girl dad!kuna who still has his heian era tendencies . nsfw drabble w/ fem reader!
18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | WARNINGS ARE MARKED, PLEASE MIND THE TAGS!
The front door of your estate had barely clicked shut before Sukuna’s voice rumbled through the foyer like an impending apocalypse.
“Absolutely not!”
You didn’t even need to ask what had set him off. You’d seen the way all four of his eyes had flared with murderous intent when your daughter skipped down the stairs this morning, her phone clutched to her chest with a grin that could only mean one thing.
A boy. Some scrawny, worthless worm who probably couldn’t even wield a butter knife, let alone stand in the presence of real strength.
Sukuna was already pacing, his massive frame eating up the space in the living room. His muscular arms flexed with every violently agitated step, black tattoos pulsing like live wires against his skin.
His loose shirt hung open, exposing his broad chest, but you weren’t about to be distracted by the display. “He’s not allowed within a ten-mile radius of her,” he roared, his deep, terrifying rasp rattling the glassware in the cabinets.
“I’ll peel the flesh from his bones! I’ll carve him into a thousand bloody ribbons and leave his head on a spike in front of his pathetic family!”
“Shut your mouth and stop whining like a beaten dog,” you snapped, stepping into the room with your arms crossed.
Sukuna whirled on you, all four crimson eyes blazing with blinding fury. “Woman, don’t test me! That pathetic, mewling parasite thinks he can lay a hand on my daughter? Touch what’s mine? I’ll tear out his spine!”
“She isn’t your property, ‘Kuna,” you hissed back, matching his fiery glare with an icy, menacing stare of your own. “She’s a teenager. She found a boyfriend. Deal with it!”
“Not in my household!” he snarled. The air cracked with dark, suffocating cursed energy. The floorboards groaned beneath his feet, and the massive chandelier violently shuddered overhead.
“I’ll strip her of everything. I’ll melt that pink Mercedes down to scrap metal! She can crawl to school in the dirt like the peasant she is!”
“You won’t do a damn thing,” you sneered, taking a step toward him. “And drop it before I force you to.”
“I’ll crush him into paste—”
“I said sit down and close your trap!” you barked, jabbing a sharp finger hard into his chest. His nostrils flared, his immense cursed energy threatening to erupt into a bloody slaughter, but you didn’t flinch.
You stepped right into his physical space, your chin lifted, your eyes locking with his four in an uncompromising power struggle.
Something dangerous flickered in his gaze—a violent mix of begrudging respect, intense desire, and sheer frustration. With a dark growl rumbling in his throat, Sukuna slowly sank onto the couch.
His huge frame filled the cushions, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles trembled. He looked lethal, coiled to spring, but he stayed put.
Because it was you.
Footsteps echoed from the hallway as Chiyo stepped into the room, adjusting her school bag over her shoulder. Right beside her was Uraume, your eldest, stepping out with the serene, undisturbed grace of a frozen lake.
Chiyo took one look at her father, threw her hands up, and fired off immediately. “Are you seriously still throwing a temper tantrum, Dad? The entire neighborhood probably heard you screaming about spine-tearing! It's seven in the morning!”
She spun toward you, her eyes wide with desperate indignation. “Mom, please tell him to stop! He’s being completely insane! He threatened to turn Ren into meat paste before I even finished my breakfast!”
Sukuna’s upper set of eyes narrowed into lethal slits as he glared at her. “Ren? You give the worm a name in my presence? You’re lucky I haven’t tracked his bloodline down and erased it from history!”
“He’s not a worm! He’s sweet, he brought me matcha yesterday, and he doesn't murder people for looking at him wrong!” Chiyo shot back, not flinching an inch.
She darted over to your side, grabbing your arm and using you as a literal shield. “Mom, look at him! He’s losing his mind over a high school boy! Tell him he’s not allowed to melt my car!”
“He won’t touch your car, Chiyo,” you said calmly, shooting Sukuna a warning glance that could cut glass.
“See? Mom makes the rules!” Chiyo declared, pointing a finger at Sukuna. Then she glanced over at Uraume, who was standing quietly near the archway, utterly unbothered, calmly adjusting their gloves. “Uraume, back me up here! Tell him he’s being totally unreasonable!”
Uraume didn’t even blink. They merely looked at Chiyo with icy neutrality. “Dad’s judgment is absolute. If he deems the boy weak, his eradication is logical.”
Chiyo gasped, dropping her jaw in utter betrayal. “Uraume! You’re supposed to be my sibling! You’re taking his side?!”
Sukuna let out a booming, dark laugh, his mood instantly shifting into arrogant delight. He gestured sharply toward Uraume. “Come here, Uraume. Stand by your father.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Uraume bowed respectfully and walked over, taking a precise, firm stance right beside Sukuna’s side of the couch, like an iron bodyguard endorsing his terrible behavior.
“See, brat?” Sukuna sneered at Chiyo, a menacing smirk stretching across his face, all four eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. “Uraume has sense. You bring a weak, pathetic creature into my sight, and he dies. That is the law of this house!”
“Mom!” Chiyo whined, tugging on your sleeve in pure exasperation while glaring daggers at both Sukuna and Uraume. “They’re teaming up on me! Uraume is just fueling his madness!”
“Uraume, stop enabling your father,” you commanded smoothly, though your tone left no room for debate.
Uraume bowed their head slightly toward you, remarkably respectful as always, but didn’t budge from Sukuna’s side. “My apologies, Mother. But father’s instinct regarding weaklings is rarely mistaken.”
“Unbelievable. You two are actual monsters,” Chiyo groaned, though the edge in her voice softened as she pulled her bag higher onto her shoulder.
Despite the bloodcurdling threats and Uraume’s total betrayal, she didn’t look scared at all. She knew her father’s violence was just his terrifying, twisted way of being protective, and she knew you had him entirely leash-bound.
She rolled her eyes, shooting a fond, fearless smirk at Sukuna. “Whatever. If you touch Ren, Mom is going to make you sleep on the porch. Bye, Dad!”
Sukuna glared at her, but the lethal edge in his four eyes dulled into a dark, protective scowl. “If that sniveling bug doesn’t treat you like royalty, I’m skinning him alive!”
“Dad, stop!” she laughed, completely unbothered by the horrific threat, before turning toward the foyer.
Uraume offered a polite bow to you before quietly gliding out the door right behind her to ensure she actually made it to school safely as the heavy oak front door clicked shut.
Silence descended upon the estate.
The moment the kids were gone, Sukuna’s fierce composure degraded into an aggressively stubborn pout. His lips twisted into a dark scowl, his brows furling with wounded pride. “She brought him up to me like it was nothing,” Sukuna growled angrily, staring at the hardwood floor, his voice thick with bitter resentment.
“She knew I’d want to butcher him, and she still sat there and told me she likes him. The little brat isn’t even afraid of me.”
“She trusts you, you idiot,” you said, walking over and tossing yourself onto the couch beside him, leaning back with a cold smirk.
“She knows you’re a monster to everyone else, but she knows you’d tear the world apart before you ever let harm come to her. That’s why she told you.”
Sukuna grunted, though his jaw relaxed slightly at your words. “She’s going to let that worm hold her hand,” he muttered bitterly, his four eyes narrowing to slits. “Maybe worse. I ought to slaughter his whole bloodline just to be safe.”
“Touch him and you answer to me,” you warned smoothly, running a sharp fingernail over the back of his massive hand. “She’s sixteen, Sukuna. She’s not a little child anymore!”
“She’s my daughter,” he growled, grabbing your hand and pulling you firmly against his side, his arm wrapping around you like an iron vice. “I remember when she was born. Squeaking like a pathetic little creature. I held her in one palm. Now she’s looking at useless boys.”
“You’re being pathetic,” you teased, though you leaned into his heat. “It’s a high school crush, not a bloody war.”
“Any boy who comes near her is a war,” he snapped back, his voice dangerous, though his thumb absentmindedly stroked your knuckles with rare, ruthless devotion. He leaned down, burying his face into the crook of your neck, his breath scorching hot against your skin. “I hate this.”
“You’ll survive,” you murmured, sliding your fingers through his spiky pink hair and yanking his head up so his four crimson eyes met yours. “Now drop the bitter attitude before I make you.”
The afternoon sun had shifted across the room, casting long amber shadows through the windows. Hours had slipped away since your daughter had skipped off to school with her pink Mercedes and Uraume’s indifferent gaze trailing behind her.
Six hours since Sukuna had first laid you down on this couch. Six hours since he’d started proving exactly how much he wanted those ten children.
Three times.
He’d cum inside you three times now, each release more possessive than the last, as if he could physically will more heirs into existence with sheer determination alone.
The evidence of his efforts was starting to pool beneath you, warm and slick, soaking into the expensive fabric of the couch cushions.
You’d long since stopped caring.
Now, you were flat on your back, your body sinking deeper into the cushions as Sukuna thrust into you with an intensity that stole your breath as his massive frame loomed over you, eclipsing the light, casting you entirely in his shadow.
Sweat gleamed on his chest, tracing the lines of his tattoos, dripping down the ridges of his abs. His biceps bulged as he gripped your thighs, holding them spread wide, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
His four eyes were half-lidded, drunk on the sight of you beneath him, wrecked and wanting. “Look at you,” he snarled, the words ripping from his throat like a blade. His jaw clenched so hard you could hear his teeth grind. “Still taking me… still begging for more.”
You couldn’t form words as a shattered moan tore from your throat as your nails dug into his forearms, leaving crescent-shaped marks that he probably didn’t even feel.
Your legs were hooked over his shoulders now, your ankles crossed behind his neck, and with every brutal thrust, he drove you deeper into the cushions.
“S—Sukuna–!” you gasped, your voice cracking.
“You feel that?” he demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “Feel how deep I am? How full you are? That’s me, woman. It’s all me hngh—... No other man will ever touch you like this. No other man will ever fill you like this…”
You could barely nod, could barely breathe. He was so big, so impossibly thick, stretching you to your absolute limit. The way his cock dragged against your walls had you seeing white, your fingers fisting in the fabric beneath you.
He filled you completely, his girth spreading you open, and when he bottomed out, you could feel him pressing against your cervix—a delicious, overwhelming pressure that made your toes curl. “I can feel you squeezing me,” he rasped, a filthy, guttural sound escaping his throat. “You’re trying to milk me dry, aren’t you? Don’t want me to pull out, huh?”
You shook your head frantically, too far gone for words.
“No... don’t—! Ngh–Ahh!”
“Greedy little thing,” he purred, a dark chuckle vibrating through his chest. His hand left your throat to grip your hip, angling you so he could drive even deeper. “That’s why I love you. You’re never satisfied… always want more, always want… me.”
His thumb found your clit, pressing down in tight, merciless circles. The sensation was overwhelming; his cock pounding into you, his thumb working your sensitive bundle of nerves, his four eyes watching every broken expression that crossed your face.
You were teetering on the edge, your orgasm building like a storm about to break. “Please,” you begged, your voice a wrecked sob.
“Pleassee, ‘Kuunaa, I’m—”
“I know, I know…” He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear, his breath scalding against your skin. “You’re close. I can feel it. You’re clenching so tight around me… squeezing me like you never want me to leave.”
His pace quickened, his hips snapping against yours with brutal precision. The sound of skin slapping filled the room, wet and obscene, mingling with your loud, trembling moans and his heavy, guttural groans.
His cock was slick with your combined arousal, glistening every time he pulled out, and the sight of it—the sight of him disappearing into you over and over sent another wave of heat crashing through your wet folds.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice a sharp, uncompromising snarl. His hand left your clit to grip your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his. Four crimson irises burned into you, possessive and unyielding. “I want to watch your face when you come undone. I want to see the moment you break apart on my cock.”
Your orgasm ripped through you without warning as your back bowed off the mattress, a sharp, shattered scream tearing from your throat as your walls convulsed around him, clenching and fluttering with reckless abandon.
Your vision went white, your body trembling uncontrollably, broken moans spilling out of you in helpless waves. “That’s it,” he snarled, his pace growing erratic, his breath coming in harsh, ragged pants. “That’s my wife…”
“That’s my woman. Fffuckk—” He buried himself to the hilt, his hips flush against yours, and with a long, guttural roar, you felt him pulse inside you as his cock twitched violently as he spilled into you, filling you with another load of his seed, painting your walls with his possession.
The warmth spread through you, pooling deep inside, and he stayed there, panting heavily, pressing himself deep with slow, shuddering thrusts, making sure not a single drop escaped.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. Heavy, ragged breathing filled the quiet room as he stayed buried inside you, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath fanning over your lips.
Then, slowly, he pulled out as you winced at the sudden emptiness, at the rush of warmth that followed.
He settled beside you, pulling you against his chest, his hand splaying across your stomach. His thumb traced lazy circles over your skin, just below your navel. “Four… times,” he murmured, a low, possessive rumble in his chest. “You’re going to be full of me by the time I’m done. I’ll… mhn.. put a child in you— I’ll put ten children in you.”
You groaned, swatting weakly at his chest. “You’re insatiable.”
“I’m a king,” he replied, a dark, satisfied laugh vibrating against your cheek. “Kings don’t settle for one heir.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet, you keep letting me.”
You couldn’t argue with that. You settled against him, your body aching in the most delicious way, your mind finally quiet.
His hand never stopped moving over your stomach, possessive and tender all at once. “We… we should probably clean up,” you muttered, your eyes already drooping.
“Later.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his voice softening just a fraction. “Rest first. I’ll keep watch…”
You wanted to remind him that there was nothing to keep watch for-that your daughter was at school, that Uraume was probably meditating somewhere, that the estate was secure.
But you were too tired to form the words.
Instead, you let yourself drift, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. His hand never stopped its slow, soothing circles. And if you dreamed of ten little pink-haired children running through the halls, well… you’d deal with that when you woke up.
Sukuna and Choso are your roomies and they do not understand the word privacy! constantly just walking in while you're taking a shower, taking over your bed - If they're gonna be that way, you could at least get backshots, but no! They'd rather play Mario Kart and manspread with you on the couch. Sukuna keeps throwing you off rainbow road, (rude!) which leads to your own revenge - cucking him.
pairings - choso x reader x sukuna
warnings- fingering, lots of titty worship, nipple sucking, edging, making Choso whimper, cucking tf outta Kuna in a pink chair lol, petty reader (I luv her) yandere tendencies (both boys) p in v sex, creampie, cum swallowing, ragebaiting kuna -4k
this was a commission for my baby @martianzmars ahhh this is like our fourth one!? I luv u sm!!! - pt 2 here!
art is from @/679sora on IG
Sukuna and Choso are by far the most annoying roommates a girl could have – constantly in your space, always eating all your favorite snacks, not allowing you any privacy. Shower? They’re standing in the damn bathroom talking to you, thinking you can masturbate in peace? No, they wanna come hang out in your room all the time!
Not just in the apartment either – no, they don’t even let you go anywhere without them, the couple times they have they’ve come to the parties and made sure they were on either side of you, fending off any of the men. Aside from work and classes they’re not in, the two men tag along anywhere – up to and including getting manicures.
It was pretty cute to see them get their nails painted black, and how ticklish they get when they’re getting pedicures – but to have no alone time? To have no girls nights out, no they go to those too, heaven help if a guy maybe tries to talk to you, the two of them make sure anyone who is brave enough to approach is sent off running.
You love having them around, even when the two giant men just take over your entire bed, big ass arms all heavy and weighing you down when you wake up. Maybe you wouldn’t mind that if either of them used their cocks that were pressing on either side of you, but no they just snuggle you closer, leaving you soaking wet and aching, unable to use any of your toys in peace.
Menaces, they’re menaces.
Choso is an adorable menace, a sweetheart – but menace nonetheless. Sukuna was more outspoken with how insane he was, he lived to fuck with you, once he thought it would be funny to hide your dildo collection you’re so proud of. You didn’t talk to him for a week after that, until he groveled and bought you a brand new one for your addition.
Little did you know – Sukuna had it moulded to fit his cock exactly, the thought that you were getting stretched out by his shape made it even sweeter when he heard your soft little whines. When he’d jerk it in his room, groaning and tilting his head against that wall like a pervert.
Sometimes he’d use your panties to cum, he loved when you couldn’t find them and got all upset – he even took your scrunchies because they smell like your shampoo. Okay maybe Sukuna’s a bit obsessed with you, but is Choso much better?
No, he’s not, Choso is just a little sneakier, thinking of fucking you and jerking it when he’s in the shower and you’re talking to him, trying to muffle his moans as he pictures you right on your knees.
Not that you’re aware of any of it.
Even now, they’re smushing you between them on the couch, manspread thighs against your own, you never get any space with these two.
“Hah, i’ll throw your ass right off rainbow fucking road,” Sukuna’s grinning like the psycho he is when he nudges your cart, your cute little Yoshi flying off.
“Ugh, you dick!”
“Sukuna,” Choso sighs and shakes his head. “Stop throwing her off.”
“Stop throwing her off,” you smack him with his mocking tone, getting back onto the road and speeding up. “Hah!”
“Not again!? You’re such a jerk!”
“I’ll avenge you angel,” Sukuna rolls his eyes when Choso runs Sukuna off the road, and his bowser goes flying, you snicker in laughter as Sukuna crashes out.
“Choso, my hero!”
“I’ll come fucking get the both of you,” Sukuna’s locked in, brows lowered – far too close to you now as if the couch isn’t big enough for him, his biceps flexing in a concerning ass way that makes you stop driving. “What brat, ya done?”
“I um…” you blink and focus once more, in time for Choso to lean forward, his elbow resting on your bare thigh so casually.
Casual.
You’re ovulating and losing mario kart!
“Mnh…”
They both look at you and you cover your face in embarrassment, slick dribbling down your inner thighs – you’re always wet around them but today is too fucking much, how many times a day can you change your panties? You could swear they keep coming up missing too.
“You all right angel?” Choso asks softly, tilting his head and looking at you far too closely, hand on your cheek. “You’re warm! Do you have a fever?”
“N-no,” Sukuna scoffs and yanks the remote from your hands, feeling your head for himself.
“You are warm, brat, better not be sick,” he tilts your chin up and smirks. “You lost big time, hah you suck.”
“Ugh!” You shove at him once more. “You suck! I’m fine!”
You three play another round and Sukuna won’t stop knocking you off, sending your car into a tailspin, you get so damn mad at him you toss the remote on the floor. Sukuna snorts when you cross your arms.
“Looking like a little spoiled brat.”
“I am not! You’re just rude!”
“Tch, can’t even lose a game,” you’re so irritated and so horny you can’t think right now, just glaring at the pink haired menace. “Don’t feel bad, I beat you at every single game, don’t I?”
“Sukuna stop,” Choso sets his remote down, wrapping a protective arm and tugging you against him. “Leave her alone, you’re really being a dick over it.”
“I am competitive, she’s the sore loser.”
“You’re not competitive, you’re being an ass,” you snuggle to Choso now and he blushes, your lips against his neck, tickling his skin.
“Thank you Cho,” you murmur, pressing a kiss, he sucks in a breath, hand tightening at your waist, Sukuna glares at the sight, smacking Choso’s hand right off you. “Hey!”
“You’re mad she’s snuggling to me.”
“Hah, right,” Sukuna stands up now, yanking you off Choso like the big brute he is, you kick at him and he smirks, yanking your ankle. “Think ya can hurt me, brat?”
“You’re the biggest brat there is, Ryomen Sukuna!”
“Wow, my full name – really,” you stick your tongue out and Sukuna bars you with his arms on the couch, making your breath catch. Just because he’s a dick doesn’t mean he’s not hot and ruining you with his proximity. “Admit you’re trash at Mario cart and I’ll make you feel real good, won’t have to fuck yourself tonight with your dildo collection.”
“Invasion of privacy! No, I won’t admit I suck,” you smack at his arm and then climb right onto Choso’s lap, he sucks in a breath at the action.
“Oh… Oh! Oh,” he’s gripping your waist with those big hands, dragging your heat against that bulge underneath his pants as you move your hips, his eyes darkening. “Hi.”
You giggle a bit at that, moving again, feeling Sukuna tense behind you. “Hi.”
“Get off his damn lap,” Sukuna turns your face towards him, just to get Choso smacking his hand away this time. “I’ll beat both your asses.”
“No you won’t,” Choso murmurs, turning your face to him now, thumb brushing little circles on your hip, making you even wetter. “I’ll make you feel good without you having to say you ‘suck’ at Mario cart. You don’t suck.”
“I can suck,” you whisper, leaning forward and giggling, Choso moans when you kiss his lips, and everything in your living room shifts.
It’s a desperate kiss once Choso gets a taste of you, moaning into your mouth and working your body against him, sucking in a breath, eyes fluttering shut, sucking your tongue in his mouth and rutting up against you. You whine out at it, you could almost cum from just feeling him, one of his hands entangling in his hair.
“Are you really gonna leave me out?” Sukuna asks, flipping you before you can think, now your back is pressed on Choso’s hard chest, Sukuna is kneeling, his hands pressing against your tits. You’re ovulating so bad they’re full and aching, your nipples sensitive when he brushes his thumbs on them. “You’re needy, huh brat?”
“Not for you and your Mario cart cheating tactics, mnh!” He uses a hand to tug up your shirt, your tits spilling out, earning his moan.
“Don’t want my mouth on them?” You can’t say no, not when Choso’s biting your neck, his fingers slipping up your shorts, making your thighs tremble, back arching for more of Sukuna’s touch. “Answer.”
“I am still mad at you, but I’ll let you do that,” he smirks as if he’ll get to fuck you – little does Sukuna know you take Mario Kart very seriously, and you’re planning on making your giant, pink haired roomie pay. “Mnh!”
Sukuna presses you back against Choso, grabbing your tit and wrapping his lips around the little bud, sucking it into the hot recesses of his mouth, tongue ring clicking against it and earning a soft moan. You move against Choso who whines out in response, cock licking so much sticky pre it’s drizzling against your inner thigh, his finger running over your panties.
“Ngh,” soft moans escape your lips as Sukuna sucks one nipple, the other toyed with by his thumb and forefinger, Choso’s running up and down your slit until you’re dripping wet. “Choso…”
“Even now?” Sukuna scowls and you grin, earning a sharp bite on your tit, leaving glistening teeth marks, you gasp in shock and he grins. “Marked you.”
“Freak,” you grumble, but he’s sucking your other nipple, and your hand finds its way in his pink silky hair, it’s so soft, you tug hard and he grips your tit hard, sucking it in his mouth as Choso toys your clit. “F-fuck… mnh…”
“You’re soaked baby,” Choso whispers, tilting your face to his and kissing you, messy with your tongues dripping saliva. “Like that?”
“Y-yes, ow!” Sukuna bites the fuck out of you again, earning your attention, you yank the fuck out of his hair and make him moan.
“Where’s my attention!?”
“I’m still mad, I already told you,” Sukuna tugs your shorts to the side, seeing how soaking wet you are, panties drenched.
“Already fuck yourself today?”
“Maybe,” he smirks. “Why?”
“Nothing – just that’s my cock.”
“What!?” You shove him hard, he’s chuckling and Choso’s damn near about to bust with how you wiggle. “You did not seriously? Psycho!”
“Bet you loved it,” you did, fuck him. “Could you take it all?”
“No – I mean!? Yep, hah wasn’t that -”
Before you can finish your petty lie, Sukuna’s kissing you, messy and mean with it, tongue ring clicking the roof of your mouth, you’re rocking back and forth, dying for them inside you. If you weren’t such a petty girl, maybe you’d let Sukuna slide his cock inside your cunt, where Choso’s running circles against your slick entrance – but you’re still mad about Mario Kart.
And now he’s making his cock your dildo!?
“You’re batshit insane,” you’re still kissing him though, Choso’s got your clit twitching and Sukuna’s pinching your nipples and rolling them, the simultaneous play is too much to handle. “You c-can’t just… mnh, d-do that.”
“That’s not fair, I wanna make you one,” Choso pouts as he sinks two fingers in your messy, needy cunt, you’re soaking them and quivering, sucking them up so damn easy. “Do you want one of me?”
“I do, stop biting, you dick!” Sukuna’s furious – how dare you give him all the attention when Sukuna is right there, he slips his finger down and Choso pulls his out with a wet pop, sucking on them and moaning.
Fuck he’s hot.
You’re a little lost when you realize Sukuna’s shoving two fingers deep, scissoring them in and out of your hole. “Hah your cunt is already fucked out, you must love my dick stretching your messy cunt out.”
“You w-wish,” your thighs are held up by Choso for Sukuna’s mean fingers to rock in and out of your cunt with loud squelches, your nails press into Choso’s forearms when he grips your tit, squishing it in his hand and rutting that leaky cock right on you. “Close, close… Sukuna!?”
“You thought,” he yanks his fingers out, smirking at the obscene amount dripping, slipping them right in your mouth. “Suck.”
You bob your mouth up and down his knuckles, cheeks all flushed and your eyes dazed, Sukuna moans at the sight, picturing how well you’d suck his cock, as you slip your tongue between those digits. Choso’s already fingering you again, your cheeks hollowed, eyes rolling back.
“I’ll let you cum baby,” he murmurs, Sukuna scoffs – Choso was always trying to ‘please you’ and this was no different, you’re sucking Sukuna’s fingers as his hand grips under your chin, Choso’s fingers making a mess between your thighs as you clamp down. “Go ahead, cum for me.”
“Mmph!” You’re drooling as Sukuna’s fingers go deeper, damn near choking you with them, orgasm making you squirt all over Choso’s lap, drops smacking against Sukuna’s pants, he groans at the sigh.
“Messy lil slut, look at ya, can’t handle a couple fingers?”
“Fuck off, was cummin’ for Choso,” Choso grins, his fingers easing out of your cunt with a messy pop as she keeps spasming, gushing arousal down onto the couch you’re sitting on. “Cho, come on.”
“Come where baby?”
“My room,” you stand and push past Sukuna, whose cock is so hard you can see it pressing out, he winces and has to adjust it when you’re crooking your finger. “You can watch.”
“Watch!? The fuck?”
You drag Choso – dopey grin on his face and all – giggling as you rush him to your room. “Yep.”
“I’m not just gonna watch you…” You’re stripped down right in front of them in moments, and both the boys have open mouths.
Listen, you’ve been waiting to fuck them, and cucking Sukuna seemed apt enough punishment after the shit he was pulling today. Your tits bounce when you turn to Choso, slipping off his shirt and running your fingertips across his tattooed chest, he snatches you up and kisses you, surprising you by how needy he is, you thought he may be shy.
He’s so not shy when he eagerly steps out of his pants, and you see all that white dripping through his boxers. “I am not watching.”
“You sit right there,” you point to your bright pink gaming chair, a big ass flower cushion and a plushy on it, Sukuna’s red eyes narrow – for a moment he does scare you, but not when he throws your plushy and pillow on the ground. “Hey!”
“Fuck off,” he sits in the chair and it creaks under his heavy weight, crossing his arms now. “Well, put on your little show – you’ll beg me to join.”
“You think so?”
“I know it, want all your holes filled,” his eyes drift down the curves of your body, his cock aching so badly he unzips his pants, watching your fucked out little gaze. “Like what you see?”
Who wouldn’t like that thick, veiny cock with the pierced reddened tip? Drooling white as he strokes it in front of you. Your throat goes dry as you consider if you can give him such a punishment, but you smile all mean.
“Admit you cheat at Mario Kart.”
“I don’t you brat!?”
“Then no,” you press Choso down on the bed, he’s tugging his boxers off, his pretty cock smacking his belly button, pre just dripping against that black strip of hair over his cock. “Oh… You’re so ready, aren’t you Choso?”
“Please,” he’s tugging you on him, giving Sukuna a view of your ass, your cunt gliding along Choso’s cock and dripping all over. “Oh pretty…”
He’s got a piercing too, right on his pretty pink tip, you’re running your slit right along it, hands braced on his chest, Choso's mouth wraps around your nipple, sucking it hard into his mouth. You’re whining out when he plays with the other, holding them both in his hands as you move.
“Your titties are so pretty,” he whispers, one hand slipping down to your waist, god he’s dreamed of you but not like this – gliding your cunt right on him? He could lift you and slam his cock so deep, but he also wants to let you tease him, edge him till he can’t help himself. “F-fuck… you’re so wet…”
“Rub it in,” Sukuna earns your laugh, peeking over your shoulder and arching so he has a look of your hole from the back. “I’d fuck you right in your ass first.”
“You would not!”
“Sure would, Choso can have your cunt..”
“I’ll take any hole,” you giggle again, kissing your roomie, his lips plush underneath yours, your nails press into his shoulders as his tip bumps your needy clit. “Ah! Choso…”
“Do you l-like it baby?” You nod eagerly, he’s sucking your tits again, dragging you down hard, his cock leaking more pre – so much he worries he did cum, but it’s still thickening against you. “Wanna fill you up with all my cum. Eat it out of you.”
“Mnh,” you’re leaning up now, gliding faster, watching Choso lose it, bruising your waist, his cheeks dusted with pink.
“You really gonna do all this for MARIO KART!? You’re such a petty little annoying brat.”
You glare and turn around, reverse cowgirl right on Choso’s cock, he’s whimpering and Sukuna’s stroking his cock, his lips parted as he takes in your body facing him. “You’re petty! And annoying, you never give me privacy!”
“Neither does he!?” Sukuna stands, his cock so heavy it’s just hanging, dripping on the pink fluffy rug.
“You’re making a mess, Kuna, all over my rug.”
His jaw sets, Choso’s fingers are pressing harder as he drags you up and down, gasping out. “Like you didn’t squirt on me!?”
“Can I put it in please?” Choso’s completely ignoring your spat – how can he think when he’s so close to being able to slide his cock inside your cute, soaking wet hole?
“Y-yes,” you let him lift you and grab his cock, wrapping his hand around the base, tip slipping in your hole. “Mnh!”
“Oh my god,” he drags you down in one stroke – deep inside – so much your tummy bulges for Sukuna to see, he groans at the sight, Choso lifting you and that mess of slick glistening. “You’re so f-fucking wet, god you feel so good.”
Sukuna’s gripping your hair and bending down as you ride Choso’s cock, ass bouncing up and down, nails pressing into his thighs to keep balance, he lifts your ass up and groans, fingers dimpling the plump flesh of your ass. “Making a whole show, aren’t you?”
You take your hand and swipe your thumb over Sukuna’s tip, licking it off and watching him lose it, only to rock on Choso’s cock more, feeling him hit your cervix, making you gasp out desperately. “You’re so deep, mnh!”
“Swear to god,” Sukuna’s stroking his cock when Choso sits up and puts you on all fours, slapping his heavy cock against your ass, you moan and arch, face precariously close to Sukuna’s cock. “Come on, fuck… just lemme…”
“You can jerk off near me,” You gasp out, a broken little moan spilling from your lips as Choso slams right back in, heavy balls kissing your clit, your head falling back. “You’re lucky to even get that.”
“Fuckin’ brat,” Choso’s groaning as you grip him with your gummy walls just fluttering, he can’t even focus on anything but the curve of your ass like this, the way his tip is pressing your cervix, how full his balls are.
Your thighs tremble, hands gripping the blanket, looking back at him all pretty as he splits you open on his cock. “Ch-choso… f-feels so…”
You break off talking when he shoves in hard, pinning you to him and rolling those hips – god Choso could fuck, you didn’t think he couldn’t exactly but you sure didn’t expect that. He slams again harder, pushing your face until your mouth is almost brushing Sukuna’s needy tip, just that has the six foot five man whimpering.
“Fuck… slutty lil brat,” you’d scowl or stick your tongue out but Choso’s hitting it too good, stretching you right out to his shape with messy strokes. Your mouth is open with your gasps, every stroke of Sukuna’s hand on his cock making your tummy clench any more.
“Y-you’re gonna admit you cheat,” you whisper, sucking in a breath when Choso grabs your shoulder and fucks in so deep it hurts. “Ah!”
“Stop fighting,” he whines out when you pulse around him, leaning over you and gripping your chin, turning you to him. “Just cum, lemme feel it milk me.”
Oh fuck.
You kiss him and let him rail you, as Sukuna has to watch the girl he’s jerked off to fuck his roomate – all because he just had to make her mad. He wishes it wasn’t so sexy hearing the skin smacking and your messy cunt squishing with every thrust, already about to bust like a pathetic loser.
“I’m s-sorry, fuck,” he mumbles, you pull back and Choso chuckles, slamming against you again, pushing you to arch more. “All right!? Shit you’re mean.”
“You’re s-sorry, really? Mnh!” He moans and grips your hair, jerking right in front of your face as Choso snaps his hips hard.
“Perfect cunt just gripping me, god jus’ like th-that,” he’s pussy drunk off you, he can’t help but be happy he’s inside and not in your bright pink cuck chair, or jerking it like Sukuna.
Not that he wouldn’t enjoy that too, but he’s been fisting his cock to you since the first day you met.
“M’gonna cum,” you whisper now, looking up at Sukuna and moaning, breath tickling the tip of his cock. “You’re sorry?”
“Yes, god just… can I just… cum on your tongue, fuck – I’ll let you win, n-next time just…”
You suppose you’ll take a little pity on him, opening your mouth with your little pink tongue out, letting Sukuna jerk it even closer, strings of puffy cum splattering all over your tongue, your mouth, your chin. It’s fucking filthy having it all over you as your orgasm hits, making you swallow all him up.
“Want me to cum inside your pretty lil hole?” Choso asks, you’re still swallowing Sukuna’s cum when he brushes it on your lips, stroking it so even more oozes from that little slit and decorates your lips.
You nod and arch, your nails now pressing into Sukuna’s thighs, Choso busting deep inside your cunt and all he can get is his tip grazing your damn tongue, he’s so desperate he’s happy for that. He’s groaning as he watches you get filled by Choso’s cum, your fucked out face and your crossed eyes.
“Wanna be inside next,” he mumbles, pulling back and groaning, your nails pressing into the tattoos on his muscled thighs as you tremble.
You’re flooded with Choso’s warmth, coating all your walls as he pulses, thickening even more, tip dragging on your spot over and over, making you both sensitive. “Took all that, so greedy.”
“Mhm,” you whisper, licking Sukuna’s cum off his thumb when he gathers it from your cheek, off your chin, slipping it in your mouth. “You came so much, Choso…”
“What about me you brat!?”
You grin and give him the tiniest kitten flick of your tongue on his tip, watching him jerk from just that. “I’ll maybe forgive you.”
“Maybe? Tch,” Choso pulls out of you with a messy pop, watching all his cum flood out of your hole, pushing it right out and dripping on your blankets.
“Look at all you took,” he plays with the sticky mess, fingering it right back inside and smirking at Sukuna. “I think she likes me more.”
“She does not, she’s just sadistic,” he’d be lying if he didn’t say that turned him on more. He helps you up on your knees, tilting your chin up and kissing his own cum off you, Choso’s kissing up your neck, as you feel him slipping out of you. “Evil little brat. You liked that dildo.”
“Maybe I’ll let you use it on me,” his brows lower as he glares again, Choso snorts against your neck, tugging you closer.
“Use my own dick on you!?”
“Then you can fuck me. If you’re nice.” You turn and straddle Choso again, kissing his mouth, he flicks his tongue and gathers the little bit of Sukuna’s cum off your mouth, moaning.
“Can I at least finger you, or am I still in trouble?” Sukuna pouts kind of cutely, you admit, so you nod, and let him kneel on the bed, fingering Choso’s cum back inside you.
18+ mdni · sukuna hears you queef for the first time.
"What the fuck was that?"
"N-Nothing!" You slammed your hands against your beet-red face. "God, that was nothing!"
"No," Sukuna slaps your hands away, "you just farted down there. How did you do that?"
"Oh, my God!" You scream vehemently. "It was an accident! Forget about it!"
"Do it again," Sukuna lowers himself near your cunt. "Fart."
"Sukuna! Stop! Don't make me laugh, God! Stop it, please!" You swat his head, but since your legs are propped up, he only ricochets to the other side until he settles, once again, at the center. His eyes, amidst all that, never left your pussy.
"Then stop stalling, woman! Do it again! Why are you being so difficult?"
"Because you're being such an idiot right now! And it's not farting! It happened because air got in, and then you suddenly pulled out! That's why! I was basically stretched open."
Sukuna leans his cheek against your knee, contemplating. Then, that damn feral grin shows up. And you know, he's about to do something diabolical. "So you mean to say that if I fuck you and then pull out suddenly, you'd do that?"
"Y-Yes? I mean, I think so? Look, I'm not sure what would or wouldn't, okay? This is a first for me, too."
"Well then," he drags his cock to your entrance and pushes in, "let's find out together. Shall we, dear?"
Satoru gojo, frat president and professional heartbreaker, had finally met his ultimate match. Unfortunately for him, she's a pretty little brat who knows exactly how to drive him insane.
part 1 here!
“Fuck—fuck—”
The word tore out of him rough and broken as you sank down on him again, thighs tight around his hips, hands braced on his chest. Satoru’s head was thrown back against the pillows, white hair a mess, mouth open, the muscles in his stomach jumping every time you moved.
You were in his apartment. His bed. The same place you always ended up when the game finally wore itself out.”
After spending the entire party being a complete brat—ignoring him, flirting just enough to make his jaw tighten, walking away every time he got close—you had, of course, gone home with him. Like always. One look across the room, one tilt of your head, and he had followed without a single word. The door of his apartment had barely closed before his mouth was on yours and your back was against the wall. Clothes had been lost somewhere between the hallway and the bedroom. Now you were on top of him, riding him hard.
Satoru’s hands traced up your sides and back down, fingers digging in as you rolled your hips the way he liked. A desperate sound left his throat.
“You always do the same,” he rasped, eyes half-open, dark and wrecked as they locked on yours. “you act like a damn brat the whole night just to make me suffer and then you drag me straight to bed and bounce on my dick like it’s the only thing you’ve been thinking about since you walked through the door.”
There was no real anger in it. Just that familiar mix of exasperation and something much softer, much more dangerous.
You slowed down on purpose. Lifted almost all the way off him until only the tip was still inside, then sank down again so slowly it made his breath hitch. His hands flexed hard on your hips, trying to pull you back down faster, but you didn’t let him. You kept the pace lazy, watching the way his jaw clenched.
“You’re such a fucking tease,” he groaned, voice rough. “You know that?”
“Poor Toru,” you murmured, almost sweet. “Walking around with a hard-on since I kissed him. He’s sooo sensitive.” You leaned forward, palms flat on his chest, and rolled your hips in a slow circle. The change in angle made both of you suck in a breath. “But I like you better like this,” you added. “All desperate and mine.”
Satoru’s eyes narrowed, but there was no real heat behind it—just that same wrecked, fond frustration. He thrust up hard once, trying to take control, but you lifted your weight just enough to stop him from getting the depth he wanted. He let out a frustrated sound.
“You’re doing it again,” he said, breathless. “Making me work for it. Even now.”
“You love it.”
“I do,” he admitted without hesitation, voice low and rough. “That’s the problem. I fucking love it. Love when you’re a brat. Love when you make me chase you all night just so I can end up here, buried inside you, listening to you moan like that.”
“Then be nice, Satoru,” you said, still riding him, your smirk faltering a little when the thick head of his cock pushed against the right spot. “Or I might start thinking Jace was the better option. He looked like he’d beg for it.”
His eyes flashed. Both of his hands gripped your waist harder and he sat up suddenly, arms wrapping tight around you so your chests pressed together. The new angle made him sink even deeper and both of you moaned. Now he was the one controlling the pace, thrusting up into you in short, sharp movements while holding you flush against him.
“Don’t,” he warned, voice low and rough against your ear. “You don’t get to talk about anyone else when you’re full of me”
You squeezed around him tightly in response and shot his eyes closed with a cursed breath.
“Fuck—do that again—”
“You’re so easy,” you whispered “I clench a little and you’re already shaking. What happened to the big bad frat president, huh? Look at you. Begging beneath me.”
Satoru’s hands slid down to your ass, gripping hard, helping you take him deeper while he kept thrusting up. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, mixed with his ragged breathing and the low, broken noises he couldn’t seem to hold back. One of his hands left your hip to slide up your stomach, over your ribs, until his palm covered your breast. He squeezed, thumb brushing over your nipple, and the way you tightened around him made his hips jerk.
“Shit–” he rasped, eyes locked on where your bodies met. “You’re taking me so fucking well. Bouncing on my cock like you own me.”
“Don’t I?” you asked, breathless.
Satoru’s laugh came out broken. “Yeah. You do. You fucking do.”
“Fuck yeah—Ahh—Such a good boy beneath that whole frat president shit.”
“Keep talking,” he rasped. “I’m still gonna come inside you.”
You laughed, the sound breaking into a moan when he hit a particularly deep spot. “Yeah? You gonna fill me up, Toru? After I spent the whole night making you jealous?”
“Especially after that.” His voice was wrecked. “Especially because of that. You drive me fucking crazy and then you take me like this and I can’t—shit—”
His rhythm turned erratic. You could feel how close he was. You weren’t far behind either—every rough thrust, every desperate grip of his hands, every broken sound he made was pushing you closer.
“I’m close,” you admitted, forehead against his, squeezing around him in short pulses. “Don’t stop—”
“Fuck, baby, just like that—”
His mouth found your collarbone, then higher, biting and sucking marks into your skin like he needed to leave proof that this had happened. That you’d chosen him again. That after everything, you still ended up here, on top of him, taking him apart.
“Want me to fill you up, baby?” he asked, voice strained.
Your answer was another tight squeeze and a broken little moan that made his hips stutter.
“Yeah,” he groaned. “That’s what I thought.”
He held you tighter, fucking up into you harder, chasing the edge with a desperation that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with how much he needed this—needed you. You could feel the tension building in his body, the way his grip turned almost bruising, the way his breath hitched against your neck.
“Come on,” he rasped. “Come with me. I want to feel you—want to feel you clench around me when I—”
His voice broke off into a low, guttural sound as he came, hips jerking up hard, holding you down on him as he spilled inside you. The feeling of it—hot, deep, possessive—pushed you over the edge right after him. You came with a sharp cry, thighs shaking, still rolling your hips through it, milking every last pulse of his orgasm while your own crashed over you.
For a few long seconds neither of you moved. Just breathing hard, bodies still locked together, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist.
Then he lifted his head and kissed you.
It wasn’t soft. It was deep and messy and still a little desperate, like he needed to taste you after everything. You kissed him back the same way, fingers sliding into his ruined white hair, still rolling your hips faintly through the aftershocks. When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing hard. Satoru’s forehead rested against yours, eyes closed for a second.
“…Why are you like this?” he asked quietly. There was no real complaint in it. Just that same helpless, fond exhaustion he’d been carrying for months.
You just smiled against his mouth and kissed him again, slower this time. Some things were easier to kiss away than to say out loud.
The shower was already running when you both stepped under the water.Satoru’s hands were gentler now. He washed your shoulders, your back, the curve of your waist. When he tilted your chin up, he kissed you soft—first on the mouth, then the corner of it, then your forehead, then the tip of your nose. He stayed close, forehead resting against yours for a second, eyes half-closed.
“There’s no one else. You know that, right?” he said quietly, voice almost lost under the sound of the water. “I care about you. Even when you keep pushing me away.”
You didn’t answer. You just let him hold you a little longer under the spray, your heart twisting dangerously in your chest.
You got our first. While Satoru was still in the bathroom brushing his teeth, you were already sitting cross-legged on his bed in one of his t-shirts and the underwear you kept in the bottom drawer of his dresser. You sat cross-legged, slowly brushing through your wet hair, the apartment quiet except for the sound of his electric toothbrush.
His phone was face-up on the nightstand. It vibrated once, and the screen lit up.
You glanced over without really thinking about it.
Unknown number: You look even better when you’re pretending to be a good boy, Satoru. Don’t be too mean to her though, she looks cute lol.
The message stayed there for a few seconds before the screen went dark again.
You didn’t move, but something ugly slid down your spine. In the back of your mind you could still hear his voice from the shower, soft and certain: There’s no one else.
You kept staring at the black screen of the phone, the brush hanging useless in your hand.
The bathroom door opened a moment later. Satoru walked out with a towel around his shoulders, hair still damp, and dropped onto the bed beside you with a quiet sigh. He didn’t notice the phone. Or if he did, he didn’t check it. He just reached for you, pulling you down with him until your back was against his chest and his arm was wrapped securely around your waist. He pressed a soft kiss to the side of your head.
“Goodnight baby” he murmured against your hair.
You didn’t answer, but you didn’t pull away either. You let him hold you, let his warmth settle around you, let his breathing slowly even out against the back of your neck.
You knew who he was. And still, somehow, you had ended up here. Your distance had always been because of that. Your refusal to give any of this a name, too. Ten minutes ago, when he looked at you under the shower and said I care about you, you had almost believed it was time to stop protecting yourself. Almost.
♡ content warnings: fem! reader, established relationship, oral (f reciceving), mentions of therapy, gojo is emotionally avoidant, nsfw.
"Emotionally constipated? Please, I am very open," he says, echoing his earlier defense, "Watch."
Satoru's tendency to not take things seriously or to disregard your advice continued to prove your point. His hands are already pushing your thighs apart, impatiently, and you're still trying to form a coherent response when his mouth descends.
Diving between your thighs, hoping you would forget the fact that you were correct, he knew it too.
The first lick is broad and flat, dragging from your entrance to your clit, and he hums against you. "See?" he murmurs against your folds, breath hot and damp. "I'm sharing. This is emotional vulnerability."
"Satoru, that's not-" Your protest dissolves into a sharp gasp as his tongue circles your clit, pressing just hard enough to make your hips buck.
"Mm, but it is," he counters, pulling back just enough to look up at you, chin already glossy with your slick. His white hair is falling into his eyes, and he looks absolutely feral. "You said I need an outlet. This is my outlet. She's my therapist. Now hush and let me work through my feelings."
He dives back in with renewed enthusiasm, and you're not sure if you should be offended or turned on. Both, probably.
His nose bumps against your clit while his tongue works lower, dipping inside you with a wet, filthy sound that echoes in the quiet room. He groans, and the vibration shoots straight up your spine.
"Fuck, 'Toru-"
"Uh-huh, that's it," he praises, pulling away again to lick a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, messy and deliberate. "Tell me more about my emotional state. I'm listening. I'm very receptive."
One thick digit pressing inside you without warning, curling immediately. Your hands fly to his hair, gripping the snowy strands, and he laughs against your pussy, listening to the noises being made by his fingers. "Oh, she's talkative today," he coos, adding a second finger, stretching you further. "My therapist has a lot to say. I'm hearing her loud and clear."
"This is not what I m-meant," you manage, breathless, hips grinding against his hand.
"Mm, sure," he scoffs, unconcerned, and his tongue finds your clit again, lapping at it in quick, teasing flicks while his fingers pump in and out of you. "But you're the one who suggested I express myself. This is me, expressing. Passionately," he chuckles slightly at his words.
Again proving your point.
“All you do is deflect-” you groaned, he’s licking up every drop of you, chin and cheeks glistening, and when he pulls back to breathe, there's a string of slick connecting his lips to your folds. He wipes it with the back of his hand.
"Quiet," he hushes, tongue thrusting inside you while his thumb circles your clit. Your back arches off the bed, a strangled moan ripping from your throat. "Can't you see I'm speaking with my therapist?" he mumbles against you, the words vibrating through your core.
"I'm opening up. I'm sharing my feelings. My feelings are that I want to be buried in this pussy forever. Very profound. Very emotional. I know."
His thumb presses harder, and your vision goes white. You can feel yourself clenching around his tongue, your orgasm building, and Satoru knows it too because he doubles down, fingers replacing his tongue so he can suck your clit into his mouth.
"Come on, Doc," he murmurs, lips brushing your sensitive bud. "This is valid communication."
You whimper as your orgasm rips through you, and Satoru doesn't slow down, just keeps lapping at you through every pulse and shudder. His fingers are still buried inside you, feeling every contraction, and when you finally go limp, he pulls back with a satisfied hum.
"Excellent session," he announces, licking his lips. "I feel so much better. Cathartic even."
You're still panting, legs trembling, and he's already positioning himself between them, the bulge in his pants impossible to miss.
"But I think we need a follow-up appointment," he continues, tugging at his waistband. "I have some deep-seated issues that require immediate attention."
1. "You want daddy's thick milk inside you again, don't you? Want me to milk these big, heavy tits dry and then fill mommy’s pretty pussy right after?"
2. "Fuck—look at you. Six months pregnant, tits leaking, and still begging for more of my cum. So fucking greedy for it"
3. "Gonna pump you so full it drips down your thighs for the rest of the day. Gonna keep you dripping and swollen and marked as mine."
4. "Feel my cock stretching this pregnant pussy open? You're gonna come on it. You’re gonna milk me with those tight little walls"
5. "You belong to me so completely it's sick. Spread those legs wider, let me see my big-bellied, milk-leaking girl take every single inch of this."
Satoru gojo, frat president and professional heartbreaker, had finally met his ultimate match. Unfortunately for him, she's a pretty little brat who knows exactly how to drive him insane.
Satoru Gojo had built his entire reputation around a handful of carefully maintained things: expensive clothes, parties that never seemed to end, and the firm refusal to let anyone get close enough to matter.
When it came to women, his rules were just as simple—and absolutely non-negotiable. No feelings. No staying the night. Never the same girl twice.
He wasn’t the frat president for nothing. Six-foot-three of pure ego wrapped in white hair and enough cockiness to fill a room. He fucked like it was a competitive sport and treated commitment like the worst kind of inconvenience. Parties bled into mornings, mornings into hangovers, and hangovers into the perfect excuse for another party. Names never stuck. Faces sometimes did—until the next pair of pretty eyes looked up at him.
Then you happened.
You weren’t supposed to matter. You were just the girl who showed up in a tiny black dress, an attitude, and a tongue sharp enough to cut. You called him “pretty boy” to his face in front of half the frat. Then you stole his drink, took one sip, scrunched your nose in disgust, and handed it back like it had personally offended you.
Naturally, he followed you.
When he finally cornered you in the kitchen, he leaned in with the same confident grin that usually got him whatever he wanted and asked if you wanted to get out of there. You looked him up and down—slow enough to leave a bruise on his ego—and said, “Mmm… don’t think so. I’m kind of busy being entertained by people who actually put in some effort.”
For the first time in a long while, Satoru Gojo had absolutely nothing to say.
He spent the next three weeks inventing increasingly pathetic excuses to be wherever you were. Then weeks turned into months, and somewhere along the way, things had gotten… complicated.
You weren’t his girlfriend, though God knew he’d tried. Repeatedly. Every single time, you’d smile, kiss him, and neatly change the subject.
Still, neither of you saw anyone else. You just refused to call whatever this was a relationship.
That was the thing about you.
You were a brat. A world-class, olympic-level, absolute menace of a brat.
Satoru was reminded of that again the moment the front door swung open.
You walked in with that little half-smirk already in place. Your eyes found him almost instantly. You blew him a kiss, winked, and then carried on like he hadn’t been the first thing you’d looked for.
It took less than thirty seconds for some guy to find his way to you.
Jace. Basketball team, if he remembered correctly. A little shorter than him, broad-shouldered, and stupid enough to think your smile actually meant he had a chance. He handed you a drink, said something that made you laugh, and then let his hand hover a little too close to your waist.
That was enough.
He pushed himself off the kitchen island and crossed the room stopping just behind you. From there, his stare settled on Jace with enough intensity to drill a hole straight through his skull. For a brief second, he considered all the ways this could end badly for him. None of them involved words.
Jace’s eyes flicked over just long enough to realize exactly who was standing behind you. His shoulders tensed, his smile faltered, and whatever he’d been about to do died right there.
You turned your head slightly toward Satoru, like you’d been expecting him all along, then fully turned to face him.
“Hi, Satoru~” you said, not even trying to hide the amusement in your voice.
“You walked right past me,” he replied, ignoring the greeting completely.
You took a slow sip of your drink, eyes still on him over the rim of the cup.
“Did I?” You tilted your head innocently. “Oops.”
His eyes dropped briefly to the drink in your hand. Before you could answer, he took the cup from your fingers and handed it off to a passing guest without even looking away from you.
“Don’t play dumb. You saw me the second you walked in. You even blew me a kiss.”
“Force of habit.” You shrugged. “You’re very pretty. Hard not to acknowledge it.”
He stared at you for a second longer. You could almost feel the irritation rolling off him.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” he muttered.
You smiled, slow and sweet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just talking to someone nice. And you scared him. That was rude,” you added with a small pout.
Before he could answer, you leaned in just slightly, voice dropping into something softer and far more dangerous.
“And you know what?” you murmured, voice dripping with fake innocence. “I actually like the respectful type. The quiet ones.”
You hummed thoughtfully. “Like that cute nerd everyone’s convinced is secretly a cam boy.” You sighed dramatically. “Fuck, I’d let him absolutely ruin my—”
His hand shot up, covering your mouth before you could finish the sentence.
“Don’t,” he said, voice low and strained. “Don’t even finish that fucking sentence.”
The music was loud enough that no one could hear you, but half the room could still see the way he was looking at you—like he was two seconds from dragging you upstairs and locking the door.
You just smiled against his palm. Then you licked it.
His eyes narrowed immediately as he pulled his hand away.
“You’re doing this just to torture me.”
“Doing what?”
“Pretending I don’t exist. Saying things you know bother me. Flirting with an idiot.”
Your smile only grew.
“Maybe I’m just keeping my options open.”
“Options.”
“Mhm.”
“You’ve got options?”
You hummed, low and thoughtful, like you were actually considering it. Your finger lazily traced the collar of his shirt.
“You spent years making your way through half the female population on campus,” you said. “Seems a little unfair to complain because one guy got me a drink.”
His hand came up, catching your wrist before you could pull away. His voice dropped, quieter and sharper.
“I don’t care how many options you think you have. You’re still... mine.” the word left his mouth and hung between you.
“Really?”
You stepped closer, close enough that there wasn’t a breath of space left between you.
“Because last time I checked, I wasn’t your girlfriend.”
His expression shifted.
Three months of being exclusive. Actually exclusive. No side pieces. No late-night texts. No one else.
And somehow, you still refused to give him the one thing he wanted. Three months still hadn’t made you soft for him the way he was soft for you.
“And that’s my fault?” His voice dropped, rough around the edges.
“I don’t know.” Your smile turned sharper. “But from where I’m standing, it sounds an awful lot like the frat president doesn’t like getting a taste of his own medicine.”
His hand flexed on yours and his other one found your waist.
“Stop playing”
For once, you didn’t laugh. Your eyes stayed on his, steady and unreadable, and something in his expression shifted. Like he was trying to figure out whether you were about to tease him again or finally give him the answer he’d been waiting for.
Your hand slowly slid down his torso until your fingers curled around the front of his belt. You tugged. Hard. Hard enough to pull him forward and slightly down, forcing him to lean into you. His hips pressed against your stomach. He was already half-hard, and the second your body aligned with his he got harder.
“I’m not playing, Satoru.”
Then you kissed him.
A deliberate, open-mouthed kiss that tasted like challenge and whatever cheap liquor was in your cup. Your tongue slid against his like you were claiming him right there in front of half the house. At the same time your other hand slipped under the hem of his shirt, palm gliding up over the hard ridges of his abs. You stroked them slowly, feeling every muscle jump under your touch.
He made a low, rough sound against your lips. His grip on your waist tightened, almost like he was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear again.
When you finally pulled back, it was only far enough to speak against his mouth.
“Relax,” you whispered. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
Your fingers gave his belt one last tug, then released him. Your hand left his abs with a final, lingering drag of your nails that made his stomach clench.
You stepped back, smiling that same sweet smile, already turning toward the living room like you hadn’t just set him on fire in the middle of the party.
Satoru stood there for a second longer, chest rising and falling too fast, the taste of you still on his tongue, the ghost of your hand still burning against his skin.
That was when he felt it. The weight of someone’s stare.
Across the room, leaning against the far wall with a half-empty cup dangling from her fingers, was a girl he recognized instantly. Long hair. Sharp smile. Last year’s one-night stand — the one who had taken his “never the same girl twice” rule as a personal insult.
She wasn’t just looking. She was watching.
Her eyes moved from your retreating back to Satoru’s face. Then her mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
It was the expression of someone who had just discovered exactly where to press.
She lifted her cup in a small, mocking toast when she caught his gaze.
Satoru held her stare for a second before turning away.
Some girls just took longer to get over it. He was used to that.
But this time, he had the uncomfortable feeling that she wasn’t looking at him because she wanted him back.
anyway... thoughts? would you like to read more of this frat!jo? be nice I'm still figuring him out.
taglist is open!! 12/50
masterlist
REBLOGS ARE SOO APPRECIATED!
divider from pixopix | art credits in this order: 1004_xvn / 3vangel1ne_ / mochikuyo on X
୨୧ — Sukuna loves seeing you so full of him. So pliant. So messy, too. It’s almost primal, he thinks, the way his breath hitches and his hips stutter uncontrollably when he empties into you. A raw, territorial satisfaction settles deep in his gut, a possessive hum resonating in his chest.
He’s marked you, claimed you from the inside out. And the visual? The creamy white evidence of his desire leaking from your fluttering entrance? It’s the most exquisite art he’s ever witnessed, a masterpiece painted by his own body, into yours. He can’t help but trace the puffy rim of your cunt with his fingertip, watching in fascination as he pushes a little of himself back inside, claiming you all over again.
A soft, needy sound escapes your lips, and a dark, satisfied smirk touches his. A soft, needy sound escapes your lips, and a dark, satisfied smirk touches his own, “What’s wrong? is my little wife already feeling empty again?” he murmurs, the low vibration of his voice making you clench around him. “Can’t have that, can we?”
With a deft shift, Sukuna is moving, flipping you onto your stomach with an easy strength that steals your breath. He drags a pillow under your hips, lifting you into the perfect position. He kneels behind you, admiring the view: the arch of your back, the dip of your waist, the way your legs are already falling open for him. A fresh wave of hunger crashing over him.
He spreads you apart with two thumbs, a silent groan rumbling in his throat at the sight. You’re still so wet, so ready. Your hole is swollen from his attention, glistening with your slick and the remnants of his release. He leans down, flattening his tongue to lick a broad, messy stripe from your clit all the way to your entrance, collecting the mixed taste of both of you on his tongue.
“Mmm,” he hums, “still so sweet. Even better now.”
He eats you with a devouring sort of reverence, a man starved. This isn't about foreplay anymore; it's about consumption. He wants to devour every sigh, every tremor, every wave of pleasure that breaks over you. He wants to feel you come apart on his tongue, to taste your release as it floods his senses.
Because he knows, with a certainty that resonates in his very soul, that he will never get enough of this. Never get enough of you.
ZAYNE'S C-U-M AS ICE CREAM/SLUSHIE/SHAVED ICE AND YES IT'S ME COMMANDING YOU TO WRITE A FIC FOR IT
Serve it hot, eat it cold
Is this what you wanted @seraphineash?
After three months is finally here!
CW: Cum eating / semen ingestion. Food play (cum as shaved ice). Temperature play (cold / freezing cum). Oral sex🔞MDNI🔞
“Open”
You parted your lips.
He fed you the first spoonful. The cold hit your tongue first then the familiar salt-sweet thickness of him melted across it. It wasn't watery or thin. It was dense enough that it coated, clung, and slowly softened into something warmer as it mixed with your saliva. You made a small sound and he watched your throat work as you swallowed.
He took the next one, right off the same spoon, eyes never leaving yours. Then he set the bowl down on the kitchen counter, stepped in close and pushed your thighs wider.
“Stay still.”
He scooped a second portion—this one looser, more like a soft slush—and let it drip from the spoon onto the inside of your thigh. The cold made you jolt and he followed it immediately with his mouth, licking the melting trail upward until he reached the crease of your hip. Another spoonful landed higher, closer to where you were already wet. He spread it with two fingers, then pushed those fingers into you until it ran down his knuckles.
You were panting by the time he lifted the bowl again. This time he didn’t use the spoon. He scooped the frozen cum with his fingers and held it to your mouth.
“Eat.”
You closed your lips around his fingers and sucked. The texture was perfect, shaved ice crystals that melted into heavy cream on your tongue. He pushed deeper, letting you clean every bit, then pulled free and painted a stripe of the remaining cold mess across your lower lip. You licked it off while he watched.
He fed you slowly and between bites he kissed you, sharing the cold and the slow melt of his own cum between your mouths.
When the bowl was half empty he lifted you off the counter, carried you to the living room couch and laid you down. He scooped a handful of the soft serve texture and pushed it between your legs, packing it against your cunt like he was frosting a cake. The cold made you cry out. He held it there with the flat of his hand while it slowly softened, then pushed two fingers through the melting cream and into you, fucking the cold mess deeper until it ran down onto the cushions.
He lowered his head and ate it out of you—his own cum, half melted, mixed with how wet you’d gotten. You came with his tongue still working through the last of it, thighs locked around his head.
After that he stayed between your legs and looked up at you with that quiet, satisfied expression he only ever wore when he’d gotten exactly what he wanted.
“Next time,I’ll freeze a larger batch. You can have it as a full dessert.”
I'm not tagging people from my perm tag list cause I don't know if you're into this.🤭
content: a story in which suguru is sick and fucking tired of you and satoru pretending like you're not disgustingly in love with each other, and offers to help you make him jealous after a messy fight | wc: 8.1k
(post-grad au, fwb to lovers, mutual pinning, fluff, smut, light angst, the final boss of miscommunication tropes, both parties are lw toxic, jealous!gojo, messy!suguru)
notes: quick s/o to @ayeputita for commissioning this fun little story, thank you so much for your patience 🙂↕️❤️
now playing: mac miller - god is fair, sexy nasty
First it was finals, then graduation, and then navigating the beginning of your careers. It’s been over two years and multiple milestones, and you still have yet to officially put a label on your relationship with Satoru Gojo.
It was simple at first. Uncomplicated. You’d show up to his apartment, blow off some steam via getting your brains fucked out, and maybe stay a while afterwards for some takeout.
Now you have your own toothbrush in his bathroom and a small section in his closet dedicated to your clothes because you stay at his apartment multiple nights in a row. Just last week you had to explain to your coworker that he wasn’t your boyfriend. The week before that, you overheard him refer to you as his friend while on the phone with his father.
You’re not exactly complaining about it, you’re just as busy as he is. Though you can’t help but feel like the topic of commitment has only gotten more awkward whenever it threatens to slip its way into conversations. You both shut it down and move on to something else whenever it creeps up, but deep down you knew it was only a matter of time until it blew up in your face.
It started with random disagreements. Ones that you usually would've brushed off, but all of a sudden couldn’t. They were small, like what-show-should-we-watch-tonight small. They still ended with you going back home for the night. Each time, you brought back more of your belongings. Then it became a habit, and you started taking things home on normal days.
Satoru never saw you sneaking your things out, but he watched as that corner in his closet grew smaller and smaller, until it had more hangers than clothes to hold—becoming nothing but a reminder of all the space you once took up. And yet instead of asking why, he did what he always did and just lived with it.
Which didn’t work out very well for him. Later that week, Satoru decided to punch some guy in the face for getting too close to you at a party.
It wasn’t immediate, of course. He gave it an hour before he proceeded to antagonize the man until he had a better reason to punch him in the face, because being a jealous loser wasn’t one of them. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he was already in a mood, given how you turned down going to the event with him. It had already been days since you heard from him when he asked—of course you were going to say no.
Never in your life had you been that embarrassed to be associated with anyone. Embarrassed and disappointed—mostly with yourself. It left you with some hope during a time you questioned whether or not to cut ties with him. It was hard not to, you had hardly seen or spoken to him the weeks leading up to it. He had you convinced he didn’t see a future with you, let alone want one. As problematic as it may sound, his sudden burst of jealousy revived the love you’ve unfortunately grown to have for him. It was inevitable. Satoru has always had the ability to captivate just about anyone he spoke to. One could only imagine how easy it is to fall for someone like him. And for someone as stubborn as you, it was just about impossible not to once he started showing you the sides he usually kept hidden from the world.
So after a week of giving him the silent treatment, and receiving multiple flowers and an ‘accidental’ dick pic in return, you found yourself back in his arms, horny and slightly confused once again.
. . .
There were certain things Satoru won’t talk about with anyone, not even with his best friend.
One of those things was you.
It was rare whenever he did. Suguru had quickly learned not to circle back to it in the future because Satoru would either play dumb or genuinely not know what the hell he was talking about, because he was drunk when he called and rambled about you for an entire hour at the time.
Suguru can’t lie, though—he tries to pry as much information out of him as he can whenever he does get a drunken phone call. He’s nosey, okay? He’s come to accept that part of him a long time ago.
It’s not like he fishes for anything bad. It was always so he could get a better idea of Satoru’s headspace when it came to you.
At first he thought you were just a placeholder in his life until someone better came along. But then you all graduated, and Satoru continued to see you. Then he thought maybe he just felt like he didn’t have the time or energy to hold a serious relationship, and that you two clearly had some good bed chem going on—might as well keep it up.
Then it clicked a year later, when he randomly dropped by his apartment on a Sunday morning, and finally got to see what you two were like together, since Satoru never bothered to mix you in with his friend group, and neither did you with him.
Actually, no. He got to see what he was like with you. You barely spoke that morning, because you were violently hungover.
Satoru was in perfect shape compared to you, which made it clear he decided to play the role of a caring boyfriend and picked you up from wherever you were, then brought you back home. You were surprisingly clean that morning—Suguru wouldn’t have been surprised if his best friend bathed you before putting you in a pair of his pajamas.
Then he saw multiple soup containers on his counters, along with multiple kinds of over the counter medicine that mighthave helped you and an entire case of some fancy hydration solution that he most likely asked his parents to send him the night before, since they were rich and had access to everything.
And Satoru has always tried to hide how much he cared, always tried to hide how much he wanted to help you. But the moment he heard you running to the bathroom, he rushed over and held your hair back as you puked out whatever soup he bought you. Suguru even heard him apologizing for it and promising he’d never buy that shit again, as if it were the restaurant's fault you got sick, not because you overdid it the night before.
…You weren't a placeholder, and Satoru was fucking pathetic for not straight up declaring his feelings for you.
He still is!
It’s an entire year later and Suguru’s just as, if not more, confused. The last drunken rant he was forced to listen to was about how you were slowly packing up your things and planning on leaving him. You two weren’t even official, but now you’re leaving him? Not just breaking up with him, leaving him.
And why do you have an entire section full of clothes in his closet?
He’s always made an effort not to pry because he’ll eventually get it out of him, but the suspense was killing him this time around.
“Sooo…” He tried to act casual about it, but Satoru immediately looked at him with a smidge of suspicion. “How’s everything been?”
Satoru didn’t answer that question right away, as he struggled to hide how stupid he thought it was to ask, given how much they already talked. Suguru’s supposed to be the mysterious one here—it was fucking weird. “Good, I guess,” he shrugs.
“Nice, nice…” his lips thin to a smile. “You been talking to anyone new lately?”
Satoru huffs out a laugh. “Why would I do that?”
“Oh, so you’re still seeing—“
“Yeah.” He says it like it’s obvious, which naturally annoys his friend because it’s fucking not.
But Suguru continues to prod. “How’s she been?”
“Good…” he answers cautiously, before doing a complete 180. “You didn’t hear anything about her, did you?”
He sounded suspicious, maybe even a little worried. Suguru’s left to draw his own conclusions and is convinced that his friend still thinks you’re leaving him. “No,” he chirps out. “Just curious, that's all.”
“Yeah, she’s alright,” he says more confidently. “The usual, I guess.”
You act like you can’t change that, the thought stays in Suguru’s head. It’s not like you’re any better. He’s gotten to know you just enough in the last year to know you’re just as hopeless as he is. You’re just as willing of a participant in the friendzone you two have continued to stay stuck in.
“Well, if it works, it works.” Suguru gives a smile as he shrugs.
“Mhm.” Satoru smiles back, though his look’s a little more pained… and forced.
It works.
…Enough.
You shut down the last attempt he made to move forward with you, though—so it’s a little fucking hard to pretend like he’s happy with how “it’s” working. Probably harder than usual, since he ended up trying to fight some random guy at the party after being told you’d meet him there. It was small, probably didn’t mean that much either, but it was still something that would’ve kept him tethered to you since neither of you would’ve been able to leave without the other.
He considers himself lucky you even decided to come over again after that day. You were pissed enough to leave your read receipts on so he knew you were ignoring him.
It’s a surprise you came around as quickly as you did. Granted, there was some emotional disconnect in those last two months—one week of actual distance seemed to finally make your heart grow fonder.
He just didn’t think it’d grow that fond.
Fuck.
It’s like you’ve been trying to get him pregnant these last three weeks.
There’s begging. There’s talking someone through it. Then there’s whatever you started whispering in his ear the other day that made him cum so hard he started seeing colors that he never knew existed.
And he knows you two really should’ve had a more serious talk by now—probably multiple—but he figured this was a good enough excuse to put it off for a moment. It’s not even about the sex anymore—it’s about how close you’ve been. Half the time you’re pressed up against his chest, holding his jaw, making out with him, biting his lip, kissing his neck, whispering in his ear, asking questions like, did you miss being inside of me?
Yes.
Are you gonna cum again?
Fuck yes.
Then you kiss him again, as if it were a reward.
He had no idea how long it would last, and just decided to savor every last moment of it.
. . .
It’s been four days since you last saw Satoru, and he’s been pestering you to come over throughout the entirety of it.
You really haven’t had the time to do anything for yourself, let alone drive to the other side of the city to see him. The company you work for is in shambles right now thanks to multiple people quitting all at once, and you regret not joining them. You’re tired, overworked, and honestly considering paying someone to knock you out so you can finally get a good night's sleep.
Your phone rings as you step out of the elevator. Instead of fishing through your purse to answer it, you let out a small groan and keep walking.
Satoru can wait.
People usually look forward to arriving back home from work. That was not the case for you. It’s 8:13 PM, and the state of your apartment fills you with nothing but dread. It’s only been 4 days since you cleaned because you’ve barely even been here—it shouldn’t look this bad.
Your phone rings again, and you wish Satoru knew how shitty of a day you were having so he’d feel bad for calling. There’s an obvious struggle to find it as the shuffling in your bag continued, and just your luck, you missed another call.
You didn’t even want to call anyone back right now, but you really didn’t want to hear it ring one more time either. So you force yourself to return the call, all while hoping he wouldn’t keep you on the phone for too long.
“Hey.” He answers after one ring, and you’re already annoyed by the absence of stress in his tone.
“What?” you ask almost defeatedly.
There’s a pause before he reluctantly responds, “You busy tonight?”
You prepare to let out a sigh, but end up feeling bad for even considering it since he’s just trying to talk to you. Looking over your dirty kitchen while answering was not a good idea—your voice slightly cracks. “Nope.”
“You should come over then,” he's oblivious at first, taking a minute to realize how you responded. “I can order takeout and… are you alright?”
“…yeah,” you squeak out.
He pauses, then drops the friendly tone. “No, you’re not. What’s wrong?”
“I’m exhausted,” you sniffle, and then your voice begins to tremble. “I’ve been staying at work late because a bunch of people quit and my place is a fucking mess.” You snap a little at the end, staring at a giant pile of dishes. “Fuck! I forgot to go to the grocery store today, too.”
“Have you eaten?”
“No.”
You hear a soft groan as he gets up from wherever he’s sitting, along with the light jingle of his keys. “I’ll bring you something.”
“Really?” you ask, sounding so hopeful you could actually cry.
“Yes, really.” He suppresses a laugh. “Don’t start cleaning, either. Just go sit down or something.”
“Okay.” You weren’t gonna argue with that—you did not want to do those dishes. “Thank you.”
“Mhm. See you soon.”
Forty minutes later, you were in the middle of eating the dinner plate he picked up from a local Hawaiian place, drowning out the sound of dishes being washed while you watched the show you put on.
You’re usually a better host than this, but you let yourself be a little selfish this time and didn’t try to stop him from cleaning anything else. You didn’t even look at him, honestly. He’s a man—he’s fine. Though you were a little surprised seeing how fast he got everything cleaned and picked up.
There was a proud little look on his face once he plopped down on the couch beside you, and you tried not to laugh.
“Feelin’ any better?”
“Yeah,” you hum. “Thanks for dinner… and doing my chores.”
“You’re welcome,” he warmly says.
“Do you want the rest of my food?”
“No, it’s okay,” he murmurs, waving a hand. “I have some stuff I can eat at home.”
You give him a little glance. “You’re going home?”
“Yeah.” His lips twitch, fighting back a smile. “Just came to drop off food and clean.”
“How sweet.” You still don’t look like you believe him. “I have some of your clothes here if you want to spend the night.”
“I can. I kinda figured you’d want your rest, though.”
You shrug. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. I’ll be sleeping in either way.”
He leans in a little closer until he’s face to face with you. “You sure?”
You nod. “Mhm.”
“Alright.” He smiles, then closes the distance between you with a soft kiss, taking his time before pulling back to look over the space with a sly look on his face. He’s been here enough to be familiar enough with the place, but it’s usually you who comes to him.
“What?” you finally ask, though you already have an idea of what’s going through his head.
“You know,” he murmurs, eyes trailing back to you. “I don’t think we’ve ever used this couch before.”
“What are you talking about?” You fight back a smile. “We’re using it right now.”
“You know what I’m talking about,” he grins, settling a hand on your hips, squeezing it as he kisses you again, deeper this time. “Don’t get smart with me.”
“M’not,” you softly laugh. “I just don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”
Right,” he hums.
Riling him up isn’t usually this easy, but you figure your absence for the last four days had left him frustrated enough to strip you of all your clothes and have you on your back in what felt like less than a minute.
He didn’t even give you a moment to process it—just slotted himself in between your thighs and started dragging his tongue through your folds to shut you up. He had your knees pinned to your chest, squirming under his grip as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. And just as you thought you’d reach the moment of sweet release—
“Fuck—what are you—no, no, no wait keep going!”
Satoru pulls away, head still between your thighs as he gives you a puzzled look, blatantly ignoring the spot you needed him the most. “What are you talking about?”
“I was gonna—“
“Cum?” he says it for you like it was some random guess.
“Yes!” you whine out, frustration bubbling as the air begins to cool the mixture of spit and slick his tongue left behind.
He hums, taking a moment to think about it since the distraught look on your face wasn’t enough. “Yeah… no. I don’t think you know what you’re talking about, baby.”
“Are you serious right now?!”
He slaps your clit with one swift motion, earning himself a gasp that settles into a look of absolute disbelief on your face. “What?” he coos, circling his thumb over the spot he just struck, just barely giving you any relief. “Not so innocent now, huh?”
“I was messing with you!”
“And now I’m messing with you,” he muses, satisfied with himself. “Acting like you haven’t been waiting for dick this entire time.” You don’t respond to that. He grins. “Yeah,” he pulls away entirely, taking his shirt off and throwing it in with the pile of clothes he stripped off you earlier. He begins to unbuckle his belt, “probably what you were thinking about the whole time after putting me to work.”
The last to come off are his boxers, cock slapping hard against his torso before gesturing for you to get up with the curl of his finger. “C’mere, it’s my turn to put you to work now.”
You were more than eager to do so while he sat back, gripping your hips firmly as you bounced up and down every last inch of his cock. “Yeahh, that’s it baby—show me how much you missed my cock.”
It was clear how much you missed it with the way he didn’t even need to help you, practically treating him like some toy as you threw your hips back, all of his favorite sounds spilling from your lips each time he hit that sweet spot inside of you.
“Can’t believe you tried to leave earlier,” you say through a soft moan.
He huffs out a laugh, “I was tryna be nice, thought you were too tired.”
“God, no,” you hum in disagreement, and there’s nothing but amusement in his eyes as you complain. “I needed this so bad, work was so awful this week.”
“You poor thing.” He tries not to smile as he grinds you down against him, pulling another moan out of you. “Let me see it then.”
Even when he wasn’t the one taking charge, he was so fucking hot—marveling over your body and the thick creamy ring forming around his base through a pair of heavy lidded eyes, groans rumbling through his chest in between each praise.
“God, you’re so fuckin’ good at this—fuck, that’s it, keep going,” he rasps, fingers digging into your hips until he finally gives in to the urge to push you down, the sounds of skin on skin growing louder as he grew lost in it all.
There was no helping it, your skin was too soft and your pussy squeezed around him just right. Even as your legs began to tremble, you took every inch like you were fucking grateful for it, and once again, without fail, he thought of how he’d never get tired of you. He’d gladly spend the rest of his life listening to all the sweet sounds you make.
His hands snake up your back and pull you in, pressing you against his chest as he starts fucking you back. It’s nothing short of intoxicating once you start kissing him just how he likes. Slowly, yet desperately—starting at that sensitive spot just under his ear that practically brings him to his knees with how weak it makes him.
“Fuuuck,” he shudders, unable to stop the drawn out groan that sends your stomach fluttering.
You keep going, making him slowly lose his mind until he’s grabbing the back of your head and crashing his lips into yours, swallowing all the moans his heavy cock drags out of you.
“Harder,” you pant against him. “Make me cum.”
Without another word, he leans further back into the couch and plants his feet on the ground, then starts drilling into you. The rooms filled with the obscene sounds of him pounding into you before you’re even able to fully process it, and just barely steady yourself before your nails start digging into his chest from the way he works an orgasm out of you as if it were a debt that was owed to him.
You start babbling something about it being too much, only for Satoru to crack his palm over your ass because he disagreed. And there was no convincing him otherwise—the moment he opened his mouth was the moment you realized he was gone.
“So fuckin’ tight—fuuck,” he groans, pushing you down and making you meet every single one of his thrusts. “Just take it, baby. You’re almost there, just keep squeezing me like that. Yeahh, just like that.”
He doesn’t let up, driving himself right into that sweet little spot inside of you, making the pressure build up fast. “Oh my g-god,” you helplessly let out a sob. “I’m gonna—”
“Me too, baby,” he rasps, thrusts growing sloppier and sloppier. “Me fuckin’ too.”
Then after one particularly rough thrust, you're in full blown tears from the orgasm that completely rips through you, with no chance of catching your breath because Satoru started chasing after his own sweet release shortly after, driving you way past the point of overstimulation.
Your memory of the night grew hazy from that point, vision blurring as the week quickly caught up to you, holding on to nothing but the sound of his voice as he started pumping you full of his warm cum while chanting your name over and over again.
...and thankfully missing the pathetic “I love you” that slipped out of him right at the very end.
The morning started slow. Satoru woke up for a moment around 9:00 am, saw that you were facing away from him, flipped you over so you’d lay on his chest, and threw your leg over him. You were in the same spot the next time he woke up, just with your face tucked into the crook of his neck—short, soft breaths grazing over his skin. He knew you’d be waking up soon and waited until you finally stirred to greet you with his palm rubbing over your back.
There’s a small stretch of time between the few sighs you let out, just barely fighting to wake up. It wasn’t until you had your first sip of coffee with him in your kitchen that you finally did.
The air between you was casual at first as you talked about nothing in particular. He was just easy to talk to, so conversations always flowed. It wasn’t until your phone buzzed against the counter when the air suddenly grew stagnant, and you quickly guessed why when you saw who texted you—your coworker. Male coworker.
The text was friendly. All he did was wish you a good weekend after seeing how hard you worked that week—which you explained to Satoru, whose response was a thousand times worse than his initial reaction.
“You’re trying to explain yourself like we’re in a relationship or something,” he huffs out a bitter laugh. “I’m not your fuckin’ boyfriend. I don’t care.”
Your expression falls flat, because it’s either that or show how hurt you were because he had you convinced he actually did.
“What are you being so rude for?” you ask, genuinely.
He shrugs. “I’m not—it’s the truth.”
“I know that, but I never even said you were to begin with.”
“Don’t need to when you’re already acting like it,” he says, and you just continue to look at him with a blank expression.
If his goal was to make you feel fucking pathetic, he succeeded with how cold he said it, how dismissive he was being. There’s not one defensive bone in your body right now, and yet he’s treating you like there is.
He’s barely even acknowledging you right now, casually scrolling through his phone as if his personality didn’t just do a complete 180.
“I’m done.” It wasn’t what you wanted, but it had to be done—which was why you didn’t hesitate to say it. “Get out.”
It was so sudden and casual that it threw him off. Still, he laughed. “Seriously?”
You let out a sigh, along with a subtle smile that makes Satoru think you’re not actually kicking him out, but then you start walking up to the door.
And then you open it.
“I am.” You start gesturing toward the hallway, and it still didn’t click for him as he continued to stare at you. “You’re doing nothing but taking up space right now. Get up, grab your keys, and leave.”
“Whatever,” he scoffs, trying to hide his freshly bruised ego as he got up. Yet it showed with the lack of certainty in his usual stride—he was more than aware of his unwanted presence.
You put on a brave face, despite feeling your stomach slowly sink. But it was better to settle in with the reality you chose now, rather than being struck by it later on.
He lets out a deep sigh as he steps out into the hall, then stops to look at you. “So that’s it? You’re just gonna cut me off because I said something that we both knew?”
“Do you hear yourself right now?” You don’t know why you even asked—of course he does. He just never thinks he’s wrong. “This isn’t a relationship, remember? There is no commitment—I could cut you off for getting a bad haircut, and that’d be fine because I don’t owe you anything. You were being a fucking asshole. What did you think was gonna happen? That we talk it out and overcome it?”
At first his eyes grow distant. Then he barks out a laugh, impressed by how you managed to piss him the fuck off with that one. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t think you’d get triggered by something that dumb, either. But if you wanna be sensitive and cry every time you hear some shit that you don’t like, fine—have a nice fuckin’ life,” he starts walking away, knowing he’ll just say something rude if he stays any longer. “Good luck finding someone that’ll fuck you half as good as I do.”
Whoops.
“Thanks. I’ll send you a tape if I do.”
“Fucking try that and see what happens,” he suddenly snaps.
And just as he’s about to walk back up to you to keep going, your door slams shut.
. . .
Between your photo trail evidence of going out multiple times a week and Satoru training at the gym as if he were going up against god himself, it was safe for Suguru to assume that things ended between you two.
Horribly, might he add, since Satoru doesn’t even want to find a rebound. He literally just drowns himself in work and then tortures himself at the gym after. Suguru tried talking to him about it in between sets.
“Hey, has everything been alright?”
“Everything’s been fuckin’ great.”
Then he brought you up.
“Never heard that name in my life.”
Satoru proceeded to add extra weight plates to the barbell right after, and Suguru didn’t ask any further for his friend's own safety.
It’s been three weeks.
He’s not saying he needs to get over it. Satoru can take however long he needs. It’s just time to start being honest about it, instead of making him pretend like everything he’s been doing has been normal. Feels like he’s being gaslit at this point.
Lucky for him, the torture of not knowing what happened between you two didn’t last too long when he spotted you at the coffee shop just a few days later. Minding his own business was completely out of the question—he didn’t hesitate to approach you once he grabbed his order from the counter.
“Oh, hey! How’ve you been?”
It took you a second to process who had just approached you, but once you did, there was no missing the brief moment of disdain in your eyes from running into your ex-something’s best friend in public. Not that he gave a shit. Your problems were with Satoru, not him. Which was why he continued to give you that warm smile of his in your eyes
“Hey,” you force out a smile. “Good! Yeah, I’ve been… great,” you say, and it doesn't sound very convincing.
It sparks some amusement in Suguru. “Mind if I join you?”
“Yeah, sure,” you gesture at the seat across from you, and he can’t help but think you are so much nicer than your ex-fuck buddy right now.
He takes a seat, then rips the band-aid off like it was nothing. “How’ve you been holding up after everything?”
Your smile falters, the thoughts of what Satoru could’ve possibly said about you running through your mind. “I’ve been alright. It’s not like we were anything serious, anyway.”
“Right,” he pretends to agree, though his tone says otherwise, managing to crank your nerves up a notch.
“Did he—” You hesitate for a second. “Can I ask what he said to you?”
“Nothing,” he looks disappointed with the answer himself. “Granted, he never said much to begin with. But yeah, no, he hasn’t said anything.”
You nod, looking disappointed as well, just for different reasons. “Of course he hasn’t.”
He swishes his coffee inside the cup, trying to gauge what kind of mood you’re in. “Can I ask what happened?”
You were half-expecting the question—he’s always seemed like the gossipy type. The story itself isn’t that bad. You weren’t planning on talking shit about Satoru either, in the case that his friend does relay the message back to him, but it wasn’t considered talking shit if you were telling the truth.
So you tell him, starting with how normal of a morning it was.
You knew you weren’t wrong, but watching his reactions as the story progressed healed something in you. He was dumbfounded by the end of it.
“I can’t believe he said that to you.”
“Yep.”
“No, seriously. I don’t know why he’d say that to you.”
You scoff. “Because he's an ass?”
Shit. You weren’t supposed to say anything bad about him. With Suguru’s reaction, though, you doubt he’ll mention anything.
He shrugs. “I mean… yeah,” Satoru being a bit of an asshole was an obvious truth, but that was seemingly beside the point, “but he really cared about you.”
You stare at him blankly. “I thought he never said that much to begin with.”
“He’s weird with certain things.” He shrugs again, this time out of reluctance. He’d rather not share the drunk, pathetic rants for Satoru’s sake. “But if you think about it, he’s never complained about you or shared any of your business. Never got tired of you, either.”
“What a positive outlook,” you murmur, leaning your head against the palm of your hand, glancing over the busy street.
“Okay, fine—he may have shared how you were starting to bring your stuff back home, and he sounded pretty worried,” Suguru quickly admits, as if he weren’t dying to mention it.
You glance back at him. “He did?”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “Now he spends his days exhausting himself. Trust me, he cares. A lot.”
You all but hum, then take a sip of your coffee.
“Do you care?” he asks.
“Yeah.” You wince a little, having to admit it. “But not enough to give him the opportunity to say all that stuff to me again.”
“I get it.” He respects it, too. He doesn’t think you’re completely in the right, though. You had the same amount of time that Satoru did to fess up. “Honestly, I just think he needs a little push.”
He has your full attention now.
“Like what?”
He smiles once more, and you quickly realize that he is not the wholesome man he pretends to be with the plan he proposed.
. . .
The music continues to pound against Satoru’s chest, as it has for the last thirty minutes. Not once in all the time he’s been in this club has he not regretted accepting Suguru’s invitation to a boys' night out. Usually he’d be drunk right now, having the time of his life with some girl hanging on him, dragging him to the dance floor.
That “some girl” being you.
Instead, he’s sitting at the bar, tipsy and bored. Some girl came up to him, asking if he wanted to dance. He pretended not to hear her, making her storm off after her third attempt at trying to get his attention. Sure, it was rude, but he can’t find it in himself to sympathize with her right now. Or anyone else for that matter.
Luckily, Mr. Designated Driver’s here, so he had someone to be boring with, and for once Kento doesn’t seem annoyed by his presence. Not that he’d care if he was. If he were in the mood to have fun at the moment, he would’ve rage-baited the blonde by now.
Kento even laughs for once, a rare sight.
Satoru’s lips twitch into a smile as he looks up from his drink. “What are you laughing about?”
“Take a look at who Suguru’s dancing with,” the man says, nodding towards the dance floor, feeling messier than usual despite sticking to a mocktail for the night.
Satoru turns, and the moment his eyes find Suguru, he deadpans. “What the fuck?”
It’s you.
Suguru’s dancing with you, and you look like you’re enjoying yourself with the way he’s holding your hips and whispering in your fucking ear.
The genuine shock in his tone and the way he grips his drink nearly makes Kento burst out into laughter. The only thing keeping him from doing so was the fact that Satoru actually looked like he was ready to blow a fucking gasket. Though his attempt to keep to himself doesn’t do much, because Gojo starts yelling at him like it’s his fault.
“Are they fucking talking?!”
Kento’s face suddenly scrunches up in annoyance. “How would I know?”
“Maybe ‘cause you’re smiling like you do!” He suddenly accuses him, making the blonde hold his hands out in defense. “Has he been fucking her behind my back?!”
“I don’t know?!” Kento yells back at him, “I didn’t even know you two broke up!”
“We didn’t—weren’t dating in the first place!”
“Then what’s the problem with them seeing each other?” the blonde counters.
“Because it’s fucked up,” Satoru immediately responds, and while Kento can agree with that, he can’t help but share the same sentiment as Suguru—he had two years to make things official with you. “You know what? Fuck you.”
“Me?” Kento points at himself with a scoff. “What the fuck did I do?!”
“What didn’t you fucking do?” Satoru mutters bitterly before downing the rest of his drink in one go. It was the only thing he could come up with, knowing deep down he really didn’t do anything wrong. He was just pissed off and taking it out on him.
Kento doesn’t even get the chance to respond to the comment—Satoru was already getting up from his seat the moment his glass hit the counter. His stomach slightly churns as the possibility of Satoru making a scene pops up in his head, but it eventually settles as he watches the man make his way to the bathroom instead.
It takes everything in Satoru not to push past all the sweaty people in his way, reminding himself to calm down the entire time. He finally gets to the bathroom, realizes there’s surprisingly no one else in there, and takes the chance to lock the door. Then he plants his hands down on the side of the worn down sink and takes a good look at himself.
He tells himself lots of things.
Relax.
It’s not that serious.
You were just someone he fucked, it only went on for as long as it did because it was convenient—because it was easy.
He tells himself it doesn’t matter if Suguru had you, because he had you first. They don’t call it sloppy seconds for no reason, and if Suguru wants to fucking settle for that, then he can be his guest.
The bathroom door begins to pound, there’s someone yelling on the other side, but Satoru ignores it.
God. Why the fuck are you dancing with Suguru? Have you been eyeing him the entire time you were together?
The door pounds again.
He continues to spiral as he goes through almost all the stages of grief. He doesn’t get to the acceptance part though, partially because of the banging on the door that ends up annoying him. After taking one last deep breath, he straightens back up at full height, walks over to the door, and is met with some greasy drunkard when he opens it.
“What the hell?! There are multiple stalls." The stranger immediately chastises him, and Satoru has absolutely no interest in defending himself at the moment.
“I’m deaf,” he says in all seriousness, and there’s instant regret on the man’s face as he begins to apologize, but Satoru just walks past him and makes his way down the hall, returning to the sea of sweaty people.
By the time the stranger realized he was lying, he was long gone—off to find you.
You thought it was a horrible idea at first, but Suguru was a persuasive man. You definitely needed a drink or two though to get comfy with him and the plan you two agreed on, which was to make Satoru jealous.
It was petty, but there also wasn’t much to lose at this point. If he reacts, great. If he doesn’t, it’s not like anything changed. Either way, you weren’t going to be the first to break the silence between you.
You were starting to think the plan was a complete failure, though. One moment you get a glimpse of Satoru sitting at the bar, then Suguru turns you around to fully face his direction, and he’s gone.
As time went on, you forced yourself to let it go, telling yourself that he had left and all there was left to do was enjoy yourself. You’d never date Suguru, nor are you likely to sleep with him, but he sure was fun to dance with and talk to. So you let him hold your hips as you swayed to the music and allowed yourself to laugh at his jokes. You’ve moped around enough for a man that didn’t care, and decided to let go and enjoy yourself under all the flashing neon lights.
The big hands at your hips begin to turn your around, there’s a smile on your face as you follow, only for it to be wiped away with complete and utter confusion when you realize the man you’d be dancing with was not Suguru, despite being the same exact height and wearing the same annoying man bun.
“Hey,” he smiles, and the tone of his voice carries the same smoothness as Suguru’s does. “Been wondering when you’d notice me—names Zuko, by the way.”
You wanted to scream. When did Suguru get switched out with him?! That fucking asshole. Why would he just leave you like this?
Then, as if it couldn’t get any worse, you see a familiar head of stark white hair from the corner of your eye, and he sounds so incredibly pathetic as he yells, “What the fuck is your problem?” but you also can’t help but find some comfort in it. At least he’s here to save you from this awkward moment, even if it was just to argue with you.
Zuko wasn’t such a bad guy, though. He tries to pull you aside once he notices an angry man headed straight towards you—not that it makes it any better that Suguru straight up abandoned you after coming up with the plan.
“Oh, fuck off,” Satoru swats the man’s hand away from you, and then he starts lying through his teeth. “We have a baby at home and she’s been gone for three fucking days.”
“Oh shit.” Zuko immediately backs off, but not without looking at you as if you were a deadbeat mother. “Sorry about that.”
And while he’s a stranger, it still hurts being misjudged like that.
“No, we don’t?!”
“Megumi’s gonna hear about this one day and fucking hate you for it,” Satoru yells loud enough for those around you to hear. “You’re not even done breastfeeding yet and you’re going out and grinding on random men?”
“Satoru!” you yelp out and attempt to cover his mouth because everyone around you seems to believe him, only for him to grab your wrist and begin to lead you out of the club, murmuring, “we’re leaving,” through a clenched jaw.
Despite the unserious nature of his tactics to get you out of there, he was still fuming by the time you two stepped outside and proceeded to absolutely lose it.
“I can’t fucking believe you. I–“ He had to physically stop himself from what he was originally going to say by groaning and biting his knuckles. “My best friend and his fucking look-alike. What the fuck? What are you trying to say?!”
You didn’t even think of that, but Satoru would find himself questioning if that was your type, and you almost laughed at the fact. “Nothing!”
“So that was just a coincidence?” He stops to look at you, but doesn’t get an immediate answer because it wasn’t a complete coincidence. “Jesus fucking Christ. You danced with my best friend right in front of me, then moved on to someone that looked just like him. Why would you do that?!”
“I didn’t know I was dancing with the second guy, it was dark!”
“That doesn’t make it any better!” If anything, it pissed him off more that you thought you were with Suguru the entire time. “You kicked me out of your place because you were done with me. I didn’t bother you after that, and now you’re trying to make me jealous? What the fuck is your problem?!”
“I kicked you out because you saw me texting a coworker and started being a dick and said all that shit about how you didn’t care. Do you even remember what you came over for that day?”
“I didn’t mean it like that—“
“And then reminded me we weren’t in a relationship—“
“Oh my god,” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know why you listen to half the shit I say—I’ve been trying to be in one with you this entire fucking time!”
His pathetic excuse for a confession is met with a scoff, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t bruise his ego a little bit—especially with how you continued to look at him like he was a lying piece of shit.
There’s a pause, and you eye him down as you cross your arms. “You’re just saying that.”
“I’m not—“
“You literally are,” you continue to argue with him, growing more defensive as the seconds pass. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”
“Fuck—I don’t know,” he says, throwing his arms out in defeat. “Life got busy. I didn’t want to fuck up whatever the hell we had.”
You suppress a laugh. “What a charming way to say fuck buddies.”
“We weren’t just fuck buddies though, and you know that,” he grumbles. If he weren’t so pissed off from having to watch you dance with not one, but two guys, he’d probably be blushing like some little school girl right now. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that, and I’ve felt like shit about it ever since.”
“You’re only saying that after seeing me with someone else,” you stubbornly respond.
He almost corrects you, because he saw you with two people, not one–not to mention they were the complete opposite of him–but he doesn’t mention that. Not because he didn’t want to add more to the argument, but because the thought made him sick. If there were power in thoughts, they’d both be bald right now. He was going to shave Suguru’s fucking head.
“How would you feel if you saw me grinding up against some girl after being told to fuck off?” he huffs out, running his fingers through his hair. “You told me you were done with me! So yeah, I’m saying that now after weeks of trying to move on—I’m sorry and I fucking love you. I never want to see you with another man again.”
Your cheeks suddenly warmed, stunned by how easy it was for him to admit that. Unfortunately, what could’ve simmered down to a sweet moment, where you told him you loved him back, gets paused because he’s still distraught and starts rambling again.
“Really? Suguru? I’m not fucking Rapunzel, I can’t grow my hair out like that!”
“Satoru–”
He cuts you off and continues to spiral. “You said you liked the undercut! Who lies about something like that?”
“I didn’t lie–”
He barks out a laugh, even though he looks like he’s about to cry. “I know I’m not perfect, but at least I don’t have a support group dedicated to me.”
That doesn’t surprise you one bit, but you quickly move on from that as you try to get a word in. “We did it to make you jealous!”
He stops mid-sentence and looks at you as if you had just shot him.
“I ran into him at the coffee shop and I was really sad because I thought you didn’t care about me and so he offered to help me out with that because he claimed that you did,” you quickly explained as he continued to just stare at you with a blank face. “And that he was probably my best bet since you were less likely to fight him.”
“I’m gonna fucking murder him,” he says a little too calmly.
“Please don’t,” you murmured, growing concerned that he actually might with the way his eyes dart back to the door.
“I care,” he says, though he doesn’t really need to convince you anymore. “I care, a lot.”
“I know,” you smile, but it slowly fades as you hear familiar laughter off in the near distance.
You both slowly turn your heads towards the direction it’s coming from, and Suguru turns the corner shortly after, with some girl in his arms. His shirt is slightly disheveled as if he were in a rush to button it up, hair messier than usual, and there's a big fat hickey on the side of his neck.
Did he seriously disappear to go fuck someone?
He stiffens the moment he sees you two.
“Having fun?” Satoru spitefully asks.
Suguru quickly looks back, then points at himself—acting completely clueless. The girl he’s with is still giggling. “Are those your friends?”
“I have no idea who those people are,” he chuckles like some old rich guy, the epitome of nonchalance.
Satoru looks back at the girl, who’s clearly already wrapped around Suguru’s finger. “If he brought up anything about astrology, just know he doesn’t actually give a shit about it.”
“Just ignore them, Tiffany,” he says as he opens the door, quickly glaring back at you two. “They’re just drunk and looking for a reaction.”
thinking about Satoru n enjin with u at a resort, both of them endlessly flirting with you, tugging on the tie of your bikini top and letting it snap against you skin bc they think it’s cute when you splash them as retaliation
Enjin is constantly bringing you and Satoru drinks while Toru is complaining about how cold the sunscreen is, but you just shush him and tell him he needs to get coated in it so he doesn’t burn…meanwhile Enjin is just bragging about how wonderfully he tans, just to get jumped by Satoru who dunks him under the water
It is beyond belief that Marquis Gojo Satoru would lose a battle. And when he thinks death will welcome him with its cold clutches, someone else appears. A simple woman who reduces the Marquis to nothing but a humble man, ready to give up his noble life just for a sweet touch of hers.
prequel to this story, but can be read as part one or a standalone!
˖𑣲⋆ ݁˖ pairing: ꒰ Marquis!Gojo Satoru x Noodle Seller!Reader ꒱
˖𑣲⋆ ݁˖ content & warnings: ꒰ fluff fluff fluff :: set in Ancient China :: based on Pursuit of Jade :: but Satoru's simply obsessed :: miserable Satoru :: smut :: gentle sex :: breeding :: mentions of pregnancy :: he falls first and harder :: oral sex :: he's madly in love from the very start :: domestic life :: first time :: reader is a sort of minx :: class differences :: mating press :: squirting :: belly bulge ꒱
˖𑣲⋆ ݁˖ words: ꒰ 17.3k ꒱
˖𑣲⋆ ݁˖ notes: Pray forgive me for waiting that looong for this part! I loved writing it and I think it's the longest oneshot I have written so far.
The air was biting cold, and the river was softly frozen. Not completely, but laying peppered kisses of snow on a shimmering surface, as the moon reflected off it, bathing the side of your face in a gentle glow.
The donkey stood restlessly, shifting from foot to foot and nudging your arm with its warm nose as you stroked it gently.
"I think he wants to go back," Maki chuckled, patting the greyish mule on its back. "Thank you for dropping by. It's been a hectic week." She said, pressing her hand to her now slightly swollen belly.
She gave birth at the start of December, just a week ago, so you came to help her tidy up a bit and offer a full pot of your famous pig-intestines noodle soup. Rich and delicious, that made Maki cry when she finally tasted it after a long and difficult labour.
"Don't thank me. Just send Yuta to the village if you need anything else. And when you feel better, just take a walk to the restaurant," you smiled, tightening a fur headband around your head.
Maki nodded, and Yuta soon joined her outside, wrapping a heavy coat around her shoulders. You rolled the heavy slats of meat from two fatty pigs on the cart and took a deep breath. Yuta helped you cover them with a soft material to keep them out of the curious onlookers' sight.
A thank-you gift from both of them, after you looked after the heavily pregnant Maki for the past few months while Yuta ran their own restaurant in the larger village not far from yours.
"I can walk you back," he offered, gazing at the plush snowy road that stretched through the forest. "It's only a one-hour walk each way, and I'm sure you'll prefer some company."
"It's fine, I can manage. You both should rest too; Iori has been giving you a hell of a week," you chuckled, looking over their shoulder as if you could peek at the softly cradled baby boy sleeping tight inside their house. "Besides, Bao will keep me company."
The donkey huffed and again nudged your arm with his nose, as if exhaustion had weighed on his eyelids too. His lovely, furry face shook from the snowflakes, and you noticed that the gravel road was slowly turning into an unfathomable, almost fairy-tale-like realm of ice and frost.
"Come visit the restaurant when you have time. Oh, and we'll see each other next month during the Lunar New Year, right?" you said, checking whether the donkey was harnessed to the cart.
You patted his back to signal it was time to leave. Bao began to walk slowly, remembering the straight road to your village in his young, tender heart, and so he led the way, with you a few steps behind.
"How about you come to us the day before? We can cook together!" Maki smiled, waving you gently goodbye.
You nodded and waved back as well, walking backwards just to keep their beaming faces in view for as long as possible. The powdered coldness beneath your feet crunched, while the evening's biting wind nipped at your cheeks with icy kisses.
After a while, as the road curled, they disappeared behind the tall trees, and so you joined Bao's side, chattering away in his soft ears.
"I'll earn a lot during the Lunar New Year and buy you plenty of hay. Oh, and also the salt blocks. I know you love those, but they're too expensive," you giggled, watching Bao's calm muzzle. Still, his ears twitched and his short tail wagged happily, so you knew that the donkey loved your company just as much as you loved his. "And then we can open a second restaurant. What do you think? Perhaps I’ll even get you a friend, just to keep you company."
Bao huffed warm air and blinked slowly, still walking forwards.
The forest road soon widened, and the tall trees opened out onto a broad riverbank. Crystalline water flowed gently, carrying thin plates of ice that melted, froze, and melted again, dampened by the river. The brisk, freezing air bit into your lungs, slipping through the constantly babbling mouth. The skin on your lips was slightly chapped, so you licked them out of habit and cursed shortly after.
As evening turned into night and heavy clouds blanketed the round moon, you hung a small lamp on the cart. The flame flickered along with the rolling court, giving you a faint light.
You were close, just twenty minutes on foot or so, as you've noticed the familiar old wooden bridge crossing the river and the soaring tree that has stood there since the day you were born. Now, bare like a baby, with lush leaves long gone and branches stripped and frozen, with an icicle hanging from them like a threat.
Bao suddenly halted in the middle of the road. His two coal-black eyes looked down, and his nose huffed warm breath onto the snow.
"What is it, Bao?" you asked and squatted down. "Why did we stop?"
But the donkey was tugging at something with his nose, pushing and pushing until, with a faint warmth emanating from the lamp, you realised that something was hidden beneath the snow.
"Oh my, is that another treasure?" you giggled, recalling the time when you'd found a freshly killed fox and made yourself a warm coat out of its lush fur.
But Bao was just huffing and puffing, melting the thick powder with his warm breath. You helped him dig out whatever was hidden beneath it, and… oh.
You jumped back, suddenly landing on the frosty ground. Your breath hitched, stuck in your chilled throat. Eyes bulged like two porcelain plates as they glanced down at the face that surfaced from beneath the waves of heavy snow.
White and pallid, reminding you of a ghost you've only heard about in cautionary tales, and so you were told not to wander alone at night. All the stories you've listened to as a child suddenly flooded your mind, because now, right there, the ghost must have been right in front of you.
But the Bao wasn't panicking. If he did, it would mean that the man covered in snow was a spectral creature indeed. Yet he wasn't, because the moment Bao licked his pale cheek, the man's brows furrowed and a low groan slipped past his lips.
He was alive.
Barely, yet alive, so you crawled closer and dug him out from beneath the snow. The long, white fingers looked almost purple, and his breathing was shallow, but he was alive.
A bit dirty and bloodied, as you've noticed a crimson trail slipping down his temple. The lean cheeks flushed with colour, lips pale, and you gazed at him for a long time before Bao nudged your arm.
You couldn't bring the man home. As you were unmarried and living alone at that. Taking a man back home would lead to the generational scandal the village had never seen before.
The image of all the elderly aunts flooded your mind – their scrunched faces, spit landing in front of your gate, the gossip that would fill the whole village to the point where you would be forced to move somewhere else. The house and a small noodle shop after your parents were all you had left and all you had been fighting for over the past few months, so you could give up on it for the sake of some stranger.
Beautiful, simply ethereal, yet a stranger.
Bao was looming over your shoulder. His warm breath hit your cheek as he nudged it with his nose.
"I can't," you whispered, pressing the hand to the man's cheek. "I don't know what to do. Taking him back is too risky," you looked over your shoulder, eyes crossing with two shining coals.
Bao didn't say anything. Of course he didn't, but simply nudged your cheek again, as if wishing to let you know that it was the right way.
That's what your parents would want.
Because Bao was your father's dearest donkey ever since he was saved from a butcher. One year old then, he began to follow your father everywhere – whether in the fields or on a simple walk to the larger village – and so they enjoyed each other's company for three whole years. Then, both he and your mother died, leaving you and Bao on your own.
You knew he was an animal. Yet, sometimes, you thought that years spent in your father's presence taught him about the unwavering morality and kindness your father held in his heart for others. For people and animals and the gods who walked the earth among everyone else, as no one should be in pain and no one is doomed to a life of misery.
The man lying in front of you was one of those, your father would help headfirst. Dressed in nothing but a flimsy, wet robe. The river must have spat him out, and so he rested there for half the day.
By morning, he would be dead.
Bao nudged your arm again. A long, heavy breath escaped your throat, head hanging between slumped shoulders.
"Fine," fell quietly, almost a murmur, but the donkey heard it.
His fluffy ears trembled, and long, sticky tongue pressed against your cheek.
"Oh, Bao, but you must come closer with this cart. I need to pack him up there."
The donkey, as the smartest animal you truly thought he was, stepped forward and let the cart roll closer to the man.
He seemed tall and muscular, but you've been kneading dough and lifting pigs since you were a teenager, so lifting him was no problem. With a quick squat and a hand wrapped around his arms, you hoisted him onto your back. Too short to take him whole, but strong enough to roll him onto the cart. Under the white material, he was joined by the fresh, bloody pig's meat.
You bit the inside of your cheek as you saw this ethereal man lying among the heavy, grimy slabs. His white hair clung to the raw flesh, cheeks stained crimson, and his body curled around the pig's heart you had saved for the tasty broth.
"I'm sorry," you whispered and covered him back with a cloth. Your palm met with the donkey's back as you giggled. "Let's go, Bao! Lives have to be saved!"
𑁤 𑁤 𑁤
Satoru didn't feel cold anymore.
The snow that had melted beneath his body was gone, and the peppered flakes covering his cheeks suddenly vanished.
His fingers could move despite the biting frost seeping through his skin, and his head rested on something plush.
He no longer felt cold; instead, a deep heat licked his back, with a sizzling, flaming tongue beading sweat on his forehead. A fever, perhaps, or just heaps of fur that he noticed the moment his eyes opened.
The place felt strange. Certainly not a tent he would use on the battlefield nor his quarters in the capital. It wasn't lavish at all, dressed in the rich style he was accustomed to, but he wouldn't call it poor either.
Rather cozy, homey, and he looked around the wooden walls and thin rice-paper doors that now were shut tight. The small bed was creaking under his body as he wriggled, trying to free himself from the heavy piles of fur.
Turning his head to the side, he noticed how tiny the room truly was. Just a small bed, a table with a stool, and a bookshelf filled with folded clothes instead. A bowl of fruit sat on the small table, and a cup of paste – smelly, thick. When his eyes dropped to his bandaged chest, he saw dried traces of it on himself, seeping through the white cloth.
His head throbbed, and his mind sounded an alarm – the sooner he left this place, the better. There was a battle to finish. An empire to defend. An emperor to whom he needed to report.
An army to take care of.
He was the Marquis of all – the highest in rank within the imperial army, wielding an authority that clasped the entire empire in his iron fist.
He was important.
Yet now, he could barely move, and an attempt to sit up was enough to bead another droplet of sweat upon his forehead. The bleak dizziness covered his sight for a brief second, but long enough for someone to slip into the room.
He didn't have his sword, so the only option was to reach for the chopsticks lying carelessly on the bedside table and prepare himself for an attack.
If it was just one man, he would deal with him without a problem. It wasn't the first time he fought with broken ribs and a twisted ankle, yet surely the first time he was alone, without any of his soldiers to cover his back.
Even so, the moment his eyes landed on a person slipping through the door, something within him melted.
Fingers let the chopsticks fall onto the fur bedding, and air pressed against his lips, ready to be inhaled in a gasp. Eyes, mingling like two snowflakes, bulged as he saw a woman slowly walking his way with a trail.
With lovely cheeks kissed by the lantern's dancing flame, stained with a red mark of sorts. Hair falling loosely over the blue robes. Plain, yet neatly embroidered with brown thread that wrapped around the wide, fur-lined sleeves. A white collar loosely hugged your neck, revealing another layer of robes hidden just beneath.
When your eyes looked up from two warm bowls, Satoru thought he had never seen a smile so radiant. Forming your cheeks into soft dumplings – sweet and giggly – as you walked gently towards the bed.
"Finally!" you clasped the moment two bowls were put down on the table. "I was afraid I'd killed you!"
Satoru's lips parted slightly. His eyes remained fixed on your face, as if its mere beauty had taken his breath away. He didn't say anything – he couldn't say anything – and so fluttered his lashes a few times.
And you, on the other hand, stepped from toe to toe, with shame and humiliation filling you up to your fingertips. You knew he was someone of noble descent, but only now, seeing his face fully awake, you've truly felt like a simple, foolish peasant.
Slightly too strong for a woman and too smart-mouthed. With an almost too demanding manner and a not-so-charming side whenever someone bothered you. You were hot-headed, acted too masculine, as aunties in the neighbourhood loved to chirp, and carried yourself with an air that simply scared off potential husbands.
You were anything but lovely, unlike the noble ladies who reminded you of delicate jasmine petals blooming during spring. So now, standing in front of the man who could have been the imperial son himself, you coughed shyly and wavered on your toes.
"But I didn't," you simply added, noticing his bulging eyes. Blue, almost white, like the snowflakes clinging to the papered windows. "It's just that… I've never treated a human, and so I gave you half the horse dose of medicine. But that's because you're tall and heavy, so I thought that it would… well…"
Your fingers fiddled with the hem of your robes, and a warmth hit your cheeks as you noticed his eyes follow you up and down. Surely inspecting all the oil stains and mud sticking to your robes.
You quickly sat on the bed, right in front of him, still watching the startled expression contort his face. His lips looked pale, almost purplish. Face white as snow, creamy and soft, yet bore a small, solitary cut on his plush cheek. White hair fell loosely over his forehead, with a few strands clinging to the droplets of sweat beading on his temples.
And his eyes were still shockingly, almost amazingly fixed on your face.
The night was cold, but warmth started bubbling on the back of your neck as you pressed your hand to his forehead.
"You no longer have a fever. Are you feeling too hot? Those furs might be a little too warm, let me..." You muttered, avoiding his gaze. With a gentle pull, you removed a few furs from him, revealing a naked, bandaged chest. "Oh, I'm sorry. But your trousers stayed on, I swear."
A soft curse slipped from your tongue as you spoke what was on your mind before you had a chance to bite your tongue.
"That was inappropriate. I'm sorry."
Your voice sounded fragile, and when you finally looked up with those shy, doe eyes, Satoru remembered that he needed to say something.
"I don't mind."
Oh dear.
This time, both of you blushed with rosy shame, gazing at each other with fingers clutching your robes.
He coughed, diverting his gaze from your face. Perhaps if he didn't have to look at you, speaking would be simpler.
"I wanted to say, thank you, for the medicine. Even if it was meant for a horse," he grimaced, yet noticed with a corner of his eye your smile. "I don't know who brought me here, but I wish to thank him too."
You chuckled. "Him? I brought you here."
Satoru frowned as he watched you kneel on the floor. One bowl was left lying on the ground, while you lifted a small, entire table and rested it on the bed, with a large bowl of noodles right beneath his nose.
"You brought me here all the way from the forest?" he peered through the slightly open window, noticing that the room he was resting in was on the second floor. "And hauled me upstairs?"
You nodded, placing fresh chopsticks next to his bowl. A gentle flush coloured your cheeks as you nodded, avoiding his gaze. Your hands quickly adjusted the two large pillows behind his back to help him sit more comfortably.
"But how?"
You tucked a lock of hair behind your ear with a shy smile. "I'm quite strong," you said quietly, then quickly added, trying to distract him from the fact that you had hauled a grown man upstairs on your back. "I prepared it for you. You didn't eat anything for three days except the porridge. I've noticed you were slowly waking up, so I've made a fresh broth."
He looked down into the large bowl, filled with clear soup. Salty and aromatic, packed with meat that bent and curled almost wickedly, and so he felt a fat globe stuck in his throat.
It didn't look like something he was used to eating back in the capital.
Back there, the tables bowed under the weight of rare meats, exotic fruits, and spices reserved only for the highest nobles. He would be served rich dishes of glazed beef and rabbits, hunted from private grounds. Oranges plucked straight from the imperial garden and peaches, their sweetness dripping down his chin.
Here, he was served a bowl of noodles, with long, wrinkled pieces of meat.
A second later, he heard a loud slurping, almost obscene. When he looked around, he saw you sitting cross-legged at a smaller table, eating noodles with a hum. Crimson oil splattered across your cheeks each time you sucked a noodle in.
He looked at you with slightly parted lips, and when you noticed, another wave of humiliation washed over your spine. But your cheeks were already filled to the brim, like two fat dumplings, so you could only chew the noodles while meeting his gaze.
The chilli oil stained your lips red, and you wiped it away with your thumb. To which he responded with a frown once again.
Oh dearest.
"Do you not like it?" you asked, scrambling to your feet and sitting on the bed. "Do you need help? I didn't add many spices to it, your body is still too weak."
But he said nothing, simply gazed at the full bowl with a gentle, almost childlike frown wrinkling his forehead.
You looked down, a small oh rolling off your tongue.
"Do you not like… intestines?" You asked carefully, and he looked up at you, almost horrified.
"Intestines?"
"Pig intestines," you repeated, watching his eyes bulge again. "Oh, but I cleaned them very carefully! They've been soaking in salt and vinegar for two days; I've also rubbed them clean, so..." shut up, shut up, shut up. "... there's no faeces. Not any more."
Satoru was on the verge of fainting. But his stomach was growling with hunger, and the soup, aside from the obvious fact of what was swimming inside, smelled delicious, making his taste buds drool.
So he needed to eat it.
Because he was starving.
Or… maybe not truly.
Perhaps he needed to eat it because the sight of your ashamed, sorry face struck him like a hammer. Your eyes, fixed on fingers fiddling with the hem of your robes, as you refused to look at him. Again.
He couldn't see your eyes, but something deep inside his heart told him that if he did, crystal tears would be covering your lovely irises.
"I'm sorry," you whispered. The softness of your voice nearly crushed his soul. "The pig is cheap, and… I didn't have the money to buy you something better. I'm sorry I can't offer you anything else."
If Satoru could pierce himself with a sword, he would do so without hesitation. Never in all the years of his life would he have imagined that the sorrowful look on the strange woman's face would crumple his heart so miserably.
He refused women before. Noble birdies and princesses too, yet not even a single pout on their powdered faces could match the heartbreaking sulk of yours. With an oil stain still coating your cheek and something resembling flour dusted on your hands.
So he took a deep breath, grasped the chopsticks, and took a first bite. Then came the second, and the third, and before he knew it, the clear broth was splashing over his chest as long pieces of meat met with a low, satisfied hum.
You looked up, brushing your slightly wet eyes with a sleeve. "Do you like it?"
He loved it.
And so he looked up from the steaming bowl. His cheeks were creamy with a mix of noodles and meat, eyes shining bright like two lovely snowflakes. The small lamp bathed half his face in warm, gentle light as the rosiness returned to his body.
You slipped back onto the floor and sat by your small table.
For a few minutes, the room was filled with nothing but your hums and slurps. The chewing of fresh noodles that melted on your tongue and his eyes, fluttering whenever he glanced down at your stuffed face.
Something swelled beneath his chest every time you looked up. With doe eyes shining with pure bliss, a few more specks of chilli oil coated your skin. The tip of your nose, the corner of your lips, and your chin creased when his gaze lingered on you a little too long.
"Are you still hungry?" You mumbled with a full mouth. "I cooked a whole pot."
But Satoru shook his head. "I was wondering what your name is."
A small oh fell past your lips as you muttered your name next.
His lips curved into a gentle smile, and a hand stretched out towards you. You looked at it with a frown before placing your palm on his.
He laughed, yet didn't take his hand back. But simply pulled you onto your feet again and sat down on the bed.
Hand still opened, as he spoke softly. "Write the characters down."
With a bite on the inside of your cheek, you placed a finger on his skin. Slightly hard and still covered in cuts, you began painting the characters. With delicate precision, you remembered the order of strokes by heart.
The only words you've ever learnt.
He watched it carefully before repeating your name once more. It sounded different this time – more elegant, almost noble – and you wriggled in your seat as he murmured it repeatedly under his breath.
"What's yours?"
He smiled and this time took your hand, spreading it open. His long finger pressed against your skin before it started moving. Dancing across your palm, he painted neat, straight lines, of which you had no knowledge.
You've recognised the character five. Then, there was something else you'd seen standing before the character for noodle. Yet the last you simply couldn't recognise. It reminded you of something, but you couldn't recall what. When he finished, both of you looked up at the same time.
And not a second had passed before the warmth stung both of you. He was sitting close. But perhaps a little too close, and you could feel the heat radiating off his bare chest.
His breath on your cheeks, and another hand cupping your hand, as if wishing to simply hold it up in the air.
Your eyes quickly fell back to your palm, as you confessed, shyly. "I don't know the last character."
"Oh," slipped past his lips, as he wrote all three of them again. But this time, much slower, as if letting you remember each curve and stroke. "Go, Jo, Satoru. My name is Gojo Satoru. But you can call me just Satoru."
You looked at your palm, as if the characters were still etched into the roughness of your skin. Slightly stained with chilli oil, a bit too dry from spending too long outside.
"Gojo Satoru," you whispered. For your ears only, yet he heard it nevertheless. "Satoru."
Something within, deep beneath all the scars slashing his skin, the burning muscles, and the coldness he had kept inside for too long – suddenly swelled. A feeling he had never felt before, carrying a warmth that spilled across his chest. Wrapping snugly around his rigid heart, which suddenly began to flutter tenderly, almost shyly.
And the longer he looked at your face, with eyes still tracing the last marks of the name he left on your palm, the more uneasy he became.
Because he suddenly thought that eating pig intestines wouldn't be so bad if it meant seeing your smile until the end of his days.
𑁤 𑁤 𑁤
Days went by slowly. Satoru couldn't really leave the bedroom, so he relied solely on your kindness.
He spent the days sitting on the plush mattresses, silently gazing out the window, discreet enough not to let the neighbours realise that a man had been spending the night in your house. In your bedroom.
Considering you run the restaurant just downstairs, he had plenty of time to observe you from high up. And he used this opportunity, gazing down at you with a hand resting on his chin, a gentle smile creasing his eyes.
He watched you carry the sacks of flour, lifting both without a bead of sweat. Sometimes you went out with your donkey to pick fresh vegetables, only to return with a sack of pig's meat slung over your shoulder, the butchering knife clutched in the other hand.
Lovely and blushing from biting cold, yet with the usual frown wrinkling your forehead.
Whenever you caught him staring at you from the window, your face froze in terror. The sack was quickly dropping down the wooden cart, the knife hidden behind your back. A lovely, awkward smile tugged at your lips as you disappeared behind the house, where you probably cut all the meat into smaller pieces.
Only to bring him another bowl of noodles a few hours later. Fresh and delicious, rarely with intestines, you knew he wasn't particularly fond of them.
When the restaurant was full, he heard your loud, chief voice bickering with clients.
Sometimes, you would carry the overly drunk customers out, gripping their collars with your hands, threatening them with a knife until they left your possession.
And even then, he would gaze at your flaming, reddened cheeks with a tilted head and a quiet chuckle slipping from his throat.
And even then, you would look up and freeze in place, quickly tucking locks of hair behind your ears. An awkward smile twisted your lips before you ran back to the restaurant, trying to veil your embarrassment with a wide chopper.
You rarely ate breakfast and dinner together because you spent most of your time in restaurant.
But evenings… evenings were always reserved for you two.
And when Satoru recovered enough to stand with the help of a wooden crutch, you began eating at one table.
Sitting in the restaurant with the doors and windows closed tight, only a few candles illuminating the small space as you ate, laughed, and talked. Of all sorts and matters, like two friends, soulmates, drunk on their own company.
Because you wished to know about Satoru as much as he wished to know about you. And so he asked you about everything, from childhood and family to dreams, your current life, and the restaurant.
When you confessed that you were alone in this world after your parents were murdered by the bandits while returning from the village – his heart ached.
The restaurant, Bao and this house were all you had left. With no siblings or other relatives that could offer you some help.
"Oh, aside from my father's brother," you said, snacking on the osmanthus cake you bought in the town today. "He's trying to take over the house. And as I'm unmarried, there's a good chance he'll succeed."
The sorrowful look filled your eyes whenever you spoke of it: the village you truly loved and the house where you were born. Of Maki and Yuta, your closest friends who lived a short walk from here, and of everything this place had held for the past twenty-three years of your life.
"I can't marry into someone's family, and no man in his right mind would want to marry into mine," you joked, serving him a second helping of the soup. "I have nothing to offer. There's no dowry, and as soon as I speak, everyone flees."
You tried to laugh it off, but Satoru saw it. The sadness and humiliation that sometimes seeped into your eyes, as your voice caught in your throat for a few seconds. Usually, you would break eye contact and focus on your own bowl, picking up the remaining uneaten noodles.
"I guess everything would be easier if you just married me," another joke.
Slightly drunk after I've pleased yourself with a few cups of wine. Your eyes clearly not registering the words, lips curling cheekily as you propped your chin on your hand.
You joked, but something deep within his heart fluttered with warmth, and so a low "I can," fell past his lips.
He knew your weren't serious, but he… he was.
Satoru didn't know why, but the moment you told him you were unmarried – at first he thought he would have to fight a man named Bao, before realising it was just a donkey – a spark of happiness blossomed in his chest. No, rather an overwhelming joy, as the thought of you smiling that way at any other man but him would kill his slowly warming heart.
You were always truthful with him, like an open book, not hiding any part of your painful life.
And he… well.
He was a scholar from a royal academy who got lost during his travels. His feeble body fainted, and he ended up in a river that carried him ashore near your village. His father was also an imperial scholar, and so Satoru aspired to join the ministry in the future. As someone important, but not overly so.
After all, there were other people who wielded much crucial power.
"Oh, for example, Marquis?" you said, pouting softly. "The recent gossip says he died in the last battle. I wonder if it's true."
Satoru tensed at first upon hearing the title he had somehow forgotten after a month living under your roof, but a playful, gentle smile soon returned to his rosy cheeks.
"Hm," he tapped his finger onto the table, chin perched on a hand. "What do people say about him?"
Oh dearest, now he needed to get his ego stroked.
You looked up from a bowl. "About a Marquis?"
Satoru nodded.
The candle bathed half his face in warmth, the flickering flame making his two blue eyes stand out in the darkness. Night had fallen quietly, and only a few lanterns lit a short path through the tiny village.
Satoru wasn't used to the quiet and serenity of such things. However, after a month, he couldn't imagine falling asleep without the stars dancing above his house and snowflakes softly clinging to the windows.
The aroma of osmanthus filled the restaurant as you held the fresh cup of tea. "He's a monster, I've heard. Brutal and merciless."
Satoru frowned. You weren't quite wrong, but the gossipers might have exaggerated the whole situation a little.
He pulled the warm blanket more firmly over his shoulders and bit the inside of his rosy cheek.
"Do you…" He took a deep breath, glancing almost shyly at your oblivious face. "Do you also think that way?"
You probably did, because what reason would you have not to follow the information spread in the village? And given that you couldn't read or write, it was easy to feed you all sorts of facts. Not quite true, yet still close to reality.
And yet, you simply said, "I don't," and took a sip of your tea.
"Really?" his voice wavered.
"Hm, yes. He sure must be powerful, but if his heart wasn't in the right place, would he protect the people of the empire as he has for the past few years? I've never seen the Marquis, but… I just think, deep down, he must be a good person."
Satoru's breath hitched. He wouldn't call himself a good person. Not even a benevolent one.
But then, sitting in the darkness of your small restaurant, while the snowstorm danced outside the little wooden house, he felt the need to be someone deserving of your praise.
A man worthy of your smile.
"So…" you started chewing on the osmathus cake. You really loved those flowers, and so he made a quick note to buy you plenty when the next winter comes and– "When are you planning to leave?"
Oh.
Right.
His shoulders visibly slumped, and his eyes softened with a feeling unnoticeable to you.
"I don't know," Satoru murmured, playing with his empty teacup.
You did the same, as silence threaded between your fingers. Mere millimetres apart, yet not close enough to even touch.
You looked up for a second. Just to see if he was looking at you. But he wasn't, so your eyes dropped back to the teacup.
"I'm sure you have a lot of things to do," please say you don't, please say you don't.
"Mhm," he hummed.
"Your ribs should be healed before the Lunar New Year."
A smile tugged at his lips, but it wasn't quite the one you often saw as he peered down at you from the bedroom window. This one felt much less genuine, almost forced.
"Right."
"And I'm sure your family is worrying about you."
They weren't. Satoru knew that no one did.
You took a deep breath. "And your wife too?"
He suddenly looked up. "My wife?"
You nodded.
"I don't have a wife."
"Oh."
Silence fell once more in an awkward manner. The chill seeped through the flimsy windows, and the tea was long finished.
You cleared your throat and finally looked up to meet the tenderness in his gaze. Warm, gentle, and once again with this strange feeling that almost reminded you of a beaten pup. As if he were begging for something, yet he refused to say it aloud.
"But…" you started, immediately noticing the gleam of hope in his eyes. "But if you wish to stay a bit longer, and maybe spend the New Year with me…" The back of your neck burned. "I would be very glad. I know you're healing fast, so you don't have to–"
"I want to," Satoru quickly stated, his handsome, pale face burning red. "I want to stay with you. For the New Year, that is…"
A soft good, slipped past your lips, before your gaze fell back down to the teacup.
This time, the silence didn't feel uncomfortable at all.
Rather, it felt quite cosy, even intimate, as Satoru pushed his teacup closer to yours. Just a little, a few centimetres truly, but enough to extend his small finger and brush the softness of your palm.
It lasted just a second, and it might have been an imagination of yours, but he was warm. And gentle. And his cheeks were burning with rich flame, as he coughed and propped his chin back on the hand.
This time, turning it to the side, just to hide his face from your giggly smile.
But, oh, if it wasn't one of the happiest evenings of his life.
𑁤 𑁤 𑁤
The Lunar New Year fell at the end of the month. Satoru was able to walk quite well by then, and the wooden crutch was often left behind in your bedroom.
He still only left the house at night, yet you allowed him to sit in the kitchen during the day.
Although he could offer little to no help, as the life of luxury taught him that there was no need to bother himself with any other skills besides the martial arts.
And thus, during the day, he sat hidden in the kitchen and chopped the pork with slow precision. Washed the vegetables until the skin shone crystal-clear like the snow piling up outside, and simmered the soup with long, patient strokes.
Very, very slowly.
"Your patience is truly lacking, darling," he chuckled once, noticing the scowl between your eyebrows. "Patience is a virtue."
You scoffed at his unhurried, relaxed movements. "Good I wasn't rich enough to become a scholar, then," and with a smile, you grabbed two bowls of steaming noodles from his hands.
Since the quiet night spent at the restaurant, Satoru hasn't brought up the topic of his departure anymore.
And you didn't either, letting it sit heavily on your stomach, as you secretly wished for him to stay longer than until the end of the month.
Yet a foolish wish it was, as you knew, that Satoru would never belong to you.
To a pretty, noble lady? Sure.
To the imperial throne? Yes.
To knowledge and wit and riches? Of course.
Yet, never, in a thousand years, to an uneducated, simple woman like you, who spent her days kneading noodles and cutting meat.
Perhaps you should keep some distance from him, but a foolish desire of yours was to seize all the moments, the sweetness blossoming within your tender hearts, with your greedy fingers.
You allowed yourself to become intoxicated by his smile, his soft, gentle voice, and eyes that always seemed to watch over you.
To let his hand sometimes be bound with yours, and during the deep, deep nights when the snowstorms rapped on the windows, allow his fingers to gently push aside the locks of your tired, sleeping face. Cheek pressed to the table, as you accidentally fell asleep in the restaurant.
To feel his lips mere millimetres from yours. Warm, trembling, yet never pressing against yours.
His strong, muscular arms wrapping around your body as he carried you effortlessly back upstairs. Gently tucked into the bedroom beside his, covering you in heavy furs.
And when you thought he would leave you there and go back to his bedroom – he always stayed.
Kneeling by your bed, as his big, warm head caressed your hair with long, tender strokes. Brushing hair away from your lovely cheeks, as the faint glow of the candle lit the side of your sleeping face.
"The days I'm spending in your presence…" he whispered, pressing a warm thumb between your eyebrows. "… are the happiest moments of my life."
In times like these, your heart would race, trembling like the earth beneath the hooves of thousands of horses crossing the empire's lush plains. It was surprising that he didn't seem to hear it. Yet if he leaned just a bit closer, he would surely hear the shaky breath.
"Don't chase me away," his hand pressed to your cheek. Warm, soft, caressing your skin with a thumb. "Let me stay a bit longer."
So you did just that. Stayed calm, asleep, allowing him to rest his head on the mattress. His eyes remained fixed on your face, and you could almost feel the hole his gaze burned in your cheeks.
Yet finally, as his hand stroked your head gently, you fell asleep at last.
And when you woke up the next morning, he was still there. Sleeping half-folded, still kneeling on the floor, with his hand clasped around yours. Not too tight, yet enough to keep it warm.
You've noticed he was dressed only in night robes, so you pressed your hand to his cheek, feeling how cold it was.
"Satoru," you mumbled, brushing his flushed skin with a thumb. "Satoru, you can't sleep like that. You'll get sick again."
You didn't realise that Satoru didn't get sick easily. In fact, he could spend days on the battlefield, hiding deep in tall, cold bushes, covered only in mud. There were battles when he did exactly that, so resting in your warm room, with a gentle chill wrapping him freshly, was nothing compared with everything he was accustomed to.
Yet his eyes opened slowly, and his lips pouted sweetly, as if the chill truly seeped deep into his marrow. "Are you going to cook me some soup?"
You chuckled, brushing the messy, sleepy strands of hair from his forehead. "I don't know. Do you feel sick?"
He hummed, allowing himself to nuzzle into your hand. "Very. I may as well collapse any minute now."
The sun was already high in the sky, slipping into the bedroom almost shyly. It cast long, warm stripes across the wooden floors. It was still early, and the restaurant wouldn't open until lunchtime.
You let out a deep sigh, yet the corners of your eyes curled into a giggle. "Fine. Come down in ten minutes. I still have a bit of broth left from yesterday."
Satoru smiled as your figure gradually vanished behind the paper doors. Only when you closed them did he finally release a deep, trembling breath from his throat.
His head dropped back onto the mattress as he groaned in embarrassment.
What was he thinking, staying all night by your side?
How foolish, even disturbing, it was to watch you sleep until sunrise, when the golden rays of sunlight only began to seep through the thin windows?
His heart pounded and cheeks burned. Swollen, tired eyes stayed closed, and fingers curled into the plush bedding you'd slept beneath. Still warm from your body, carrying the sweetness of your sweat.
Oh dearest.
He groaned again, knowing that the warm sensation spreading across his chest wasn't so strange anymore.
Now, after spending almost two months in your presence, he could recognise it by a tremble of his heart alone.
And this alone was making him lose his mind.
A moment had passed when he heard your voice coming from downstairs.
So he dressed himself properly and neatly, wrapping himself in simple robes you pulled from your father's old closet, and slowly came downstairs to join you.
The crisp air was seeping through the open window, snowflakes landing softly on a wooden table. He took a quick look outside, watching the fairy-like landscape bathed in thick powder.
The empty roads, wooden houses blanketed in biting cold, and trees bare and sorrowful. Still, there was something enchanting about the paleness of this scene, with roofs covered in rolling piles of snow and icicles hanging beneath them.
The river was still frozen, and bare branches gleamed with a sheen, icy kisses bouncing off rays of warm sunshine. Not warm enough to melt the snow, yet the sunshine bathed the whole village in soft, golden touches.
The red lanterns and decorations that appeared a few days ago enhanced the festive spirit in the icy land. Satoru noticed the long red paper couplets stuck to the neighbours' doors, their characters seeming to bend and twist into unfamiliar sentences.
Satoru chuckled, trying to read the couplet on the neighbours' house across the road.
Something about luck, and fortune and health, but some strokes were not in the right places, and the lines seemed a bit too long.
Only then did he realise that your house didn't have the wishes. Not on the door nor on the wooden fence, and so he furrowed, already rolling his sleeves up to the elbows.
You were still in the kitchen when he hurried back upstairs. A few days ago, he was poking around the bedroom he had stayed in, clearly recalling a few pieces of red couplet paper and an ink stone that still looked quite fresh.
He checked the small bookshelf and all three rows of cardboard. The things he was searching for were hidden in the last one.
"Oh," your voice suddenly echoed into the bedroom as you saw Satoru sitting by the small table. "The soup is ready." Your gaze shifted to the red paper and an ink stone. "Do you want to…"
Satoru smiled, stretching his hand towards you. "I've noticed we don't have the New Year wishes on our doors. Allow me to write some, hm?"
You nodded shyly, placing your hand in his and letting him draw you closer. Until you sat beside him, watching as he ground the wet stick against the ink stone. Until it melted softly, letting the liquid darkness cover its surface.
"Your father could write?" Satoru asked, pressing the paper in half and wetting the tip of a brush in ink. "Everything seems to be quite new."
He noticed the shy shaking of your head. Your eyes dropped down to your hands, crumpling the old fabric of your robes.
"Not really," you mumbled, feeling another wave of embarrassment creep down your spine. "After they died, I wanted to learn how to write. It's just... I never really had the time. That's why everything is barely used."
The brush Satoru held suddenly hung over the paper.
He put it back on the little stone, keeping it above the table.
"Come here," his voice fell softly. A hand, warm and strong, pulled you by the arm. "Let's do it together."
He pushed the table, creating a space right in front of him for you. A clear uncertainty flickered in your eyes, but you let him draw you closer. Until you sat with your legs folded, your back pressed against his chest, a strong arm wrapping around yours.
His gentle breath tickled your ear, and white strands of hair brushed against your cheek.
It was the closest you'd ever been since the day you drew each other's names on your palms. But then you didn't feel his heart beating against your back. You didn't feel his body pressing against yours, his lips almost brushing your ear as he taught you the proper way to hold the brush.
"Just like that," his low whispers sent shivers down your spine. "The brush needs to be just above the paper."
It absorbed black ink with its soft bristles. The long couplet paper was spread across the table, and you wondered whether tiny droplets of obsidian liquid would fall onto its surface.
"Now, what do you wish for?"
You didn't allow yourself to desire too much. Perhaps something everyone else wished for too – money, health, simple happiness. Nothing overly greedy. Too risky, that would put too many foolish thoughts into your head.
Satoru's chest was pressed against your back in a distracting way, and despite all the thoughts urging you not to dream of anything out of reach, you still said:
"Love."
Satoru's breath shuddered by your ear.
Your head turned slowly, just slightly, as you peeked over your shoulder to make eye contact with his deep, ocean eyes that always remained fixed on your face.
"I wish to find love. Someone with whom I could grow old together."
He didn't move for a while, and you didn't either.
Just allowed your eyes to stare into his, as if wishing for all the kept feelings, all the restless nights spent thinking about him, to somehow roll clearly from a single gaze of yours.
His lips looked soft and plush, much better than when you first met him. And so, you wondered how they would feel pressed against yours.
Would he taste of jujube candy he snacked on every day?
Or maybe of osmanthus, strong and flavourful, as you both nibbled the soft cookies in the evenings?
But he didn't do anything – didn't say either. So you turned back to the paper, letting your whole body fill with warmth.
The brush hung over it before Satoru finally moved your hands.
Pressing the little tip to the its surface and painting the vertical rows of characters.
There was a heart, and there was two. Something about feeling and hundreds of years, yet you truly couldn't read the full sentences.
But he knew. And so his silky voice once again wrapped around your ears.
"Two hearts beat in one and delight in each other," he whispered, painting with your hand a first column of the phrase, before moving to another piece of paper. "A harmonious bond bringing joy for a hundred years."
Each character was written slowly, carefully, letting your eyes soak in the painting appearing right beneath your hands.
The meaning of the wishes carved deep within your heart, as you still heard Satoru's voice bouncing inside your mind.
Two hearts beat in one and delight in each other, a harmonious bond bringing joy for a hundred years.
It didn't sound like a simple wish.
Rather like a love ballad, written with a tenderness for the person most cherished.
"Is it a poem?" You asked, not daring to look over your shoulder.
But Satoru said nothing. He simply set the brush down and quickly stood up, moving the table closer to the window so the sun could spill its warm rays onto the drying ink.
He sat with his back to you for a few seconds, and you noticed the unnatural redness of his neck. Not even his white strands could fully mask the blush.
"I'm hungry," he said with a slightly muffled voice. "Can we go back down and eat breakfast?"
"Oh," fell quietly past your lips as you slowly stood up. "Yes, the broth… I bought a lamb yesterday. You like the tender meat so… well. Just join me downstairs when you're ready."
Satoru nodded, not turning his head even when you left the bedroom.
He was too busy thanking the Gods that you somehow, by a pure miracle, didn't notice a big, wet bulge coating his robes.
𑁤 𑁤 𑁤
Three days later, a day before the eve of the Lunar New Year came, and so it was time to set out on a short trip to Maki's and Yuta's house.
It was still early morning when you began packing. You spent most of your time preparing fresh noodles, meat, and vegetables for the New Year's hot pot.
It was nearly the end of the month, and so both you and Satoru knew that another conversation about his stay would come very soon.
You didn't want him to leave. As the days spent in his company were some of the happiest moments of your life.
And Satoru didn't bring up the topic either, merely letting the serenity and affection fill your peaceful days.
"Are you sure I can wear it?" he asked from the bedroom next to yours, and you could see the shadows of his figure through the paper walls.
His broad, muscular back was being dressed in your father's old festive clothes, as you dug them out from the depths of the chest. Too beautiful to simply toss aside, so you gave them to Satoru to prevent him from visiting your friends in his usual hemp clothes.
"Mhm, no one is using it, so take it."
He hummed under his breath, and a moment later left the bedroom.
You were applying simple makeup now, nothing elaborate, just a touch of blush and redness to look more festive.
His heavy footsteps echoed along the hallways, and your bedroom door slid open wide.
"I could've been naked, you know?" You chuckled.
He smiled, coming inside and showing himself in full view.
And he… he looked majestic. Beautiful. Dressed in long black and red robes, with a fur collar wrapped around his neck. The silk belt loosely encircled his thin waist, wide sleeves swooshed in the air, and white fur threaded through his pale skin.
Now, finally dressed in anything other than the hem robes of dark blue and earthy hues, he truly resembled a noble.
And you needed to remind yourself that he was a noble.
"You look handsome," was the only thing you managed to choke out.
His head tilted, and eyes shifted over your figure, hunched on the stool. Your thumb was reddened as you dabbed powder on your lips.
But you didn't look as breathtaking as he did – or so you thought. Dressed in much simpler robes of red and dark blue, woven with a touch of warm linen. The festive red made your lips stand out, and the pins decorating your hair were rather plain too. Nothing he was probably used to seeing.
And yet, he bit the inside of his cheek and kept his eyes restless on your body for much longer than they ought to.
He took a few steps forward and knelt right in front of you, just to cup a warm cheek with his hand. "You're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."
The blush you applied to your skin was red enough, yet now, blending with your natural warmth, it must have made you appear foolish.
Your lashes fluttered softly as you turned your head away. "I know you don't mean it. The noble ladies sure are much lovelier."
He chuckled and pinched your chin to draw you closer again. Deep, ocean eyes gazed at you with tender sweetness as he brushed your lower, red lip.
"And yet, none of them made me fall in love with pig intestines."
You laughed, ugly, pushing him away. "Rude!"
He chuckled, sitting down on your bed. His eyes still watched the way you applied makeup, with gentle fingertips smudging the crimson powder over your lips.
"I speak of truth only, darling."
You hummed, still not quite believing his charming words. "Mhm, go downstairs and check whether the cart is fully packed."
When you saw his furrow in the mirror's reflection, your head quickly turned to look back at him again. "What?"
He sighed. "I don't think Bao likes me."
"Of course he does. He likes everyone."
Satoru shook his head. "Not me. He actually bit me the last time I rubbed his head."
You smiled, and your cheeks formed into two plush dumplings. "No, he didn't."
But when Satoru rolled his sleeve up to show a nasty, purplish bruise on his forearm, you bit down on your lower lip.
His eyes narrowed. "You want to laugh."
Your head swiftly turned back to the mirror as you covered your lips with a nearby hand fan. "No, I don't. That looks quite bad indeed."
But your eyes creased into a smile, even slightly moist, as the thought of Bao biting Satoru out of pure jealousy for you genuinely made you burst into laughter.
"Go downstairs then and put it into the snow."
Satoru rolled his eyes and let the sleeve fall back down to his wrist. "A truly heartless woman you are, darling, to care for this mull more than for me."
You knew he was joking, and so you traced his handsome grin all the way back to the door, before he winked at you and disappeared behind the paper surface.
The sweet, heated days couldn't last too long.
And you knew it all too well, for the restless sensation weighed heavily on your heart. Something ominous was approaching. A plague, or a curse, that would tear through the peaceful moments spent in Satoru's company.
The uneasiness gripped your heart even then, as you added the final touches to your makeup.
It's here, a sudden thought wrapped around your mind. Whatever curse is coming, it's already here.
And, oh, how badly you wished for it not to be the truth.
But then you heard a woman's scream and a low man's voice rambling in such a familiar way. Low and slightly drunk. The voice of your uncle.
You stood up immediately, rushing downstairs and stumbling over the long robes. Your breath caught in your throat, chest aching with pain and a hope that Satoru wasn't the one who caused the sudden ruckus.
If they found him, a young, unmarried man in your house, where none of the elders could keep an eye on your two tender hearts – you didn't want to consider the consequences.
Certainly, the move would be unavoidable. As your reputation becomes tarnished by a nasty, humiliating patch, the wicked aunties of the village would surely cling to your name.
There were good people too, and yet the power of gossip in a small community like yours was truly disheartening.
So you ran downstairs and hurried, and when you didn't see Satoru or anyone in the kitchen or the restaurant's main inn, your heart leapt once again.
"And who are you, young man, to bother her at home?"
Oh dearest.
Within two steps, you pushed the door open and encountered a scenery you desperately wanted to avoid.
Your uncle and aunt were once again in your possession, holding a document of ownership in their hands. The one you had refused to sign for the past few months.
Satoru stood right in front of the house, packing the last items onto the wooden cart. His brows knitted tightly, eyes narrowed, and you've never seen such a fierce expression contort his face.
All the traces of gentle warmth were washed away; solely a wicked, cold severity pressed his lips into a tight line.
And what was worse – all the villagers were gradually gathering outside the low wooden fence, whispering and talking, staring between the three of you in utter shock.
Your uncle moved his gaze to you, pointing at Satoru with his finger. "Who is he?!"
The situation wasn't that bad, you thought.
Because Satoru was of noble descent, he looked much more impressive than all the other men in the village – handsome, broad, and radiating a dominant, daunting aura that did not blend into the community.
Satoru could simply state that he was a scholar asking for a way back home.
And then he could leave, healthy and fed, letting himself forget the past two months he had spent in your company.
In fact, he had an easy way out.
So you looked at him, wishing he would do it too.
But he didn't.
Instead, he watched the Bao's reins resting in his hands. Old and scratchy, because you couldn't afford to buy new ones.
He watched the hem of his dark robes and slightly worn shoes, embroidered with golden thread by your own hands.
His eyes fell on the snow. He took a deep breath of fresh, biting air that tickled him with icy pinches. But he didn't mind.
His belly was full and his mind, for the first time in a few years, calm.
And his heart, oh his heart, was heavy and warm, swelling as it pulled him towards a woman who was ready to risk her reputation and well-being to keep him safe.
The one who couldn't read or write and lacked the virtues the noble ladies possessed, yet spent nights sitting by the small table, with a single candle casting a gentle glow on her face, her trembling fingers trying to form curved characters.
Just three, always the same, and once, when you fell asleep again, with cheek dirtied with ink, Satoru recognised all three of them.
His name.
The first characters you thought of learning were his name.
"I'm asking you something! Who is this man?!"
Your uncle was fuming. Aunt looked between you and Satoru with narrowed eyes, while the other older women in the village had already begun their gossip.
You needed to end it.
"He's–"
"I'm her future husband." His voice was stern. Fully serious. "I came to ask for her hand."
Your lips fell open. Eyes wide and shining, as he looked at you over his shoulder. Just for a moment, before his gaze went back to your uncle.
"I came to place an offering for her parents. To marry into her family and ask for the blessing to take her hand."
Your finger clutched the hem of your clothes tighter. Teeth biting the inside of your cheek to stop the tears that wished to swell beneath your lids.
Satoru stepped closer to your uncle and aunt. He was tall – much taller than they were – and his wide, muscular shoulders loomed over them both, casting dark shadows across the soft snow.
His eyes, icy cold, slipped down to the document your uncle clenched in his fingers, and he pulled it with a quick move.
Your aunt gasped, but she didn't take a step forward. She just grabbed her husband's arm, gritting her teeth until you could hear her jaw cracking.
"I think it belongs to me now, doesn't it?" Satoru muttered, looking at the document. His eyes traced the characters, written in bends and curls, and brows furrowed. "Where's the magistrate's stamp?"
Your uncle looked up at him with clenched fists and gritted."I don't know what you're talking about."
Satoru smiled. Slyly, almost wickedly, with a grin that sent shivers down your spine.
"I'm sure you don't," he chuckled, then crumpled the document in his fist. "You wanted to use the fact that she can't read, huh? Force her to give you everything she owns and leave with nothing?"
The whispers of the villagers mixed with gasps and snickers, as both your aunt and uncle flushed in humiliation.
"How dare you!" The woman pointed a finger at him, yet still gripped her husband's arm tightly. "You're not married yet, so what right have you to it all? And so what if we don't have the magistrate's approval! Why should we live in a cramped house while she has all of this to herself?!"
"Hmm," Satoru's eyes narrowed as he leaned over both of them. The paper in his fist was now ripped to shreds, and he slipped it into the pocket of his robes. "We're to be married in three days. And as the joyous holidays have come, I'm sure the magistrate won't be working for quite some time."
Your aunt and uncle shuddered beneath his gaze. Wild yet still collected, as he finally straightened up.
"You–"
"If you wish to talk to her…" Satoru added, ignoring your uncle's fuming cheeks. "You're the first to speak to me. You do not contact her, nor do you bother to send another false document. We can speak before the magistrate or simply part ways here."
He didn't wait for their answer.
But turned on his heel and headed towards the house, where you still stood in the doorway – with trembling lips and fingers gently wiping away tears from your cheeks.
He pushed you inside, not saying a word, before closing the door shut.
His back hit the wooden surface, and head fell low between slumped shoulders. The thick, creamy redness once again crept up his neck and to his ears, yet he didn't have the courage to show you his face.
The small space of the restaurant was filled with your snotty breaths that rolled heavily past your lips.
You were never a crybaby. Yet the warmth that suddenly settled in your heart sent trembling kisses up to your fingertips. His words still echoed in your mind, loud and unbelievable, so you stepped closer and lifted your fingers to tug at his robes.
"Why did you say it?" you whispered. "Satoru, you could have just lied. Say you were a simple scholar who came to the restaurant."
His head was still hanging low.
"Satoru," you repeated, tugging at his robes. "Do you know what you have brought upon yourself?" When he ignored you again, you finally pinched his chin and lifted it. "Sato–"
His face – handsome and gentle – was plagued by the juiciest, loveliest embarrassment you've ever seen. His cheeks were like two cherries, plump and sweet, as he looked at you with a maddened, almost miserable frown.
Eyes glistening with fondness, lips drawn in a line, as he finally allowed his breath to escape through his tightened throat.
"What if I want to?" He said.
Your forehead furrowed, and fingers pinching his chin fell away. But not completely, as he quickly grasped your hand and pressed it back to his cheek. Nuzzling into the softness of your skin and relishing the gentle, flowery oil you had smoothed over yourself.
"What do you mean?" Your voice slipped more flinchy than you wished.
Satoru closed his eyes, and before you knew it, his lips landed on your palm. Placing a short, gentle kiss, sending shivers down your spine.
"What if I wanted to be your husband?" he asked again, this time a little more confident. His eyes opened, staring at your dazed, lovely face. "What if I hadn't lied?" he bit the inside of his cheek. "What if I truly understood the meaning of love after meeting you?"
You didn't say anything back. Just stared, allowing him to push out all the restless emotions that had been building deep within his heart for the past months.
"The thought of ever returning to my old life and forgetting the days spent in your presence feels like a nightmare," he trembled. His lips, eyes, and fingers clutched your hand tighter.
No one ever made him feel as vulnerable as you did.
"Satoru–"
"I don't do it out of pity," he quickly added, as if afraid your thoughts might slip that way. "I'm genuinely, madly, sincerely, darling, in lov–"
He didn't finish.
But he couldn't, as your lips suddenly pressed against his. In a messy, awkward, and sloppy kiss, you pulled him closer by the collar. His eyes stayed open for a while, watching your lids close tight, as you pressed yourself against him, sweat and stress beading on your forehead.
And when the first shock passed, he smiled. Parted his lips gently and let your tongue lie plush against his. Strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. One stayed just above your hips, the other slipping up to rest on the back of your neck.
The softness of your skin made his mind spin, and saliva, sticky and sweet, coated the surface of his tongue.
But he didn't mind, drinking your shy gasps and letting your lips work in harmony. Till you needed to push him away and take a deep breath.
With cheeks burning warmth and lips slightly swollen.
"I love you," he finished. "I love you, I love you, I love you so much," he peppered gentle kisses over your cheeks, nose, and chin. A soft giggle slipped past your throat, and you had to push him away. "I can't cook or sew, and I may spend too much time staring at you at night, but…" He took a deep breath, staring into your mellow eyes. His hands slipped up, both palms landing on your cheeks. "But if you'll give me a chance, I'll be the best husband you could dream of. And I'll love you, maybe a bit more than you would. And I'll build you a bathtub because I know how much you wanted it, and I'll do anything to befriend Bao. Just, please, let me marry you."
Your hands covered his, warming up the chill that somehow coated them with a sheen of kisses.
"I don't know how to read," your voice was soft as fingers squeezed his. "And I don't know how to write either. I've never kissed anyone before, and my temperament may not be the loveliest. I don't know how to be a good wife. And I'm not sure whether I can be one, but…" You pressed his hands against your cheeks. "If you'll build me this bathtub, I can learn how to be one."
Satoru chuckled. At first, softly and shyly, before he began to laugh with pure, sincere joy. His lips once again pressed to yours. Once, twice, three times as he kissed you and whispered tender thank you thank you thank you, while you giggled in his arms.
"Besides," he started, brushing your cheeks with his thumbs. "You've already proposed to me once."
Your eyes, wet, furrowed. "Me? When?"
"Hm, just a week after you saved me. In the kitchen, slightly drunken."
Your lips fell open, and he pushed your chin up to close them.
"Oh my god!" An embarrassed choke rose in your throat. "How could you take it seriously?"
But Satoru only chuckled. And kissed you again - softly, slowly, with a hum of fondness that filled his heart.
Because back then I was already slowly falling for you, and even such a small, silly confession made him believe that whatever fate held for him, it would be nowhere but in the warmth of your arms.
𑁤 𑁤 𑁤
"There's a man behind you," Maki whispered as you and Satoru knocked on her door. "A handsome one, at that."
Two hours later, you finally arrived at Maki's and Yuta's house, warm and slightly flushed, fingers entwined in a warm tangle.
You heard Yuta's laughter and the sweet, mellow bubbling of their child.
The spicy, rich fragrance was coming from within, quickly wetting your tongue with a ravishing hunger.
"He's–" You started.
But it seemed Satoru felt overly confident after your sheepish confessions from hours earlier, so he quickly added, "Her husband."
Maki's lips parted as she slipped her gaze back to you. "What?!"
"My future husband," you pointed, shooting Satoru a look over your shoulder. "We're not married."
"Yet," he added with a smile.
"Yet?" Maki asked, letting both of you come inside. "Yuta, we have guests!"
Her husband slipped from the main inn, with a baby warmly cradled in his arms. Dark eyes, slightly sleepy yet as always kind, quickly glanced at Satoru. Travelling up and up, oogling the tall man in a daze.
"Oh, hello," he said, bowing softly, before he quickly gazed at Maki.
She sighed. "Her husband."
Yuta gasped, looking back at your flushed face and grinning Satoru. "Husband?"
"No yet!" you groaned, as embarrassment crept up your neck. "Dearest, let's sit first, and then we can talk, hm?"
Yuta gave a little Iori to Maki, and together with Satoru, they went out to pick up the prepared food from the cart and hid Bao in their little stable.
Maki followed them both till the door shut behind their backs, and she could finally pinch your soft, red cheek. "You!"
"Ouch!"
"Is that why you didn't visit us for the past two months? Playing with a handsome scholar, huh?" She laughed as you stepped into the main room together. The main pot was already on the table, but the soup wasn't boiling. "I can't believe you didn't say anything!"
Still rubbing your cheek, you took Iori from her arms and followed her to the kitchen.
Their house was much more spacious than yours, simply because Yuta's business was doing much better. The bigger cities offered more clients, and although they said a couple of times that nothing would make him happier than hiring you as the main cook, you somehow couldn't leave your restaurant.
Your parents, childhood, the restless days spent helping your mother knead dough for noodles – everything was still shut there. Warm and alive, as if the memories of those days were still within reach of your fingertips.
"I'm sorry," you pouted, speaking to Iori rather than to Maki herself. "I met him on the evening I was heading home. If I hadn't saved him, he would have been dead by the morning."
Maki narrowed her eyes and pushed her glasses up as they slipped off her nose. "And instead of treating him and letting him go back, you decided to keep him to yourself?"
She wasn't wrong. You never ordered Satoru to go home. In fact, you never intended to do so, thinking he would naturally leave your house at some point.
But he didn't, and now you were meant to get married in three days.
"He could leave any time," you scoffed, softly pinching Iori's dumpling cheek.
Maki cut the vegetables for the hot pot, placing them in separate bowls. The Sichuan pepper tickled your nose with its spicy fragrance, warming your belly just a bit.
"But he didn't."
"No."
"And you didn't kick him off."
"I didn't."
Maki sighed, bringing the bowls back to the main room and setting up the table.
"So there's the wedding and then what. You want to have a family with him?"
Her dark eyes oogled your warm cheeks. The sheer thought of sleeping with him in the same bed sent thousands of sweet pinches down your spine, yet the idea of actually giving him a child… boiled something deep in your lower belly.
"I don't know," you whispered, looking at the tiny baby in your arms. "I always wanted to be a mother. But… if he doesn't want a family, then that's fine too."
The morning sun was slowly giving way to an afternoon glow, and as the winter days grew shorter and colder, the evening would fall in just a few hours. Your belly growled with hunger, and the warmth and spiciness of a soup slowly boiling in the pot made you salivate.
Maki was sceptical. You knew it, saw it in the way she looked at Satoru as he came back in with Yuta. Jars of wine and freshly made noodles gripped in their hands, they placed everything by a small table.
Now with four places.
Maki didn't say anything, but simply followed Satoru's figure, drawing closer to you. Clad in warm, elegant clothes, he placed a quick kiss on your forehead before looking at the baby in your arms.
"Oh, he's beautiful," he said, looking at Yuta and Maki. Iori curled his tiny fingers around Satoru's larger one, squeezing it with a giggle. "Hm, he has a good grip. I can teach him to use a sword if you'll let me. I've learned something back when I was younger."
Maki furrowed her brow, and before she could say anything, Yuta gasped. His dark eyes glimmered and lips fell open as he clasped, looking at his wife with a beaming smile.
"Oh, should we do it? Imagine Iori with a sword!"
But Maki sighed and shook her head, returning to the kitchen to prepare the rest of the food. She ordered Yuta and Satoru to prepare the fireworks for the evening's celebration, then kicked them out of the house.
Satoru chuckled, looking between you and a baby with a smile. Warm, making your cheeks burn with a feeling you wouldn't have described just a few months ago.
But now you knew it was this maddening, endless loyalty that beamed from his plush lips against yours as he stole a quick kiss. Short, but sweet enough to make your heart flutter.
Your fingers wrapped around a little Iori more tightly, as Satoru's warm eyes looked between you and a baby with a smile.
"We're next, darling," he chuckled, winking with his cheeky, mischievous smile, then followed Yuta back outside.
Four hours later – you were already drunk.
Drunk and warm, with lips swollen from spicy soup and mind dizzy, you rested against Satoru's shoulder. His cheeks were sweetly rosy, and eyes wet from laughter, yet he wasn't as drunk as you.
Yuta and Maki quickly warmed up, and it was the first time you saw Satoru around other people. Oh, how much you loved it – seeing how effortlessly he knew how to fit in just right.
His jokes were turning your belly upside down, and attention was split equally between you, Yuta and Maki. He knew what to say to make Yuta feel the bond between them growing. He managed to slip past Maki's iron walls, making her chuckle a few times and even ask whether he needed another portion of rice.
He was great with children, too, cradling Iori close to his chest as the boy tried to grasp the snowy strands of his hair.
He… his hand didn't leave your thigh for even a second after you finally sat down to celebrate. He fished out all the best pieces of meat and put them into your small bowl. Cooked vegetables for just the right amount of time, then blew his wine-sweetened breath to cool the food before he put it with his chopsticks straight into your mouth.
Maki and Yuta watched you two with clear amusement, yet you noticed the warmth bubbling in your friends' eyes.
The comfort and relief that there was finally someone ready to fall in love with you madly, recklessly, without fear or shame about their feelings.
Four hours later, your head was resting heavily on Satoru's shoulder. Drunk and in love, you wrapped yourself around his arm and sighed deeply.
"Darling, should we go back home?" He chuckled, pushing back a few locks of hair, brushing your cheeks.
Your head shook. "Mmm, it's too early."
Satoru chuckled. Fireworks burst high in the sky, bathing his handsome face. His eyes shimmered beneath the warm light from the lanterns as arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer.
"Sleepyhead," he whispered, pinching your swollen lower lip. "How about we go home and get ready for bed, hm?"
You were too lazy to go back. And too tired. And the night air was cold, unpleasant, biting at your skin, making it feel cooler than usual. Here, inside the house, the fire from the hot pot was warming you up, and sweet wine was twisting through your body, filling it with sizzling kisses.
"You can stay the night if you want," Maki said, looking at the very drunk Yuta. "We'll be going to bed too. But there's one bedroom we're not using. You can use it if you want."
The warm bed sounded good. Satoru nodded, quickly lifting you up. One of his arms under your knees, another behind your back, as you nuzzled into his warm chest.
He carried you effortlessly, walking up the stairs, before he entered one of the bedrooms. Maki brought you clothes to change into, along with a small bowl filled with warm water. A cloth to it, to let you clean your body just a bit.
And with a small yet crafty smile, she looked at you before shutting the door.
Leaving you alone.
Only when Satoru sat you down on the bed, the candle casting a warm light on the side of his face, did your mind register what was happening.
The room was small but cosy. The bed was big enough to fit you two, and snowflakes clung to the shut windows. A big bowl steamed with hot water, and Satoru wet the cloth slightly before he started cleaning your forehead. And cheeks, neck, lips, removing the light makeup.
His ocean eyes followed your face carefully as your gaze dropped to your hands, which were playing with the hem of the robes.
When the warm cloth slipped onto your neck, your breath hitched.
And he noticed it.
"I'm sorry," slipped in an almost inaudible whisper. "I… I'll leave so you can finish. Just call me if you need anything."
Perhaps it was the alcohol.
Or the courage that was bubbling inside your body for far too long.
But before he could fully stand up, your fingers wrapped around his wrist. With a firm grip, you loosened your hold the moment his eyes widened.
A silence stretched between your feverish bodies. The room was stuffy, maybe a bit too warm, and the lack of fresh air left beads of sweat on your temple.
Or maybe it wasn't the room alone, but rather the nerves that dripped in droplets down your spine.
"You can stay," your voice was weak. "If you want. You can help me."
Before he said a word, your trembling fingers slipped down to the belt wrapped around waist. Letting the material fall loosely onto the bed, the outer, heavy robes followed, revealing another layer of clothing, this time much, much thinner. White and slightly crumpled, banded with a warm, fur-like lining.
Satoru remained silent. But his fingers gripped the wet cloth a little tighter and jaw clenched as he watched your trembling hands unwrap the inner robe too.
"We don't have to do it," his voice was gentle, sweet, and eyes filled with worry.
But something else too. Something hungry, restrained, yet still brimming with fondness.
A shy smile tugged at your lips. "I know." Your fingers unfastened the thinner belt at your side. "But I want to."
His eyes remained on your face.
When you slipped your arms from the inner robe. When it fell loosely, pooling around your hips. When the softness of your skin shimmered beneath the candle's warm light and the snow still danced outside the windows.
The fireworks, bustling somewhere far beyond your small bubble, blushed your skin red. No cold slipped through the wooden sills, and no sound except your mingling breaths echoed off the walls.
And his eyes still didn't stray anywhere below the tremble of your chin.
Yet fingers wetted the cloth in hot water and went back to cleaning your skin. Starting from the collarbones, shoulders, and the softness of your chest, before gradually slipping to the swell that settled warm in his hands.
The cloth brushed the underside of your breasts. The softness that melted under his fingers and perked nipples, pushing a lovely gasp past your lips.
Your fingers curled into the bedding, crumpling it as Satoru slipped lower. Through the plushness of your belly and hips, rubbing the skin gently, wetting it with unhurried strokes. When he reached your tightened legs, ocean eyes looked up.
"We don't have to," he repeated.
You bit on the inside of your cheek. "Do you… not want to do it?"
He chuckled, putting the cloth away. Big, warm hands settled on your thighs, thumbs rolling soft circles across your skin.
"There's nothing else I wish for at this moment but to love you madly." His eyes glimmered with sincerity as one hand lifted to slowly remove the pins still adorning your hair. "But if you want to do it after the wedding… or any other time. In a month, a year," he took them out one by one, letting your hair fall loosely. "Or never. I'll be fine with it too."
His palm rested against your cheek, and you nuzzled into its warmth. "And what if I want to do it right now, before the wedding? Will you think ill of me?"
Satoru wanted to chuckle. But he didn't. Instead, he let his other hand slip from your thigh and grabbed your ankle. Lifting your foot, he pressed it against his crotch, still covered by two layers of robes. Even then, you could feel the wet bulge pressing against the thin sole of your foot.
"There's nothing you could do that would turn my heart against you."
Your neck burned with fire, and the warmth filling the small room added to the heat in your body. You didn't take the foot away, but instead pressed it a little harder, slowly parting your thighs.
Feeling the sticky wetness that stretched between them and pooled right under your hips. Feverish, almost burning your core with a need for his gentle touch. A pulsation that set your mind ablaze and tingled all ten fingertips with warmth that longed to break away.
"I don't know what to do," slipped in a whisper, as you kept your eyes on Satoru's face.
He didn't let his gaze fall. Not yet.
But when you moved your hips closer to the edge of the bed and leaned back on your elbows, dear heavens, he needed to pinch his own thigh just to not cum right there on the spot.
Your pussy glistened beneath a flame coming off the single candle. Drenched in sticky, fresh cum as you parted your thighs even wider. As if not understanding the deadly grip you held him in.
His big hands pressed beneath your thighs, pushing them against your chest. His eyes looked up, carefully tracing the shiver of your lower lip. Your eyes bulged with need, and you gave him a gentle nod, granting him full permission.
To do whatever he wanted, since it was the first time a man had touched you and needed you in such an intimate way.
And Satoru wished to show you exactly how much he loved you.
"You're so wet, darling," he muttered, drawing closer to your drenched pussy. "Do you have any idea what I'm about to do?"
Your head shook.
You truly had no idea. Because you didn't have many female friends and Maki rarely talked about her sex life. In fact, no one ever talked about it.
You knew there were books. Of all sorts, with graphics painted in thin lines, of men and women embracing something sweeter than a simple hug.
But such books were rarely available in villages as small as yours, and whatever was going on between husband and wife on the wedding night was whispered about in lowered, giggly voices and with flushed cheeks.
Thus, no. You didn't know what Satoru wanted to do.
That's why, when his wet tongue plastered to your pussy – muffled, almost gasping moan fell past your lips.
Your hands shot towards his head, trying to push him away. "Wait, that's–"
"You taste delicious, oh dearest," he mumbled, letting your fingers clench around his white locks. "Don't worry, darling. Just let yourself relax, you need to loosen up."
That being said, his mouth once again met with a smack from your folds. Tongue parting them gently, pressing wetly to the sensitive clit. He sucked on it with a mellow groan, letting his fingers squeeze your thighs a little harder. Not hard enough to leave purplish kisses, yet still wrapping them in a heated embrace.
Your head fell onto the bed, and your spine tried to arch off the mattress. Yet he held you folded, with your legs pressed against your chest and a strong grip keeping them in place.
The tip of his tongue swirled around the pulsing button. Before it slipped down, poking at the wetness dripping from your hole.
"S-Satoru," a soft, quiet moan slipped past your lips when he pushed the muscle inside.
Your walls, plush and warm, clutched around it immediately, as if trying to suck it in. His fingers kneaded the backs of your thighs, as if trying to reassure you that it's fine. That you only needed to relax and let his love spill into the most intimate, sweetest part of your body, as he kissed and licked and sucked on it tenderly, gently.
His tongue pulled out and again pressed fully to your slit. Before he gave your pussy a long, back-to-front lick. From the puckered hole up to the puffy clit. The hefty waves of juiced dripped right into his starving mouth, and he drank it with low whimpers.
His lips pulled away with a smack, a crystalline string of mixed saliva and cum connecting his mouth with your folds. "How do you feel, darling? Tell me, I want to hear you."
You nodded and clenched your fingers in his hair. Because that was the only thing you could do. Your mind was a mess, your back drenched in sweat, and your eyes fluttered whenever his tongue met the softness of your pussy.
There was as much as you could handle, and Satoru was already exceeding all your expectations for such intimacy.
"Say something," his voice turned almost pleading. Lips landed on your mound, kissing up to your inner thighs. "Please, say you're enjoying it."
Your breath hitched as he bit into your soft skin. "I d-do. Mhm, Satoru, it felt s-so good."
Looking down at his face, you bit your lower lip. Gluey cum was stuck to his face – nose, chin, and cheeks. He looked up, before his tongue slipped past his lips, giving your pussy a single, long lick. His gaze met yours.
Oh dearest, it was simply too much!
And when his finger slipped past your tight walls, you once again tried to push him away. Not because you didn't like it, but rather as something warm started coiling in your lower belly since his lips landed on your clit. And now, with his finger pushing and bending and massaging the tightening walls of your drenched cunt, the warmth turned into a feverish need for release.
"Satoru, s-something's going on," you moaned, trying not to break eye contact. "Wait, it's–"
"It's okay," he assured you. One hand kneading your thigh, the other pushing a second finger in. "It's okay, darling. Just trust me, yeah? You're doing well, baby. Keep it up. Don't tense your belly."
His lips went back to your clit, sucking wetly on the swollen button and flicking it with a tip of his tongue.
Your hips rolled against his lips. And when his two fingers pressed against something plush deep inside your pussy, your back peeled off the mattress.
"Oh, mhmm, S-Satoru!" you moaned as both fingers relentlessly bullied the spot. "That's to–nghh."
Too much. He worked you relentlessly, with the soft pads of his fingers pressing the sweet spot against the wall of your pussy and deep, ocean eyes observing the changing expressions on your lovely face.
Drinking it each furrow, each moan, the way your lips parted and closed, when he grazed your clit with his teeth, only to coo it with a soft lick.
Your thighs wanted to close around his head, but he pushed himself closer — until muscular arms shoved your legs, keeping them wide open.
"You're good," he whispered right against your pussy. "You're okay, baby. Just let it go. Don't hold back. Just let me have you all."
Hair stuck to your damp forehead, lips fell open as he sped up. Still gentle, yet devouring you with more hunger. Pads brushing the plump spot, his tongue flicking against the clit, till the warmth splashing in your pouch finally, suddenly, spilt.
Flaming pleasure washed over your spine, filling your body up to the toes, curling up in the air. Your body melted beneath his touch, until your thighs parted even wider, just to feel his muscular body pressing against yours.
His broad shoulders trembled between your legs, as you cummed and cummed, with soft moans spilling past your lips and pussy keeping around his fingers in a tight grip. His chin and cheeks and nose were drenched from gushing cum, which he tried to drink in fully. Slurping on the droplets with furrowed brows and slightly wet corners of his eyes till you needed to push him away with a foot.
It was too much, and your chest ached from the deep breaths you grasped for in the room's stuffy sweetness. Filled with the smell of your sweat, your breath, and your pussy, still fresh on Satoru's lips.
"Darling," he whispered, tracing wet kisses along your body. "My sweet, sweet darling. My beautiful, lovely wife."
Tongue lapped at the sweat beading on your belly. Lips pressed against your ribs until his nose brushed the swell of your breast, and mouth latched onto your nipple.
Hard and warm, as he sucked on it with eyes still glued to your face.
His robes were soaked through, so he began untying them at a slow, unhurried pace. The belt, the outer clothes, and then the inner, while his lips moved between your breasts.
"Satoru, oh," your fingers tugged on his hair to pull him closer.
The wetness started pooling between your thighs again.
"You looked so beautiful with a baby," he mumbled against your breasts, biting softly. "It made me think of how much I'd love to see you with ours."
A sudden gasp ripped from your throat as you felt something pressing against your pussy. Something hard and leaking, heavy in a way it pressed snug between your folds.
Satoru still kept your thighs apart, but now his lips found their way to yours. The kiss was the sweetest, gentlest, hungriest thing you've ever experienced.
The ends of his hair stuck to his wet forehead, and your arms wrapped around his neck, his to pull him even closer.
The heavy fatness between your legs began to move through your drenched folds. Wetting in the juices still gathering beneath your hips - in squelching, nasty sounds that made your breath tremble.
Satoru's lips pressed softly against yours, and he cherished each second of having you beneath him. Soft and warm, you wrapped yourself around him with a loving neediness.
"I want it," you whispered into a kiss. "I want your child. Please."
You weren't even married yet. But the fire that consumed you both left you utterly greedy. To have everything the future had prepared for you, right now, and so Satoru couldn't do anything but nod.
"You may feel a bit of pain," he warned you. "But I'll make you feel good, I promise."
One of his hands dropped down to his hot, leaking cock, nudging against your entrance. You looked down, just for a second, and a heat hit your mind, and the sight of his fatness.
Big and leaking, covered in the creaminess of your cum and with a ferociously red head that was pressed to your entrance.
"Oh," you could only say, looking at Satoru with bulging eyes. "It's not small."
"No, it's not," he chuckled, sensing your pleasure-drunk voice. "If you don't want to-"
"I do," your fingers tugged on his hair, gripping the neck tighter. "Please, make me feel good. I want it."
His ocean eyes stayed fixed on your face throughout. Following the expression curving your lips, eyes, and brows as he slowly pushed himself.
You were warm around his cock. Your pussy soaked it through, wrapping around the fat shaft and already sucking it in the same way it did with his fingers. You felt almost painfully tight, so he gripped your thighs more harshly so as not to sink himself in one push.
As for you… heavens.
Your back was already arching towards his chest, covered in slick sweat and pooled on the mattress. He filled you to the brim, and you could feel each vein, each pulsing of his cock against your tight walls, as he slowly thrusted in.
"You need to relax," he whispered, kissing both flushed cheeks. "My baby, take a deep breath." When you did, he smiled warmly. "Yeah, that's good. You're doing so well, darling. Just a bit more, yeah? Let me fill you."
A thought that you had already felt him filling your belly had crossed your mind. But then his curved tip brushed against the same sweet spot that made you see stars, and you cried out, clenching around his shaft.
"Satoru," fell quietly, as he was still pushing. "That's t-too much. Mhm, I fell so-"
"I know, baby, I know," he licked the single tear that threatened to roll down your cheek. "Just a bit more. I need to go deep to fill your belly. For a child, yeah? Take a deep breath, my sweet girl."
And then, without a warning, he thrusted his cock in a quick, one-move thrust. Till constricting balls slapped against your lifted ass and your thighs pressed closed to your chest. The leaking head hit something plush inside your pussy, and another moan crashed against Satoru's lips.
"Heavens," he groaned, trying to keep himself from coming on the spot. But it was much harder than he expected, considering he had just hit your cervix. "Baby, give me a minute. Fuck, wait-"
But you already started moaning. And wriggling, and pulsing around him, as a heavenly bliss was pinching your spine.
The heavy feeling of having him inside you was driving you mad, and your walls wrapped around his fat cock snugly.
"Satoru, move," you ordered sweetly, feeling the need to chase the pleasure that ripped through your body a few minutes ago. "You, mhm, please d-do something."
Your hand slipped down between your bodies to press softly against your belly. Soft as usual, but now stuffed with something warm and hard, so you squeezed it, rolling a low groan past Satoru's lips.
So he did - do something. His hips slowly pulled away before he pushed himself back into your pussy. Letting his shaft brush each spot, and the plushness of your drenched walls as he started fucking you a bit harsher than intended.
He wished to be soft, gentle, and kind, but you suddenly found yourself craving a bit of roughness and strength, and nothing gave you as much pleasure as his muscular body pressing against yours.
Your chests pressed against each other as he started pounding you with long, deep thrusts. Making sure to fill your weeping pussy all the way to the swelling cervix, as he drank all the moans falling sweetly past your lips.
"Tell me you feel good," his voice was gentle, demanding, as his hand also slipped down your body to settle between your puffy folds. Two fingers pressed to your clit, rolling it in slow circles. "Tell me, darling, that you love it."
"I-I," fell first, before a moan followed as his fingers pinched your clit. "I love you. Ahh, Satoru I love you I love you I love you."
He chuckled, yet a whimper followed when the sensitive head of his cock smooched your cervix.
"Fuck, darling," he took a deep breath as your walls wrapped around his shaft tightly. "You'll be the death of me."
His fingers rolled your clit, and fat cock filled you to the brim, till each thrust ended with your head falling to the sides and eyes rolling back. Your fingers pulled his milky hair, and lips were soon covered by his, when your moans became loud enough to wake up the whole village.
The fireworks still bloomed outside the window, muffling your puffs and moans, as if wishing to hide the intimate encounter between the two new lovers.
Satoru's pace quickened, and the familiar splashing in your lower belly once again tickled you with pleasure. Your fingers tugged at his hair, pulling him closer to your lips, body, the chest sticking wetly to his, as if you wanted to merge your bodies into one.
"I'm close," you breathed, nibbling on his lower lips. "Satoru, I'm–mhmm–g-give me a baby, p-please."
With one hand still between your folds, another lifted one of your legs and hooked it over his shoulder. He kept you folded almost painfully, yet the new position let his cock pound you deeper, sweeter, bruising meanly the swollen cervix that sucked him in.
Your walls clenched around his cock, trying to milk it dry.
"Cum for me, darling," he licked your lips before pressing a harsh kiss. "Come on, let me fill you up. I love you so fucking much. I'll give you everything, I promise." His thrusts grew messier as a tingling pinched his spine too. "Everything you ever wish for. The family, the house, the love. I'll fill you with it every single day if you'll ask me to."
Your single nod became a series of frantic, restless tilts as you drank in all his sweet words.
"My heart and my soul are all yours," he whispered, pressing his wet forehead to yours. "I'm yours till death tears us apart."
And then, with kisses peppered over your cheeks, you finally came.
Back arched off the mattress, thighs trembled in his embrace as the pleasure bubbling in your loins finally spilt. Satoru followed you soon after, filling your womb with waves of creamy cum. Pushing and pushing it deep into your belly as you writhed and moaned beneath him.
The dusk has wrapped around your slowly calming bodies, and Satoru carefully lay beside you. His fingers brushed away a few stray strands sticking to your cheeks, and your eyes drank in the blissful warmth creeping up your neck.
You lie in silence, thinking of the hunger and need you have given yourself, not patient enough to wait until the wedding.
You rolled yourself to the side, now also looking at his face. Wearing this lovely yet cheeky smile.
"Aren't you proud of yourself?" you asked, giggling as you let yourself be drawn closer by his strong arm.
He hummed, nuzzling into the softness of your breasts. "And what if I am? My ferocious wife couldn't even wait until the wedding night. What are we going to do when it comes?"
Your fingers threaded through the silkiness of his hair, his warm, naked body pressed close to yours. Muscles rippled beneath his skin, and arm felt almost heavy over your waist, but you liked this crushing, almost balmy feeling.
"You're going to build me a bathtub," he chuckled, hearing your cheeky tone. "And then we'll make love in it until we're sure our daughter is on her way."
He looked up. "Daughter?"
"Why? Would you prefer a son?"
Satoru didn't know. The only thing he was sure of was that he wished to give you the family you desperately wanted. It didn't matter whether it was a son or a daughter – as long as they had your smile.
His head shook and his eyes closed as he let himself drown in the soft caresses of your fingers.
Three days later, you were sitting in front of yourself, wearing crimson wedding robes.
With a long string tying your fingers in a promise of forever and a warm sensation weighing on your hearts.
The future was basking in the soft hues of the sun setting over the tall mountains circling the village, and in the brightness of your smile; Satoru exchanged all the pleasure of his past life for it.
He wasn't a Marquis any more. There was no army he needed to lead, and no riches he held in his grasp.
Now, he was your husband, and his only duty was to ensure you stayed happy till the end of your days.
Now, he wished for nothing but to spend the rest of his life basking in the warmth of your smile.
ѕυммαяу： ♡ after getting asked on a date, you're feeling insecure over your inexperience regarding kissing someone. telling your bestfriend geto about your concerns results in an offer from him you didn't expect
cw ⤷ 𖥻 . ˖ ꒰ mdni ꒱ . smut . pwp . swearing . making out . dry humping . dirty talk . hickeys . biting . (light) nipple play . praise kink . piv . unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!) . c pie . orgasm denial . bsf!geto . virgin!reader . tease!geto . afab!reader . no pronouns ♯ 10k
The state of your mind is currently a mess, feeling overwhelmed and staring off into space as you think about how a guy asked you on a date earlier today. You'd turned him down but only because you have a particular hang up you can't get over, hence the feeling overwhelmed. You’ve never gone out on a date before and you feel like you’re missing out, so you definitely would’ve said yes if you weren’t so unsure of yourself.
Geto's hand waves in front of your face, breaking you from your trance, "Are you even listening to me?"
Has he been talking? Damn, you really spaced out, "Would you believe me if I said yes?"
"Not even a little bit." His gaze unamused.
You look away from him and to the poster behind his head on the wall, feeling sheepish. "Then no... sorry."
Frown deepening on his features, legs uncrossing and scooting closer to the edge of his bed. "What are you thinking about so hard?"
"Not telling," you answer, spinning around in his office chair so that you’re facing away from him.
His desk is neat, everything organised and probably put exactly where it should be. Beside his monitor sits a little black cat figurine, one you had bought him not too long ago because it reminded you of him. Seeing it displayed makes you smile; he must like it.
Geto’s voice cuts through your small reverie, "So, you're not only going to ignore me, you're also not going to tell me what's wrong?"
Not even glancing back, you hum at him, "That would be a correct assessment... yes."
"Have I told you that you're annoying yet today?" He exasperates.
Shrugging, "I don't think so?"
"Oh? In that case, you're annoying."
"You're so mean to me; this is why I don't want to tell you what's wrong." You’re being dramatic but so is he.
A sigh leaves him, "If I promise to be nice, will you tell me what's wrong?"
Your head flops back onto the headrest, jabbing at him jokingly, "I don't know if you're capable of kindness, Suguru."
"Now who's being mean? I'm nice all the time."
"Maybe to strangers..." You mumble out.
There’s no reply from him and for a second you think he’s going to leave the issue alone… that is until you’re suddenly spinning. His footsteps are always so light, you didn’t even hear him come up behind you. You’re facing him now, his hands holding himself up by the arm rests of his office chair. He’d spun you around just to lean down into your space and pointedly look at you.
Geto squints. “I’m nice to you all the time.”
“I don’t think this constitutes as ‘nice’.”
He groans your name, “Come on, you always talk to me when something’s wrong.”
“Maybe this is awkward for me to talk to you about,” you pout back at him.
His tongue clicks in realisation, “So, it’s about your love life?”
The immediate and correct guess stumps you, causing you to sputter out, “What!? You have no way of—”
“—You never talk to me about your dates, and you also got defensive so I’m guessing I’m right.” His gaze is even, unconcerned.
You huff at him and echo his earlier question, “Have I told you that you’re annoying yet today?”
“Yes, earlier when you almost fell over and I smiled,” he reminds.
Your response is a grimace and a matter-of-fact tone when saying, “I don’t tell you about my dates because I don’t go on them.”
“Ever?” Geto’s eyes widen slightly, clearly surprised by your confession.
Cementing back, “Ever.”
“People have definitely asked you out though.”
“Yeah, but not that often because they always think we’re together.” Glaring at him.
His hand reaches for your face and squishes your cheeks between his fingers. “Don’t look at me like that, that’s not my fault.”
Your voice comes out all mumbled and difficult to understand, “It so is.” He rolls his eyes at you, and you slap his hand away. “Stop squishing my face!”
Letting go, he sighs and takes a step back, sitting on the edge of the bed again. “Something about your love life is bothering you.”
Crossing your arms over your chest and looking to the side, you complain, “You’re so nosy.”
“Am not.”
What a liar, he’s always in your business. Though, now that you’re thinking about it, you don’t think he’s usually in other people’s business this bad. He does like hearing about the gossip you collect though, always ready to hear it while acting as though he doesn’t care.
There’s no reply you can think to give, so you give him the silent treatment. Still looking away from him and silently pouting, you can feel his eyes watching you, waiting for you to break. It’s a frequent game you start that he finishes, silently ignoring him while he watches and waits until you can’t take it anymore and tell him what’s on your mind.
A few more moments pass by and you already feel ready to give in, you hate how much more effective his silence is. Glancing at him from the corner of your eye, your gazes meet and you feel yourself folding all at once.
Large and exasperated groan leaving you as your shoulders slump back into the chair, “Fine!”
He perks up at your concession, a self-satisfied look on his face that irks you.
You’re looking at him properly to say, “I was asked on a date earlier today.”
The expression on his face changes to one of annoyance, like he’s not happy to hear that. “Who?”
“Some guy, you don’t know him,” you wave off, not really understanding why it matters to him.
Geto prods for more information, “…And what did you say?”
“…I said no.”
“Oh?” His reaction is indecipherable to you, “Why?”
This question is exactly why you didn’t want to talk about this. “I don’t know…” You’re lying, trying to avoid talking about this in more depth.
“Did you like him?”
“I didn’t not like him,” you shrug, “I would’ve liked to go out with him at least once but…”
“But…” He pushes.
“I don’t know, Suguru,” you scowl at your own reasoning, “I’ve never been on a proper date before, I don’t know what to expect or what’s expected of me. What if he wanted to kiss me or something?”
He’s quiet for a long moment, making you antsy while you wait for him to talk, “…Would you want to kiss him back?”
“Maybe?”
“I don’t think I’m understanding the issue.” His brows are pinched with his confusion.
You’re exhausted with him, like you aren’t the one being purposefully cryptic. “Am I gonna have to spell it out for you?”
“Yes.”
“Ugh!” You kick your legs in a mini tantrum, “I’ve never properly kissed someone… it’s always been like… a peck, I don’t know? But what if he expected more of me?”
You can see the way he’s actively fighting against the smile threatening to break out on his face. “Is that—” he bites down an amused sound, “Is that why you always say no to dates?”
“I don’t like you very much right now.” You were already feeling silly and embarrassed and his clear joy from this is not helping that.
He pouts at you mockingly, “Don’t be like that, I can help.”
“How could you possibly help me with this?”
A smile comfortable on his face when he states, “I could teach you.”
“You want to teach me how to kiss?” You scrutinise him, “Have you gone insane?”
“You’re the one all hung up on this and I’m offering to help you,” he puts his hands up, “But if you’d rather be a dateless loser for the rest of your life—”
“—Hey!” You point at him, “Uncalled for… and rude!”
A very signature and very annoying, polite smile sits on his pretty features. Unbothered by your outburst at his very clear bait. He simply raises his arm and grabs the hand you had pointed at him, tugging you from the chair and into him on the bed. You’re taken aback by his bold move, so close to him so quickly. Falling into his lap less than gracefully, his other arm wrapping around your waist to hold you steady as you sit sideways between his legs.
You stutter out at him, “Wha– what are you doing?”
Letting go of your hand; he reaches for your face. His thumb stroking softly against your cheekbone. “Do you want my help or not?”
“What you’re basically asking me is if I want to kiss you,” you correct… because that is what he’s asking right now.
Geto’s head drops back slightly as he fights the urge to roll his eyes at you dramatically, hand resting on your outer thigh now. “Don’t be so pedantic. You have a problem and I’m offering to help fix it.”
A sound of disapproval slips from you at his wording, “I know the theory behind kissing someone, Suguru. What you’re offering is making out with me.”
“So?”
Your expression is dumbfounded, you know he’s not this dense. “You want to stick your tongue in my mouth and then go back to the usual?”
He leans in again, dodging your question with his own, “Do you want me to stick my tongue in your mouth?”
“Geto—”
“—Ouch—”
“—Shut up.” You cut him off, “If! We did this and I do mean if. Would you be able to look at me the same?”
“The same as I always have? Sure.” There’s no hesitation from him.
He seems so sure, like he’s not worried about what this might mean for your friendship at all. The easy-going look on his face is both pissing you off and relaxing you, emotions he’s always been able to pull from you.
His hand is large on your thigh and the way it makes you feel is not how you should feel for him. Mumbling out a small, “You’re annoying.”
An amused breath leaves him, “You’ve already told me that today.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing.” You look up at him through your lashes.
“That’s kind of the point of this.”
“Right…” You can’t help but find yourself feeling nervous, embarrassed that you won’t be good enough. For some reason… you really want him to think you’re a good kisser.
He must take your silence as rejection because his tone is gentle when he says, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“I know, I just…” You frown while looking at him, trying to figure out exactly what steps to take next. “I don’t know what to do now…” Geto’s face relaxes and a smile replaces his concern causing you to chastise him, “Don’t smile, it’s not funny!”
“No,” he agrees, “But it is a little cute.”
“Whatever, can we just kiss now?”
“Desperate?” He asks teasingly.
You deny it, “I just want you to stop talking.”
“Sure.” It’s all dragged out and has a teasing lilt to it. Damn him and his need to have the last word. You don’t reply to that and instead try to shuffle off him, thinking sitting like this would be awkward. His hold becomes firmer on you, “What are you doing?”
You’re confused. “Isn’t this position weird?”
“Makes it easier,” is all he says in reply.
Being sat between his spread legs, your own draping over one of them while he holds you doesn’t seem ideal. To you, this couldn’t be a more awkward position to be in for this. Instead of telling him that though, you settle back. “Alright…”
When you look back up at him properly, he’s already looking at you. There’s a funny feeling that runs through you at the look in his eyes. The hand on your thigh moves to your face again, cradling you as he leans in. Murmuring a soft, “I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”
Just as he’s about to move all the way in, your hand covers his mouth. “Wait.” You stop him, your nerves getting the better of you. “What if… what if you don’t like kissing me?” He looks a little frustrated, so you pull your hand away, giving him a chance to speak.
“Do you want me to like kissing you?”
You feel flustered by his question, “Why do you always answer my questions with a question?”
“Because your questions are interesting…” he pauses, “…And also, I like teasing you.”
“If you answer my question, I’ll answer yours.”
“Fine,” he indulges you, “I’m not gonna dislike kissing you so your question is dumb.”
“But you can’t know—”
He tuts you, interrupting what you were saying, “—You gotta answer my question now.”
You groan at him, “Well… yeah.”
“‘Yeah’ what?”
He’s such a smug bastard. “Yeah! Yeah, I want you to like kissing me, Suguru.”
You’re huffy but he seems so pleased by your response. A serene and happy look on his face despite the tone you used. You find yourself waiting for him to say something more, something to tease you further but he doesn’t. He simply leans in again, taking you by surprise when his lips are softly pressing to yours. It’s short and sweet, more akin to a peck than anything else. Continuing to plant gentle kisses to your lips until you return them and then he lets them linger.
The feelings that run through you have you all tingly and hot, kissing your best friend for practice probably shouldn’t feel this good… right? You still don’t know what you’re doing though, more just letting him kiss you than anything. When you part again, you murmur, “Suguru, I still don’t know what I’m meant to be doing.”
“Just follow my lead.” His eyes stay on your lips, now shiny from the shared kisses. “That’s all you gotta do.”
“But—”
His eyes roll when you go to argue more. “—Stop thinking so hard about it and let me kiss you.”
You can’t help but squirm slightly at that. “Okay.”
Satisfaction rolls off him in waves but thankfully for you he doesn’t comment any further, choosing to kiss you again. Instinctually, your hand reaches for his chest and grips onto his shirt, you need something to ground you.
Geto is taking this slow, he’s trying his best to be patient to savour this moment with you. He doesn’t want to push you too far too soon and have you stop whatever this is. If he were more sure of himself and where he stands with you, he’d have just asked you out like a sane person but he’s not sure and he didn’t want to pass on this opportunity.
He can feel this becoming something he covets, your soft lips on his, uncertain in your movements but so ready to be kissed by him. His heart pulls with a kind of possessiveness that’s not completely unfamiliar to him regarding you. The desire to not want anyone else to ever have this side of you overwhelming him.
It’s addictive, his kisses, his hold on you… him. You can feel yourself falling into him more, the longer you do this dance. You want more, you want him to kiss you more, but you have no idea how to ask for that. Following his lead is good, it’s helpful but it’s starting to feel like he’s depriving you.
Pulling back, you force yourself to voice, “I want more…”
“Do you know what you’re asking for?” He sounds strained.
“You said you would teach me,” you remind. “So, teach me.”
His thumb presses into your jaw, “Open your mouth more then.”
Doing as he asks; he angles you just slightly before pressing his mouth to yours. The kiss fuller, his tongue licking into your mouth. It has a shiver running down your spine, the sensation new and mind numbing. It’s messier than before and so much more dizzying, you can’t even really keep up with his movements. Just letting him kiss you to his hearts content, feeling yourself getting drunk on his lips in the process.
You can’t even be sure if you’re doing this right, but it doesn’t really feel like it matters, not when you’re this lost in it. Lips gliding against his, a small involuntary sound pulling from your chest at how he grips you tighter. Feeling like he gets impossibly closer, his kisses growing desperate the moment you whine into him.
Geto’s restraint is wearing thin, his desire for you growing tenfold at how you moan for him. He wants to touch you so much more, to put his hands on every part of you. The fear of ruining this moment keeps his hands planted firmly to your hip and cheek though and it’s killing him to not touch you more, more, more.
When you tentatively lick against his tongue he almost all but folds in that single moment, he feels so pathetically weak for you. So unsure of yourself and still trying to kiss him just as deeply as he is you. A guttural groan leaves him, a sound he’d be almost ashamed of if he didn’t notice the way you squirm at it.
You pull back from him, and he can’t help but chase your lips, he doesn’t want to stop. An amused breath leaves you. “Hold on.”
He doesn’t understand what you need a moment for until you’re pulling his hands from you and moving to straddle him. Your thighs resting beside him, he feels dizzy with need. The need to touch you, to undress you. To have you naked and straddling his lap just like this could make his whole year. His hands are on your hips, tugging you up his lap just slightly further, encouraging.
Going to sit on him, you notice his erection and gasp. Heat rising to your face, suddenly so conscious of how heated this exchange has gotten. “Maybe we should stop…”
It’s almost like it hurts him to hear those words. “Do you want to stop?”
You wish you weren’t so certain, so quick to immediately know that. “… No, I don’t.”
“That’s good…” he smiles, “Cause I’m not done teaching yet.”
And then you’re kissing again, wet and sloppy. He’s holding back less, depraved in how he sucks your tongue into his mouth, bolder now. Revelling in every twitch you make against him, every mumbled whine you let out.
Mindlessly, your hips lightly roll downwards, and his resulting grip holds you so still against him. A debauched moan leaving him at your unexpected movements, parting his mouth from yours with it. Geto’s head tucks into your chest, controlling his breathing, like he might snap at any moment.
You feel a little frantic, like you might’ve hurt him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“—Don’t– fuck– don’t apologise.” He can feel how warm you are through your pants and it’s making him feel feral.
Your fingers run through his hair, to comfort him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” He huffs an unamused sound. “The only thing hurting me is how badly I wanna stuff you full.”
“Sugu—”
“—I know you can feel just how hard I am.” He pulls his head back to look at you, eyes blown wide and dark. “I’m practically aching for you.”
Your heart stutters in your chest. “Suguru… are you some kind of closeted perv?”
The question makes him laugh. “Wanna find out?”
“You were only supposed to teach me how to kiss…”
“Mhm, and you’re doing great.” His nose traces along your neck, inhaling you. “I still have so much more knowledge to give though.”
“Don’t be so– hah!” He licks at your skin before latching his mouth to the side of your throat, the pressure making you fidget in his lap. You feel so sensitive, so much more than what you thought you would.
When Geto pulls back from the mark he’s made, he blows softly on it, enjoying the way you shudder on top of him. “‘Don’t be so’ what?”
That’s right, you were going to say something. He looks really nice right now though… eyes lidded and cheeks just slightly pink, lips slick. What were you going to say to him? His grin only grows, taking satisfaction in your glazed eyes and struggle to think. Averting your gaze, you try to remember what you wanted to say. The break in eye contact is short lived since he grabs your chin and pulls you back.
“Come on, pretty, what were you gonna say?”
The effect he’s having on you is becoming too much. “I was gonna tell you to not be so depraved!”
“Hmm…” His head quirks at you. “You seem to like it though?”
How presumptuous of him, “You can’t know that!”
“You know… the human body is really interesting, for example…” He looks down to where you’re sitting over his prominent erection. “You’re so incredibly hot against me that I feel like I’m going insane.” Smiling back up at you evilly. “Just how wet are you?”
The possibility of fainting is very real all of a sudden, his question has you hot everywhere. “I jus– I just told you to not be so depraved.”
“Yeah, and I ignored you,” he deadpans, ignoring your indignant sounds. “Do you want me to stop?”
Again, you hate how badly you don’t want to stop. Right now, you think you’d let him do just about whatever he wanted to you. “Promise not to tease me later?”
“You know I can’t promise that.”
You pout back at him, “Then I’m not gonna say what I was thinking.”
His curiosity is sufficiently piqued. “Fine, I promise to try not to tease you later.”
“That’s not good enough.”
He tries again. “I promise.” You both stay looking at one another for a moment before he adds, “That’s as good as you’re getting.” And you know it to be true.
How to say this without embarrassing yourself. “You can… you can touch me… however you want, Suguru…”
He feels like he’s gone into shock. “What?”
“Did you not hear me?”
“No… I heard you.” He can’t help the way his cock jumps in excitement. “I’m just double checking I heard you right.” He leans in to taunt, “You’re gonna let me touch you however I want?”
“You said you had more knowledge to share.” It’s a dangerous game that you’re both playing.
He breathes out, “And if I wanna touch you in a depraved manner?”
So certain in yourself when you reply, “I want to be touched in a depraved manner… by you.”
Ah, so you’re trying to kill him, is the conclusion that Geto has come to. A breathless laugh leaves him, “For practice?”
“Sure,” you give him the answer you think he wants, in reality you just desperately want to be touched by him. You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on in your life and it’s all his fault.
An entertained sound leaves him, “Hah– Don’t know if I believe your answer there…” His hands are on your hips, slowly dragging you over his dick. Biting his lip at the feeling, cock jumping when your breath stutters.
“Wait– wait,” your hands hold onto his and he stops moving you. Realising now that he might’ve gotten carried away, that he should’ve double checked again.
When you get off his lap and onto shaky legs Geto feels his heart drop, only for it to suddenly pick up speed when you’re shuffling your pants down and off. Crawling back onto him in your panties, he—shamefully—has to put so much focus into keeping calm, so worked up he could cum from this alone.
“Yeah…” you murmur back at him, placing yourself right over his erection again. Gasping at how hard he is, at how much more you can feel even through the layers left on, “I lied just now.”
He wants to ask more; he wants to know what you lied about but if he thought you were hot before then he’s melting now. You’re sitting on his dick in the cutest little panties, already so drenched from making out with him that the affection he feels for you fills up his chest. He’s way too distracted right now to ask what he wants.
“Be honest.” It feels like a chore to rip his gaze away from your pussy. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Geto’s eyes are all glassy and blown, cheeks flushed as he implores you, like he’s worried you’re legitimately trying to kill him. He’s making you feel shy. “It’s your fault I’m acting like this.”
That has him feeling a little prideful. “Is that so?”
“Mhm,” you confirm.
“In that case.” He’s slowly dragging your heated core over his erection again. “Should I fix it?”
You nod your head at him. “…Yeah”
The shivers that run through you make you gasp, the drag over Geto’s dick feeling so much better without your pants on. And yet you can’t help but feel so greedy, a kind of need in your bones that you’ve not experienced before.
He takes his hands away from your hips and you stop moving, whining pathetically at him, “Why—”
“—Keep doing it yourself,” he encourages.
“But—”
“Just do it how it feels good, use me for a bit,” he grins, “I wanna watch you pleasure yourself on me.”
“You really are a perv,” you mutter back at him.
His retort is quick, “Say that to me when your pussy’s not drooling all over my pants.”
Your cunt jumps at his words. “Are you gonna be this crude the whole time?”
“I can be worse if you want?”
“I can’t stand you.”
“We both know that’s not true.” He looks pointedly down to where your cunt is pulsing hot against him. “Now do us both a favour and move,” he hisses out through clenched teeth, apparently nearing his limit.
“You’re so bossy.” You frown. “I’ve never…” You’re at a loss for how to phrase it.
“Dry humped someone before?” He finishes for you. “Though, with how wet you are—”
“Shh!” You cover his mouth with your palm. “Stop… talking about how wet I am.”
He pulls your hand away. “You know, I’m not surprised you’ve never—”
“—You don’t have to say it again,” you cut him off.
He rolls his eyes. “You hadn’t even made out with someone; I’m just saying that I didn’t ask you to use me without knowing.” He holds the side of your face gently, “Stop worrying about it so much, I know already… that you’re a huge virgin.”
His gentle touch greatly contrasts his teasing words. He’s so evil to you. “This is why I say you’re not nice.”
“Do you want me to be nice? To tell you how pretty you are and how good of a job you’re doing?” The reaction you have is almost visceral, skin heating and looking away from him. Even more embarrassed when he chuckles at you. “Got a bit of a praise kink, hmm?”
“You’re making this difficult for me.”
“You should’ve just done what I asked then.” He shrugs easily.
If you thought holding out would punish him more than you, then maybe you’d just get off him and go home to get yourself off, but you want him to make you feel good. So instead, you’ll just give in and hope he shows you mercy. Though, by how this is going, he doesn’t seem to be the type.
Experimentally, you roll your hips down into Geto and he huffs out a breath like he wasn’t expecting it. Your hands move to his shoulders for purchase, using the leverage you have there to grind down into him harder.
He holds onto your waist. Not moving you, just resting his hands there. “Oh fuck– no– hah– no warning?”
You shake your head at him, brows pinched as you focus on seeking your own pleasure. “You– hnn– wanted me to– hah– to do as you asked.”
His head falls back slightly at the pleasure, a lazy smile on his face. “That’s true.”
The longer you do this, the slicker his pants get, you’re so unbelievably wet that it’s coating the material obscenely. Geto is in awe of it, eyes fixed on where you’re rutting down into him. Busy marvelling at the damp spot on his pants, at how drenched your panties are. So soaked that they’re practically a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination with how it’s sticking to you.
He holds you still suddenly and the whine you let out is endearing. “Wait for a second,” he huffs.
Moving his hands to his belt to undo it, shuffling his pants down his legs. You lean up on your knees for a moment for him to drop them to his feet but before you can sit back down, his hand is holding you there. He runs the fingers of his other hand through your covered folds, a groan coming from the back of Geto’s throat.
“Seriously, you’re so fucking wet,” he reminds you.
“Sorry…”
He almost chokes, “‘Sorry?’” His fingers draw up to your clit, pressing into it. “Don’t be fucking sorry… I’m nearly salivating because of how drenched you are.”
That catches you off guard. “Sugu—”
He doesn’t let you speak. “—This wet because of me? It’s my fault you said?”
You bite your lip, his fingers circling your clit deliciously. “Mhm.”
His eyes brighten. “Perfect. Aren’t you just perfect for me?”
Your legs start shaking and he lets you drop back to his lap, one less layer between the two of you now. He’s so warm and hard and if you weren’t straddling him, you’d be clenching your thighs together for relief.
“You are doing such a good job for me,” he whispers low against your ear, “Having the most perfect reactions.”
You whine at his praise. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Yeah.” He licks against your ear. “But that doesn’t make it any less true.”
His size is honestly daunting, large and thick as you sit on it, throbbing underneath you. “Suguru?”
He noses at your cheekbone. “Mmm?”
“I’m worried…”
“About?”
“What if you don’t fit…” you look down to his lap, “I just mean, you feel…big.”
“I don’t have to put it in you,” he comforts but he can’t help the way he twitches at your genuine concern over taking him.
“But you want to?”
“What sort of a question is that?” He holds you down while he grinds up into you. “Does it feel like I want to?”
“I was jus– ah!– I was just checking,” you sulk back.
Your mind melts, getting away from you. He’s rutting up into you in a way that has you shaking and your breaths stuttering. On edge for so long while sat in his lap, you want to meet his grind. You want to move your hips into him, but his grip is firm and steady.
It’s honestly a little pitiful how quickly he’s building you up, your insides clenching with the pleasure. The drag back and forth on his clothed cock driving you slowly to insanity. His boxers almost as ruined as your panties, your slick coating his covered dick. The glide much smoother than what you’d expect. It’s like you can feel him throbbing for you and it makes you want to fully take him even more.
Your own thoughts riling you up, the idea of him sitting so heavily inside you makes you huff out a whine. A sound that Geto relishes in, in fact, he’s relishing in all of this. You’re so malleable to his will, he thinks in this state, you’d let him do whatever he pleases. The thought alone nearly has his eyes rolling.
He needs you to cum like this, he needs to see it. How you shake and writhe on top of him, the expression you make. He wants to make you cum in so many different ways, just to see how your expressions might differ each time.
It’s relentless, how he humps up into you, how he pulls you down into him. Your clit catching on the tip of his dick making you jump each time, shocks of pleasure running through you. You never thought something like this would feel so damn good.
Fingers grappling at the material of his shirt, pleasure wracking your body as he draws you closer and closer. “Stop– ah!– if you keep going I’ll– hnn—”
“—So soon?” he hums, “I don’t know if– hah– I believe you… you’re gonna have to prove it,” leering back at you.
His eyes on you feel so consuming, calm and watching but so hungry that it’s driving you to the edge. It feels like you’re melting, so warm and unbelievably close. Body twitching on top of him with your impending orgasm. You don’t even get to try and warn him again, sounds you’ve never heard yourself make falling from your mouth before you can think to stop them. Trembling with the force of your orgasm, feeling completely weak as you slump into him, eyes wet and bleary.
Geto feels like he’s vibrating, watching you come undone on top of him making him feel too much all at once. His arms wrap around you and hold you close, hands smoothing up and down your back. Lips close to your ear when he speaks, “You know… you make some really cute noises when you cum.”
Lazily, you look up at him through your lashes. Feeling a stupid kind of pleasure running through your body, still jolting slightly with the come down. “Stop trying to embarrass me.”
“I’m only being honest,” his hands slip under your shirt, groping your waist. “You getting embarrassed is just a bonus.”
“Have you always been this sadistic?”
He leans in and presses a kiss to the side of your mouth. “Who knows?” He smiles.
Turning, you catch his mouth with yours. Kissing him properly, hands tickling the back of his neck as you try to kiss him like he did you earlier. His hands on your waist grip you, lips imploring. So needy in how he returns your kiss, all but whining when you part. A string of saliva connects your mouths, and he wipes your lower lip with his thumb, pressing it to your lips like he might push it inside.
Eyes lost as he dances his digit over your plush lips. “You’re beautiful,” is all he says, gazing at you with so much affection.
Opening your mouth, you gently take his thumb between your teeth. Biting so very lightly before flicking your tongue over the tip of it. Geto looks like he blushes at the action, pulling his hand back.
“Seems as though I’m not the only tease,” he accuses.
You mutter at him, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His compliment had made you feel so soft and tingly that you didn’t know what to say or how to react. It’s not like he’s never complimented you before, you just weren’t expecting him to call you beautiful so earnestly. Being given compliments by someone has never made your insides flutter as much as they did just now.
He hums at you, redirecting his attention. Pulling at the hem of your shirt to show what he wants; you lift your arms up so he can remove it from you properly. Feeling so bare on top of him but not really minding, still too blissed out on your orgasm to care.
Geto doesn’t waste any time, groping your tits in his large hands. Rolling your nipples experimentally and grinning wide at how you twitch and bite back moans at it. “My, you’re sensitive.”
Teeth digging into your lower lip to stop the pitiful noises he’s threatening to pull from you. “Try not to sound so pleased about that.” Your blood is still thumping through your ears, pleasure fresh in your bones.
“Would you rather I be upset?”
“I’d rather you not make– ah!—”
His wet mouth wrapping around your nipple has your words cutting off suddenly, back arching into him. Huffing out needy little breaths at how he flicks his tongue over your sensitive skin, dizzy from the heat he’s making you feel. Pulling back with an obscene pop, licking at you a final time while keeping eye contact before swapping to your neglected tit.
He’s playing with you, or he’s waiting for you to say you’re ready for more… no he’s definitely just playing with you. Taking his time leaving marks all over your tits, even biting some places. Neglecting himself in favour of teasing you to insanity, though it can’t be that painful for him considering how he’s enjoying this immensely.
Whining at him, “You– hah!– You’re gonna leave too many marks.” He ignores you in favour of making a new mark to the top of your breast. “Suguru!”
Threading your fingers through his hair, you pull him back with a tug. You’re frowning at him, but your eyes are so wet and dazed and you’re nearly completely naked on top of him. Covered in hickeys and his saliva, despite your pulled brows you look so euphoric.
Feigning ignorance, he simpers, “What’s wrong with that?” A finger trails over the marks he’s left, grazing a sensitive nipple in his journey. “You seemed to like it.”
Swallowing your pride, you tell him directly, “I want more.”
“You want to cum again?” He muses, “Greedy.”
Taking offence at his accurate guess, you add, “I want… you to as well.”
Geto ignores the thumping of his heart. “Take off your panties then.”
“But…”
A brow raises at you, “‘But’ what?”
You don’t really want to tell him about how shaky your legs are, somewhat concerned they’ll give out as soon as you try to stand. He really doesn’t need the ego boost right now. “Nothing.”
Moving off him so so carefully, you keep your hands on his shoulders as you stand between his spread legs. With the way your knees are wobbling and fingers gripping to him so harshly, it doesn’t take him long to figure out that you’ve not really got a great sense of balance right now. A smug smile gracing his lips when he sees you fight to figure out how you’re going to take off your panties with your hands on him.
“Something wrong?”
“No,” You quickly answer.
“Then take them off.” Using a finger to pull at the waistline of your underwear, only to let it snap back to you. At your continued struggle he adds, “Or do you want me to take them off for you?”
You look to him, eyes hopeful for mercy. “Please?”
“Sure,” his tone is polite but you’re not sure you’re that trusting of him.
Thankfully, his hands slide your panties delicately down your legs, brushing against your thighs. Though, he’s an opportunist and he uses this chance to grope lewdly at your thighs, pulling at your skin further and further up your legs. Humming low to himself at the slick coating your inner thighs, unable to help himself when he drags his fingers through your folds, touching your pussy directly.
“Fuck, alright—” He bites out, pulling you to his lap suddenly, “I’ve reached my limit.”
“Wait.” He stops his frantic movements and you pull at his shirt. “Take it off.”
He doesn’t even tease, just immediately does as you asked. Hastily tugging his shirt off, it’s dropped less than gracefully onto the floor. Your fingers dance along his shoulders, down his chest. You want to take it all in a bit more but he’s flopping onto his back and shucking his boxers down enough to pull his cock free.
The size of him almost has your eyes bulging, you wonder how he’s been so patient when he’s this hard and achy looking. Tip flushed deep pink and already smothered in his own leaky precum, your cunt throbs while looking at him. Caught between concern over his size and a desperate need to be full of him.
“You don’t have to take it but please just—” He grabs and moves you until you’re hovering over it, “Sit on it at least.”
Lowering yourself cautiously, you sit on him lightly. He can feel your heat so vividly now, and it makes him shiver, “I don’t need you to be gentle with me,” he snickers, “Split your pussy open on my dick.”
Geto doesn’t even give you the chance to do it yourself, hands tugging you down onto him with more force. A gasp ripping from you when he immediately starts dragging you back and forth on his whole length. Stifled groans leave him from under you, his chest vibrating under your palm.
“Sugu—”
“—Sorry.” His brows are knitted together. “I got– nnh– impatient.”
It’s so wet, slipping over him repeatedly, the head of his cock nudging your clit over every pass. Your teeth dig into your lower lip to fight the whines bubbling inside you but eventually you give up and just let yourself moan. He seems to like it anyways, cock jerking at the soft breaths and whimpers leaving you.
He’s on the brink of stupidity, you’re so soft and unbelievably warm and his tip keeps catching on your hole and it makes him shudder each time. Looking down, he watches the way you’re coating his cock in more of your slick, cock shiny with how wet you are. Lewd sounds of your pussy grinding over him fill the room and now he’s thinking about you creaming around him. He’s never wanted something so bad in his life.
“Sugu,” you call out to him, and he dopily pulls his eyes to yours, “Do you think I could just…” when his cockhead catches on your hole again, you press down. Not even taking him in any real way and yet still stretching slightly for it.
His grip hardens on you, holding you completely still. “There’s no ‘just’ anything.” He struggles to breathe out evenly. “Not with how tight you are.”
“I wanna feel full though.” You try wiggling down into him but he’s truly got you in a vice like hold.
His cock twitches as excitement rushes through him, “You asking me to take your virginity, pretty?”
Shy when you ask, “Would you?”
He’s not passing on the chance to pick on you a little bit. “How bad do you want it?”
He can feel the way your hole flutters when you think about his question, your answer seemingly downplaying how you feel, “Pretty bad.”
“Hmm…” He pretends to think about his answer.
You’re taking issue with his faux deep thought. “Sugu, stop acting like you’re not…”
“Go on,” he encourages, “‘Like I’m not’ what?”
“Like you’re not…” you look away from him, mumbling out, “Aching for it…”
“Oh? You aching for it?” The smile he’s wearing can be heard in his words.
He sounds way too gleeful over this and it’s ticking you off. “Nope,” you pop the ‘p’ as you lift yourself off him.
“Don’t be like that.” He sits up. “I’m not letting you go anywhere… not when I know you’re aching for my cock.”
“I did not say that.”
“That’s what I heard you say.” He shrugs.
Geto’s arms wrap around you only to throw you down onto the bed, gone from you for a second while he shoves his boxers off quickly. And then he’s crawling over you, hands tracing up your body, relishing in your reactions to him.
“You really are so sensitive,” he mutters, trailing a finger up your thigh and watching your skin break out in goosebumps.
He’s being so unbearable, the need you feel is so loud and he’s here taunting you. “You’re so frustrating.”
“You’re just a needy little thing,” he returns. “So desperate to be filled even though you’re not prepared in the slightest.”
“Then prepare me,” you whine back.
He finds this about you cute, your insatiable greed, your back and forth between shy and so horny that you’re getting pissy at him. “I should teach you some manners,” he grumbles.
You spread your legs for him obscenely, growing even more impatient. “Please, touch me,” you pull his hand towards your pussy, “please.”
If he ever gets the chance to touch you like this again, he’s going to torture you, because right now you’re playing so completely unfairly that he can’t even think to deny you. His brows pull up as he flushes, finding himself doing exactly what you wanted, fingers gliding through your folds.
The way you keen at his touch almost makes it worth it. “You don’t play fair,” he complains.
“Someone lead by– hah!– po– poor example, I guess,” you shudder when he slips a single finger inside you.
Geto groans at the snug heat of your cunt, closing his eyes to take a quick breath at just how you feel wrapped around his digit. The fear or cumming the minute he gets inside you is real; he’s going to have to develop an insane amount of self-restraint between then and now.
“You’re hilarious,” he leans down to whisper in your ear, “Now shhh…” He draws his finger back before fucking it back in, lewd wet sounds of your pussy filling the silence. “Hear that?” He keeps repeating his movements, taking immense joy in how you writhe under him. “I think… pretty things that are this wet and begging to get fucked… don’t get to mock me.”
Your fingers dig into his shoulders, eyes glassy when you look up at him. “Don’t– nnh– be sooo mean.”
“You haven’t seen me be mean.” He pulls his finger back just to stuff another inside you, grinning when you arch your back at it. “I’ve only been nice to you today.”
“Be nicer,” you sulk.
“Don’t wanna be,” he smiles graciously back at you.
The fingers he has in you scissor to spread you open, pleased hums leaving him at your responses. Your mouth drops open and legs shake, fighting to close but unable to with how he’s in-between them. He’s hitting all the perfect spots inside you, crooking his digits to rub against your inner walls in a way you’re never able to reach.
He’s getting you so close to cumming that you want to hide from him, somehow feeling so much more vulnerable like this than when you were sitting in his lap earlier. Slowly, he works you to the point of taking another of his fingers, fucked open on three of them now. Your toes curl and your thighs hoist themselves on either side of his waist. Hips grinding into his hand, meeting his movements.
Geto finds the frenzied and desperate grinds into his hand adorable, satisfied with just how much more greedy you get when you’re this turned on. He already knows you must be close, your sudden drive to fuck down onto his fingers a dead giveaway to him.
He adds his thumb, rubbing circles into your clit. You jerk at it, tits bouncing in a way that has him drooling. To be honest, if you weren’t practically begging to get dicked down earlier, he would’ve put his mouth on you. Maybe if he weren’t also desperate to put his cock in you, he’d do it anyways but for now, he’ll settle for fingerfucking you to insanity and then shoving you full of his dick.
Your voice comes out smaller than you want, “Sugu, I think—”
“—I know.” His eyes are excited, fully aware of how close you are.
He can feel the way you twitch and clench down on him, back arching off the bed. Speeding up his movements just to get you there that much quicker and when you’re about to cum all over his fingers… he pulls them from you. Leaving you without your orgasm but so high that he could blow on your clit and you might cum.
You whine at him, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Expression dopey and angry, sexually frustrated from the cruel and unexpected edging he just put you through. “What the hell, Suguru?!”
His grin is wolfish, merciless expression painted over with faux pity. “I’m so sorry, pretty. Were you close?” A hand cradles your face, soothing you for something that is completely his fault.
“Why would you do that?” All he’s succeeded in is making you needier than before, squirming under him with no way to find relief.
His answer is simple, “Just to see how you’d react.”
“I shouldn’t have hung out with you today.”
“Don’t be like that.” He guides his dick to your cunt. “I’m ‘bout to treat you so good.”
“If you don’t let me cum, we’re not friends anymore,” you warn.
He snickers at how genuine you’re being. “Alright.”
“I mean it, Suguru.”
“I know you do.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “That’s why it’s a little tempting.”
You whine at him, “Can you stop being so cruel for a moment?”
He blinks at you, “What do I get if I do?”
“What do you want?”
“I want to be the first person you go on a date with.”
His request stumps you. “What? Why?”
He doesn’t answer you. “Those are my terms,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Okay! Fine, yes, whatever you want,” you nod at him.
He smiles and starts pushing into you, the stretch is a lot, and it aches more than his fingers. You’re trying to breathe through it, but it seems like he is too. His thumb is on your clit, trying to get you to relax for him. “St– stop– hah– fuck!– stop clenching so tight,” he hisses through his teeth.
“I can’t– nnh– help it.” Your nails dig into his skin.
His lashes flutter when he gets his tip inside you, groan leaving him. “Wh– when I s–say date I mean– hnnn– a real date. A ‘I take you out and then try kissing you at the end of it’ date.”
For some reason, that makes your insides twist and you squirm. “Wh– whatever you– nnh– want, Sugu.”
“Yeah? You’re gonna– hah– dress up and let me take you out for your first ever date?” His fingers grip at his blanket below.
Your eyes roll as he slips further inside you, babbling out, “If you– hnn– let me cum? I’ll date only you.”
Geto sputters at that, hips driving forwards on their own making you both moan. His upper body drops down to you, lips ghosting over your neck and cheek before taking yours in a sweet kiss. He knows you’re out of your mind horny and probably not even sure of what you just said but he’s going to live in this moment while he fucks you.
He’s kissing your breath away while he slowly fills you to the hilt, trying so hard to be careful with you. His lips successfully distract you from the ache you were feeling, melting into him as he licks at your tongue.
Parting from you only when he’s balls deep inside, head flopping to your shoulder as he moans. Struggling to keep it together, you’re wrapped so snug and hot around him, pulsing so tightly around his aching cock that he feels like he might cum at any second.
“Sugu?” When he hums, you continue, “Move please?”
You wiggle your hips into him but he’s quick to stop you with a firm hand. “If you don’t want this ending right now then you need to give me a moment.”
“Hmm, that’s awfully cute of you, Suguru,” you tease him.
“That’s bold.” He licks at the shell of your ear. “I’m going to ruin you.”
“More than you already have?”
He agrees, “So much more.”
It feels like an eternity before he’s finally dragging his hips back, that alone has your breath stuttering. He wants to set a punishing pace so bad; he wants to fuck you until you’re mad, but he starts slow. Thrusting back into you at a languid pace, still carefully opening you up on his fat dick. It’s your first time and as much as he loves torturing you, he also loves pleasing you.
You’re scrabbling for purchase at his leisurely pace anyways, not expecting the heavy drag of his cock to feel this mind numbing. He chuckles lowly at the way you’re already weak for him, though it’s completely his fault considering all he’s put you through up until now.
“I think you may be the awfully cute one,” he smirks at you.
Your insides tug at his tone, “You can– hnn– be quiet.”
Leaning up, he rests on his knees, pushing your leg back and up. He has a great view of you taking him like this, able to see all your reactions. “I can but your pussy really likes when I talk.”
He’s so smug and he gets to be too because he’s right, his lightly mocking tone and that polite smile he wears is a deadly combo that has your cunt seizing around him. “I like it– hah– better when you’re nice to me.”
“You’re taking me all so well, pretty,” he praises, “Pussy sucking me right back in, so greedily.”
Your eyes roll back at how he thrusts into you, new angle hitting deeper than before. “That’s not– hnn– being nice!”
“Really?” He watches the way your hole clenches and feels how much wetter you get around him. “‘Cause you seemed to like it a lot.”
You bite your lip as you look up at him, silently asking for him to fuck you.
He looks down his nose at you, “What are you asking for?”
Sulking, “I want you to– hah– move more.”
“You should’ve just said that then.” He crooks his head to the side at you.
The slow drag out is the same as always until he’s fucking himself back into you sharply, a gasped moan stumbling from you as your hands seek stability in the mattress below. Your whine is dragged out when he repeats it over and over, brows knitted together in your pleasure.
“That’s a nice reaction,” he comments smugly.
You only hum at him, too consumed by the feeling of him shoving his dick in and out over and over in such a relentless pace that you’re seeing stars. Either you’ve closed your eyes or they’ve rolled to the back of your head because you’re not seeing much of anything right now.
Your eyes are welling with tears, chest heaving with your breaths. The stretch in your leg increasing when Geto pushes down into you further, pushing back on your leg with it. He’s basically folded it over his shoulder; you had no idea you were capable of bending this much. You’re so dazed and fucked stupid when you look to him lazily, he looks so pretty like this. Hunched over you and driving his cock in and out of your tight heat, his hair hanging messily over his shoulders and face as his expression twists in bliss.
Reaching a hand up, you tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. “You’re pretty.”
You say it so dopily that he wonders if you know what you’ve just said. “I’m fucking you to the point you’re cock drunk and you think I’m pretty?”
A shudder runs through you at his voice. “Mhm, and– ah!– you have– hnn– have a pretty voice.”
God help him, he’s about to cum from you calling him pretty. “St– hnn– stop talking.”
“Sugu, you feel so—”
He cuts you off with a hand over your mouth, he has a feeling that whatever you were about to say would have him cumming inside you. “You’re so cute but I need you to shut up before I cum.”
From behind his hand, you look ruined. Tears slipping from your eyes, he can feel the way you’re drooling against his skin. The only sounds in the room his grunts, your muffled moans and the slick squelching of you swallowing his cock.
You want to keep telling him how pretty he is and how good he’s making you feel but even without him hindering you, you feel as though you may be beyond words now. Brain not able to form very cohesive thoughts as of this moment let alone speak them. He has you feeling so full, his cock throbbing against your walls in a way that has your skin thrumming.
Geto’s eyes lock down on where he’s stuffing himself into your little cunt, he feels himself short circuiting at the sight. Pussy bulging around him, struggling to take him all, dick so shiny with your slick. White creamy ring at the base of himself, it’s messy and lewd and it has him feeling so unbelievably obsessed with your cunt.
Thinking distantly that he’s going to do his best to impress you on your date so he can have you again, next time he’s definitely licking your pussy. Debauched groans vibrate in his chest at the thought, he’s going to make this so unforgettable for you, he needs you to be as obsessed with him as he is you. He’s going to be so much worse after this, and he was already down pretty bad.
Your hand grabs at his wrist, trying to tug it away so you can speak. He pulls back out of curiosity. “I– hnn– I’m– ah!—” Giving up trying to warn him after a particular thrust has you crying out, there’s no real point in warning him anyways.
He grins at your inability to say anything meaningful. “I’ve gotcha, go ahead and cum for me.”
Of course he knew exactly what you were trying to say, how does he already know your body so perfectly. He leans down to you, impossibly close, just to kiss your cheek and say, “Come on, pretty, I wanna feel you squeeze me tight before I cum in you.”
Crude and obscene and effective because his words make you shudder as you suddenly cum around him. A little frantic in how you squirm under him, eyes rolling as your hips fight to fuck yourself onto his thrusts. Pitiful whimpers of his name leaving you repeatedly, the only really comprehensive thing you’re able to utter out.
Geto’s orgasm is immediately triggered by yours; he was hoping he’d get to play with you a little more but as soon as he felt the sinful way you gripped him while you came, he was done for. Your cunt pulsating around him milking him for all he’s worth, he’s cumming so much so deeply. His hips flush to yours as he only grinds into you to ride out both your highs.
He doesn’t think he’s ever cum that much in his life and he’s unsure if it’s because it’s you or because he held back for so long. His weight drops to you as he catches his breath, feeling spent and so drunk on your pussy that if he thought too hard about you, he’d get hard again.
Your hand taps lightly at his shoulder, words all garbled when you speak, “Sugu, too heavy.”
Shoving his arms under you, he rolls until you’re on top of him. Cock slipping from you in the process and it has you letting out a cute whine.
“It’s leaking out of me,” you warn him.
He groans, “Don’t say that.”
You rest your check to his collarbone. “Why not?”
“I’ll get turned on again.”
Rolling your eyes at him. “You’re an insatiable pervert.”
“You’re not much better.”
His hands tickle up your sides, repeating the motion over, it’s making you feel sleepy. “You’re still worse.”
He just hums at you, apparently not caring to argue back. “You gonna be okay to shower?”
“In a bit… and only if you carry me the whole time.”
He laughs at that, “Sure.”
You draw mindless patterns on his chest with your finger, “So… where are you taking me on my first date?”
α.η. THIS IS A REPOST .. a repost from my old account @/lovelivision, if you feel like you've read it before, maybe you have !
thank you for reading !! fun fact : this was originally someone's drabble request on my old blog and i got carried away and it turned into this. if that anon see this.. i still think about you <3
꒰꒰. all works are the intellectual property of aliienangel .. do not plagiarise/translate/reupload/feed to ai ♡. 。
— in which you rant to your friend about your MASSIVE crush… except, oops. looks like you messaged the wrong number 😬
ft: zayne, rafayel, sylus and caleb x reader (separate)
cw: !!mdni. reader is FERAL (as she should be). zayne's lowk a troll, raf's plotting 4d chess style, sylusmc are kinky freaks, caleb is charmingg <3
notes: i'm running out of creative contact names for the boys... if you see the next smau with their full govt names look the other way...
"sy, it's just a few days." the lace trim at the hem of your satin slip dress brushes against your thighs as you lean on the doorframe of your guest room with your arms crossed, the spaghetti strap slipping down your shoulder. you close your eyes as you scowl with your forehead pressed on the peeling paint of the framework. you are so so tired.
"anything could happen in those few days. you could get hurt. I could die."
"I highly doubt you'll die just because we're sleeping separately."
"if anything in this world could take me out, I'd say that's relatively high on the list."
"you've been on business trips longer than this!"
"that's different."
"it's different?"
"very."
"are you forgetting we still live apart sometimes?"
"how can I when it pains me so?"
this isn't getting anywhere.
"sylus. it's just until the heatwave is over. you run too hot and I can't sleep."
"well I can't sleep without my dear wife in bed next to me."
"you do. you literally do, like, so often. half the time our sleep schedules don't even align."
his dramatics are exhausting, your only reaction to him flinging you over his velvet clad shoulder as though you weigh nothing and dragging you back to your room in a declaration that the discussion is over being to mimic him mockingly, "meh meh meh-meh meh meh, ugh, whatever."
you've learned which battles are worth the hassle and when to back down.
a/n - don't worry he secretly installed an ac unit in your place and he's just been trolling this whole time
“Your big brother won't touch you...but he can touch me. Can’t you, Caleb?”
“...Yes.”
“And I can touch her. Can’t I, kitten?”
“Yes.”
“Then look at that...look at how convenient that is.”
synopsis: your boyfriend is a hockey star. your brother is his rival. you’re tired of playing referee between them—until sylus decides he wants to be the one in the middle.
wc: 8.8k | ao3
tags: explicit sexual content, pseudocest, proxyfucking, kissing, dry humping, cunnilingus, spit as lube, voyeurism, vaginal intercourse, missionary, creampie, aftercare
a/n: help, i’ve fallen for gegecest-enabler sylus "just the tip" qin and i can’t get up……..
“You’re dripping.”
Caleb cracks one eye open. The bag of frozen peas you set at his neck fifteen minutes ago has gone soft, condensation tracking down his throat and disappearing into the collar of his henley.
“I’ll get him a new couch.”
You cross your arms and raise a brow. “With what money.”
“He can add it to my tab. Right under the chiropractor bill.”
“Careful with the tab, captain,” Sylus warns drily. “I’m very creative about collecting, and I’m starting to think you enjoy owing me.”
Caleb chucks a pillow across the room. Sylus catches it without flinching and tucks under his arm like he won it fair.
“You boys—” you look between Sylus, settled into his armchair like a throne, and Caleb, sprawled on the couch “—are going to play nice.”
“We’re behaving,” Sylus says.
“Barely,” Caleb adds.
Sylus shrugs. “Barely counts.”
They’ve been like this since tonight’s game. Before the game, actually. Since the first time they met on the ice two seasons ago, since something sparked between them the first time your brother knocked your boyfriend flat on his ass only for the silver-haired menace to come up smiling.
Tonight’s third period had been ugly. Caleb’s team down two, Sylus’s team running clock, and somewhere around the seven minute mark Caleb had taken Sylus into the boards in a way that could have looked accidental from the cheap seats and looked extremely on purpose from the bench. Sylus answered with his fists. The refs let them go for longer than they should have. Both were ejected, and you’d watched them get walked off in opposite directions like dogs separated mid-fight while five thousand people screamed.
You’d had the idea on the walk back to your dorm. Stupid. Catastrophically stupid.
Come over, you’d texted Caleb. Sylus’s place.
Three bouncing dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. He’d called you instead.
“You’re out of your mind, pips.”
“Probably.”
“Meimei.”
“Gege.”
He released a long, suffering breath. “Why?”
“Because I love you and I love him and I’m so tired of being caught in the middle like this.”
“He gave me a split lip.”
“You gave him a bloody nose.”
“And you think this is a fix?”
“I think it’s a try.”
He showed up an hour later, of course. You’d never asked Caleb for something he didn’t give you.
“How’s the nose,” Caleb says without opening his eyes.
Sylus touches the bridge of his nose, more out of habit than concern. “Fine.”
“Shame. Could’ve sworn I did more damage.”
“You always did overestimate your impact.”
“Overestimate?” Caleb’s eyes finally open. “I’ll overestimate my fist up your—”
“Okay!” you interrupt, lifting both hands in surrender. “New rule.”
“This should be good,” Sylus says under his breath.
“Each of you has to say one nice thing about the other,” you announce. “One. Single. Nice. Thing. And then we can move on with our evening like adults.”
“I am being an adult,” Sylus counters. “I haven’t poisoned his drink.”
You scoff. “That’s baseline human decency.”
“For me, sweetie, it’s generous.”
Caleb snorts. It’s the first sound he’s made in Sylus’s direction that isn’t hostile, and you watch Sylus clock it with a small flicker at his eyebrow.
“Caleb,” you say. “You first.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re in his apartment drinking his whiskey and bleeding on his furniture, and I think that earns him a compliment.”
Caleb stares at the ceiling for a long second, jaw working, like you’ve asked him to move a mountain with his bare hands.
“He’s fast,” Caleb says, finally.
“Fast,” you repeat.
“On the ice. He’s fast. Faster than he should be for his size.” Caleb pauses. “It’s annoying. Like a cockroach.”
“That’s not exactly a compliment.”
“It’s adjacent.”
You look at Sylus. “Your turn.”
Sylus takes a sip of whiskey, holding it in his mouth for a moment as he turns over his options. He swallows and tilts his glass toward Caleb.
“He doesn’t quit.”
Caleb glances over.
“Down two,” Sylus says. “Most players know when they’re beaten. He apparently lacks that particular survival instinct. Played the last seven minutes like he could bully the scoreboard into changing.” He takes another sip. “It was irritating.”
“So we’ve established you’re both fast and stubborn and you hate each other for it,” you say. “Wonderful. Truly groundbreaking diplomacy.”
“You asked for one nice thing,” Sylus says, swirling his glass. “That was one nice thing.”
“That was one nice thing wrapped in three mean ones.”
“What can I say? I’m efficient.”
“You’re efficiently a prick,” Caleb fires back.
“Mm,” Sylus hums, entirely unbothered. “Is that what you say when you don’t have a comeback, or is that what you say when your sister’s watching and you want her to think you’re tough?”
Caleb sits up. Drains his whiskey in one go, sets the glass on the table, and lets the bag of peas slide from his neck and thud to the floor.
“Watch it, pretty boy,” he says, eyes narrowed.
“It’s a genuine question. Because you do the same thing on the ice. All those big hits, the scrapping, mouthing off at the refs. It’s very impressive. Very masculine. Especially when she’s sitting third row.” Sylus tilts his chin toward you without taking his eyes off your brother. “Must be exhausting, carrying a crush that obvious for that long. I’m surprised she hasn’t said something.”
“Shut your mouth.”
“She’s a kind girl. Probably doesn’t want to embarrass you.”
“I said shut your mouth.”
“Or maybe she likes it. Having her big brother panting after her like a dog at the door every time she—”
“That’s enough!” you yell.
Both sets of eyes snap to you. You’re not one to raise your voice, and they both know it. You don’t know what you’re going to say next until you’re already saying it, and by then it’s too late:
“If you can’t talk it out, maybe you should just kiss and make up.”
You know it sounds wrong the second it leaves your mouth. You’re tired and tipsy and your brother and your boyfriend are having a conversation about you like you’re not in the room, and all you wanted was for them to stop, and what resulted was the dumbest sentence you’ve said in your entire life.
You try to chase it with a laugh that doesn’t quite land. The room doesn’t laugh with you.
You scramble to walk it back. “Kidding. Obviously. God, your faces. I’m going to get more ice—”
Sylus sets his glass down. The sound of crystal on marble is small, though it lands like a gavel.
“Interesting,” Sylus says.
“I was joking,” you reply, too fast.
“Were you.”
“Yes.”
“Hm.”
Sylus rises from the armchair, crossing to the couch in three steps. He holds out a hand to Caleb.
“What the hell are you doing?” Caleb asks.
“She asked us to make up,” Sylus says simply. “I’m making up. Stand up, captain.”
“You’re out of your goddamned mind.”
“She’s been mediating between us all night, and she’s running out of patience.” Sylus’s hand is still extended, patient and unmoving. “Your poor sister has spent two years trying to keep us from killing each other. The least we can do is give her what she wants for a few seconds.”
Caleb tries to look unbothered, but you catch this jaw tightening at your poor sister. ”She was being sarcastic.”
“Was she?” Sylus glances at you over his shoulder. “Sweetie. Were you being sarcastic?”
You should say yes. You should laugh it off and go get more ice and let the night fade into something survivable.
You just can’t seem to make yourself do anything at all.
Sylus turns back to Caleb, eyebrow raised. See?
“Fine,” Caleb says. “Fine. One kiss.”
He doesn’t take Sylus’s hand. He stands up on his own, because of course he does, and squares up in front of Sylus with his shoulders braced like he’s about to take a penalty shot.
“One kiss,” Caleb repeats.
“One kiss,” Sylus agrees.
Sylus cups the side of Caleb’s face, thumb settling by the butterfly bandage at his brow. Caleb swallows hard, but doesn’t pull away.
“Relax, sweetheart,” Sylus teases. “It’s a kiss. We’ve gotten more physical over a little black puck.”
Caleb’s hands curl into fists at his sides, his face carefully impassive. “Get on with it, pretty boy.”
Sylus leans in and kisses him.
It starts as nothing. A closed-mouth press, chaste, just sufficient enough to satisfy your request. Sylus’s hand stays at Caleb’s jaw. Caleb’s hands stay at his sides. It’s two men doing something for the benefit of a third person they both care deeply about, and nothing more than that.
Then Caleb’s mouth moves.
It’s the smallest shift—his lower lip catches against Sylus’s, and you watch Sylus notice it—tilting his head to change the angle, transforming the kiss from nothing to everything in the span of a heartbeat.
Caleb’s hand comes up to Sylus’s collar, fisting the cotton there. Not pulling, just holding, his split knuckles going white behind their tape. Sylus makes a small sound, approval or surprise or both. His hand slides from Caleb’s jaw to the back of his neck and he deepens the kiss, mouth opening against Caleb’s slowly, like he’s afraid to startle him, afraid for the moment to vanish, and Caleb lets him.
The kiss isn’t for you anymore.
You can see the exact moment it stops being a performance and starts being something private. Caleb’s other hand comes up, both fists in Sylus’s shirt now. Sylus’s fingers curl into the hair at Caleb’s nape, tugging gently. The sounds shared between them are wet and obscene and utterly, nakedly honest.
Your hands are in your own lap, fingers laced tightly together. You’re watching your boyfriend kiss your brother and the thing you're feeling isn't jealousy or shock or any of the things you are supposed to feel. What you feel instead is heat pooling low, the kind that makes you press your thighs together and the friction of your jeans agonizing.
Sylus pulls back first, turning his head just enough to look at you. His eyes scan yours, drop to your lap, then return to your face. His mouth tilts, and he’s beside you on the couch in three strides.
Caleb stands frozen in place, mouth still slightly open.
Sylus pats the empty space beside him. “Sit down, captain.”
Caleb sits.
Sylus settles between you, one arm stretched across the back behind your shoulders, the other behind Caleb’s.
“Well,” Sylus says to no one in particular. “That was overdue.”
Caleb is staring at the muted TV, jaw working, suddenly captivated by what might be the least consequential Division III basketball game of all time. His lip is bleeding again, the split reopened from the kiss, but he makes no move to wipe it clean.
“Caleb,” you say.
“Don’t.”
“Your lip—”
“I know.”
“It’s bleeding again.”
“I know, pips.”
Sylus reaches over and swipes his thumb across the corner of Caleb’s mouth, catching the blood. Caleb flinches but doesn’t pull away. Sylus studies his thumb for a second, then wipes it on his own jeans, satisfied.
“Good kisser, by the way,” Sylus says lightly. “In case that wasn’t clear.”
Caleb closes his eyes.
“Very direct. Bit aggressive. Holds on like he’s afraid you’ll leave.” Sylus glances your way. “You should try it, sweetie.”
Whatever lust-drunk haze you were in is sliced clean through by the implication, cold and brutally sobering.
“Try what,” you murmur.
“Kissing him,” Sylus clarifies. “You should try it. I think you’d like it.”
Heat floods your face. “Sylus.”
“Hm?”
“You know we can’t—that he’s—” you gesture vaguely between yourself and Caleb, then toward Sylus. “—and we’re—”
“Why not? Because we’re dating?” Sylus asks, sounding genuinely curious. “Or because he’s your brother?”
Your stomach falls through the floor.
Because you thought you’d hidden it. You’ve been so goddamn careful—with your eyes, your hands, the way you angle your body when Caleb sits too close and the way you laugh at his jokes exactly as long as a friend would and not one second longer. And Sylus just picked up everything you’ve been hiding and set it on the coffee table between the three of you, and now you’re all staring straight at it, and there’s no putting it back.
“Both,” you say. “Obviously both.”
“What if it’s neither,” Sylus says, holding both of you in the loose parentheses of his arms, as if he doesn’t find any of this complicated at all. ”What if the problem is that you’ve both wanted each other for so long you’ve turned it into something you’re not allowed to have, and the not-being-allowed has gotten so big you can’t see past it anymore.”
Caleb is staring blankly at the TV again. His throat works around his response.
“She’s your girlfriend, Sylus.”
“She is.”
“And I’m her—”
“You’re her brother. Yes. You’re also in love with her. We all know this. We’ve known it all night. We knew it long before tonight.” Sylus inspects his nails, nonchalant. “So let’s stop building the case and move to the verdict, shall we?”
“Sylus,” you whisper.
“Sweetie. Look at me.” You do. He’s giving you the look he gives when he wants your full attention, a look he doesn’t use often and one you’ve never been able to refuse. “Listen to me. Both of you. I’m going to say something, and I’m going to say it once, and after I say it neither of you gets to pretend you didn’t hear.”
You nod. So does Caleb, in sync, and you watch the small flicker pass across Sylus’s eyes that means he noticed.
“Your big brother won’t touch you,” Sylus says to you. “You know that. I know that. He knows that. He’s spent—how long, Caleb?”
Caleb blinks up at the ceiling.
“How long,” Sylus insists.
“Since I was thirteen.”
“Since he was thirteen. All those years deciding he’s not going to touch you. He’s not going to undo that tonight. Not for me. Not for you. Not for anyone.”
Your heart beats so heavily you’re certain the whole room can hear it.
“But,” Sylus continues. His arm tightens behind your shoulders. His other arm tightens behind Caleb’s. “He can touch me. Can’t you, Caleb?”
“...Yes.”
“And I can touch her. Can’t I, kitten?”
“Yes.”
“Then look at that. Look at how convenient that is.”
Caleb leans out of Sylus’s reach, dragging a hand through his dark hair. “Did I knock something loose up there, Qin? Lay into you a little too hard tonight?”
“Not nearly hard enough.” Sylus smirks, the amusement fading into something more focused. “Nobody touches anybody they’re not supposed to touch tonight. Everybody goes home having had exactly the experience they pretend they didn’t want.”
“That’s a nice speech. You rehearse that in the penalty box?”
“I had five minutes. Figured I’d make good use of them.”
“You’re delusional.”
“And you’re still here.”
That lands. You see it hit in the way Caleb’s mouth opens and stays there, the argument dying in his throat. Because he could leave. The door is right there. He has a car. A phone. Yet he’s sitting under Sylus’s arm and hasn’t taken a single step toward any of them.
Sylus sees it, too.
He reaches up and catches Caleb’s jaw, thumb finding the split in his lower lip, and presses into it. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to feel.
Caleb hisses through his teeth. His hand wraps around Sylus’s wrist but doesn’t pull it away.
“Unless,” Sylus says, his thumb resting in the seam of Caleb’s mouth, “you’d rather go back to arguing about hockey.”
Caleb doesn’t argue. He doesn’t say yes, or nod, or do anything at all except sit there with Sylus’s thumb against his lip and his hand around Sylus’s wrist and his chest rising and falling faster than it ever has on the ice.
That’s enough for Sylus.
He tilts Caleb’s jaw down and kisses him, tongue working in slow and unhurried strokes, like he has the whole night and intends to use every second of it. His thumb slides to the hinge of Caleb’s jaw and rests there. His other hand stays on your shoulder, keeping you close. Keeping you watching. A warm, heavy, point of contact that says stay and watch this and you are not going to look away from what I’m doing to your brother’s mouth.
Caleb’s hand finds the back of Sylus’s neck, and you inhale sharply.
Sylus pulls back at your gasp. His hand leaves Caleb’s jaw and finds yours with the same grip, thumb at the corner of your mouth, fingers curving under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. His eyes scan yours, and something in his expression comes alive and hungry.
“Open, sweetie.”
He kisses you, and it’s a kiss you know. The shape of his mouth, the pace, the pressure of his tongue against yours. You’ve kissed this man so many times you could map it blindfolded.
But there’s something in his mouth that isn’t his.
It takes you a second to place it, a warmth that doesn’t belong to Sylus. A faint copper edge that blooms on your tongue when his presses against it. The blood of a split lip. Caleb’s, carried on your boyfriend’s tongue, delivered to yours with each stroke. You whimper against his mouth, and feel Sylus smile into the kiss—a small, satisfied flex that says his hypothesis just proved correct.
“There,” he says quietly, pressing a parting kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Now you’ve had him, too.”
On the couch behind him, Caleb’s eyes are focused on your face—specifically on your mouth, more specifically on the place where his blood is still sitting on your lower lip and you haven’t wiped it off.
“Now,” Sylus says, turning back to Caleb. “Your turn, captain.”
Caleb opens his mouth and Sylus kisses him, tongue sweeping wet and slow and thorough. Caleb’s teeth close around Sylus’s bottom lip and hold, pulling, tasting the sweetness that’s sitting on Sylus’s lip from yours. The bite pulls a low sound from Sylus’s throat, his eyelids fluttering at the pressure, and Caleb doesn’t let go. If anything he sucks harder, desperately chasing your mouth the only way he’s allowed to.
Sylus finally pulls back with noticeable effort, running his tongue over his own lip where its newly swollen.
“Well?” Sylus asks, amused and knowing. “Could you taste her?”
“Apple.” Caleb swallows. “Green apple.”
The words hit you hard and low. Your Chapstick. The one he’s bought for you in bulk since you were in middle school and keeps in his glovebox because you always lose yours. The one he tosses into your lap without comment every time you get in his car, the one you reapplied before walking into this apartment.
“Yeah,” Caleb says, rougher. “Yeah, I could taste her.”
Sylus’s mouth curves. “Good.”
“Again,” Caleb says to Sylus, not asking. “Kiss her again.”
Sylus obliges. He turns to you and claims your lips, longer, dirtier, a thin strand of spit connecting your mouths when he pulls away. He turns to Caleb, who catches it with his mouth before Sylus finishes turning, desperate and graceless and nothing like the controlled athlete who commanded the ice earlier tonight. Caleb’s hand comes up to the back of Sylus’s head and holds him there, kissing him harder, letting Sylus feed him the taste of you, only pulling apart when his lungs burn for air.
“More,” Caleb groans.
Sylus huffs a laugh. “Greedy.”
“More, Sylus.”
The rhythm turns hypnotic. Sylus kisses Caleb, turns, kisses you. Kisses you, turns, kisses Caleb. Each pass filthier than the last, a little more urgent, carrying more of your brother to you—not just his taste but his small, wet sounds, his shallow breaths, the barely-held-back noises he keeps making against Sylus’s tongue that Sylus carries to you like gifts.
You don’t know how you end up pressed together.
Caleb’s thigh is flush against Sylus’s, their shoulders overlapping. You’ve managed to end up in your boyfriend’s lap, straddling his hips. And Sylus keeps one hand on each of you the entire time, one at your hip now, the other on Caleb’s bicep.
You lean in after one of the passes and catch Sylus’s mouth before he’s fully turned away from Caleb, the kiss off-center and messy, and you taste Caleb so strongly that your hips buck against Sylus’s.
Sylus laughs. He gives your ass a teasing smack.
“Bedroom,” he says.
Caleb pulls back, eyes widening. “Sylus—”
“We’re moving this to the bedroom. This couch costs more than your car, and your sister’s about to ruin it.”
You frown. “I am not—”
“Sweetie, your hand is on his belt.”
You look down. Your hand is, in fact, on Caleb’s belt.
Not through Sylus, just—your hand, on Caleb’s belt buckle, fingers curled around the leather, and you don’t remember putting it there and you don’t remember Sylus guiding it, and you’re dangerously close to not remembering why this whole thing was ever a bad idea in the first place.
You pull your hand away like it’s been burned.
“Bedroom,” Sylus repeats, an order rather than suggestion. He stands, bringing you with him, your legs wrapped around his waist. He eyes Caleb and tips his head toward the hallway. “Now.”
Nobody argues.
Sylus’s bedroom is all dark wood and low light, with a bed that takes up most of the space. It’s a mattress you’ve been on a hundred times. You know how the sheets feel bunched in your fists, how the pillow positions your hips at just the right angle when he puts it under your stomach, how the comforter feels around your shoulders when he tucks you in with a kiss to your temple.
You have no idea how different it’ll feel with three people on top of it.
Sylus deposits you in the middle of the bed before crossing to his nightstand.
“Caleb,” Sylus says. He turns the lamp down another notch. “In or out. I won’t ask twice.”
You watch your brother from the doorway, his gaze flicking to and away from you, like the sight of you—leaning back on your elbows, lips kiss-swollen, hair a little mussed, eyes alive and wanting—is too much to bear.
He steps in, locking the door behind him with a loud click. “I’m doing this for her.”
“Of course you are,” Sylus says.
“I mean it, Sylus. This isn’t—I’m not here for you.”
“Nobody asked you to be.”
“Good.”
“Good.” Sylus reaches behind his neck, pulling his shirt up and over his head. “Clothes. Off. Both of you.”
“All of them?” Caleb asks, still lingering by the door.
Sylus drapes his shirt over the back of his desk chair. “Leave the underwear. We’re not animals.”
“Debatable,” you mutter, and Sylus’s mouth twitches.
The three of you strip in silence, shirts tossed aside, all three pairs of jeans hitting the floor at different speeds— Sylus’s first, folded; yours next, kicked off the edge of the bed; Caleb’s last, shoved down and stepped out of.
You’ve seen your brother shirtless—at the beach, after a shower, when he mows the lawn in the dead of August. What you haven’t seen is your brother in gray boxer briefs that do nothing to hide the way his erection strains against the fabric, tight enough that you can tell where the head of his cock meets the shaft, that you can see the darkened spot at the tip where precum bleeds through.
Caleb catches you staring, eyes finding yours and holding them until you’re the one that breaks. Your cheeks burn violently, fingers fumbling with your bra clasp like you’ve forgotten how it works.
“Eyes up, captain,” Sylus warns, moving to the foot of the bed. “She’ll still be there in a minute.”
“You going to coach me through this like it’s a power play?” Caleb grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.
“If that’s what it takes. You never could finish without a setup.”
“I have fourteen goals this season.”
“And how many assists?”
Caleb's mouth opens and shuts.
“...Shut up.”
Sylus huffs out a laugh. He pulls you to the edge of the mattress by your ankles, and you yelp.
“I’m going to tell you where to look all night, sweetheart. Get used to it,” he says to Caleb before turning his attention back to you. “Lie back, kitten.”
You settle back. Sylus stands between your legs, one hand braced beside your head, and for a moment it’s just the two of you. He kisses your throat, your collarbone, mouth moving down the center of your chest slow and warm. His free hand finds your waist and holds there, thumb tracing the skin above the waistband of your underwear.
“Caleb,” Sylus says against your skin. “Behind me.”
“I’m not cuddling you, Sylus.”
“Nobody’s cuddling anybody. Get behind me. Hands on mine.”
“This isn’t—”
“For her, captain. You’re doing this for her. Remember?”
Caleb positions his knees on either side of Sylus’s calves, chest close to Sylus’s back but not quite touching. He braces one hand on the mattress, the other settling over Sylus’s at your waist, lining up finger over finger, his broader palm bracketing Sylus’s against your hip. The added weight presses Sylus’s grip firmer into your skin, and you arch up into it.
“There,” Sylus says. “Feel her through me. When I move, you move. Yes?”
Caleb’s voice is barely there. “Yes.”
Sylus’s thumb traces up the curve of your waist. Caleb’s follows—riding the back of Sylus’s hand, tracking every motion. Sylus’s hand slides to your ribs, and Caleb’s follows, up and around. Sylus’s fingertips graze the underside of your breast and you gasp, and Caleb’s knuckle catches the edge of your skin where Sylus’s hand doesn’t fully cover.
Caleb freezes.
“I didn’t—I—”
“Caleb…” you whisper.
You look up at Sylus, but he doesn’t intervene. He watches your face from above, letting you be the one who tells Caleb what’s allowed.
“It’s okay, gege,” you decide. “You don’t have to stop.”
Caleb’s hand unfreezes. His fingers resettle over Sylus’s, and they keep moving.
The next touch isn’t an accident.
It’s the back of his ring finger, tracing a line along your ribs that Sylus’s hand doesn’t cover. A quarter-inch of contact, gone, then back—his pinky, grazing the curve of your waist as Sylus’s hand slides lower, gone just as fast. Ghost touches, so minimal you could pretend they didn’t happen. Caleb finding the gaps and pressing into them, testing, learning you through the spaces between your boyfriend’s fingers.
“Sylus,” you whisper.
“I see it, sweetie.”
“Is he—”
“He’s being creative.” Sylus’s mouth lifts. He shifts his hands enough to widen the gaps between his fingers by a fraction, adjusting his grip to give Caleb more room. “I’m allowing it.”
Caleb presses closer behind Sylus. His chest makes contact with Sylus’s back, and the added weight pushes Sylus’s body down against yours.
“Caleb,” Sylus says, in warning and permission at the same time.
“I know.”
“You’re on top of me.”
“I know. That doesn’t mean I like you.”
“You liked me just fine on the couch.”
“That was—that was the situation. That was for—”
“For her. Yes. You’ve mentioned.”
Sylus lowers his mouth to your breast. His tongue traces the curve, teeth teasing your nipple, and you arch up into him. The motion presses your hips against his, and Sylus’s hips press back against Caleb’s, and Caleb—
Caleb grinds forward.
It’s a small, involuntary roll of his hips against Sylus’s ass that pushes Sylus’s hips into yours, and you feel the force of Caleb traveling through Sylus like a wave cresting against you.
Your mouth falls open.
“Caleb. Do that again,” you urge.
“Pips—”
“Gege, please. Do that again.”
He does it again, harder this time. His hips roll forward, grinding Sylus into you, and the pressure hits you exactly right. You gasp and grab Sylus’s shoulders. Sylus makes a low, strangled sound you’ve never heard from him before, Caleb’s hips driving him forward and yours rocking up to meet him.
“More,” you gasp.
Caleb grinds harder, his exhales ragged against Sylus’s neck. The bed is moving. You’re moving. Caleb’s hands are now white-knuckled on Sylus’s hips and Sylus’s are braced on either side of your head and you’re gripping the sheets with both fists as the room dissolves to nothing but friction and heat and breath.
“Caleb—” Sylus manages, his voice is rough in a way that makes your stomach clench, “Caleb, you need to—fuck—you need to—slow down.”
Caleb doesn’t slow down. His next stroke grinds Sylus into you so hard you nearly scream, grabbing onto Sylus’s shoulders, and your boyfriend shudders—actually shudders—and Caleb’s hips snap forward again, relentless.
Sylus throws his weight backward, driving Caleb off him enough to break away. He holds a hand between you and Caleb like a referee calling a penalty—chest heaving, skin flushed, entire body vibrating with the effort of stopping.
“Christ,” he grits out. “The pair of you.”
You stare up at him, breathless. Caleb has one knee up at the end of the bed, hands still shaped around hips that aren’t there anymore.
“We need to slow down,” Sylus says, pushing his hair back with one hand, “or one of us was going to finish in our underwear like a teenager, and I am not going to let that be me.”
“Could’ve been me,” Caleb says, roughly.
“It was going to be all three of us. And we haven’t even started yet.” Sylus looks between you, eyes dark, still catching his breath. “Underwear off. All of us.”
“Thought we weren’t animals,” Caleb mutters.
“We evolved.” Sylus counters, already halfway out of his own boxers. “Take them off, captain.”
You lift your hips and shimmy out of your panties, tossing them off the side of the bed without ceremony. Caleb relents, kicking his underwear off in the general direction of his jeans.
It’s seeing them side by side that knocks the air clean out of you.
Sylus stands tall, lean and carved, all controlled lines and casual strength. A trail of silver hair guides your eyes to where his cock hangs heavy between his thighs, the tip flushed and leaking. Caleb stands broader, rougher around the edges, the bruise on his ribs going green, tape still half-wound around his knuckles. Dark hair runs in a line below his navel, and when you see your brother’s cock for the first time—thick and eager in his hand—you draw your knees together.
Sylus’s hand catches them before they close.
“Uh-uh,” he says simply. With one palm on each knee, he eases them back apart. “None of that, sweetie.”
He guides you back against the headboard, adjusts the pillow under your lower back, running a hand down your calf once he’s finished like he’s admiring his handiwork.
“Comfortable?” he asks, sitting back on his heels.
You nod. “Yes.”
The mattress dips as Caleb moves to kneel behind Sylus. He reaches for your boyfriend’s hip, already angling to resume the position—his chest against Sylus’s back, Sylus between your legs, the structure of this arrangement he knows and trusts.
“No,” Sylus stops Caleb with a hand around his forearm, pulling him to kneel beside you instead. “I want you to see something.”
Sylus settles between your legs, lowering himself on his elbows. His mouth grazes the inside of your thigh, red eyes pinning Caleb.
“You can look, captain.”
Caleb swallows. “I am looking.”
“Then look properly.” Sylus’s breath hits your aching core with each word, and you squirm. “It’s okay. Look at her.”
Sylus holds Caleb’s eyes as his mouth moves higher. He kisses your hip, the crease of your thigh, the soft skin below your navel. Then his tongue teases your clit, and your hips jerk up off the bed. Caleb’s hand, resting on his own thigh, curls into a fist.
“See how pretty she is?” Sylus murmurs against you.
“Sylus—”
“Look.”
Sylus parts you with one long, flat stroke of his tongue, closing his lips around your clit with a teasing suck before pulling away—giving your brother an unobstructed view, you realize hazily. He spreads you open with both thumbs, displaying your swollen, slick pussy with an almost reverent care. You’re so wet that you’ve made a mess of your inner thighs, so wet it should shame you, but the way Caleb is looking at you right now leaves no room for any feeling other than the dizzying certainty that your brother wants you as badly as you want him.
“You did this, Caleb. Your sister’s pretty little cunt is ruining my sheets. All because of you,” Sylus muses. He drags a thumb up through your slick heat, eyes locked on Caleb’s expression as he circles the wetness around your clit. “She’s been like this since you grabbed me by the shirt. Since you made me bleed on the ice, I’d imagine.”
Sylus lowers his mouth to you once more, tongue patient and expert, licking into you the way he knows you like. The sensation makes your toes curl, but you’re faintly aware that the act isn’t for your pleasure, but for the benefit of the man kneeling beside you with bated breath.
Caleb watches intently—the way Sylus’s jaw works, the speed and pressure that makes you gasp, the way your hips buck when he hums against you every few strokes—studying like an exam he’s desperate to pass.
“Caleb,” Sylus says, lifting his mouth just enough to speak. “Spit.”
“Excuse me?”
“You can’t put your mouth on her,” Sylus explains. “But you can give her something from it. Can’t you?”
Caleb exhales hard through his nose, but doesn’t deny it.
He leans over you, and his face is close, close enough that his breath heats your stomach, close enough that you see his nostrils flare, briefly, involuntarily, his lips parting at whatever he finds there. He lets saliva pool under his tongue and glances at you sideways, a silent plea for approval.
You nod, quickly, anticipation buzzing under your skin. “I want to feel you there, gege.”
He spits.
When it lands directly on your swollen clit, you cry out. The streak of saliva runs down your slit slowly, torturously, so erotic it makes you clench around nothing.
“Good,” Sylus murmurs, and drops his head back down. He works it in with his tongue, and the added slick makes you moan. “Feel that, sweetie? That’s all your brother. You’re taking him so well.”
Your hand finds the nearest solid thing—Caleb’s thigh—and grips tight.
Caleb lets out a strained sound at the contact, but he doesn’t pull away. You can feel the small shifts in his weight as he leans closer, pulled in, unable to help himself. He watches Sylus’s mouth on you with an expression that’s long passed hunger and arrived somewhere more primal.
“Sylus,” Caleb says, more groan than word.
Sylus hums against you but doesn’t move.
“Sylus. Let me—”
Sylus lifts his head, mouth glistening. He looks at Caleb with his chin resting against the inside of your thigh and a lazy, knowing expression that makes your stomach flip.
“Let you what, captain?”
Caleb’s throat moves. “Taste.”
“Taste what.”
“Don’t make me say it.”
“I’m going to make you say it.”
“Her. I want to taste her. Sylus, let me—”
“How badly.”
His jaw flexes once. Twice. “Badly.”
Sylus presses a kiss to your thigh before sitting up, giving his cock a few lazy strokes. “Hm.”
He positions the head of his cock between your legs—not to enter, just outside—sliding just the tip up and down the wet of you. You gasp, cunt throbbing, aching to be filled by him—by Sylus, by Caleb, by both.
Caleb is watching with his mouth open.
“How badly,” Sylus repeats, eyes on your brother as he rolls his hips against you this time, dragging the full length of him through your folds.
“Sylus—” Caleb urges.
“Tell me, sweetheart. I want to hear you say it.”
“Please.” It falls out of Caleb’s mouth unauthorized. “Please, Sylus, let me—”
Sylus grinds against you again, slower. He makes sure every inch of him is covered, glistening with you, and Caleb is watching with every muscle tense and his hands gripping his thighs hard enough to bruise.
“More?” Sylus asks Caleb, almost bored, like he’s asking about the weather.
“Sylus, for fuck’s sake—”
“That didn’t sound like more.”
“More. Yes. More, just—Sylus, come on—”
Sylus rolls his hips into you one last time, a long, slow grind that pulls a moan out of you and leaves him drenched. He rises onto his knees, cock gleaming with you, and looks at Caleb.
“Come here, captain.”
Caleb moves before the sentence is finished.
His mouth is on Sylus faster than you can process it—tasting you with one long, flat stroke of his tongue from base to tip; a wrecked, thankful sound torn from somewhere deep inside his chest.
“That’s it.” Sylus’s hand finds the back of Caleb’s head and holds there. “Taste your baby sister, Caleb. That’s what she tastes like when she wants you. And she’s been wanting you all night. Can you taste that? Can you taste how badly her body needs yours?”
Caleb’s hands grip Sylus’s thighs as his mouth works—tasting, chasing it, trying to get every trace of you off Sylus’s skin. You watch your boyfriend lose himself for a moment: his hips jerk forward once, and he looks down at Caleb with an expression you’ve only ever seen him give you.
“God, look at you,” Sylus says, low. “This is what you’ve been missing. Years, Caleb. Years of this.”
Caleb lifts his head. His mouth is wet, eyes nearly black. He looks at Sylus first—a look that is somehow both grateful and furious—and then he looks at you.
“I know,” he says, bitter but not at you.
“Was it worth it? Being noble?”
Caleb shakes off Sylus’s hold, running his hand over the back of his head like he could erase the man’s touch. “Shut up, pretty boy.”
Sylus raises his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not saying anything.”
“You’re thinking it.”
“I’m thinking—” Sylus wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and settles beside you against the headboard. His hand finds your knee, pulling it closer to your chest. “—your sister has been lying here all alone, begging for you to fuck her, while you’ve been busy showing a lot of enthusiasm for a cock you claim to hate.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Qin.” His words are calm. His ears, unfortunately, are bright red. “That was for her, not you.”
“Was it. Then prove it.” Sylus gives your thigh a squeeze. “Do something for her she can actually feel. Between her legs, captain.”
“No. That’s—no. That’s not what we agreed to.” Caleb’s whole body goes rigid. “You said nobody touches anybody they’re not supposed to. That was the rule.”
“We didn’t agree to anything,” Sylus counters. “We’ve been making it up as we go. And so far, everything we’ve made up has worked, hasn’t it.”
“This—this is different.”
“Is it? You tasted your sister on my cock and the world kept turning.” Sylus raises a brow. “What makes you think this will be any different?”
“It’s completely different and you know it.”
“How.”
“Because she’s—” Caleb gestures at you without looking at you. “She’s right there, Sylus, and I—”
“Look at her, Caleb.”
Caleb looks at you, and you don’t soften it. You don’t close your legs or reach for the sheet or give him something to hide behind. You let him see the aftermath of an hour of being touched through another man, what a lifetime of being so close to your brother but never close enough has done to you.
“Caleb,” you say. “Please. Just come here.”
His hands open and close at his sides. “Pips, you don’t know what’s going to happen if I—”
“I know exactly what’s going to happen.”
“You don’t.”
“You’re going to touch me and it’s going to feel like it should have felt a long time ago. And I’m going to be fine. And you’re going to be fine. And I’m asking you, gege. I’m asking. Please.”
He’s quiet. He looks at Sylus—not for permission, not exactly. Giving your boyfriend one last chance to change his mind, to tell him this is wrong, to kick him to the curb and slam the door behind him and pretend none of this ever happened.
“She’s asking, Caleb,” Sylus says gently. “And I’m tired of being the only one who listens to her.”
Caleb closes his eyes with a heavy exhale. Opens them.
He moves between your legs.
“Closer, sweetheart,” Sylus directs from beside you. “She’s not going to bite. Yet.”
Caleb nods and inches closer on his knees, until the front of his thighs are flush against yours. He takes himself in hand and you open for him, drawing both knees tighter into your chest.
“I don’t—” Caleb starts. “What if I—”
“Just the outside,” Sylus says. “You don’t have to go in. Just feel her against you. That’s all.”
That’s all.
He presses the length of his cock flat against you the way he watched Sylus do, sliding slowly through your slick heat without entering, and the weight of your brother against your cunt makes you forget how to breathe.
“There,” Sylus says from beside you. You watch him wrap his hand around his own cock, stroking it in time with Caleb’s slow rolls, the visual sending a new wave of heat down your spine. “Just like that. Easy, captain.”
Caleb rocks his hips in long drags, hot and devastating as he slides through the wet of everything the night has built. His hand is still on himself, still controlling the angle, still holding onto the last bit of restraint he has left.
“Shit,” he manages. “Sylus, she’s so—feels so—”
“I know.”
“She’s—I can’t—”
“You can,” Sylus assures, gentle and genuine. “You’re fine. She’s fine. It’s just the outside.”
Your hips rock up to meet his on the next stroke, shifting the angle, and the head of his cock catches at your entrance.
All three of you gasp at the same time.
“That’s okay. Just a little is okay,” Sylus says, quieter now. He leans closer to rest a hand on Caleb’s lower back. “You can give your sister just the tip. That’s allowed. That’s nothing.”
“That’s not nothing—”
“It’s close to nothing. Let it happen.”
Caleb rocks forward and the head of him slides in—just barely inside, the tight heat of you closing around the first inch, your legs falling wider open with a small gasp. He collapses forward, free hand fisting into the sheets beside your shoulder. Your mouths open, only inches apart now. His hand tightens around himself like a brake.
“There,” Sylus murmurs. “See? That’s fine. Nothing to be afraid of.”
“I’m not afraid,” Caleb grits out.
“Then go a little further. You can let go of yourself. You don’t have to hold on anymore.” His thumb soothes small arcs on Caleb’s back. “Why don’t you give her a little more. Just an inch. She can take it. Can’t you, sweetie?”
Caleb’s hand releases. He plants it beside your other shoulder.
“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, more, please—”
Caleb sinks deeper. An inch. Another. His jaw is clenched so hard you can see the tendon at his neck as his eyes lock on yours, searching for the thing that will tell him to stop.
You don’t give it to him.
“More,” you beg. “I can take it. I promise I can take it.”
“Pips—”
“Gege, please. I need you closer. I need more.”
“All the way,” Sylus says, and his hand presses flat against Caleb’s lower back. “All the way, sweetheart. She’s asking so nicely. Give your baby sister the cock she’s been begging for.”
Caleb pushes all the way in.
His forehead drops to yours, eyes squeezing shut. His forearms are shaking where they cage your head, and you’re full of him, completely, finally, and you have never in your life felt more whole.
Your arms come up around his neck, legs wrapping around his waist, and you hold him there, as deep as he can go. Sylus strokes the back of Caleb's head once before returning to your side.
“There you go,” Sylus murmurs. “There. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
Caleb’s breath shudders against your mouth.
“Give me a second,” he says. “Meimei, give me one second.”
You give him a second. You give him several. You lie there with him buried inside you and his sweat-slicked forehead against yours and your breath mixing in the inch between your mouths and you wait.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”
When he moves, it’s in rolls, not thrusts. He moves like he’s terrified of the end of this, like if he goes slow enough it will never stop, and you let him, because you’ve waited years and you can wait a few more minutes.
Sylus settles back against the headboard, stroking himself slowly, watching the two of you with half-lidded eyes, his free hand resting on his own thigh. Occasionally it drifts—brushing a strand of your hair out of your face, giving a reassuring squeeze to Caleb’s forearm. Though you can barely register anything aside from the way Caleb is looking at you the way you always dreamed he would, like he’s burning alive and doesn’t want to be saved.
“Faster,” you plead, gripping his forearms for leverage.
Caleb doesn’t check with Sylus anymore. He goes faster.
You dig your heels into his ass, pulling him impossibly deeper. He groans against your throat, the loudest sound the room has heard all night, and his hips snap forward and the bedframe hits the wall with each thrust and neither of you cares. You’re nothing but two people who have been starving trying to eat at the same time, and it’s too fast and too much and not enough and—
“Caleb,” Sylus says.
His rhythm stutters. “What could you possibly—”
“Kiss her.”
Caleb cuts Sylus a sidelong glare, but he doesn’t reply.
“You heard me, captain.”
Your brother looks down at you, hips still rolling in a steady rhythm. He lowers his mouth to your forehead and presses his lips there. It’s the kind of kiss you’ve received a thousand times—at the airport, at graduation, in the parking lot after games. Safe. Known.
Sylus clicks his tongue, dissatisfied. “Lower, Caleb.”
Caleb inhales sharply, eyes scanning your face, contemplating. His hips have all but stilled, as if he needs all of his focus to fulfill the request. He picks a lower spot—the apple of your cheek—and kisses you there softly.
“Gege,” you whisper against the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah.”
“Please.”
“I know, meimei.”
You tilt your chin up, lower lip brushing his. “Please. Just one.”
Caleb kisses you, and the world falls away.
It’s slow, unbearably slow, just the full, warm weight of his mouth against yours for the very first time. His hand comes up to cradle your face, the gesture so tender you feel the start of tears pooling behind your lashes.
Caleb pulls away a fraction and comes back. His lips part, barely, and yours open to meet them. His tongue finds yours tentatively, nothing like the way he kissed Sylus, and you savor the way it glides against yours like it was always meant to. He tastes like whiskey and copper and Sylus’s skin and underneath all of it like Caleb—not number five, not the hockey captain, but your older brother, the one who taught you to skate when you were nine and held both your hands the whole time and never once let go.
His hips start moving again, each stroke matched to the kiss, each deep roll timed to the slide of his tongue against yours. Your hand moves from his jaw into his hair, and you kiss him back and feel a lifetime of careful distance dissolve like it was never there. Like all those years you thought were keeping something out were really keeping something in, something alive and wound tight and desperate for the chance to break free.
Caleb deepens the kiss, hungrier now, tongue licking deeper against yours as his hips snap forward so hard it’s almost painful.
“There he is,” Sylus says, barely above a breath, hand quickening on himself. “Fuck, look at you two. Let go. Together. Let everything go.”
“Gege,” you manage. “I’m close.”
“I know.” Against your lips. “Me too, meimei. Me too.”
“Don’t stop.”
“I’m not—I won’t—I—”
You both let go.
You break around him. His hips stutter. The sound he makes into your mouth is the twin of the one you make into his, and there’s nothing poetic or graceful about it. He holds your face like he’s trying to live inside the kiss, like if he stays long enough it’ll become something he can keep. You feel his release pulse hot inside you, your own orgasm pulling him in even deeper, and you hold each other through every wave, never breaking the kiss. Not even when he’s shaking, and you’re shaking, and neither of you can breathe.
Beside you, Sylus comes with his forehead tipped back against the headboard and his hand in your hair, fingers tangled loosely in the damp strands at the back of your neck while the two people he brought together fall apart. His exhale is long and heavy and sounds, if you’re listening for it, like satisfaction.
The kiss finally, reluctantly breaks.
Caleb pulls back an inch, resting his forehead against yours, the two of you trading shaky breaths while you wait for the room to stop spinning.
“I just kissed you,” he whispers.
You laugh, and it comes out wet. “You did a lot more than that.”
“Yeah, but—“ He wipes away a tear from your cheekbone you didn’t realize had fallen, his eyes glassy and dark and full of so many emotions your chest aches. “I kissed you, meimei.”
“Yeah, gege.” You grin. “You did.”
He smiles. It’s a smile you’ve know your whole life but never from this close, and from here it simply looks like pure, wild joy. And you think, without deciding to, that you’d burn the entire world to the ground just to see him smile like that twice.
Caleb stays inside you for a long time. His face is in your neck, your fingers in his hair, the two of you so thoroughly entangled your heartbeats are nearly synchronized.
Sylus is the first one to move.
He gets up quietly. You hear the tap run in the bathroom, the sound of a drawer opening and closing. He comes back with a glass of water and a warm cloth, sits on the edge of the bed, and rests a hand on Caleb’s shoulder.
“Out,” he says, gently. “Easy. I’ve got her.”
Caleb pulls out—reluctantly, carefully—and rolls onto his side. He reaches for you immediately, pulling you against his chest, arm heavy over your waist, nose in your hair, like he’s afraid someone’s going to call time.
Sylus cleans you up. Sets the water on the nightstand within reach. Pulls the sheet up over both of you, kisses the top of your head, and goes to the other side of the bed.
He lies down beside Caleb. Not touching, giving the two of you your own space to come down together. Caleb’s palm presses into your bare abdomen, soothing circles over your stomach. And after a minute or two, he shifts backward. Just enough that his shoulders meet Sylus’s chest.
Sylus lifts his arm and drapes it over both of you, over Caleb’s ribs, your waist, his palm settling on your stomach on top of Caleb’s hand.
Caleb exhales. His whole body goes slack against Sylus’s chest.
“Don’t you dare say a word, pretty boy,” Caleb murmurs.
“I’m not saying anything.”
“And don’t bring this up ever again.”
“Bring what up.”
“This. Any of this. Not on the ice, not in the locker room, not ever.”
“Caleb, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m asleep. You’re asleep. She's asleep. Nothing happened.”
“Nothing happened.”
“Nothing at all, sweetheart,” Sylus confirms. “Though if it had, I’d be putting myself down for the assist.”
“I will smother you with this pillow.”
“That would require you to let go of her first, captain.”
Caleb’s arm tightens around your waist. Sylus’s arm tightens over his. You lace your fingers through both of their hands where they overlap on your stomach and close your eyes.
Somewhere in the living room, the basketball game has ended, the TV humming without an audience. Nobody gets up to turn it off.
Nobody gets up at all.
if u made it this far....thank u for reading, fellow freak ;)
coming off a bad divorce - what better therapy than getting railed in a club bathroom by Sukuna? The only thing is - he lied and told you he was twenty-eight like you are, instead? He's living in a damn frat house. His dick is just a little too good though, so you take his proposal to become friends with benefits - you're a busy mom, after all, no time to date! it's not like he'll end up having feelings for you!
♡﹐pairings- fratboy! sukuna x milf! reader
♡﹐warnings - insecurities, lil hints of angst, Sukuna calling us Mommy - he is a whole needy brat, lwk mean reader (he loves it). guest starring milf hunters Suguru and Satoru <3 oral (m and f receiving) cum play, swallowing, semi public sex, emotions, fluffy and cute ending, lots of feelings, lil age difference - oneshot - 8.8k wc <3
♡﹐creds- art is by my bb @winterrbluess I love her sm hehe <3 also tysm to @lizatonix for beta reading as always!!! divider by @/viviansturns <3
You were swirling your little straw in your pretty pink drink – a little umbrella sitting on the side of the tall glass, as you sat there that night, right after having to meet your ex to drop off your kid for his weekend. It’s just not something you thought would happen to you before you even hit thirty, being a single mom, but here you were, alone for the first time in years.
You try not to feel sorry for yourself, but seeing his new girlfriend when you’d dropped off your son had you trembling with anger. It would be easier if your man was an asshole, a dickhead, but no – he was actually one of those ‘nice guys’. The kind of man that even now tried to be all fucking sweet with you and friendly, giving you this awkward goddamn hug.
He’d even broken up with you in a ‘friendly way’. Some new age, express your feelings in a bullshit manner, as calm as could be as he let you know he’d met someone else, and thought it best to end things. You didn’t even have a clue anything was wrong, no, the sex wasn’t great, but you thought you two made a good team, and you’d been with him for your entire adult life.
Seeing the nineteen-year-old babysitter he got with?
Ouch.
You looked fine as fuck at twenty-eight, though – in fact, you took better care of yourself now than you did partying at her age, but the fact remained he was in his mid thirties and went that much younger.
Yep.
Your friends were disgusted about it, but who were you to say shit? You were a bit of a mess at first, honestly so busy with your career and your kid that you didn’t have all that time to ‘look pretty’ like you probably should have.
“Revenge arc, that’s what you need,” your best friends had agreed.
“Revenge arc?”
“Look fucking hot as shit, get with a man hotter than him,” you had shaken your head at them both as you had brunch, sipping on one of those mimosas and sighing.
“I can’t just hook up, I’ve only been with him forever… what if I…”
“Twitter porn!”
“What!?” You’d scowled right at them both, earning their laughs. “Twitter porn?”
“It’ll teach you all you need to know,” you’d thought them foolish, really – until you’d decided to check.
Oh, your man had never shown you any of that.
You’d been scrolling, soaking wet and ovulating of course, eyeing the way these women were getting fucked with envy, fingered, eaten out – what the actual fuck? He’d only had you suck his cock and then hit it missionary, aside from a couple times letting you ride him.
Maybe you were missing out.
You still couldn’t just go ‘fuck someone’ though, but you couldn’t help but be upset after the brand new girlfriend had gotten you. Hugging you and being all friendly, your kid had just scowled right at her, he may have been six but he was damn near forty with his mentality, and he did not like her.
You’d had to go get a drink, got all cute in a dress you hadn’t worn in about seven years, it was just a little tight on the hips but it looked cute, clearly – walking into the exclusive, fancy club had settled that when there were eyes on you. It was so odd, going to one of these, and alone, but you poked around on your phone, taking a small sip of the tart drink, letting it hit your taste buds.
There were two men buying you drinks, one on the right of you, and one on the left, the two of them talking as you barely listen, wondering exactly what the fuck you were supposed to feel.
They were cute, their attention felt nice, yet you had no desire for them.
“Are you listening?” You blink a bit, sighing.
“Yes, sorry,” the guy was your type… tall, dark and honey tongued, reminiscent of your ex a bit – but that was not what you needed. “I um… have to go to the bathroom. One minute.”
You manage, walking off before the two men can say anything, planning your escape in your head when you run right into a hard body.
“Oof,” you stumble a bit, feeling a huge hand on your waist steadying you, peeking up into ruby red eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“Tch, it’s fine,” he mumbled, you felt a little too good against him, he couldn’t help but hold you there, dumbstruck as you stepped back, eyes glancing over your body and lingering on your hips.
Fuck you’re pretty.
“Trying to run away from them?” He smirks at you now, you sigh, looking back over your shoulder to see the two men arguing, before looking back up at this smug looking man.
He’s gotta be younger than you – this big grin on his face, a varsity jacket – that shit told you all you needed to know, especially with his friends in tow, pointing and waving at you like little shitheads. You peek curiously, leading him to look back, glaring and making them turn around, whistling – hands in their pockets.
“Your friends?” You tease, he sighs, looking back down at you.
“You could call them that, I guess…” He gave them a fucking death glare, seeing in his phone now a text from Satoru.
If you don’t tap that milf, I will.
He can’t stand them.
You’re going to walk by when he pauses you – he never has to try, Sukuna has women all the fuck over him, especially in college. Never has one seemed so uninterested until now – making him furious as he realizes his hand is on your wrist. You blink and look at it for a moment.
“Uh, your name,” he manages to say, suddenly nervous.
Sukuna, nervous?
Really now.
“Oh,” you give it to him and he repeats it, making you flustered at the proximity, his hand still touching you. “Yours?”
“Sukuna.”
“Nice to meet you,” you clear your throat now and go to walk away again, this time he damn near shouts your name. “What’s up?”
“Like… fuck, you just…” He hears Satoru and Suguru snickering over there, he may kill them. “Can I buy you a drink or some shit?”
“You’re hot,” you make him blush, assessing him carefully. “But you’re too young for me.”
“Too young? Tch,” he looks you over again. “You’re what, twenty two?”
“Add six to that,” he raises a brow.
“You look good as shit.”
“Oh,” you’re lingering again, tugging at the too tight dress, acutely aware of how you’ve changed a bit since the kid.
Tits, hips, all just a little different from when you were his age, but his eyes seem to eat it up.
“Thank you,” you manage, sighing. “Just you’re a baby.”
He laughs now. “What!? A baby?”
“Mhm,” he’s chuckling and stands so damn tall suddenly – a good six inches on your husband, you can’t help but heat up. “A baby.”
“I’m not a fucking baby,” you raise a brow, earning his glare. “I’m not!?”
“You have on a varsity jacket, with a bud light in your hand,” you tap at the bottle and he scoffs. “What, twenty one? That shit is water.”
“You’re fuckin’ mean,” you just smile at that – you’ve never even been called mean, you were the perfect stepford wife really.
But maybe you like that.
Maybe you like him saying that to you.
“When you grow up you’ll get a finer palate, what are those, your fraternity brothers?”
“No!?”
Yes.
He is not about to let you run off though, so Sukuna leans down a bit, brushing a lock of your hair back, watching it take effect when your eyes dilate. “I’m twenty eight, I’m mentoring those two.”
“Twenty eight?”
“Yep,” he lies straight up, he’s not sure you even believe him. “Can I get you a drink or something?”
“Not bud light.”
“Not that,” he throws that out so fast you laugh. “Gone.”
“I see,” you settle a bit now, unsure if he’s real with it or not, but you do know he’s the first person to make you laugh since the shitshow of a divorce, so you ease up. “I’ll take a drink.”
You take two, in fact, as his other friends are dancing with girls, but his attention is locked on you, his tattoos catching your attention when he slings the jacket off and rolls up his sleeves. Rough hands, black lines darting along the back of them, up those veiny forearms that have your mind wandering.
God he’s hot, in this bad boy way you’d have never gone for when you were in college, no – you went for the ‘nice guy’ who was now fucking the babysitter.
Maybe your friends were right.
Maybe twitter porn could steer you into making this man whimper and cum in your mouth.
Maybe you’re feeling slutty and your mind is making you blush.
“Whatchya thinkin’?” You clear your throat now, leaning back a bit, crossing your legs as his gaze flickers over your thighs.
“Nothing really,” you lie, smiling. “I had a bad day.”
“I could tell.”
“Oh?”
“Easily,” he smirks down at you. “Probably why you’re so damn mean.”
“Maybe,” you admit, when the phone goes off – a text from your ex that your son is fast asleep, making you suddenly depressed. “Shit…”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing I…” You feel the emotions hit, sighing now. “I’m never away from my kid or anything.”
“Oh? Why tonight?”
“I now have every other weekend without him,” you sip your drink, feeling the warmth hit. “It’s just weird to me I guess.”
“Divorce?” He asks, you nod. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, just was out of nowhere,” you tap your nails on the table a little bit, his hand comes to brush a droplet off your lips, making you falter.
“That’s why you’re here drinking alone and shit, looking that fine?”
“Fine, hmm?” He just raises a slutty eyebrow – two little slits like he’d buzzed them himself. “Me?”
“Yes, you – annoying too.”
“Me!?”
“Mhm,” you shove at him playfully a bit then, sighing.
“If you weren’t a baby, maybe I’d let you fuck me.”
“Oh?” You hardly hold that together, the boldness that you feel with him, as he leans in, his hand on your thigh now, the contact alone making you drip. “If I wasn’t a ‘baby’?”
“Yeah, maybe I would,” your hand goes on top of his. “What a shame though, frat boy.”
“I’m not in a frat anymore,” you clock him too goddamn well. “Should show you just how much I am not a baby, yeah?”
“How are you gonna show me, Sukuna?” You lean close, lips a breath away, and that’s how you ended up here.
In a damn bathroom, pressed up on a marble countertop, with a frat boy plunging two fingers in your messy cunt, murmuring – “Arch f’me, brat”
Of course you arch.
His fingers are so thick and rough, finding spots your husband never even could, honing in on them as he leans over you, kissing you messy, sloppy, saliva just dripping between you both. Your breath catches in your throat as he drinks your pathetic whines, hitting your soft spot in those gummy walls that just quiver.
“Sukuna…” He moans at that, pressing up again, looking at your parted lips as his free hand tugs down your dress, letting a pretty tit slide out.
“Fuckin’ look at you,” he mumbles, they’re so pretty, his thumb brushes over one nipple in a circle, your head falls back for his lips to leave kisses on your throat, feeling you grip him. “So tight, been a while, huh?”
“Oh fuck off,” you breathe out, glaring as your thighs tremble, nails pressing into his jacket.
“Bet it has,” he’s grinning against your skin. “Did he not make you cum at all? Didn’t stretch your cunt out, so it’s this needy?”
“You’re a dick,” you whine out in his ear, arching for more as your cunt dribbles right down. “Such a d-dick…”
“Mhm, not a baby though – I know how to make you cum,” he arches his thick fingers one more time, curling them until you squirt, screaming out barely muffled, he laughs as he pulls back, raising a brow. “Aw, are you pissin’ on me, mommy?”
“You fucking freak!?” You kick at him, but you’re getting overstimulated, his laugh tickling your lips as he yanks his fingers back, shoving them in his own mouth, making yours drop. “You’re…”
“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he moans now, sucking your juices off, gripping your chin now. “Open.”
You do.
You open wide for a frat boy to spit in your mouth – what would the PTA think about this behavior, really!?
Nor the rest of that night, where he bent you over the sink, and fucked into your cunt – wearing a condom only because you made him, because fuck he wanted to hit it raw. Your taste swapping between your mouths as he fucked you against that sink, his cock stretching you, burning you in fact with how big it was, how hard it was to take him like that.
Throwing you around like it was nothing, fucking you and holding your hips as you peered at your slutty little reflection.
Mouth open.
Eyes narrowed.
Cheeks flushed.
Tits slipped from your neckline, one in a big hand as he pumped his latex covered cock inside you, until you shattered, squirting down his boxers, his jeans – he was so desperate he’d lick it off his fingers later for more. Busting in a condom when he’d rather creampie you, moaning your name all pathetic as you grip him better than anyone has before.
He’d been so damn breathless he was weak – him, Sukuna, who had girls just begging for him every night, kissing and wanting to snuggle with a stranger – a mom and divorcee clearly a few years older. Whatever you did to your cunt was frightening – kegels or some shit!? He wasn’t sure, all he knew was it was addictive, so much so as he threw out the condom and you rushed out, he fucking ran after you.
Yep, Sukuna running.
“Can’t just do that and not give me your number,” he’d caught you right in front of the bar, as you leaned against the wall, waiting for your ride to come. “Gonna make me beg for it?”
“It was amazing, yeah? You certainly can fuck,” you touched his lips, feeling the cool air hit. “But you’re young, and I’m a mess.”
“You were a mess on my cock-”
“And you’re an asshole!?”
“I am,” you laughed then, shaking your head. “Number.”
“For what?”
“Don’t you wanna feel that again?” He’d lifted your skirt up right there, you could feel the stickiness of your panties clinging to you as he leaned low. “Let me fuck all that sadness from your pretty head, milf.”
“Milf? Psh,” you’d given in though, taking out your phone. “Fine, give me your number.”
He saved you as that – Milf – with a sneak picture of your tits in that dress smirking while you were oblivious.
You end up saving him as – quarter life crisis.
“So any time I want it, you’ll just… fuck me? Like a fuck buddy or something?”
“Aw you’re so cute, mommy, have you never had one?”
“I have!?”
Not.
You were both liars, really.
“Fine then, we could be… that,” you managed to say, peeking around to see the ride there. “I have to get home though.”
“Text me, mommy?”
“Don’t fucking call me mommy, frat boy brat,” he laughed again.
“You’re the brat.”
“Me!? No,” you’d hopped in the back of the car, leaning back and shutting your eyes – unsure just what you had gotten yourself into, when the phone dinged about half an hour later.
Quarter life crisis – could I have a titty pic, please? I’m so hard and thinking of how pretty they are.
What a little shit.
*****
“This liar,” the address Sukuna sent you to the next week so you could ‘visit him’ on one of your days off while your kid was at school?
A goddamn frat house.
Alpha Beta Capa something or other, clear as day with the damn greek letters on the front of the enormous building, and here you are, with goddamn brownies you baked for him. You don’t know what to bring – it’s too early for wine, and you didn’t wanna come empty handed, but to bring it in a frat house!?
You were gonna look like one of their older sisters or something, embarrassing as shit, you were wearing a pretty simple little sundress too, due to the heat. Looking like Suzy Homemaker when this jerk of a man had indeed lied about being your age. You almost go to put the car in reverse and book it out when he comes running down the steps towards you.
Shit.
He’s waving his big ass arms, grinning even as you scowl over at him through your car window, he leans against it as you lower it carefully.
“Nice minivan, mommy.”
“Nice frat house you baby,” he glares so you roll up the window again, about to book it out as his psycho ass opens your door. “I can’t believe you’re such a little liar, ugh!”
“Well you wouldn’t have talked to me!? We’re barely even different in age, shit don’t go…” You have his big ass in your passenger now, leaning over and putting your car in park. “Seriously, I have my own room and bathroom, all that. Swear none of my friends will bother you.”
“What will this look like, me going in there!?”
“Cute,” is all he manages to say, eyeing your thighs in that dress – some little sunflower one he can’t wait to shove up your hips.
“Cute, hmm?”
“Very cute,” he hates the dumb shit you make him think of – domestic shit that he hoped not to even contemplate for years, but you’re such a damn pretty little wife right now. He can see why you got married young – though he can’t see why some dumbass would let you go. “Did you bake?”
“Yeah,” you mumble, looking back at the two pretty pioneer woman baking dishes you brought. “When I’m nervous I just start baking.”
“It smells good,” he leans close now, taking over everything in your mini van, really, far, far too close. “You smell good, too.”
“Do I?” You whisper, his lips a breath away.
Oh fuck.
You’d thought the drinks may have made it more intense, this feeling with Sukuna, but it wasn’t – you just want him. Inside you again, spitting in your mouth, picking you up and throwing you around like you’re a doll to him. You heat up when he uses two fingers, tilting up your chin.
“How long you got before you have to get the kid?”
“Like a couple hours,” you murmur, feeling guilty then.
He’s at school and you’re…
“Hey,” Sukuna cuts off your thoughts. “You’re allowed to have fun, yeah?”
“I don’t know, I feel so…”
“And what’s the dad doing?”
“Well, he doesn’t even have him often,” you sigh now, shutting your eyes. “He’s probably giving the babysitter bad dick, though.”
“Exactly, so you get your cute ass in here and bring these brownies, hmm?” You laugh, getting a little kiss as he pauses. “That okay outside of… sex?”
“Yes, if it’s okay with… you…” You shut your eyes now. “Imma liar too.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve never had sex casually, or… a ‘friends with benefits’. If we’re friends, even… we’re still kinda strangers, huh?”
“So we both lied,” he teases, almost gently for a big, pretentious jerk like he seemed.
You nod, blushing, before shoving at him.
“I didn’t lie like you did! Twenty-eight my ass.”
“Did you really believe me?” You sigh and let him kiss you, and it feels too fucking good. “Be honest.”
Could you really separate sex from feelings, when your dumbass ex husband was the majority of your life? You had your wild phase before him, but it had all been dumbass fratboys who couldn’t make you cum.
Sukuna seemed different from what you remember then.
“Shut up,” that’s your answer as you turn your car off, and he’s chuckling. “We can hang out for an hour but I swear if one of your young ass frat brothers hears me or something!?”
“They won’t, come on.”
Oh, they don’t tease.
They simp over you bringing brownies in.
“Oh my god, for us!?” The white haired one grins and runs right over to you, taking one of the pans. “You’re so sweet, mommy.”
“God don’t call me that, you brats,” you grimace, the dark haired one taking the other gently, his eyes flickering over you.
“Hey pretty.”
You can’t help but blush a bit at him, as Sukuna scowls, shoving the pan in his hands as he smirks at you. “Don’t fucking hit on her you weirdos. Especially you, Suguru.”
“Why especially me?”
“At least she’d never take Satoru seriously.”
“Excuse me!?”
You snort just a bit at the cute man’s pout, they’re both setting the pioneer woman trays down, tearing them open and moaning as they shove their face full of your brownies.
“I’m gonna cum-”
“Satoru what the fuck!?” Suguru is snorting, moaning as he bites another piece.
“Divine.”
“Okay, go fuck yourselves now.”
"Aw, Kuna, don't be like that," the white haired one, apparently named Satoru, whines like a mad little brat, truly, batting his ridiculously long white lashes. "We just wanna get to know your new friend."
"Yeah," the other – apparently Suguru, says, his gaze a little too appreciative as it lingers on the curve of your waist in the dress, where Sukuna’s hand sits as if he can tell, yanking you against him. "She brought us gifts."
"They're for Sukuna," you say then, cheeks burning up at the attention of three hot men staring at you – all over six foot three, all far too handsome, really.
All on you.
It's been a long time since you've been looked at like this, for years you were damn near locked away – just a mom, and now you’re an ex-wife, but they clearly all find you and your brownies pretty damn hot.
You giggle when Sukuna squeezes you hard, tugging you away. “Leave me some, I have other things to eat first.”
“Sukuna!” You panic at that, he’s chuckling, throwing his head back as he leads you away from the kitchen, past two pyramids of red solo cups and bottles of beer from likely last night, towards a big, winding staircase.
“You don’t like getting eaten?”
“I um…”
You’re older than him.
You’re the experienced one in life – you can’t act like some blushing virgin when you’ve had an entire baby and a marriage.
“They heard you!”
“They’ll probably jerk off to the thought,” you follow him up, heading to his room – surprisingly clean, and bigger than you’d expect.
Mostly it smells like his cologne.
You already like that scent too much.
He shuts the door and then turns to you, smirking a bit, pressing you against it, his hand on one side of your head, the other slipping down your bare shoulder, making you gasp. "Now… where were we?"
You're nervous already, your heart hammering in your chest, pulse flaring underneath the brush of his thumb when it brushes behind your ear.
All that bravery out the window, you gotta get it back.
So you smile – real mean.
"I think we were discussing,” your teasing fingers slip down his abdomen, making it tense, his lips parting. “What a little liar you are."
He smirks at that, raising a slutty ass eyebrow and leaning down until his lips are just a breath away. "You’re so mean when you know I could be so sweet to you.”
“You, sweet?”
“Mhm,” he kisses your mouth, just a tease, your nails pressing into your palms at how good it feels. “I think we were discussing me eating your pretty lil cunt."
“Eating my…” He nips at your bottom lip with sharp teeth, leaving little indentations as you gasp out, nails pressing into his shoulders, whines escaping your lips. “My…”
“Pussy, is that better?”
“Maybe,” you sigh into his mouth now, letting him take you over – less frantic than the other night at the club, slower, more deliberate.
He kneels right down, looking up at you, smiling as he watches color blossom on your skin.
“Shouldn’t I be on my knees?” You try to tease.
You’re the one who gives.
You know you can suck dick.
Yet this man loves to throw you the fuck off.
He pushes the little sundress up, bunching it around your waist, usually ruby eyes dark and locked in on the pretty panties you have on, seeing how damp they already are with your sticky arousal. He toys with it a bit, rubbing the stickiness and humming, as your hips arch.
“Sukuna… you’re staring…”
“Fuck yes I am, I didn’t see her that night,” he’s throbbing as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of them, smirking. “Cute lil panties.”
“Mean…”
“I’m serious, who doesn’t love cotton, boring ass panties?”
“Meaner!”
He chuckles and eases them down your thighs until they pull around your ankles, helping you out of them now. “Should I buy you lingerie?”
“Should you?” You manage to tease back – and then he does something your ex-husband never, ever did.
He licks you.
"Fuckin' gorgeous," he murmurs with his mouth full of your juices, more to himself than to you really – your pussy is all puffy and begging for attention, your dress falling now. “Hold it up.”
“Hold it…”
“I said,” he leans in and licks a long, slow stripe up your messy slit, groaning as that taste coats his tongue. “Hold the fuckin’ dress up.”
You do that nervously, your hands slipping into his soft pink hair, tangling in the strands and tugging as he licks you again, deliberately slow, making you so sensitive. "Sukuna! What…”
“I’m eating as I said,” he throws a thigh over his shoulder, his groan vibrating against you, having your thighs tremble, one pressing against his face as he prepares to bury it. “Taste so sweet for a mean fuckin’ brat.”
“Sukuna…” You’re done for when he drags your ass against his face, his chin pressing on your slutty lil hole, tongue slipping up to your clit, mouth wrapping the twitchy lil thing, it jumps for him.
“Hah,” he laughs softly, teeth nipping it, making you smack at him, just making him harder.
“Don’t bite it!?”
“Have you had your pussy eaten?” He asks again, brows together as he slurps you up. “Be honest.”
“No, okay?” He pauses now, pulling back with little strings of your slick dissolving from too plump lips, fucking you up. “I know.”
“Never?”
“No,” you manage to say. “I’m not inexperienced, just…”
“How he didn’t eat this every day, you baking brownies for this mother fucker and sucking him?”
You sigh.
“Yes.”
“Oh fuck him,” you giggle then, suddenly relaxing a bit. “There you go, ease up – I’ll make you cum, hmm?”
“Please…”
“You’re only sweet when your clit is throbbing,” you scoff, but it’s cut off, when he’s licking you again – messier and messier, devouring you, you’re already so close it’s embarrassing. "Look at you… Feel good, mommy?”
“Swear to god you brat,” you shove his head closer, surprising him and yourself, rolling your hips, chasing more of that high, as he palms his cock, groaning. “There, there! Mnh! S-shut you up… hah…”
“Mmm,” he thinks he’s in love when he laps more of you up, greedy, loud sounds that echo in his room, as he lifts you up and pins your hips on the wall, your thighs on either side of his head.
“I’m gonna fall!”
“You’re not,” he chuckles as he holds you up on that wall, you’re damn near panicking at the strong, giant of a man pinning you. “You can take it, just hold on to my hair.”
“Shit, okay,” you never thought in your late twenties you’d be held up on a wall at this tall ass height like it’s nothing, with a handsome fratboy’s face buried in your cunt.
Yet, here you are.
You care much less about your divorce with every flick of his tastebuds against you, shattering for him as he pushes you over the edge.
“Too much, too much!”
“Shh,” he pulls back a bit, easing you down, his chin is slick with your wetness – face so wet it’s embarrassing. "Already falling apart and I haven't even fucked you yet, huh? So fuckin' sensitive." He picks you up again differently, so that your thighs wrap his hips, carrying you to his bed and laying you down. “Still a little ‘baby’?”
“No,” you admit, whining out when he shoves two thick fingers in your spasming walls, curving them against that spot that makes you see stars, like he’s already learned your body. “Not a baby…”
“That’s what I thought,” he leans over you, kissing you and letting your juices spit right in your mouth, you so eagerly open for him it should be embarrassing.
“Mnh…”
"He really never did this for you?" He asks then, chuckling as you squirt down his fingers again, dripping dark spots on his blankets.
“N-no,” you mumble, gasping out, dizzy when he yanks his fingers out of your mess, slapping your cunt and making you hiss. “Ah!”
"You still with me, mommy?" he teases, earning your glare.
"Shut up," you mumble, tugging at his zipper and leaning up. "Fuck me, you brat."
“You’re so needy,” his cock is so pretty and thick you whine out, your body sure remembers that challenge.
Oh, you want it again.
“Condom again?” He asks sadly. “I could give you another baby-”
“Sukuna!”
“What, cum would be sexy in your hole,” he spreads it and pouts. “I’m good if you’re worried.”
“Mmm… cumming in me, I…” You blush. “You could pull out?”
“Tragic,” you laugh again, as he runs the fat, reddened head of his cock through your slick folds, nudging your clit to tease you, making you drool even more.
“Fine, condom then.”
“No!? I’ll pull out,” he smirks, thinking of cumming all over your cunt and shoving it back in.
Toxic shit.
You’re already fucking with him.
“Fuck me already – ah!”
“Shut it brat,” he groans when his cock shoves inside deep in one go, feeling how wet you are, still pulsing from cumming earlier.
For a moment, Sukuna just whimpers.
“Did you… whimper?”
“I’ll beat your ass next time,” he glares, biting your neck and grabbing your thighs rough, pushing deeper into you, stretching you out so damn good it burns. “Didn’t whimper, you’re the one squirting all over.”
“Am not – ah!” The fucker slams into you hard, three, four, five times, before yanking out and laughing sadistically, slapping his cock in the squirting mess he’s made your cunt. “Sukuna…”
“So fuckin’ messy, just washed these, tsk,” he’s ruining you with every mean thrust, it’s better than that night.
Even better than he remembered.
No condom, so he can feel the texture of those gummy walls and how they grip him, ruining him with every stroke, shoving your dress higher when you tug it down, making him pause.
“Covering up?” He glares, and you blush, letting him shove it up again. “Wanna see my cock inside you.”
“I have stretch marks and… ah!” He pauses, scowling and gripping your hips. “Sukuna…”
“Don’t start that shit,” he trails his fingers down one, making you suddenly a little emotional, swallowing nervously.
You never thought they’d be called anything but unattractive.
“They’re cute,” he murmurs, breaking you then. “So cute I wanna cum on them, hah.”
You giggle at that. “Slutty ass boy.”
“Now shut up and lemme see you,” he mumbles, already pussy drunk – he throws you in every position – doggy, prone bone, mating press, fucking every memory out of your mind, having you squirt and gush till he pulls out.
He cums all over your skin, painting it in pretty white patterns, until you’re a fucking mess.
It’s hard to leave Sukuna that day, knees wobbly, skin still sticky in places, you swear the man came everywhere.
“So, that titty pic?” He asks then, you laugh, trying to brush out your hair in the mirror, fixing your dress to look presentable.
“I’ll send you one tonight.”
*****
Oh, you send Sukuna titty pics.
Pussy pics.
Soon you get a jerk off video.
Soon he can’t get your pretty self out of his goddamn head, nibbling on cookies you made him last time you came over, when you sucked him dumb and dry, taking all nine inches in your throat like a pro. When you had him whining like a little bitch and fucking your throat till he couldn’t move.
Sukuna stares at a picture now, sighing.
This can’t just be sex – he needs more of you.
*****
Two weeks later
Sukuna's gripping your waist tight with his huge hands, moaning as you glide right down on his cock, stretching your puffy lips right around him as he lays back in the front seat of the car, cursing at how good it feels.
"Sh-shit... slow down, you fuckin' brat..." He's gasping as you quiver right around him, whining out, your lashes fluttering closed.
"Don't have t-time... soccer game, gotta go to..." He slams you down hard then, pinning you and glaring. "I h-have to take him to..."
"It's not till six, will you slow the fuck down," he bites the shit out of you, buried deep in your tacky lil walls, his own eyes closing at how good you feel. "You told me six."
"But it's five and - ngh! Gonna cum, gonna-"
"No you're not," he grins as you gasp out, pinning you and not moving. "Not till I say."
"You're so annoying," you knew fucking a frat boy a good six years younger than you was stupid, but right now as he's attention seeking and pouty? And you know you need to hop right to your damn mini van and clean up before you get your kid?
You know then especially how stupid this is.
If you just didn't get drunk that night and if he didn't lie and say he was twenty eight...
No, you'd have still fucked him. But now? He's clingy.
Every day for two weeks he writes you nonstop, half the time you’re working or with your kid, and you feel guilty indulging. As a mom, that’s all you were really supposed to do, the marriage was supposed to be it for you. Yet here you are, trembling as he bites your skin, his fingers pressing into your hips, rocking that thick cock up inside you.
You loved hearing from him – your lips would curve, your cheeks would heat up, but you tried your best to shove it down, to focus. Your messages quick, you even have avoided him altogether after a particular time when you’d laid in his arms and he held you tight, and you realized you didn’t wanna leave, not at all.
“Me, annoying? You always leave me,” your hands tug at his locks of hair, entangling and pulling at the root, his breath hot as he trails messy kisses down your chest. “Always runnin’ off, why?”
“Have to – busy, mngh….” you shatter with one more push inside you, gasping out at how good it feel. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”
“Wanna go on a date…”
You pause now, blinking as you come down. “What!?”
“Yeah, that so crazy? You barely go anywhere, anyway,” you scoff at that, but it turns into a pathetic little whine as he fucks you faster, leaning back and lifting you up just to drag you back down on it. “Lemme take you out, brat, shit…”
“I can’t, what if – ah! They see me with… younger and…”
“You look my age, just got these,” he grips your hips and smirks. “Maybe they are breedable.”
“You’re hanging out with Gojo too much – ah!”
“Saying someone else’s name while I fuck you? No,” he’s pinning you down now, his tip grazing your sensitive cervix, biting your nipple until it’s bruised.
“Ow!”
“Attention on me,” he orders, as if he’s not desperate and pathetic for you – for just how pretty you are, how good you smell, god even the cookies you bake.
He can’t take it.
“Who’s makin’ you cum like this?” He asks now, a hand on the back of your neck, shoving you down again, tugging your hair at the nape until your juices spill. “Answer me.”
“You,” he smirks – the only sweetness he gets is when you’re fucked out. “You are, Sukuna.”
“So then keep your eyes on me, ah-ah, don’t shut them,” he makes you keep the eye contact, even as your own threaten to flutter closed. “That’s it, gonna make me cum just lookin’ at me.”
“You talk so much shit,” you whisper, but you’re done for when he pulls out, your mess coating him, tip gliding through your slit. “Mnh!”
“Where am I cumming?” He begs to bust inside you, but you’re terrified that somehow you’ll get pregnant or something, even though clearly Sukuna liked that idea.
He was an idiot.
You pull off and he moans.
“Gonna swallow me?”
“Yes,” you whisper, letting him shove the seat back even more as you sink down, lapping your own slick from his veiny shaft.
“God, slutty brat – licking your pussy off like that,” you swirl your tongue around that fat head, he’s jerking he’s so sensitive, cupping your face. “Slutty for me, all for me, huh?”
“You talk a lot when you’re about to cum,” he glares and you suck him, moaning. “Cum, Sukuna, lemme swallow.”
“Mmngh,” he’s not sure what sound you elicit this time, pumping all his cum into your eager mouth, you swallow all of it, greedy with it, moaning around him – so greedy you lap up every drop, cleaning his cock completely. “Look at you, love it, huh? Sucking your cunt off?”
“Maybe,” you admit, flushed when he tugs you back up, kissing his own cum off your mouth.
Sukuna was a freak.
But maybe you were, too.
For him.
You’re kissing messy as your phone alarm goes off, and he’s pouting as you rush over to your minivan – you can’t believe you’re fucking in the car like you’re back in fucking high school or college. He catches you though before you can open the door, turning you and pinning you, tilting your chin up.
“Sukuna I have to-”
“Go on a date with me,” he grunts those words. “No more dick if you won’t.”
“What!? I thought we were fuck buddies?”
“I feel used, like a cheap slut.”
“Maybe you are. Ow!” He’s bit your neck again. “Brat!”
“You go out with me, don’t make me beg, shit,” you sigh, rolling your eyes.
“Why want to go out with-”
“Did I fuck your milf brain stupid?” You smack him, making him moan – he’s a fucking freak. “God, do that again.”
“No!? Ugh, I’ll go if you stop asking and let me leave, one date,” you sigh then, shaking your head. “It’s dumb though, what if someone tells him and-”
“The man fucking a girl half his age?” You blush at that now. “Sorry we’re not about to compare six years to that.”
“He’ll say something-”
“Let him,” he grins all psychotically. “I’d love to meet him.”
“Oh I bet you would,” you ease back now, looking up at him as you lean against the mini van door. “I’ll go out to dinner, I just need a new sitter.”
“Let Gojo watch-”
“Gojo!? No! He’s not responsible enough!”
“I’ll tell him you think that,” you glare. “Break his twinky little heart.”
“You will not even,” you shove at him now. “I’ll get a sitter for Friday night for a few hours, okay? Dinner or whatever…”
“Good, then you’ll get more dick,” you snort and turn away from him, not before he drags your ass back against him, kissing up your neck, wrapping you too tight.
You have so many feelings already you feel dumb.
A date will make them worse.
Yet, he had a point – why were you holding back, so worried what everyone would think when your husband really did get an entire pass from the world?
“Give me a real goodbye, yeah?” You let him tilt your chin. “Kiss me.”
You do, moaning and arching against him, lost for a moment before pulling back, looking at him. “I’ll see you Friday.”
“Mhm, enjoy your soccer game, mommy,” you bite his lower lip hard, making him tug back as you scowl, hopping in your driver’s seat.
Sukuna is in love when you flip him off pulling out.
*****
“What are you doing here?” Of fucking course – the one date you go on, your damn husband would be there with her.
She’s smiling and giggling, looking at Sukuna who ignores her completely, trying to introduce herself as your husband leans over, talking to you in a hushed tone.
“I’m on a date,” you answer calmly, smiling. “You?”
“Where is our son!?”
“With a fucking sitter, are you serious,” you stand then, scowling as Sukuna tenses up next to you. “Come on.”
“What?”
“Now,” you drag him over to a quieter part of the restaurant, heart racing – tonight had been fun.
Actual fun.
Yeah, Sukuna made you cum, and yeah, he was handsome, but the amount of fun you’ve had tonight alone? Even the drive there?
You haven’t felt that shit in years.
You’re not letting your ex fuck it up.
“What the hell is your problem?” you whisper – once you’re away from all the people just trying to have dinner, in one of the hallways leading to the bathrooms.
“My problem? You’re on a date, with a kid!?” He glares over at Sukuna, who’s sitting at your table, calmly sipping the whiskey you’d ordered for him, his eyes fixed on the two of you rather than your ex husband’s girlfriend, who is desperately trying to get noticed. “With our son with a sitter, so you can go out and have fun?”
“Like you don’t! You only have him four days a month!”
“Because you’re a mother, I’m…”
“The dad!?”
“Exactly, it’s not okay for you.”
You scoff then, in disgust as you look up at him, narrowing your eyes.
“He’s twenty-two, and I’m ten years younger than you, how can you say anything about age to me? When there’s a whole child over there.”
“Really?” He flinches as if you’ve wounded him, brows drawing together now, trying to make you feel guilty like he always used to.
It doesn't work anymore.
“That’s not fair. This is about our son. I don’t want some random guy around him.”
“He’s not met him, but you lost the right to have an opinion on who I spend my time with the second you decided to stick your dick in the babysitter,” he glares now – that whole show gone from his face, leaning low over you.
“As if you can keep a man, with how you are? Taking care of yourself now I see, you didn’t dress up for me, did you?”
“Because you made me hate myself,” you whisper, tears stinging your eyes. “You made me insecure, and feel less than.”
“Get some dick and think you’re the hottest?”
“I did finally get to cum,” you admit, smiling all mean right at him now, making him scowl. “And I got eaten out, so I do feel good, yeah.”
“As if you-”
“I’ve had enough,” you cut him off now. “You wanted to be done with me, you wanted to move on – you get it. We will only talk about our son, other than that? It’ll be like we were never together, it’s what you wanted.”
“Wait,” he grips your wrist, irritating you more. “Just wait, shit… maybe,” he looks across your body now. “Maybe I didn’t give you enough attention, but if I knew you could look this good? I wouldn’t have just been with her-”
“You were with her before!?” He sighs, shutting his eyes now. “During…”
“Maybe I gave up too fast, and-”
“No,” you clear your throat, shoving past him now. “Thank you.”
“Thank you?”
“For leaving me,” you say, smiling – even though the shit hurts. “It’s the best thing you’ve done besides give me my son.”
He calls your name but it’s too late, you look over at the girl you now know fucked your man, during your marriage – but you feel bad for her if anything, especially when Sukuna outright ignores her, and your husband is stomping back over.
“I hope you get better than him,” you say to her quietly, she blinks, looking your way. “Good luck with that for now, though.”
“I…”
“Let’s go,” he yanks her away, leaving you to take a breath, as Sukuna’s hand brushes across your upper thigh.
“Hey, everything okay?”
“It’s fine now,” you open your eyes and look at him, picking up that glass of wine and downing half of it in one go. “Just some shit left unsaid – ex-husband drama.”
“Figured it was,” he says, his eyes flicking over to where your ex is now standing awkwardly with his girlfriend, who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.
“She must think you’re hot.”
“She’s not my type,” you giggle now, as his eyes level at you. “What, surprised?”
“She’s pretty, all sweet, bouncy and happy-”
“Maybe I like mean ass, twenty eight year old moms,” you snort at that, rolling your eyes. “Ones who fuck me and t hen run off.”
“I shouldn’t run off on you,” you admit softly, your hand over his, making his own heart race.
Fuck you look pretty right now.
“He looks like he cries after he cums,” you gasp.
“What!?”
“Can he even keep it hard?”
“It wasn’t much to write home about,” you admit, laughing now.
“Small dick and didn’t eat pussy?”
“Sukuna! Oh my god, you’re horrible.”
“Nah, just observant,” he leans forward, all his attention on you – as if the rest of the restaurant, including your shitty, fuming ex isn’t even there. “You handled that shit, fuck… it was so hot to see you put him in his place.”
“It was?” You ask then, softly.
“It was,” you sigh, kissing him right in front of whoever could see. “Made me leak precum.”
“God!”
He throws back his head, laughing like a damn psycho, earning plenty of looks he doesn’t seem to care about.
You fucking really like this psycho too don’t you?
You daresay you fell that night – but Sukuna’s conceited ass didn’t need to know that just yet.
“I wanna keep having fun with you tonight,” you whisper, eyes flickering as he cups your face.
“Then we will.”
*****
You make sure your son is asleep and the babysitter is paid before you let Sukuna in, the door that opens right to your bedroom, giggling as you put a finger to his lips as he moans, trying to kiss you that night.
“Shh,” you whisper, tugging him in and locking the door. “If you wake him up I’ll beat you.”
“Please?”
“Freak,” you kiss him again, sighing as he takes over your entire room with just how big he is, memories scattered across the room you once shared with your husband.
How long had he done it?
How long did he not care?
The thoughts clearly get to you – Sukuna pulls back, looking and swallowing a bit nervously, tilting his head as he cups your face, your hands on his wrists, quiet in the dark of your room.
“He’s across the house but we still need to be-”
“What’s wrong?”
You sigh now, shaking your head, making his lips press together.
“Tell me now, brat.”
“Just some things he said, got me in my head,” you blink tears, one rushing across his thumb. “I don’t wanna ruin the night.”
“You won’t,” he murmurs, stepping back now, taking off his shoes, his jacket, unbuttoning his shirt and studying you. “No dick tonight.”
“Rude!?” He snorts, walking to you once he’s in his boxers, turning you to unzip your dress, letting it fall, leaving you just in the little pair of panties you had – ones he ordered you.
“You wore them, huh?”
“Yeah,” you let him tug you against him. “Why no dick?”
“You’re upset,” your heart falters now.
No way a frat boy understood you better than your man ever did.
Then again, Sukuna was a real man – your ex?
A boy in his thirties.
“What’d the dumb fuck say?”
“Just that no one will stay,” you choke up just a bit as he grips you so tight it hurts, exhaling. “You should head home, or I’ll go sleep in the-”
“No.”
“But I’m a mess,” you turn and he sees your tears, so fucking mad he can’t think. “I’m crying, it’s not sexy.”
“I’m not leaving,” he says again, softer now. “Get in bed.”
“Oh,” you murmur, climbing into the bed, sniffling when he slides under the covers, wrapping you in his big arms, your tears falling on tanned skin, letting him kiss up your cheek, to your temple. “You don’t have to just hold me.”
“Maybe I want to, always leaving me and shit,” you sigh. “Mean mommy.”
“Swear to god, I’ll kick you,” he snorts, kissing your lips again, making you melt in his hold. “Thank you, Sukuna.”
“Mhm, make me breakfast in the morning,” you giggle, sniffling again as you snuggle against his chest. “Pancakes, mmm. Will you?”
“I will, absolutely. I guess you can meet my kid.”
“Is he a brat like you?”
“He’s worse.”
*****
“STRANGER DANGER!”
“OW – SHIT, BRAT WHAT THE FUCK!?!?!”
Oh…
Fuck.
That wakes you up out of a dead sleep as you realize with horror – your son just met your… kind of new boyfriend!? – before you could even introduce him.
“I’ll beat you, mommy! Are you OKAY!?”
“You’re mommy is fine you little shit, ow! Stop kicking me before I head lock your little ass-”
“Sukuna!” You glare, crossing your arms and raising a brow at Sukuna as your kid kicks him again, making you shout his name.
“Sorry mommy,” they both say, making you sigh, walking over and picking your son up, letting him hug you as Sukuna rubs his sore shins.
“It’s okay, Sukuna is, well…” You sigh, setting him down now, looking into his eyes as you get to his level. “He may be mommy’s new boyfriend.”
“I am!?”
“He is!?”
“What’s that mean, kid?” Sukuna shoves at him again, you smack at his hand.
“No pancakes.”
“But-”
“Be nice,” he grumbles an apology, as you look at your son again, smiling. “Mommy has been pretty sad since everything, and he’s made me very happy. Is it okay if he hangs out for breakfast?”
“Can I kick him again?”
“You have a demon child!” Your son laughs and your lips quirk up, affection and something more for Sukuna really tugging at you as you see his flushed cheeks.
Damn you may be really falling for a fratboy.
What sort of quarterlife crisis was this, really?
Well, whatever it was – you are going to enjoy it.
“Say hi, and I’ll cook you both breakfast,” you stand up and put a hand on Sukuna’s shoulder, smiling sleepily as he puts one at your waist for a brief moment. “Good morning, Sukuna.”
“Morning – he attacked me, jumped on me and shit,” your kid sticks his tongue out at the big man. “Does he not get his ass beat? You gentle parenting?”
“I am indeed gentle parenting,” you shove him playfully. “Go wash up before breakfast, baby.”
“Yes mommy!”
“Acting all nice now,” Sukuna’s eyes narrow, you go to cook when he pauses you. “Am I really your boyfriend?”
“If you wanna be, yeah,” he grins all big – achingly cute before he decides to be a perv and pinch your ass instead. “Hey!”
“What a dumb question…” He kisses you quick, sighing against your lips, tummy growling.
“I better feed your ass – go sit.”
“Yes, mom-”
“Sukuna!?”
“Ahem – yeah fine, brat,” he can’t stop the grin on his face – not even when your kid fucks with him again, you look way too cute cooking in the kitchen.
Sukuna could be a stepdad, right?
Beat some sense into your kid, and give you another <3
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