

"Oh, we live on the same road. He's just doing me a favor." You smile reassuringly.

That doesn't ease her expression the way you expect it to.

"Why?" you ask, lowering your voice without thinking.

"What about him?"

"Oh—nothing," she says. "He's just a private man, is all.

We were a bit surprised seeing you come out of his truck... and now."

"That's all?" you press, eyes flickering towards the truck.

She pauses long enough that you lift your brows.

"Not much to him, really," she says finally.

"He's been up there longer than most people remember. Bought that land years back. Kept it when no one else wanted it."

"He's the butcher, though, right?" you ask, still trying to understand the wariness.

"He is. But it's odd," she admits. "He doesn't hire out.

Doesn't expand. Doesn't sell beyond what he needs to." She presses her lips together.

"Most folks around here like things that grow, y'know? But he stays exactly the same."

You wait for more. It doesn't come - and the lack of it frustrates you more than anything she's said.

Someone near the counter clears their throat. Another voice adds, quieter, "Never missed a delivery, though."

Florence nods in agreement. "Meat's always clean. Always fresh."

You let out a small, incredulous laugh. "So... he's just serious about his work?"

She clicks her tongue.

"He's particular," she says. "About his space. His time."

"And people?"

She doesn't answer right away.

"He doesn't come into town unless there's a reason," she says instead.

"And he doesn't wait around for nothing."

You glance back toward the window, toward where the truck had been.

"Oh," you say softly.

Florence squeezes your arm once before letting go.

"Just... take care, love."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

On the laptop by the counter, your mom watches you with that same careful look she's had since you told her where you were moving.

"So," she says, folding her hands together. "How was your first real day?"

You laugh a little. "Good. Actually... really good."

"The shop was busy enough to keep me distracted. People came in and out all day. A lot of staring at first, but not in a bad way." You popped a grape into your mouth.

"More curious than anything."

She hums, unconvinced but listening.

"They let me set up like we talked about," you continue. "People stopped to talk. Asked where I moved from. What I do. It felt nice." You glance toward the window. "Normal."

"Were you nervous?" she asks, giving you that look you know so well.

"I was," you admit. "But once I started working, it faded. I kind of forgot about everything else."

Her eyes soften at that, just a little.

"You didn't sleep much last night, though," she says. Not a question.

You pause, then shrug.

"Not really. New place. New sounds."

You smile like it's nothing. "I'm sure l'll get used to it."

She presses her lips together. "That's what worries me. You out there by yourself, in the woods."

"Mom—"

"I know," she sighs. "You're an adult. I just don't love the idea."

"I get that," you say gently. "But it's fine. Really. It's hidden, yeah—but not in a scary way."

There's a beat of silence before you add, almost offhand, "Although... people in town do talk."

Her gaze sharpens immediately.

"About?"

"About my neighbor," you say, a small laugh slipping out. "Apparently he's been up there forever. Everyone has an opinion, but no one says much."

"That doesn't make you uneasy?"

You pause, just for a second. "Not really. I mean, I met him yesterday. He was... normal. A little intense, maybe.

She doesn't look convinced.

"He even gave me a ride into town this morning," you add quickly, like it's no big deal. " ...and back

"A ride?" she repeats.

You stop to look up at the screen, finally aware of how that must sound.

"Mom, it was fine," you say. "We live on the same road. It was convenient, truly”

She exhales slowly. "I just don't like you being so isolated. Especially with people you don't know."

"I know," you say softly. "But today was good. I promise."

She studies your face through the screen, searching for something you're not even sure you could name.

"Just be careful," she says. "That's all I'm asking."

You nod.

"I will."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You're not sure when it became a routine.

At first, it was just convenience. You'd step outside and Simon would already be there, his red truck waiting at the end of the driveway.

Then it happened again.

And again.

Waking up. Getting ready. Eating breakfast standing by the counter because you never quite sit down anymore. Stepping outside into the cool air and the familiar sight of Simon and his dog waiting patiently for you.

Somewhere along the way, you started bringing him breakfast.

You didn't plan it. It just... happened. A plastic cup balanced carefully in your hand, still too hot to hold properly. And a sandwich wrapped in foil. You remember the first time you handed it to him-how he paused, just for a second, fingers hovering before taking it. His eyes flicked down to the cup, then back up to you.

"Didn't have to," he muttered, voice rough with sleep.

You shrugged it off, like it was nothing.

You did it again the next morning.

And the one after that.

Soon, it felt strange not to. Like something was missing when you stepped outside empty-handed.

Simon never commented on it again. He just took what you gave him every morning. Always made sure the dog stayed put while you climbed in. Always waited until you were settled before pulling away from the driveway.

"Hi baby," you'd coo, rubbing the happy dog's ear as you settle into the familiar leather of his car. Shadow-you'd come to learn the scary dog's name.

You don't remember when that became part of your normal either.

By the sixth day you stopped questioning it.

Simon always said he had business in town. Always said it like it was obvious. Like it explained everything.

And maybe it did—except some mornings, when you glanced toward the back of the truck, the bed was completely empty.

No freezers. No crates. Nothing.

You noticed it once.

Twice.

Then you stopped looking.

It was true what everyone said about him—he was private. Didn't speak unless necessary. Most of your rides passed in silence, broken only by the sound of tires on rocks and dirt and your small comments about whatever you saw outside.

He was intense in ways that was hard to ignore.

On the way he watched the road, eyes steady, barely blinking. The way his jaw tightened when he smoked, like he was holding something back even when he was alone with you.

But there was softness there too-and that was the part that caught you off guard.

It slipped in when he spoke to Shadow, voice dropping low, careful, like the dog was something fragile instead of built like a tank. The way his scarred hand reached down without him even looking, fingers rubbing the dog's belly in slow, absent strokes, like muscle memory.

Even the way he asked about the radio. Not choosing for you. Just a quiet, "What d'you want to listen to?"

You didn't know when you'd started noticing these things. Only that once you did, you couldn't stop. The intensity didn't scare you—it made the softness feel deliberate.

It was.... pleasant.

Comforting even.

Two weeks had passed before someone finally said something.

"Sure looks like Simons has a sweet spot for the new girl in town," a voice from behind the counter says, making you instantly perk up.

"Hm?" You look up, paintbrush still in hand.

They nod toward the window.

Outside, the red truck waits.

"Hes my neighbor," you shrug.

the comment lingers, even after the conversation ends.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"You should speak more to everyone," you murmur later that night, leaning your head against the window, tired and worn out from the day.

"You eaten yet?" He asks without glancing over, completely ignoring your comment.

"You really do need to learn how to have a conversation Simon," you roll your eyes, shifting your position to where your knees are facing his side, careful not to bother the sleeping pup in the middle.

"Don't know what you mean," he hums.

You smile to yourself, eyes on the road ahead. After a bit, you add, the interaction from later that day crossing your mind, "Someone mentioned you've been acting... different lately."

He glances over for half a second. "Different?"

"Mmhm." You nod.

He doesn't say anything after that, just nods once and keeps driving.

"Have you eaten?"

You click your tongue.

"No."

The car slowly comes to a stop in front of you home, and so does the engine.

This wasn't part of the routine.

You look at him confused, head tilted to the side.

"Worked on a fresh cut today." He says, reaching forward to take the keys out. "Wanted you to have it,"

You blink, caught off guard. Before you can decide what to say, the truck door opens and he's already stepping out, calling Shadow after him with a short sound.

You watch him circle the hood, a flicker of something tightening in your chest when he reaches for your door.

It opens before you can protest. You hesitate before swinging your legs out anyway, letting him guide you without quite remembering when you agreed to it.

He doesn't crowd you. Just walks ahead, like he expects you to follow.

And you do.

When you stop at the door, keys cool in your palm, he stays a step behind you. Close enough that you're aware of his presence, the quiet weight of it pressing between your shoulder blades as you unlock the door.

You glance back once. He meets your eyes, unreadable.

Inside, you barely get the chance to say anything before he turns to the dog.

"Stay," he says—low and firm by the door.

"Simon—he doesn't have to" you say, too soft to be much of a protest.

Shadow listens anyway.

Your house oozes warmth. Simon thinks.

Not just heat—the kind of warmth that settles in your chest comfortably. It's nothing like his place. His is all cold surfaces and silence, everything where it's supposed to be, like no one's meant to linger too long.

Yours doesn't try to hide you.

There's stuff everywhere. Half-finished things. A stack of sketchbooks by the couch, paint-stained rags shoved into a corner, a couple of framed pieces leaning against the wall because you haven't decided where they go yet. It looks like someone keeps starting things and coming back to them.

It smells like you.

Not perfume. Not candles. Just you - soap, clean fabric, something faintly warm. Simon notices it as soon as he steps inside. It's different from his place.

His house never really smells like anything at all. It's just... neutral.

The kitchen's small. He isn't.

He fills the space without trying, shoulders close to the cabinets as he reaches for your drawers to find what you need. Most of them are empty. Just spices. The basics. He sets the steak down, still wrapped in paper.

You begin fixing things that don't need fixing to distract yourself. Sliding a notebook out of the way. Moving a mug. Your chest stays tight. It's the first time he's been inside your house, and the thought sits heavier than it should.

This is definitely not how you pictured your night ending.

The butcher up the road, in your kitchen. Talking about a fresh cut like it's nothing. Like this isn't strange. Like he hasn't just stepped into your space and started moving through it with quiet ease. The shift from how the night should've gone to how it's unfolding now hits you all at once, sharp enough to leave you reeling.

You reach for the remote, turning the TV on just to break it. The sound. The stillness. Anything. You crack a window open too, breeze slipping in as you step back, giving yourself something else to focus on.

"Do you need help?" you ask finally, mostly to fill the space.

"Mmm," he hums, "Where do you keep your pans?"

"Oh." You move on instinct, opening drawers, pulling things out. A pan. A cutting board. Knives. Setting them down beside him without thinking twice.

He works quietly. Salt first. Pepper. The sound of it hitting the meat sharp in the small kitchen. He heats the pan, waits for it, tests it with a flick of water that hisses and disappears.

You lean back against the counter, watching.

The steak hits the pan and the sound fills the room - loud, immediate. He doesn't rush it. Just let's it sit, pressing it down once with the tongs, then leaves it alone. The smell starts slow, then builds. Rich. Savory.

It crawls through the air until your stomach reacts before you can stop it.

You laugh under your breath, hand pressing briefly to your middle.

"That smells amazing," you beam.

He flips the steak once. Cuts into it to check. Juice beads along the surface, catching on his fingers as he pulls a small piece free.

He lifts his hand without comment, holding it out toward you.

You swear you short-circuit for a second before leaning in, taking the bite he's offering, your lips lightly grazing his finger.

He stares at you—openly this time. Long enough that it makes you shift, a shiver running through you before you look away with a quiet, breathy laugh.

"Wow," you murmur, eyes fluttering shut as you chew, letting the taste settle properly this time.

You swallow, then glance back at him, still leaning against the counter. "That's... fucking incredible, Simon."

It slips out softer than you mean it.

For a second, you forget about everything else-the tightness from earlier, the fact that he's here, in your kitchen. There's only the warmth on your tongue and the way the moment hangs between you.

"How long have you been in this business?" you ask after a pause, watching his face like you're checking for a reaction. Questions aren't usually part of your routine. Neither is this.

"Long time," he answers simply as he fixes the plates.

"Old man ran the business. Guess I kind of inherited it."

You hum, thinking it over. "Must keep you busy.

Between the shop and... everything else."

"Enough," he says, shrugging one shoulder. "Mostly keeps me close to home."

That's when he adds, almost as an afterthought,

"Don't like going into town much."

You snort softly. "Could've fooled me."

You meant it as a joke-only half truth.

He exhales through his nose, something like a huff, and shakes his head once before turning back to the plate.

The conversation ends there, easy and unspoken.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The better part of your day had been spent exploring and wandering the area. Something you haven't gotten to properly do since you got here.

Bare feet planted right on the grass as you wandered into the field behind your backyard, the earth cool and uneven beneath you. You kept breathing in deep without really thinking about it—grass, dirt, something clean in the air. Birds flew low overhead, noisy and playful.

The trees out here were huge. Like, old old. Thick trunks, branches stretching everywhere. You caught yourself staring up at them, wondering how long they'd been standing there, what they'd seen before any of this existed.

You kept walking, pencil moving absentmindedly as you added loose doodles to the sketchbook tucked tightly under your arm. Shapes. Lines. Little half-ideas you'd probably forget later.

You explored every area you could think of, picking rocks and flowers as you went.

Every area except one.

You didn't mean to head that way at first. It just... happened. Your steps slowed as the land subtly shifted, the trees thinning just enough for a familiar structure to come into view.

The closer you got, the clearer it became.

Simon's barn sat just beyond the tree line-close enough that if you turned around, you could still see your cottage. The roof peeked through the branches, almost reassuring. Close enough that you told yourself it didn't really count as trespassing.

The barn itself was a faded, rusty red, the paint chipped and sun-worn, like it hadn't been touched in years. It clearly needed a new coat. You filed that thought away automatically, like you did with everything else.

You slowed your steps, circling wider instead of heading straight toward it.

For some reason, your mind kept dragging you back to the first day you'd seen him there. Bloody. Intimidating.

Almost unreal. The unease returned now, settling low in your stomach as uou get closer.

You'd been sneaking glances at the place ever since, careful not to get too close. Careful to remember that conversation.

"So will I ever get to see your workplace?" you'd asked once, half-teasing.

All he'd given you was that small, almost-missed smile.

"S'not meant for a bunny like you to see."

Today, though?

Today, you wanted that angle.

Simon be damned.

You huffed softly to yourself, shaking your head as you settled into the grass and opened your sketchbook. He really did have a way with words.

You started with the barn first-loose lines, quick strokes-then added his cottage beside it. It stood only a few feet away, smaller than yours, but somehow cozier. It looked like him. Minimal. No decorations. No unnecessary clutter. Just a single chair on the lawn, a small table beside it, an ashtray resting on top.

You shaded, erased and worked until the world narrowed down to paper and graphite.

You looked like a lost bunny.

The thought crossed Simon's mind as he watched you move along the upper slope behind the barn. Delicate sundress, sketchbook tucked under your arm, hair pulled back out of your face. Careful steps, like you weren't sure you were meant to be there.

He paused what he was doing and just stared.

You'd been out since early. He remembered you mentioning you had a few days free from work, maybe more, before someone else found something for you to fix or soften or make pretty. You didn't seem like the type who sat still for long. Always moving. Always making.

Simon hadn't meant to care. He usually didn't.

Years of work had trained that out of him. Grind. Routine. Blood when there had to be blood. He liked his life simple, contained, predictable. The land. The barn. The quiet. When he heard the house down the hill was being rented, it pissed him off. Change always did. New noise. New eyes.

Then you showed up.

He didn't know when exactly he started noticing the warmth—your laughter carrying up the hill, music bleeding out of your windows, sound settling into places that had been empty for too long. It didn't belong here. Neither did you.

And yet.

You stopped near the side of the barn, turning slowly, taking it in. He watched you look around like you were measuring the space, committing it to memory. You could still see your cottage from there - close enough that you were probably telling yourself it didn't count as trespassing.

He wiped his hands, stripped the gloves off, and stepped outside.

By the time he rounded the corner, you were already sitting, sketchbook open on your lap. Pencil moving.

Focused enough that you didn't notice him right away.

You were so in deep you didn't even notice the shadow towering over you at first.

He stopped a few feet in front of you-close enough to notice the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers smudged charcoal without you realizing it.

"Can I help you."

You startled—not badly, but enough that he knew you'd forgotten the rest of the world existed.

You looked up at him, your eyes flicking briefly over the apron, the stains, the evidence of the day's work.

Your pulse jumped—he could see it—but you held his gaze anyway.

"Just….. scoping the area," you say easily, like you hadn't been caught at all, even though your heart was pounding. "Gaining inspiration."

He exhaled through his nose.

"Told you," he said. "This place ain't meant for a bunny like you."

He meant it.

Your cheeks warmed. You didn't deny it.

"I didn't walk in, though, did I."

Silence settled between you —thick, but not uncomfortable. Your pencil resumed its quiet movement against the page. He stayed where he was. Didn't tell you to pack up. Didn't step back either. You took it as a good sign.

He watched you for another moment, then shifted-just slightly. Half a turn. Enough to give you a better angle.

He didn't comment on it, but you noticed anyway.

He stayed like that—half-turned, broad shoulders cutting against the quiet of the field.

The contrast caught you off guard.

He didn't belong in a place this calm, you thought. Not with the way he was built-all sharp lines and restrained violence, hands stained from work that wasn't meant to be pretty. And yet the grass bent easily around his boots. Wildflowers pushed up near the barn wall, soft and careless, brushing against wood that had seen such degeneracy.

Sunlight filtered unevenly through the trees, catching the edge of his jaw, the scar across his face, the quiet tension in the way he held himself like he was always braced for impact.

Your pencil hovered uselessly above the page.

This—this—was the angle you hadn't known you were looking for. The way he looked out of place and perfectly rooted all at once. Feral, yes—but framed by something gentle. Something alive.

The thought settled before you could talk yourself out of it.

"Let me draw you," you said suddenly, not even pausing to think.

"Now?"

"Like this?" he asked, glancing down at his clothes.

Your cheeks warmed, suddenly aware of how dirty he must feel.

"Right-sorry, that was a weird ask," you laughed it off.

"I'll just draw your house." You shrugged, getting up from the grown and walking past him.

"Fine,” he said. "I'll do it."

You stopped short and turned back to him.

"You sure? I don't want you to be uncomfortable. I'm not the fastest-,"

He started walking before you could say anything else, already heading toward the cottage like the decision had been made the moment you asked.

You look around for half a second furrowing your brows before following.

The ground changed under your feet as you left the grass, dirt packed firmer near the house. Up close, his place felt even smaller than it had from afar. The door stood open just enough for the smell of him to drift out—wood, smoke, something iron-sharp beneath it.

He stopped at the steps and sat, elbows resting loosely on his knees, forearms bare. The position looked natural on him.

You looked at him properly then.

The daylight caught his face in a way that made you pause.

You noticed things you hadn't before.

The tattoo peeking from his neck and rolled sleeves. The way his jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly, every few moments.

He looked. feral. You weren't sure that was the right word. Beastly, maybe. Grounded. Dangerous in a way that made your thoughts take a turn you didn't want to examine too closely.

You tightened your grip on the pencil, your eyes drifting despite yourself.

Brutal. Masculine.

Your heartbeat picked up as unholy thoughts flashed through your mind.

"You alright, bunny?" he asked.

You froze-caught, like a deer in headlights. Heat rushed to your face.

"Yeah," you laughed softly, shaking your head as you forced your gaze back to his face.

"Here" you say, already leaning closer before he could answer. You reached into your bag for one of the flowers you picked earlier. Small and delicate.

As you lifted your hand toward him, he tensed and leaned back slightly.

You were about to apologize when he spoke.

"Careful. Don't want you getting all dirty."

You blinked-then laughed again.

"Can I?" you asked again.

This time, he stayed still.

You tucked the small white flower behind his ear, fingers brushing skin warmed by the sun. He watched you closely, eyes tracking every movement.

The contrast—him and the delicate bloom resting there—felt almost cinematic.

"You have soft hands, bunny." he says, dead serious.

"Thanks." You breathed out, not realizing you were holding it in.

"Why do you call me that?" You ask after a few minutes.

He shrugged, like it had never needed explaining.

"Because you look like one."

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head—but you stayed. Kept drawing. Like the answer was enough.

You went back to his face. Really focused. Honey-brown eyes. Thick brows. Plump, chapped lips. The scar cutting across him, running from one eye, down his nose, into his cheek like a map of where he'd been.

You shifted slightly, adjusting your grip on the pencil as you leaned closer, angling the page to catch the light.

Your knee brushed the step without you noticing.

"You got a boyfriend?"

Your hand stilled mid-line.

"Why the sudden question?"

"Well," he said evenly, "you asked one. Now it's my turn."

You laughed at that.

"No," you said. "I don't."

He hummed in acknowledgement.

Silence settled again, filled only by the pleasant sound of trees moving with the wind. You wanted to keep talking. Wanted to know him. But you weren't sure where the line was.

"You," you started. "How long have you been up here?"

"Mmm. Couple years."

You click your tongue.

"Couple years? I didn't know vague answers were allowed."

He shrugged.

"You can allow whatever you want."

You smile at that, soft and a little crooked, and let your pencil move again.

For a while, neither of you speaks.

The sounds around you settle into something easy— the wind threading through the trees, the faint creak of the barn in the distance, the quiet scratch of charcoal against paper. Simon stays still on the steps, only shifting when his knee starts to ache, careful not to disturb your line of sight.

He glances down at the page after a minute, curiosity getting the better of him.

"So," he says, casual, like it just occurred to him. "You always draw scenery?"

You hum thoughtfully, eyes never leaving the sketch.

"Sometimes. Helps me understand how things fit together."

"People included?"

"Especially people," you admit.

He watches the way your mouth curves around the words, the focus in your eyes. There's something intimate about being studied like this—not in the way people usually look at him, measuring or wary.

"You any good?" he asks.

You laugh quietly. "Guess that depends who you ask."

"Hm." A beat. "You don't look like you're guessing."

You glance up at him then, catching the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. Not quite a smile. Something warmer than indifference.

You go back to drawing.

Time slips by without either of you noticing.

The light shifts gradually, the sun lowering behind the trees, turning the field gold and then amber. Shadows stretch across the ground, softening the sharp edges of everything around you. The flower behind his ear wilts a little, petals curling inward, but you leave it there.

Simon moves once when his leg goes numb, rolling his shoulders, flexing his hands. Letting out a low groan of discomfort. You adjust without thinking, tracking the movement, adapting your lines.

"You don't have to stay still," you say after a moment of watching him.

"I know," he replies. Then, quieter, "I don't mind."

You chuckle to yourself, heat creeping up your neck as you look back down at the page.

"You're a good model," you say, a little too quickly.

The breeze cools as evening creeps in, brushing over your bare arms and drawing a light shiver from you.

You shift your weight, knees stiff, and finally lean back, lowering the sketchbook into your lap.

"I think that's enough," you say softly.

Simon straightens a little. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You hesitate before standing, brushing grass from your dress. There's a strange reluctance in the air now, like neither of you wants to be the one to end it.

You step closer, tearing the page free and holding it up beside his face. The distance shrinks without you meaning it to.

You tilt your head, eyes flicking between him and the sketch, comparing angles and the way the light catches him in real time versus graphite.

"Here."

He grabs it without question. For a long moment, he doesn't say anything.

That usual uneasy feeling in your stomach creeps up slowly, the one that shows up every time you finish a piece. Like you did something a little too personal and now it's just... out there.

Then, quietly, "You see a lot."

"O-oh," you say, eyes wide in surprise. "Only what's there." You lift a hand, brushing the comment off like it's nothing.

He nods once.

"Thank you," he says.

The words hang steady.

"Of course!" You smile softly.

The sun has dipped low now, the sky washed in muted pinks and purples. You step back, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

"I should probably head back," you say. "Before it gets dark."

"Yeah." He stands as well. Drawing still in hand.

"You can keep that, if you want," You call out.

"I owe you a better one, though." you laugh lightly-but the sound fades as soon as it leaves you, suddenly aware of how that might've come out.

Before you can overthink it, you give a quick wave and head down the slope, not waiting for his reaction.

His eyes linger a bit longer till you fully disappear from his view, gaze dropping to the piece of paper then back at you, breathing out slow.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It's been a month now since you've settled into your new life. A month of building and creating and slowly disappearing into your little cottage, filling it with your things until it felt like a place you'd lived in for years instead of weeks.

A month, too, of growing closer to the local butcher.

The one who had a reputation for keeping to himself. For not interacting with anyone. Somehow, that rule never applied to you.

You were almost inseparable now. Him showing up unannounced to fix small things—a loose lightbulb, a squeaky door-like he'd been waiting for an excuse.

Any time you needed something from town or had a job lined up, he'd already be outside your door, keys in hand.

Sometimes he'd bring uncooked steak even when you'd try to refuse. Fresh cuts wrapped in paper, held out with a casual shrug. He'd say it didn't fit in his fridge. Leftover. No big deal.

A stupid white lie. One that worked every single time.

He'd gotten softer, too. Softer than you suspected anyone else had ever seen him. Letting you borrow his thick coats—or leaving them behind and claiming he'd forgotten them. When you tried to give them back, he'd just shake his head, lips pressed into that tight little smile, like the conversation was already over.

"It's cold, bunny. Shouldn't be wearing that outside," he says immediately, voice stern and low, eyes cutting straight through you.

You swallow, feigning innocence as you shrug one shoulder.

"I thought it was just gonna be a light storm,"

you reply plainly—ignoring the warning as you lean back on your hands, legs crossed, chest subtly pushed forward while you look up at him.

He scoffs and drops down beside you with an exaggerated huff, his damp shoulder bumping into yours. He's close—close enough that you can feel his heat, the steady pull of his breath. It makes your head spin.

His forearms rest on his knees as he settles in, but his eyes never leave you. Those same hungry eyes that have been plaguing your thoughts every night.

"It's gonna get really cold," he repeats, quieter now, looking straight at you.

You swallow thickly before standing, deliberately slow, giving him a full view.

"I can handle a little cold," you tease.

You barely make it inside before you're running, laughter spilling out as you hear his heavy footsteps thudding after you.

Now you're stuck inside, alone, heavy rain hammering against the roof and rattling the windows. Moisture beads along the glass near the heater, the room dim and warm. You sit on the bed with a towel wrapped around your body and hair, picking at a bowl of cut fruit balanced on your thigh.

It's one of those nights.

The kind where loneliness creeps in quietly, twisting into something darker. Where your mind betrays you with memories of every interaction you've had with him.

You'd wanted to relax. Wash the day off, eat fruit and watch tv.

But moments like this don't let you.

They turn that restlessness into something else entirely.

It makes your cunt ache.

Your thoughts drift back to the time when he showed up unannounced, claiming your grass was too high. Brought his own tools, mowed the lawn like it was nothing. Sweat clung to his skin as the sun hit him, shirt damp and sticking in all the wrong places.

You'd worn an incredibly short sundress. The kind that shows off every inch of your curves.

You remember the way he wiped sweat from his forehead with the thin fabric, lifting it just enough to give you a glimpse of his hard bulging stomach. The sight had made something low in your belly twitch.

The way his hand rested at the small of your back when you brought him cold lemonade. How close he stood. The smell of him-clean and earthy. The way his Adam's apple bobbed with every swallow.

Fuck.

Your left hand drifts down without thinking—first over your chest, then higher, barely grazing your nipple. A quiet sound slips from your lips.

Your body feels overly sensitive. Needy.

You picture his hands on you—large, rough—teasing your skin, gripping your waist, your ass. Your free hand slides between your thighs and you gasp when your fingers brush against your slick heat.

You barely touch yourself at first. Just graze your clit. Then down your folds. A soft hiss escapes you.

You're already a mess. You have been since you stepped out of the shower.

His image won't leave your mind. Everything he'd do to you. Everything you'd let him do. You saw him differently today, and it did something to you. It was something you feared from the moment you started becoming close. But you pushed that thought down.

Your fingers begin to move in slow circles, the other hand latching onto your hardening nipple as your thoughts spiral. His hands. His weight. Him bending you over, tugging your hair.

Your thighs squeeze together.

You wonder what he'd smell like fresh from a shower. What he'd look like with water clinging to his skin, a towel slung low on his hips. The thought makes your toes curl.

Your breathing picks up as pleasure builds, slick heat spreading with every movement of your fingers.

A moan slips free.

"Simon," you breathe, barely above a whisper, like saying it out loud makes it too real.

Your hand moves from your nipple to your breast, groping desperately, trying to recreate the way his scarred hand would feel. Would he pinch you? Roll it between his fingers? Replace his hand with his mouth?

Your breaths turn uneven. Your hand between your thighs moves faster.

The image of today is burned into your mind-him rough and bloodied from work, yet speaking to you so softly. It's overwhelming. He consumes your thoughts until you nearly forget why you're even here.

"F-fuck," you moan, eyes falling open as you look down at yourself—naked, wet, undone. Your hips lift, chasing the sensation.

"Si-"

Boom.

The crack of thunder is immediate, violent, followed by sudden darkness that steals the air from your lungs.

You jolt upright with a gasp, heart slamming against your ribs as if it's trying to escape. For a second you just sit there, frozen, the rain pounding against the roof like it's trying to cave it in.

"Oh-fuck," you whisper, the word shaky.

Your body catches up a second later. Awareness hits all at once and sends a fresh wave of panic through you. You scramble, grabbing the towel from the foot of the bed and wrapping it around yourself clumsily, hands trembling as you try to ground yourself. The room feels too quiet without the hum of electricity, the shadows stretching and shifting with every flash of lightning outside.

"Y/N!"

The sound of his voice cuts through the rain.

You fumble for your phone, fingers slick as you swipe the flashlight on, the harsh beam making you squint.

You don't stop to think—just move. Sweats and a tshirt. You tug them on hastily, heart still racing as you rush down the hallway, the floor cold under your bare feet.

The power's out.

When you pull the door open, rain mist clings to the air immediately. Simon stands on your porch, shoulders damp, flashlight in hand, Shadow pressed close to his leg. His face shifts the moment he sees you-concern sharpening, eyes flicking over you like he's checking for injuries.

"Hey," he says, firm but low. "You okay?"

“I—yeah” you nod too quickly, suddenly very aware of how warm your face feels, how close he is. "The power just…went out."

"Yeah." His gaze lifts briefly to the dark windows behind you before settling back on you. "You're coming with me."

"What?" You blink. "Simon, it's really not-"

"Not up for discussion," he cuts in, already stepping past you like he owns the place. He moves with practiced ease, flashlight sweeping through the room as he heads for your bedroom. "Storm's getting worse.

This place isn't insulated well enough for it."

You trail after him, flustered, hugging yourself as you watch him grab a few essentials—your charger, a hoodie, shoes—moving through your space with unsettling familiarity.

"I'll be fine," you insist, even though your voice lacks conviction. "It's just for the night, plus my things are here. I need to make sure everything's in order."

"Y/n," he replies, glancing back at you. His tone softens, just slightly. "Humor me."

You don't argue after that.

The rain blurs everything on the drive over. The road glistens under the headlights, water streaking across the windshield in uneven patterns as the wipers struggle to keep up. The cab of the truck is warm, quiet except for the storm and the low hum of the engine.

Every now and then, lightning flashes bright enough to turn the inside of the truck white, and you catch him glancing over at you like he's checking you're still there.

When you finally pull up to his place, your nerves spike all over again.

You swallow as you step out, rain speckling your skin, heart pounding harder with each step toward his door. This would be your first time inside. After everything. After all this time.

He unlocks it and nudges the door open, motioning you in first.

The warmth hits you immediately.

The house smells like him—burnt wood, something clean and sharp, iron underneath it all. It's quiet, small, almost stark. The living space is simple: couch, TV, dining table pushed close to the kitchen. No decorations. No clutter.

And then you see it. Your drawing. The same one you drew of him months ago.

It sits on the side table framed neatly. It surprised you. Your steps slow without you meaning to, something tightening in your chest as you stare at it. It's not really a big deal but, seeing your drawing there—framed, dusted, given a place—feels strangely intimate. Like walking into someone's thoughts and realizing you've been there longer than you thought.

"Oh my god," you laugh softly, reaching for it. "I can't believe you kept this."

"Hm?" He glances over, distracted at first. Then he sees what you're holding. "Oh. Yeah." He shrugs, like it's obvious. "You make beautiful art."

The words hit harder than they should.

Your face warms instantly as you duck your head, pretending to inspect the frame. "This was so long ago. I thought you'd thrown it away."

"I would never," he says, without hesitation.

Something short-circuits in your brain at that. You clear your throat, setting the drawing back where it belongs before you can overthink it.

"That's... sweet," you say, lighter than you feel.

You move toward the couch, perching on the edge at first before letting yourself sink back. It's smaller than yours, but comfortable.

Simon disappears into the kitchen for a moment, and you hear the faint clink of a kettle being set down. You sit on the couch, hugging the mug when he hands it to you, grateful for something warm to hold onto.

"Wait," you frown slightly, glancing toward the dark kitchen. "How'd you even make tea if the power's out?"

He pauses for a second before answering. "Backup electric stove,"

"Keep it around for storms." He adds

You blink. "Of course you do."

He almost smiles.

The silence that follows is comfortable, not awkward. Just the storm outside and the low crackle of the fire starting to catch as he moves to the hearth. You watch him from the couch as he kneels, stacking logs with practiced ease, striking the match. The flames take quickly, casting a soft orange glow across the room.

"There," he says, standing again. "That'll help."

He grabs his coat from the back of a chair as he passes, hesitating only a second before draping it over your shoulders. The weight of it makes you exhale.

"You don't have to—"

"I know," he says quietly. "Drink your tea."

You do, pulling the coat tighter around yourself. It smells like him. When he sits down beside you, it's close but not pressing. His knee brushes yours. Just once. Neither of you move away.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah," you nod. "Just... settling."

"Mm." He leans back slightly, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. Not touching you. Not yet. But there, like an open invitation you don't acknowledge out loud.

You shift a little closer anyway, more instinct than decision. The fire pops softly. The storm fades into background noise. For a moment, it almost feels like you've done this before—like this is normal.

"You're quiet," he says after a while.

"Oh my god," you scoff softly. "Are you calling me annoying?"

He looks at you, eyebrows furrowed, and then his shoulders shake with that quiet laugh you've come to love.

"No," he says. "Just noticing."

You smile into your mug, cheeks warm.

"Y'know, i never really liked tea till i met you," you mention out of nowhere.

And he looks at you with an almost blank expression, it would've made you nervous if it was for the twitch to the side of his lips.

"Tea's good for you,"

The fire crackles. The coat stays around your shoulders. This is definitely not how you imagined your night going, but you couldn't really complain.

The quiet stretches again, but it's different now. He's closer than before-not just beside you, but aware of you in a way that makes your skin prickle. When you shift, he shifts too. When you breathe, he seems to notice.

"You're shaking," he says softly.

"I'm not," you lie automatically.

He doesn't call you on it. He just reaches out, tentative at first, resting a hand on your arm. It's warm, and it has you spiraling. Just a minute ago you were talking normally to each other, but the air shifted.

"Come here," he murmurs.

It's not an order. Not this time. Just an invitation.

You hesitate for half a second before leaning into him, your temple brushing his shoulder. His arms come around you slowly, careful, like he's giving you time to change your mind. When you don't, he tightens his hold just a little.

This is new for the both of you.

Your heart starts to race, loud in your ears, the warmth of him seeping into places you weren't prepared for.

His hand moves absently, rubbing small circles into your back. Your fingers curl into his shirt without thinking. This isn't just friendly anymore.

You pull back slightly, laughing under your breath as if that might diffuse the moment. "Okay," you say, voice a little breathless. "I— I need a second."

He releases you immediately, hands dropping, but his eyes stay on you.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you nod quickly, already stepping away.

You turn toward the kitchen, more to put space between you than because you actually need anything.

The counter is cool under your palms when you brace yourself against it, breathing in slowly, trying to stop your heart from beating out of your chest.

You're raking your brain trying to put yourself back together, breathing in the cool air when you hear his footsteps behind you.

"You don't have to run," he says gently.

You glance over your shoulder—and that's when you realize how close he is again. Not pressing. Not touching. Just close enough that the room suddenly feels much smaller than it did a moment ago.

You straighten without thinking, taking a step back.

The space behind you disappears faster than you expect, the counter cold against your lower back. You didn't mean to corner yourself, but Simon always had a way of filing a room without ever touching you.

He's only a hair away from you. You could feel his warm breath with a hint of black tea.

Your hand comes up on instinct—flat against his chest.

He stops immediately.

"Simon," you say, quieter than you meant to.

His eyes drop to your hand, then back to your face. He waits.

"If we do this," you say, swallowing, "I don't want to pretend it's nothing."

A beat passes.

Then he nods once. Slow and certain. It's crazy how quickly your nerves and fears ease.

"It's not," he says.

His hands settle on your waist, firm, pulling you flush against him. The contact knocks the air from your lungs, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

His mouth finds yours slowly this time-testing, deliberate. Like he's giving you a chance to pull away.

You don't.

The kiss deepens, unhurried but heavy, his lips moving against yours with a pressure that makes your knees soften. He kisses you again. And again. Each one lingering longer than the last.

His hands stay at your waist, thumbs digging in just enough to remind you he's there, holding you in place.

You breathe him in-cigarettes, beer, heat-and it makes your head spin. Your fingers curl around his neck, tugging him closer when he pulls back, chasing his mouth without thinking.

"Taste so fucking good," He exhales against your lips, a low sound, before kissing you again—rougher now.

Hungrier.

As the kiss deepens and your thoughts start to slip, you barely register his hand moving-gliding over your chest, your stomach—until it slides into your shorts with ease. You're already wet.

"Fuck, bunny—you're fucking soaked," he grunts, hands gripping you, making you gasp in surprise. He doesn't pull away, just uses the moment to kiss you again, shoving his warm tongue into your mouth.

He sucks and licks, messy and unrestrained, saliva slipping down your chin as he keeps you close, like he can't get enough.

You feel your knees buckle as he begins rubbing your clothes core with the palm of his hands, his lips trailing down your neck.

"Ah-" you squeal in surprise, the sound tearing out of you before you can stop it.

"Hump on me, bunny," he murmurs, low and steady, stilling his hand just enough to make the words land harder.

"W-what?" You blink, pulled back into yourself by his voice, trying to make sense of it as you look up at him.

His expression doesn't change.

"Want you to grind this wet cunt on me bunny," he pressed his hand harder into you.

"Oh my….. god," you breathe, the words barely there as you roll your hips down, tentative at first, trying to find your rhythm. You gasp when the pressure shifts, when his hand flexes and your body lights up in response.

Your thighs start to tremble, weak and unsteady, and you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck, anchoring yourself as your movement grows more desperate.

"Thaaat's it," he encourages, his voice rough, threaded with something that sends a fresh wave of heat down your spine. "Just like that. Feel good for me."

Your hips move on their own now, chasing the sensation without thought. One hand grips the back of his neck, fingers digging in as you struggle to stay upright. You're acutely aware of yourself-too warm, too sensitive, skin slick with sweat, the contrast of cool air and burning need making everything sharper, more overwhelming. The pleasure is dizzying, addictive, pulling you further out of yourself with every movement.

You can't imagine what you must look like right now.

You're sure you wouldn't recognize yourself—messy, unfocused, clinging to him as your body reacts faster than your mind can follow. Every shift makes your breath hitch, every second stretching thinner than the last.

The pressure suddenly increases, firmer now, more insistent. A broken moan spills from you before you can stop it, your hand flying to your mouth to stop the embarrassing sounds coming from you.

"No," he mutters, catching your wrist and pulling it away, pinning it above your head with one strong grip.

His other hand doesn't slow. If anything, it moves with more purpose, stealing the strength right out of your legs. Your head tips back against the wall as you let him take over completely, your body yielding without protest.

Your vision blurs. Everything goes white at the edges, your mouth falling open on a silent gasp as you cling to him, holding on like he's the only solid thing left. The sensation rolls through you in waves, too big to process all at once, leaving you breathless and shaking.

He keeps you close, holding you steady as it passes, murmuring praise against your skin—soft words, grounding words—until your breathing slowly evens out again. Your chest feels tight, full in a way you don't quite understand yet.

"I-" you try to speak, but the thought slips away before you can finish it.

Without warning, his arms hook behind your knees and lift you effortlessly. You gasp, startled, hands flying to his shoulders as you cling to him, eyes wide, your body leaning into his instinctively despite the shock.

"What are you doing?" you ask, breathless.

"M'gonna take care of you properly, bunny."

His room is simple. A bed. A chair. A small desk. No TV.

No pictures. Exactly what you expected.

He lays you down carefully before gripping the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. Moonlight spills through the open window, tracing every scar and mark along his skin, the faint trail of hair leading up his chest. It makes you press your legs together, biting your lip.

"Like what you see?" he teases.

"Shut up," you mutter-cut off when his mouth crashes into yours. The kiss is hard, wet, unrelenting. He doesn't hesitate, tugging the flimsy top over your head and tossing it aside, leaving you bare beneath him.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, and you catch the strain in his pants, dark and obvious. Your mouth goes dry at the sight.

His hands slide up your stomach, stopping at the hem of your panties. He doesn't pull them down. Just hooks his fingers there, eyes roaming over you like he's taking inventory. It almost makes you self-conscious.

The hunger in his gaze burns through you, settles low in your belly, makes you feel exposed in a way that's almost empowering.

Your hands fall uselessly to your sides as you whine softly, body arching. Back arching as you expose yourself more to him. You want his weight back on you—his warmth. You need it.

"Look at you, bunny," he murmurs, hands coming back to grip your stomach before leaning up to cup your breasts. "So fuckin perfect."

Your head tips back at the sensation, a soft, surprised sound slipping from your throat. Heat coils tight in your lower belly, dampness clinging to the fabric between your legs. The cool night air brushing over your skin only makes it sharper.

His eyes rake over you, eyes shining as he takes you in.

Your chest rises and falls unevenly, skin flushed, lips swollen from biting and kissing. He leans down, mouth trailing from your neck to your chest before closing around your nipple.

You moan, fingers tangling in his hair as his tongue circles, sucking hard. His other hand grips your opposite breast, kneading, rough enough to make your breath stutter. Dark marks bloom in his wake.

"Si-" you swallow hard, hands clutching his shoulders as his mouth drags lower, down your stomach, lingering before pressing against your soaked panties.

He inhales deeply.

You're so sensitive it makes you shake, his touch warm and overwhelming, like he knows exactly how to pull every reaction from you.

His lips brush your thighs, soft at first, teasing. His tongue slips out, tasting you through the fabric, biting and nibbling while his hands draw slow circles along your legs. Your thighs tremble, the sensation sharp enough to sting your eyes.

"Smell so fucking good," he mutters.

"Please," you whisper, lifting your head to look at him.

"Need you."

Your body burns with want, embarrassment mixing with it until you don't know which is worse.

"Be patient," he groans, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"I'm gonna take my time with this sweet cunt."

You whine, defeated, frustration curling tight in your chest.

True to his word, he doesn't rush. He kisses, licks, bites—taking his time, savoring every sound you make. You can hear it in his breathing, feel it in the way his grip tightens.

Your hands fly everywhere, unsure where to land as his mouth traces every freckle, every curve, every soft stretch of skin.

His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, thick and rough, pausing there. The thought of how easily he could tear them away makes your breath hitch.

"Don't zone out on me," he murmurs, tapping your hip before hooking his fingers properly into the fabric. He looks at you, waiting.

"Please."

He kisses your stomach once before tugging them down, tapping your ass so you lift for him. He slides them off with practiced ease, tucks them into his back pocket without a word.

You instinctively try to close your legs, face burning— but he grips your thighs, forcing them apart. His stare is slow, intense as he takes you in, swollen and slick, clit peeking out, folds glistening in the moonlight.

"Prettiest fuckin' pussy l've ever seen," he groans, hands rubbing up and down your thighs, gaze burning into you until you tremble under it.

"Stop messing around," you reply, tummy filled with butterflies as he continues to watch you with mindful eyes. You lift your hips up, wanting any sort of friction from the man.

He smirks, leaning down without breaking eye contact.

His tongue slips out, presses flat against you—covering you fully, dragging over your hole and your clit before he seals his mouth around you.

The contact steals the breath right out of your lungs.

You throw your head back instantly, overwhelmed by the heat of his mouth—warm, wet-slick with his saliva and your own juices. It's too much all at once, your body reacting before you can even think.

He takes his time with it. Licking. Sucking. Lapping at every sensitive spot, tongue tracing your folds with intention. A low moan leaves his throat, vibrating straight through you, sending a sharp jolt up your spine.

He grunts into you, fully focused now, like nothing else exists. His tongue doesn't stop, doesn't rush—just works you steadily while his cock strains hard and aching beneath him. Every sound you make matters.

Every moan, every broken whine, every shaky plea. You feel it in the way he presses closer, the way his breath stutters.

You were a weakness he learned to accept the moment he met you.

He pulls back just long enough to make you shiver before pressing a finger against you. Your mouth snaps shut as you watch, breath caught. His fingers are thick. Calloused. The stretch alone makes you slicker.

One finger pushes in. Slow. Then a second, following behind it, filling you deeper.

"Oh my god, Simon—"

They're big. So big it takes a second for him to settle, fingers stopping fully buried inside you before his mouth drops back to your clit, sucking it in again like he's been waiting for it.

Your thighs start to shake. Your end is nearing embarrassingly quick. But you didn't care, only focusing on the immense pleasure he was giving you.

"C'mon, give it to me," he groaned against your cunt, fingers rubbing inside you faster, harder. Your thighs shook, and the room filled with the sound of your squelching. "Gimme your cum."

It hits you in waves—fast, blinding, overwhelming. You cry out, tears slipping free as your body tightens around his fingers, pleasure tearing through you in a way that leaves you sobbing. You've never felt anything like this. Never been this far gone.

The world narrows to sensation. Sound. Heat.

He laps it up like an animal, only adding to the sensitivity of your core. He doesn't let you come down.

"Si-" you whine, hands pushing at his head just enough to make him look at you.

"Hmm?" he hums, lips brushing a soft kiss where he just had you before standing up off the bed.

Your ears are still ringing from the mind-numbing orgasm, head fuzzy, body slow to catch up. Your eyes are wide as you stare at him, at the way his cock twitches between his thick thighs like it's got a mind of its own. You didn't even notice when he had fully undressed himself.

It's huge.

So thick it barely holds itself upright.

Your brain scrambles, a thousand thoughts crashing at once. There's no way. That can't possibly-

Would this even fit inside you?

But your body doesn't care what your mind thinks.

Your heart kicks up again, anticipation curling low in your stomach, your still—sensitive, drooling mess aching for more even after everything it's just been through. The sting is still there. The fullness lingers. And somehow, you want it again anyway.

The tip of his shaft catches the light, a thick vein running along it, pulsing. His balls hang heavy and full beneath it. Trimmed hair. Thick, solid thighs flexing when he shifts his weight.

You're pretty sure you're drooling when you're ripped out of your thoughts when he speaks.

"You think you can take it, bunny?"

Your body burns, but you nod nonetheless. The arousal you felt was almost too much to bare.

"Let me see that pretty cunt," he lifts your knees up, exposing both of your holes.

Your arms hook beneath your knees, making it easier for him to position himself, lining his cock right at your greedy hole. Your heart pounds in anticipation, lip caught between your teeth hard enough you're sure you might draw blood.

He drags the head along your clit first, smearing you with his precum—then taps it there. Hard.

"Hurry-" you whine, brows furrowed in frustration.

"Just the tip, baby," he breathes, more to himself than you. "Just the tip."

For a split second, you think you understand what he means. Then he pushes in.

"Fuck-" you cry out, sharp and startled, your body locking up on instinct as your walls convulse around him, struggling to take his size. The sensation borders on too much immediately—too full, too sudden. It pulls a low grunt from his chest as he freezes, every muscle in his body going taut.

No. He can't do that. Can't hurt you.

"Shhh," he soothes quickly, voice dropping, steadying.

His hand moves where you need it most, rubbing slow, gentle circles, grounding you while your body panics around him.

Your head feels fuzzy. Like everything is happening underwater.

"Si-ah-too-" you babble, words falling apart as your eyes roll back, fingers digging into his shoulders. You can feel him inching deeper, barely moving, and every fraction of an inch feels like your body is being asked to do something impossible.

Too big. Too thick. There's no way this should fit.

He's not even halfway there, and you already feel stretched past anything you've known. Your mind flickers in and out—whines and broken cries are the only sounds you can make as he keeps going slowly, carefully.

Your hands slide down to his, gripping tight like you're anchoring yourself.

"Hey," he whispers. "Breathe for me."

You try. A shaky inhale. Then another. Tears slip down your temples as you force your body to listen.

He looks nothing like you feel.

He's calm. Focused. Completely present. Sweat beads along his forehead, his chest rising and falling in measured breaths, eyes locked on where you're taking him in.

Then warmth—unexpected.

You jolt lightly as he spits, the heat of it hitting your clit before spreading where you're connected, slicking things enough to take the edge off.

"Too big," you cry, lifting your head to look.

You almost wish you hadn't.

It looks unreal. Wrong. Your body stretched wide around him, doing something you don't understand how it's doing. You swear you can feel him everywher—high, deep, overwhelming.

He hasn't looked away once.

"Almost in, baby," he tells you.

Then he stops. All the way in.

You lose your breath completely. You've never felt this full—like there's no space left inside you at all. His body presses close, skin slick with sweat and your heat, and you can't tell where you end and he begins anymore.

Everything inside you feels pulled tight, stretched to its limit. He's so deep you swear you feel him kiss your cervix.

Your eyes squeeze shut as you cling to his shoulder, focusing on the slow movement of his hands as they slide up your sides, steady, reassuring. You breathe again slowly . Letting your body adjust inch by inch.

Letting the shock fade.

"Tell me when to move," he says quietly.

You don't answer right away. Just a quick nod after a while of feeling his body pressed to yours.

When he finally does move-just barely-the discomfort softens into something else entirely.

Something deep and rolling and unfamiliar. Pleasure replaces the sting in waves, so intense it makes your toes curl.

He moves at a languid pace, dragging himself out of you just a bit before pushing back in. Slowly. Making you feel everything.

You're growing desperate. All the pent—up tension you've been carrying for months finally spilling over, burning hot and restless.

You want him. So bad.

"You can be rougher-ah,"

"Rougher?" he chuckles, lifting a hand to wipe the tears from your face. His thumb brushes your cheek, so gentle it makes you purr. "You don't want me to be rougher, baby."

His hips snap forward sharply, pulling a surprised gasp from your throat.

"I do!" you say breathless.

You see it then-the veins standing out along his arms, the way his jaw tightens as he clenches his teeth. He's losing it. Barely holding on anymore.

And you don't want him to.

"Please," you whisper, voice low, rolling your hips just enough to make him groan.

His hands fly to your hips, pinning them hard against the bed.

"You don't know what you're asking for."

The smile on your face disappears just as quickly as it came when he snaps his hips forward again—harder this time. The movement is rough and powerful, stealing the air from your lungs.

"You ever had your neck squeezed before, bunny?" His large hand comes up loose at first, fingers barely resting against your throat, and your breath already hitches. Then he squeezes harder, thumb pressing into the side of your neck.

Your vision blurs around the edges, pleasure shooting straight through you. You don't hear a word he says after that, though the soft smile that creeps on your face doesn't go unnoticed.

Something flips inside him.

He's not the caring giant anymore-the one coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of you, softly rubbing your side and clit to ease the stretch of his cock. No. This version of him is different. Rougher. Bolder. It makes your toes curl in the best possible way.

All you hear is ringing and the sound of his hips hitting your ass.

Your mouth hangs open in a perfect O, no sound coming out except the faintest whimper dragged from you with every thrust. Your eyes cross as you let him do whatever he wants with your body.

You're a drooling mess. Nothing but babbles and broken cries spill from your lips as your eyes roll back, nails clawing at the messy, wet sheets that smell like nothing but you and him.

"Stupid thrust fucking thrust bunny thrust."

The sound sends a warm, overwhelming rush through your stomach, like the drop of a roller coaster. His hips don't falter, and neither does his grip.

With every movement, he rolls his hips in slow circles, making sure you feel every inch, every vein dragging against your sensitive, gummy walls. His hand loosens at your throat only to slide down and grab your tits hard.

"Simiiimon-ah—ah-ah," you cry, voice breaking with each powerful snap of his hips. Short, deep thrusts. His pubic bone slamming into your swollen clit every time.

"So fuckin' tight," he growls. "You feel so fuckin' good一fuck.”

He lets go of your neck, hands moving down your body as his hips slow, grinding into you instead. "I'm gonna rip you in half," he mutters to himself, the rumble in his chest deep and dark.

You don't hear him.

You're too busy gripping the sheets for dear life as the sinful sounds of skin slapping, cunt squelching, and your broken moans fill the room.

The sounds you make only fuel the heavy throbbing of his cock. "Feel good, baby?" he breathes, chest heaving as he looks down at your fucked-out expression, a small smile pulling at his lips.

"Yesyesyes," you babble, drool slipping from your mouth, eyes fluttering as you struggle to keep them open.

"Please-" Your cheeks are wet with tears, hair a mess, body buzzing with heat and pleasure. "Please go faster."

You lift your hips, digging your heels into the mattress, grinding back into him with everything you have left.

He lets out a deep grunt-surprised, pleased.

"Yeah, baby," he teases, thumb sliding down to rub your clit. "You want me to go faster?"

"Please, need it," you sob pathetically. The only thing you care about is pleasure—coming apart on him and letting him ruin you again.

"Work for it, then," he pants, chest rising and falling as he watches your blissed—out face. Beautiful. Fucking wrecked.

Your hips jerk erratically now, calves trembling, sweat slicking your skin as he lets you use him to get yourself off.

"You're-ah-being—mean," you sniff, your legs giving out slowly.

The familiar pressure coils tight in your stomach. Your clit is red and angry with every twist of his thumb, his free hand coming up to squeeze and play with your tit.

Before you can stop it, another orgasm washes through your whole body.

"Fuck," he he throws his head back when you clamp around him, tight and desperate, refusing to let go.

It takes everything in him not to come right then and there, buried deep inside your hot, gummy walls.

You're left gasping, clutching the sheets to your chest like you need something solid as you come apart on his cock.

As you come down, he slowly pulls out of you.

"Ah—" you yelp, the sudden emptiness uncomfortable, almost cold without him.

"Bend over."

His eyes are completely dark as he steps back, cock twitching and leaking. Before you can even lift your head, he's gripping your thighs, dragging you forward and flipping you onto your stomach, then onto your knees. The sheets beneath you are soaked.

"C'mon, bunny," he says, slapping your ass impatiently. "Bend over."

"M'gonna breed this fuckin' cunt," he mutters.

His hands grip your waist, putting you exactly where he wants you—on your knees, tits pressed into the bed, ass up just like he's imagined too many times before.

And you. You're just a cock-drunk, drooling mess. You can't even form words. Just cries and whines spilling out of you.

Music to his ears.

Fuel to his aching cock.

He positions himself behind you, a heavy hand coming down on your ass. The sharp sound echoes through the room, followed by your broken cry.

"Sii-"

His thrusts are messy—messier than before.

Desperate. His grip is bruising, fingers digging into your hips as he pounds into you harder, deeper. You chant his name like it's the only word you know.

Your body starts to betray you first. Your legs tremble, knees threatening to give out as the rhythm stutters, breaks, turns reckless. You can't keep up anymore—can't tell where one movement ends and the next begins. Every nerve feels lit, stretched thin, buzzing too loud inside your skin. Your breath comes apart in your chest, sharp little gasps you can't control, like your body already knows what's coming before your mind does.

You're right there—so close it hurts. The need swells until it feels unbearable, like pressure behind your ribs, behind your eyes. Your grip tightens, fingers clawing uselessly at his pillow.

"Fuuuuck, baby!" he nearly yells, hips snapping animalistically, your whole body jolting with every thrust.

"Fuckfuckfuck-" you scream, loud and unfiltered, grateful there aren't neighbors close enough to hear.

The pressure builds again-and just before you can release, he pulls out.

You sob at the emptiness, looking back at him. "No! — please.

He smirks, gripping his cock, a white ring of your slick at the base before he leans down, spreading your ass. Both holes are on display. You can't stop him even if you wanted to.

He spits directly on your asshole before burying his tongue there, licking and slurping like a man starved.

From your clit to your ass, messy and obscene. His hand pumps his cock as he eats you, smacking and pinching your ass, tongue pushing deep enough to make you cry into the pillow.

"Please—want your cock, Simon," you beg, pushing back into his mouth without thinking.

“Yeah, baby,” he mocks, voice pitched higher. “You want this fat cock in your tummy?”

His fist tangles in your hair, jerking your head back until your neck strains, eyes lifting to meet him looming over you.

"Yes, please," your voice is horsed, neck straining with veins popping out. Chin wet and you're panting like a dog.

It made Simons cock impossibly harder.

He sinks into you again-no pause, no waiting. He bottoms out and immediately starts fucking you without restraint, the bed squeaking so loud you're sure it'll break. He slaps your ass, pulls your hair harder, forcing your back into an uncomfortable arch.

"This is what you wanted huh baby," he pants, hips never faltering, yet they get sloppy. His end is nearing.

He knows it by the way his balls tighten. Still dripping a sticky mess of both of you.

Then everything disappears.

Your vision blurs as you cum all over his cock again—no warning, no buildup.

You don't even know how many orgasms you've had.

This last one knocks you out completely.

You collapse onto the bed when he finally lets go, lying there motionless, drool slipping from your mouth as he uses your body for his pleasure.

"Fuck, bunny," he laughs. "Came so fast."

He doesn't give you time to recover.

He hauls you back up onto your hands and knees, positioning himself at the edge of the bed-your face level with his throbbing cock. Every twitch sends a bead of precum sliding down the angry red tip, already mixed with your cum.

"Make me cum, bunny."

"Wha-?" you mumble, still coming down from your high, vision spotting as you look up at him.

"C'mon, bunny," he groans. "You can't just leave me high and dry."

His hand comes down to grip his thick cock, the other cupping his balls. Your mouth waters instantly.

And then his earlier words echo in your head.

M'gonna breed you.

You whine softly and reach up, nudging his hands away so you can replace them with yours. You shuffle forward on your knees, settling in as you lean closer, both hands moving slowly up and down his shaft.

You tilt your head, staring up at him as you muster the best face you can manage, cheek brushing against the warm weight of him. You love the sounds he's making—ragged moans as he loses control.

"Want it inside," you beg.

Simon's eye twitches.

His breathing turns rough, uneven, gaze hardening as they lock onto you. For a split second, you almost wonder if you've crossed a line.

His grip snaps tight in your hair, the burn sharp enough to steal your breath. You barely have time to yelp before he's shoving his cock into your mouth, the tip hitting the back of your throat hard.

It's sudden. Too sudden.

You choke, gagging around him as he thrusts shallow and rough, spit bubbling at your lips and dripping down onto him.

Your head rocks back and forth as you grip his thighs to steady yourself, fingers digging in.

His grip doesn't falter, using it as leverage to drive you deeper. It's brutal. Too much. The sounds you're making would make you blush under any other circumstance.

Your throat burns, gag reflex overwhelmed as you choke around him, fluids spilling from your mouth every time he pushes deeper. Your cunt gushes as he uses your throat for his own pleasure.

"Yeeeeah gimmie that—gurg, gurg—baby."

He grips the base—what you can't fully take-along with his balls, forcing it down. Your eyes widen as you physically feel the stretch of your throat around him.

You tap at his thighs hard and fast, panic spiking just before he finally releases you.

You pull back immediately, coughing, gagging as phlegm spills from your mouth. Your face is a complete mess when he grips your hair again, jerking himself fast and hard. His expression twists with pleasure and desperation, lips caught between his teeth.

Your hand slips down between your legs, rubbing at yourself as he works his cock over your face.

"M'close," he breathes, chest red and heaving, focus razor-sharp.

"Fuuuck, bunny."

Before you can say anything, you feel it—sticky ropes splashing across your face, catching in your hair, your lashes, your brows, your lips. Everywhere. It lasts longer than you expect, enough to leave you stunned.

He grips the tip, giving a final stroke before tapping your cheek and pulling away.

You look up at him as he backs off, dragging your fingers through the mess on your face and bringing them to your mouth, licking them clean.

"Don't do this to me, bunny," he groans.

You giggle softly, the sound weak and breathless, before collapsing back onto the bed. The exhaustion finally catching up on you. Every muscle feels loose, heavy, like your body forgot how to work all at once.

The mattress dips as he moves closer again, slower now.

"Easy," he murmurs, hand settling at your side to keep you from rolling awkwardly. He grabs something off the nightstand—a cloth, a shirt, whatever's closest—and gently wipes at your face, patient, thorough.

Your eyes flutter half-closed as he works, the room quiet except for the sound of your breathing finally evening out. The tension from before disappearing and turning into something soft, and peaceful.

"There you go," he says softly, brushing your hair back from your forehead. His thumb lingers there for a second longer than necessary.

You hum in response, too spent to form real words.

He shifts again, sliding into the bed beside you and tugging the covers up around you, making sure you're warm. When he settles beside you, he pulls you in without asking, arm firm and grounding around your shoulders.

You melt into him easily.

For a while, neither of you says anything. You just lie there, your head on his chest, his breathing steady beneath your ear. His hand traces slow, absent lines along your arm.

"You okay?" he asks quietly.

You nod against him, eyes closed. "M'good,"

His arm tightens just a little.

"Good."

You smile to yourself, fingers drifting over the scars and dips along his chest. "Thought you said you were gonna breed me," you joke softly.

He lets out a low laugh, warm and deep, the sound vibrating through you.

"That was heat talk, bunny," he says easily. His hand slides to your waist, fingers trailing along your stretch marks.

You tilt your head, listening.

"When i do cum in your pretty pussy," he pauses, other hand reaching to drag a finger along your cheek. "It's gonna be for a reason.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

© all content belongs to httpxyeager 2026. do not modify or repost.

character belongs to its respective owner.

[rawme-price]

No thoughts just ghost scrounging around your apartment during culinary finals...

Truthfully, he's been going mad with the constant smell of something in cooking in your apartment. All the vents are connected, and it just so happens your kitchen vents directly into his apartment.

Meanwhile, you're stressed about these goddamned potatoe cubes. You swear you've cut at least fifty pounds of potatoes and it's still not perfect! Because you were raised right, you refuse to let any go to waste.

Thus. The plethora of potato-based foods currently piled in your fridge. You're halfway through losing your mind when you hear a knock on the door, having to take a moment before calmly asking "...WHAT!?"

Silence, but you can hear the boards outside creak. "....yer makin' soup?"

What.

You open the door to find your neighbor of whom you've never talked to standing blank-faced at your doorstep. Simon, he introduced himself as when you had been given his mail by mistake.

Simon leans further into the doorway with zero care for manners, nose lifted up like a dog to scent the air "...and mashed potatoes?"

"Uhm. Yes. Look, I don't have time for this, I have exams and—"

"Can i have some?"

"...what."

"I'll pay you. Name your price."

Simon is onto his third serving of soup and shows no signs of stopping, rumbling about the spices you chose and how nice it is to taste something again. It's...nice, having him there. Feels closer to the crowded class kitchen you're used to.

Thats the first time you cut perfect cubes.

From there, it's tradition to invite ghost over for any of your practical studying. A presence that doesn't demand attention, allows you to settle into a focused mindset. You decide to keep him around.

The fact he's working through your frozen leftovers at an alarming rate while paying you an obscene amount has nothing to do with it.....definitely not.