pairings aged-up neteyam x omatikaya!dancer reader
notes slow burn, drunken confession, mutual pining, yearner neteyam as per usual <3, reader is lo’ak’s best friend, groveling (lowkey), smut (p in v), oral (f receiving)
synopsis neteyam had carried a quiet attraction to you ever since lo’ak and kiri brought you home when you were children. growing up, neteyam was many things, but he was never malicious nor was he a liar... so you couldn't begin to understand what possessed him when, in a druken haze, he started blurting out things you would never have dared to dream of— not even in your wildest dreams.
word count 16.5k
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The scraping hiss of stone against the obsidian blade of his arrow was the only sound that can be heard from Neteyam’s corner of their family kelku. He sat cross-legged on a woven mat, his posture unnaturally straight for a twelve-year-old. Before him lay his other arrows, their fletching already perfectly aligned, so he was focused entirely on the tips, although he does this almost every single day.
His bow and arrows are his constant company now that he was preparing for his iknimaya, years younger than most who dared, but that was mainly because even at a young age, he was already a prodigy. He was a sharp shooter, and the council spoke of it in quiet, proud murmurs, how the Olo’eyktan’s eldest son could pierce a moving yerik’s heart from fifty paces out.
Now, with aspirations of being a warrior, he had stopped playing games in the mud a long time ago. He had understood early that being the firstborn of Toruk Makto came with duties and responsibilities that he needed to carry, but he’d also decided a long time ago to wear it like armor.
Eventually, the peace of the hut was shattered.
With a chorus of breathless giggles and stomping feet, Lo’ak and Kiri came bursting through the kelku, colliding with the space, bringing the chaotic, wild energy of the rainforest inside with them. Behind them tumbled Spider, his smaller human frame practically skidding across the smooth wood before he unceremoniously dumped himself onto a pile of sleeping mats, making himself comfortable as if he owned the place.
Neteyam’s head were immediately up the moment they bounded into the hut, a habit natural to an older brother with siblings who always get into trouble. He drew the whetstone down the edge of the obsidian one last time before he fully gave the bunch his attention, but as he did, his gaze caught on something, or someone, standing just at the entryway, framed by the morning light filtering through the giant branches of Hometree.
You looked hesitant, just hovering at the entrace, looking entirely awkward as you swift your weight from one foot to the other, your hands nervously tucked behind your back. Yet, to a twelve-year-old boy who had spent the last two years looking only at targets and hunting trails, you were unexpectedly, captivatingly breathtaking.
Neteyam’s hand froze on his arrow.
He had never seen you around. He reasoned, with a sudden and strange analytical focus, that you must live in the higher branches, among the families that don’t have a single warrior in them, and thus needed the protection of height. You were from the quiet parts of the clan. And because Neteyam had traded his childhood games for training drills, your paths had simply never crossed.
Until now.
Spider, sprawling out on the mats, raised a hand lazily toward the entrance. “Come inside, Y/N! It’s just Neteyam,” he said in passing, his voice cracking slightly with age. But Spider didn't care to elaborate, or to even properly introduce the two of you, because he was already turning his head toward Kiri, who was aggressively digging through a woven basket. “Did you check behind the sleeping furs?”
Neteyam’s mind repeated the syllables of your name. The name felt light, it sounded like bells... And it suits your face well. His eyes locked onto you, tracing the way a few stray leaves were bounded into your slightly messy, tangled hair. You had clearly been running through the brush, wild and unbothered by the state of your hair.
An unfamiliar prickle of annoyance flared deep in Neteyam’s chest. He didn't like how his chest felt. He didn't like how his eyes refused to move away from you, glued to the soft curve of your jaw and the nervous way your eyes are looking anywhere but him. He was a warrior in training; he was supposed to be hyper-aware of his surroundings, yet right now, the entire world had shrunk to the perimeter of the doorway where you stood. He felt a sudden, fierce need to know what was going on, to regain control of his own senses, but he couldn't even bring himself to look at his siblings to demand answers.
“What’s going on?” Neteyam asked aloud. His voice was transitioning, cracking slightly but holding the firm, steady cadence he practiced to sound like his father.
As he spoke, he forcibly turned his head toward the alcove where Kiri and Lo’ak were currently tossing mats around. But even as his head turned, his eyes lagged behind, stubbornly remaining on you for a second longer.
And because he spoke, you finally looked in his direction.
Your gaze widened slightly, startled by the intense, unblinking focus of the boy in front of you. To you, it felt like an interrogation. Because he had been looking directly at you when the words left his mouth, you felt the sudden heat of his attention, even as he hastily looked away toward his siblings.
“We're going to the river!” Lo’ak announced loudly, emerging from a pile of tapestries with a triumphant grin. In his hand, he brandished a pair of old, scratched human goggles. “We decided to swim, and I told Y/N she has to try the goggles. It makes things way clearer underwater. You can see the fish before they bite your toes.”
“And we found them! Let's go, let's go, she hasn't seen the deep pools yet!” Kiri cheered, already darting past you out into the branches.
Lo’ak didn't wait either. He grabbed Spider by the arm, dragging the boy up, and the three of them rushed back out of the kelku in a whirlwind of laughter. You gave Neteyam one last, lingering, bewildered look before turning on your heel to sprint after them.
Neteyam didn't think. He dropped the whetstone. The arrow clattered against the floor as he stood up, drawn to the edge of the platform by a magnetic pull he couldn't comprehend.
He stepped out onto the wide branch of the kelku, his hand gripping the guide rope tightly as his eyes tracked the group. You are all moving fast, navigating the massive, winding branches of the Hometree with the ease of children who spent their days laughing.
But Neteyam’s eyes only tracked one person.
He watched as you suddenly accelerated, a wild, unbridled smile breaking across your face. With a burst of chaotic energy that rivaled Lo'ak's, you threw your weight forward, bodyslamming into Lo’ak’s shoulder just enough to knock him off balance. He let out a dramatic yell as you used the momentum to leap, catching a dangling vine and swinging yourself over a gap in the branches, sticking the landing perfectly and leaving Lo'ak eating your dust.
“See that dust? Eat it!” your voice chimed and Neteyam tilted his head.
Look at that, he thought. You were so shy earlier, and now, your laughter is echoing back up through the trees, bright and untamed.
Standing high above, his brows furrowed deeply. A strange, tight sensation bloomed in his chest, hot and demanding. He looked down at his calloused hands, hands that were being trained to hold a heavy bow, to kill, to lead.
For the first time in two years, as he watched you disappear into the green expanse of the jungle, Neteyam didn't want to be a warrior. Suddenly, desperately, he just wanted to play. The feeling felt foreign, yet it pulled at him too hard that he ended up turning back inside to rush through the final inspection of his arrows with uncharacteristic speed. He shoved them into his quiver, dropped his whetstone, and practically bounded down the massive, spiraling branches of Hometree. For the first time in years, he wasn't running toward the training ground or a hunting lesson. He was running toward the sound of laughter.
He almost made it.
“Neteyam.”
The melodious voice of his mother followed him as he ran and Neteyam skidded to a halt on a wide moss-covered branch, his tail twitching in sudden disappointment, knowing the fun would have to wait. Neytiri stepped out from a shaded walkway, her eyes assessing his hurried stance.
“Get Lo’ak and Kiri. Mo’at requires them for the midday ritual. Do not let Lo'ak wander off,” Neytiri ordered, her hand gently patting Neteyam’s head.
His shoulders slowly sank, the warrior's mask locking back over his features. “Yes, Mother.”
By the time he tracked them down to the shallow banks of the river, the fun was in full swing. The water was crystalline, kicking up sparkling droplets as Lo’ak, Kiri, and Spider splashed each other. You were right in the center of it, Jake’s old, scratched human goggles pushed up onto your forehead, your face lit up with a brilliant, breathless grin that made him sigh.
Neteyam stepped out onto a low-hanging root over the water, his hands on his waist. He hated the role he had to play. He hated being the one who always brought the shadow of responsibility over their sunlit days.
“Guys,” he called out, his voice carrying the firm weight of an elder brother. “Mother said we have to go back. Tsahik is waiting for the ritual.”
A collective groan echoed from the water. Lo’ak threw his arms up, splashing the surface in frustration. “Are you serious, Neteyam? We just got here!” Kiri rolled her eyes, muttering something about how he was always ruining things.
Usually, Neteyam wouldn't give a damn about their complaints. Duty was duty. But then his eyes shifted to you.
Your brilliant smile vanished. Your lips pulled down into a small, disappointed pout, and a soft, genuine aww slipped from your mouth. In an instant, Neteyam felt about two feet tall. A hot wave of embarrassment and fierce regret rushed down his neck that he actually found his shoulders hunching slightly under your gaze, desperately wishing he hadn't been the one to snuff out that wild spark in your eyes.
“Look,” Neteyam cleared his throat, offering an uncharacteristic concession. “I can give you half an hour more. I'll tell Mother I had trouble finding you.”
Lo’ak stopped his splashing, glaring up at him with a deep frown. “You're being weirdly lenient today, bro, but it's annoying to play when you know you have an ultimatum ticking down. Let's just go.”
The walk back to Hometree was a somber affair. Lo’ak and Kiri marched ahead, still dripping wet and grumbling under their breath. Because they were unified in their annoyance, Kiri suddenly draped a comforting arm around your shoulders, and Lo’ak did the same from your other side, pulling you into their tight-knit circle of rebellion.
Spider walked right alongside them, jumping to wrap an arm on Lo’ak’s shoulder. “Wow, thanks guys! Leave the alien out, it's fine!”
Neteyam walked a few paces behind the group, watching all of you tightly grouped together. Talk about it... he thought bitterly to himself, his ears pressing flat against his hair. Spider felt left out for mere seconds, while he was literally outside the circle. He was the guard, the soldier walking behind the captives, totally isolated from the warmth of the friendship you shared with his siblings.
And then, for some reason, you looked back.
It was just a quick glance over your shoulder like you were checking on him. Your wide eyes locked onto his solemn face, as if you suddenly remembered there was a quiet, looming presence trailing behind the group. The moment your eyes met his, you flustered and immediately snapped your head back around, staring straight ahead. But that tiny, fleeting acknowledgment broke the ice in Neteyam’s chest. A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips. You knew he was there.
He didn’t know then, but he will eventually understood that this day would make him understand what his father meant about love at first sight.
Years bled into one another. Over time, you became a permanent fixture in the Sully kelku, as natural and expected as Spider. You were the sister Kiri never knew she needed, and Lo’ak’s closest confidante. And while Neteyam was off becoming a prodigy of the hunt, he always knew when you were around. He’s somehow always home when you’re hanging out with his siblings, despite the grueling demands of being an aspiring warrior.
You had grown into your own path, too. No one in your family was a fearsome warrior or a great weaver, but you had found your purpose in the rhythm of the clan's ceremonies, aspiring to be one of the dancers.
Today would be your first ever ceremony, but you don’t feel as excited as you thought you would have been in this situation. Today was the unilatron, the Dream Hunt for several aspiring young warriors, including Neteyam. The central communal area was a beautiful mess of energy, pulsing with drums and the chatter of nervous families. Dancers were weaving through the crowds, hands stained with ceremonial dyes.
You were adjusting the woven band of your iridescent arm wings when a tall shadow fell over you. You turned, expecting Lo’ak to steal your prop feathers, but instead, you froze at the sight of Neteyam. He had grown staggeringly tall over the past few years, his shoulders broad and corded with lean muscle, his skin bearing the faint, proud scars of his trainings.
He already looked like an accomplished warrior, a man, in your clan’s sgandards. And looking up at him, you suddenly felt like that awkward ten-year-old kid in the doorway again.
You had grown closer over the years, sure. You talked when you were both stranded in the kelku by heavy rains, or when Kiri forced everyone to sit together. But you still couldn't shake the deep shyness that hits you whenever he looked at you. Half the girls in the higher branches spent their days begging you to introduce them to him, but how could you tell them that you barely knew how to look him in the eye yourself?
In his large, calloused hands, he held a small wooden bowl filled with thick white paint.
“Sorry to bother,” Neteyam mumbled, his voice deep, vibrating in a way that made your skin prickle. He shifted his weight, looking uncharacteristically flustered. “I just need—”
You blinked, snapping out of your daze, and accepted the bowl from him with a quick smile. “Sure,” you agreed easily.
You tried to ignore the fact that his golden eyes were suddenly darting anywhere but at your face. He was usually so poised, so perfectly calm, but right now, his ears were twitching nervously.
“You... you’re part of the performances?” he asked, his voice stammering slightly as your fingers dipped into the smooth paint.
As you stepped closer, closing the gap between you, you reached up and let your fingertips glide across his collarbone, leaving a bright white streak behind. Neteyam’s breath hitched. He tried so hard not to stammer, trying to keep his chest from heaving, but the sensation of your soft fingers tracing patterns across his warm skin felt like raw electricity.
“Yes, I’m included this time,” you boasted, trying to distract yourself from the closeness. You chuckled, shaking your head. “I would have debuted in the festival last great moon, but I got injured.” You added, and then you paused, realizing how ridiculous that sounded. “Sorry. That sounded like one of Lo’ak’s excuses.”
You laughed, but as you kept your eyes trained on his chest, mapping out the ritual lines, you didn't notice how his smile suddenly faded.
Neteyam’s jaw tightened slightly. It was always like this. Whenever you two spoke, whenever you were alone, the ghosts of Kiri and Lo’ak were dragged into the space between you. He didn't know why, but lately, hearing his brother's name fly so easily from your lips was starting to get on his nerves. He wanted you to look at him. Just him.
“Now... your face,” you said casually, wiping your hands on a leaf before dipping two fingers back into the bowl.
Neteyam didn't say a word. He simply lowered his head, bending his knees slightly so you wouldn't have to strain to reach him.
The shift in proximity was sudden and overwhelming. Now, you were almost face-to-face. You could feel the soft whisper of his breath against your skin, and you could smell the mint herbs that always clung to him. A sudden rush of heat flooded your cheeks that your fingers trembled slightly as you began to paint the intricate, swirling lines across his cheekbones.
You were doing fine, holding your breath, until your fingers glided gently down the curve of his nose, brushing close to his lips. At the exact second your fingers glided on his lips, your eyes snapped up to his and your eyes locked.
The intensity in his gaze made your heart leap straight into your throat. The drums around the clearing seemed to fade into a distant, muffled thumping, completely drowned out by the roar of blood in your ears.
“G-Good luck,” you stammered, quickly smirking to cover up the sudden crack in your voice. “Try not to die.”
Neteyam huffed a soft laugh, his eyes never leaving yours. “Wow, thanks. For you, I’ll think about that.”
“Seriously...” you murmured, your playful facade slipping away as you narrowed your eyes at him in genuine concern.
The unilatron was terrifying. It was a deadly rite of passage, even for grown men, involving venom, vivid hallucinations, and spiritual trials that some never woke up from. Neteyam was the youngest among all the aspirants this year, even with the council delaying his schedule too many times because he was too young for the venom, he was still so young right now.
Seeing the real, raw worry in your eyes, Neteyam’s expression softened. The tension in his shoulders melted away. “Serious. I’ll come out alive,” he mumbled softly.
He reached out, his large, warm hand gently gripping your forearm. He gave it a slow, reassuring squeeze, his thumb brushing against your skin. It was a gesture meant to comfort, but it felt so heavy, so deeply intimate and private amidst the busy crowd, that your cheeks burned all over again. You ended up just nodding, praying he couldn't hear the frantic drumming of your heart.
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“Bro, I saw that!” Spider smacked your hand away when you made a cheating move when you he wasn’t looking.
You bursted into a booming laughter, putting your piece back on its original place. “If you’d just pay full attention instead of looking at Kiri...”
Kiri groaned. “What?!” she bayed. “That’s it! I’m quitting, I’m getting us some food!”
You watched her stand up, her tail swaying calmly despite her outburst. Spider followed closely behind her, as per usual. The years that had rolled by had treated you all kindly, shedding the remnants of awkward lankiness in favor of firm, lean frames.
You sat cross-legged on a woven mat, meticulously arranging the wooden carved tokens on the board. Your hangouts are not as frequent now as it was before, with Kiri being occupied with the heavy responsibilities of her training as a Tsakarem and Spider glued to her side.
Beside you, Lo’ak sighed for the nth time since he sat down to play. He was uncharacteristically silent, staring at the game board with a heavy, distant frown. Your brows furrowed, your elbow pushing Lo’ak’s propped arm off his knee, causing him to lose hold of his face.
“What’s wrong with you?” you asked, your head angling a little and saw him rolling his eyes.
“Nothing,” he muttered, his tail flicking defensively as he knocked over a wooden token with his finger.
“Said by the Olo’eyktan of Nofun clan,” you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “You haven’t made a single smart-ass comment in twenty minutes. It’s creepy.”
Lo’ak let out a long, defeated sigh, his broad shoulders slouching. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his golden eyes filled with a raw, brewing frustration. “I overheard some of the hunters near the lower pens today,” he murmured, his voice tight. “They were talking... Comparing my tracking drills to Neteyam’s. Saying I’m still struggling to master maneuvers that Neteyam could do asleep when he was ten.”
You sighed, feeling a surge of deep sympathy for him. You knew exactly how heavy that comparison weighed on him. Lo’ak was sixteen, and the fact that he hadn't earned his cummerbund yet was a constant source of gossip among the council and the older warriors. It meant Lo’ak, even at his more matured age, had no match to a younger Neteyam who passed his iknimaya and unilatron with flying colors.
What made it so much worse, and so much harder for Lo’ak to process, was that Neteyam wasn't an arrogant bloke who rubbed his success in his brother's face. In fact, Neteyam was maddeningly kind. He routinely covered for Lo’ak’s mishaps, taking the blame or smoothing things over before Jake could even find out. Neteyam was a shield for his brother, too understanding and graceful, which only made Lo’ak feel smaller. He couldn’t even hate his brother for being perfect.
“Well... for what it's worth, I think they are all losing their minds for expecting you to be just like him,” you said firmly, picking up a fallen game piece. “Or even half of him. I mean, let’s be real, that man trains like he knows the demons are going to drop from the sky tomorrow. No one can measure up to him, and they know that.”
You pursed your lips when you saw Lo’ak look as if you had rubbed salt to the wound.
“I mean... if you want to at least be half of him, you should probably start training more,” you nudged his foot with yours, offering a soft, teasing smile. “At the moment, you have more fun than the literal toddlers in this clan. That’s something Neteyam had to entirely give up at an early age to get to where he is now. That’s exactly why he’s... well, no fun and ever so serious!” you whispered the last part conspiratorially, casting a playful glance toward the empty entrance.
A genuine crack of laughter broke through Lo’ak’s somber expression. He shook his head, the tension leaving his jaw. “Yeah. I suppose I need to train better.”
You shrugged, a fond smile breaking across your face. “Yeah. So you can finally go through your unilatron without your mother worrying whether you’ll survive the venom or just die.”
“Hey, I’d survive,” Lo’ak protested, rolling his eyes even though a bit of his usual bravado had returned. Then, his smile softened into something deeply grateful. He looked at you, leaning back on his hands. “I guess it's alright, too, that I’m not as good as him. At least there’s something I have that he doesn’t.”
“Which is a sense of fun,” you chuckled.
“No, you, skxawng,” he clarified. “Think about it. Ninety-nine percent of the young girls in this clan have a massive, pathetic crush on him. He is their perfect, mighty, can-do-no-wrong handsome prince. Every time he walks past the weaving circles, they practically trip over their own looms. And you belong in the glorious one percent who don’t give a damn about him. Thankfully.”
Your fingers, which had been manipulating a carved wooden token on the board, faltered. You quickly looked away with a nervous laugh, staring intently at the game as a sudden, traitorous image flashed in your mind. Neteyam, his intense golden eyes locking onto yours. You didn’t even know when that memory happened.
As Lo’ak’s partner-in-crime, you’ve always found Neteyam’s eyes on you. You knew that it was because he needed to make sure that you two are behaving the way you should so he wouldn’t have any trouble to cover up for... But he had only grown more devastatingly handsome as years passed by, possessing a quiet, mysterious depth that made your heart do backflips whenever he chanced to look your way.
“Right...” you laughed nervously, your voice tight as you forced a casual shrug. “But I think your brother wouldn't want to have me anyhow, so that’s not a very good consolation prize for you. You should still train. Seriously.”
Before Lo’ak could question your sudden blush, the woven curtain rustled. Kiri and Spider are back, carrying a wooden platter laden with dried fruit and sweet roots. Just in time, the main entrance of the kelku darkened and your eyes snapped upward. Your heart practically leaped straight into your throat when you saw Neteyam step inside.
He unslung his heavy bow, placing it meticulously in the weapon rack. He was breathtaking. He had the sharp, striking features of his mother and the towering, commanding presence of his father. He was already a man grown, a skilled warrior, yet he carried an air of quiet mystery that made him entirely captivating. And the absolute worst part? His golden eyes were already fixed directly on you the moment he crossed the threshold.
You felt the 99% of the clan's girls entirely in that single, breathless second. You get them. You sighed. So sorry, Lo’ak...
You bit your lip, smoothly tearing your eyes away as you felt your cheeks burn. He let a soft huff of breath through his nose when you looked away, feeling disappointed that you had to break the contact. You knew none of it, but the space in his chest had long since ceased to belong to the hunt because his quiet attraction had only deepened into something consuming, something permanent, as the years bled by.
He had never spoken of it, bound by his duties and his own fierce restraint, but his heart had stubbornly molded itself to the exact shape of you. To him, the girls in the weaving circles or the training grounds didn't exist. There was only the girl who would body-slam his brother for the the piece of pie... The girl whose laugh sounded like the wild wind.
“Neteyam!” Kiri greeted, setting the food down. “You’re just in time. Come sit, join the game. Lo’ak is actually losing for once.”
Neteyam’s gaze lingered on your face, tracking the faint, lingering flush on your cheeks before he nodded. “I will,” he said, his deep voice sending a familiar prickle of electricity down your spine. He gestured vaguely toward the back of the hut. “Just wait a moment. I need to wash the trail dust off.”
“Bro, it’s just us! Who cares if you’re dusty. Your fan club isn’t here!” Spider’s bellow followed after him.
“Neteyam doesn’t care about the girls who like him,” Lo’ak pointed out.
Spider blew air out of his pursed lips, sending it vibrating. “Right. So, why is he always washing up for whatever whenever we’re here. Trust me, he’ll come back smelling so good—”
“Stop it, you two!” Kiri said and your eyes snapped up to look at her, seeing her purse her lip just as she was looking away from you.
Neteyam did come back, smelling like a mix of strong mint and faint floral. Spider widened his eyes at Lo’ak when Neteyam plopped down beside you, the haired tip of his tail curling dangerously close to your thighs, tickling you a little. Your breath hitched a little and Neteyam, too aware of you, immediately pulled his tail away.
“Sorry,” he mumbled and you nodded without looking at him.
Spider widened his eyes at Lo’ak again, but everything happened too fast at once that it all flew over his head. Meanwhile, you were staring down at the board, your mind a complete blur, completely unaware that the boy beside was currently taking a deep breath of his own, his heart hammering against his ribs just from being near you.
One moon bled into the next, and before any of you could truly grasp how fast the seasons were turning, more than a year had swept through Hometree.
Time really had a way of bringing change and a proof of it was currently taking place at the center of the communal grounds. Lo’ak had finally, fortunately, survived his unilatron. He was a warrior of the clan now, a man recognized under the eyes of Eywa, and the entire clan was pulsing with a fierce celebration.
Wrapped in shimmering, iridescent feathers mimicking the majestic span of a beautiful ikran, you were right in the heart of the performance, spending the evening leaping, spinning, and losing yourself to the booming rhythm of the drums. But the moment the ceremonial fires settled into embers, you broke away from the dancers to join the familiar circle of your friends.
You slid onto a woven mat beside Kiri and Spider, but the scene unfolding before you immediately made your brows furrow.
Because it was Lo’ak’s day, Neteyam, in a rare, uncharacteristic display of brotherly indulgence, had actually agreed to a competition. A match to see who could drink more of the heavy, fermented brew and hold their alcohol better.
By the time you sat down, the damage was already done. Neteyam looked incredibly flushed, his skin carrying a dark, warm violet tint beneath his lingering paint. His jaw was clenched, his broad shoulders tense as he forced himself to down another small wooden shot-glass, looking like a man marching into a battle he was drastically losing. Lo’ak, on the other hand, just grinned, looking completely at ease. You knew for a fact that Lo’ak could handle his alcohol remarkably well from his secret late-night escapades with the lower-branch boys, while Neteyam was someone who practically never drank for fun.
When Lo'ak reached for the pitcher to pour another round, you finally had enough. You slammed your hand over the wooden cup in front of Neteyam, effectively intervening.
“That's enough,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through the chaos.
The moment you intervened, Neteyam nodded completely, not even speaking to argue. But as he tried to shift his weight away from the drink, his heavy torso swayed violently, his balance entirely lost. He could barely keep himself upright. With a startled breath, you quickly slid closer, letting him lean heavily against your side, your shoulder and arm propping up his massive, muscular frame.
You snapped your head up, glaring across the mat. “What would your mother say if she saw Neteyam like this, Lo'ak?” you scolded sharply.
Lo’ak lazily waved a hand, his grin splitting wide. “It's not always Neteyam gets in trouble, so don't worry, he won't be scolded. We're all celebrating anyway!" He leaned across the table, pointing a proud finger at his older brother. "Besides, I just learned that there's something I’m better than Neteyam at!”
“Yeah, and it's in drinking, which is literally the most annoying vice anyone could ever have,” you hissed back at him, tightening your grip around Neteyam’s arm as he let out a soft, heavy groan against your temple.
“Oh, come on, bro,” Lo’ak snorted, rolling his eyes. “I know your dad’s a drunk, but a competition like this won’t make us drunks.”
The atmosphere instantly cooled. Spider’s jaw dropped, and he aggressively smacked Lo’ak’s arm. “Lo’ak,” Spider warned, his voice low and sharp. “Skxawng.”
“That’s enough, Lo’ak. Don’t be stupid,” Kiri followed, her eyes narrowing into a dangerous, protective glare.
Lo’ak’s cocky grin vanished as the weight of his own words hit him. He looked at your tensed shoulders, his eyes softening with immediate regret. “Sorry,” he murmured, his voice suddenly small. “Seriously, Y/N. I didn't mean it like that.”
You rolled your eyes, taking a breath as you kept your focus on the heavy warrior leaning against you. “I wasn't offended. It’s true anyway,” you said quietly. “I’m bringing Neteyam back to your hut.”
Kiri nodded immediately, her expression shifting to one of deep sympathy. “I’ll go with you.”
Getting Neteyam out of the celebration grounds was a feat in itself. Surprisingly, he could still walk, though it was an incredibly zigzaggy, clumsy endeavor. You and Kiri each held one of his large arms, steering him through the winding, illuminated paths of Hometree.
Along the way, the alcohol seemed to unlock a completely hidden side of Neteyam. He began to yap about the most ridiculous things, slurring out complaints about a stubborn direhorse that wouldn't cooperate during his hunt, and how the younger hunters didn't coil their ropes correctly. It was so entirely petty and unlike his perfect persona that you couldn't help but burst into a soft laughter.
As your laughter echoed through the quiet walkway, Neteyam’s slurred rambling tripped to a sudden halt. He stopped walking, forcing you and Kiri to stop with him. With heavily drooped eyes, he pointed a shaking, clumsy finger toward the distance, where the nearby bioluminescent river could be seen like a ribbon of liquid starlight.
“That... that looks so beautiful,” he slurred in a thick, gibberish tone, his head lolling to the side, his glassy eyes zeroing in on you. "It’s... it’s just like you."
Your heart gave a violent, sudden thud. You quickly looked away, your cheeks instantly bursting into a furious heat. He is completely wasted, you reasoned frantically, refusing to let yourself believe he actually meant you.
But as you kept walking, a sharp, bitter prick of annoyance bloomed in your chest. You thought about the sheer possibility of him having that smooth side in him. Did he say unprompted, poetic lines like that to the pretty huntresses in the training grounds when no one was looking? The sudden, burning wave of jealousy was so intense that you felt a wild urge to just push him right off the branch.
When you finally reached their family kelku, the hut was entirely dark and empty, the rest of the family still down at the feast. Kiri quietly led the way to the back, pulling open the woven curtain of Neteyam’s sleeping alcove. The space immediately enveloped you, smelling richly of the distinct, comforting scent of him.
Together, you and Kiri guided him down onto his soft sleeping mat where he plopped down heavily, entirely deadweight, a stupid, lazy laugh bubbling out of his chest as he hit the furs.
Kiri quietly moved across the alcove, lighting a hanging firepot to cast a warm, flickering amber glow over the room. She returned with a small wooden bowl of water and a soft, woven cloth, handing it to you. “Help me wipe his war paint off before it stains the bedding.”
You nodded, kneeling beside Neteyam. As you dipped the cloth into the water and wrung it out, Neteyam blinked heavily, his eyes struggling to focus against the firelight. Slowly, his gaze zeroed in on your form. For a while, he was just blinking.
And then you saw his pupils dilate significantly the moment he realized it was you. Before you could even press the damp cloth to his skin, his large, calloused hand shot out, his fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist.
“Hi...” he slurred, a slow, incredibly lazy smile spreading across his lips.
You blinked a few times, your breath catching in your throat as you found yourself completely distracted by how breathtakingly handsome he looked in the dim light. “Uh... hello?” you hesitated, your voice a breathless whisper.
Neteyam’s golden eyes widened just a fraction, a spark of pure awe cutting through his drunken haze. “And she speaks...” his smile stretched into a genuine, radiant grin. He let go of your wrist, his hand traveling upward, his thick fingers clumsily reaching out to touch the iridescent feathers woven into your hair. “Damn, it’s so real.”
You looked up at Kiri in confusion, and her head tilted to the side as she hid a stifled a smile.
“Well... I am real,” you muttered back to him, turning your attention back to his face.
“Yeah, right. Could have fooled me,” Neteyam murmured, rolling his eyes away, muttering about some ‘then why isn’t she talking about Lo’ak, Lo’ak, Lo’ak now?’
Your head tilted. “What?“ you mumbled and you saw him roll his eyes again, moving his face away in a sulking act. “Neteyam...” you called softly, bringing the cool, damp cloth to his cheek.
His face snapped right back to you, his gaze back on your face, anchoring himself to your touch. “A year ago...” he mumbled, his deep voice carrying a sudden, raw gravity that didn't sound drunken at all. He reached up, his finger gently curling around a stray strand of your dark hair, twirling it softly. “You said... you said that you don't think I'd want to have you anyhow...”
Your hand froze against his cheek, your lungs completely locked as your widened eyes stare at him. He heard that...
“And you couldn't have been more wrong,” Neteyam murmured, his voice dropping into a soulful, intense register as his golden eyes burned into yours. “Because I want you...” He closed his eyes for a moment, squeezing it like he was wishing for something. “Fuck, I want to have you. Will you let me have you? I promise... I promise I will take care of you. So good...”
He let out a soft, breathless huff, his lazy smile returning as his strong, heavy arm suddenly snaked around your waist. With a gentle but unyielding tug, he pulled you closer to, his eyes drooping heavily under the weight of the alcohol.
“I’ve never wanted anything in my life... as much as I wanted you, Y/N...” he mumbled against your hair.
You stared at him, your eyes wide with absolute shock, your entire body trembling as his uttered your name. Behind him, Kiri looked completely flabbergasted, her jaw slightly slack as she witnessed her stoic, fiercely guarded older brother completely unraveling his soul.
Neteyam closed his eyes for a few minutes, his breathing heavy as you forced your trembling hands to finish wiping the paint from his face. But just when you thought he had passed out, his eyelids peeled open again, staring up at you through the dim firelight.
“You are so beautiful...” he murmured with that same stupid smile. He let out a contented sigh, his grip on your waist loosening just a fraction as sleep finally claimed him. “I’ll pray to the Great Mother...” he slurred. “I mean... I prayed. So she might just give... To me... If I begged her right...”
A few moments later, his arm went entirely limp, and his deep, even breathing filled the quiet alcove.
You sat frozen on the mat, the damp cloth clutched tightly in your fist. You didn't know what to think. Your heart was pounding so violently against your ribs that your chest physically ached, and your face was burning with a fierce, suffocating flush. You wanted to cry. You desperately wanted to believe he was just talking out of his mind because of the brew... but his eyes had been so sincere. So deeply truthful. It felt as though he had been holding that heavy, consuming confession inside of his chest for far too many years, and the seal had finally broken.
Slowly, you turned your head to look at his sister.
Kiri was staring at her sleeping brother, and then her wide, stunned eyes slowly shifted to you.
“What...” she whispered. “What just happened?”
“He is out of his mind,” you choked out, your voice trembling as you frantically pulled your hand back, though your cheeks were still burning a furious, violent crimson. “He’s completely wasted. He probably thinks I’m a tree sprite or a... an I don’t know. He’s just bullshitting because of the brew.”
Kiri narrowed her eyes, completely unconvinced. She crossed her arms, her head tilting with that sharp, analytical look she inherited from their mother. “Girl, he literally said your name. He didn't say oh, pretty tree sprite. He said your name.”
“Probably because I am sitting right in front of him!” you argued, your voice rising in a panicked hiss before you quickly clamped a hand over your own mouth, glancing down at Neteyam’s rising and falling chest. “He opened his eyes, saw my face, and his brain just grabbed the nearest name it recognized. You know how he is. He’s always tracking us to make sure we don't break our necks. My name is probably permanently etched into his subconscious as a hazard.”
Kiri stared at you for a long, quiet moment. The hanging firepot cast dancing shadows across her face. She wasn't fooled for a second, but seeing the genuine, absolute panic radiating from your posture, she sighed and let her shoulders drop. “Fine. If that is what you need to tell yourself to sleep tonight.”
You didn't stay long after that. You hurriedly finished wiping the last traces of the blue and yellow paint from his jaw, refusing to look at his lips again, and practically fled the Sully kelku.
The walk back to your own family’s hut was a blur. The jungle was alive with its usual nocturnal symphony, but all you could hear was the deep, soulful register of Neteyam’s voice echoing in your ears: “Because I want you... Fuck, I want to have you.”
In the dark safety of your family’s hut, staring up at the thatched ceiling, your mind spun in vicious circles. You tried so hard to dismiss it, but as you lay there, you started to remember things. The way his eyes always seemed to find yours across a crowded pavilion. The way he would suddenly appear to help you carry heavy bundles of river reeds, only to leave without a word once the task was done.
The way he listens to you and does all your requests faster than a leaf could land when it falls, or whenever he relents to whatever trouble Lo’ak is planning to do once you start pouting about it. The way he had held your arm so tightly during his unilatron preparation. You groaned. How could you have been so blind?
You understood. Or, at least, you thought you did. Your heart ached with a terrifying, sweet realization. You liked Neteyam. Of course you did. He was the golden heir of the Omatikaya. Strong, fiercely loyal, and devastatingly handsome. But what did he mean by all of it? What were you supposed to do with a confession whispered in the dark by a boy drowned in alcohol?
The answer, it turned out, was to run.
In the days that followed, you became an expert at avoiding him. It wasn't entirely difficult; he had duties with the scouts, and you had your dance practices. But Neteyam was a master tracker, and you should have known you couldn't hide forever.
He cornered you on a quiet walkway leading down to the lower branches. He started smooth, his expression perfectly calm, though his ears were pulled back slightly in an uncharacteristic show of nerves He called your name and stepped into your path. You froze, your basket of herbs you volunteered to gather held tightly against your chest as you prepared to speak with him, properly this time.
“Kiri told me... well, she told me how wasted I was the night of the festival. She said I was completely out of it and that I should have controlled myself better,” he rubbed the back of his neck, his golden eyes looking genuinely apologetic. “I wanted to ask you... did I say or do anything to make you uncomfortable? If I did, I am truly sorry. I really can't remember anything after the eleventh cup, and Kiri keeps cryptically telling me I have a loose mouth when I drink. I didn’t mean anything I said.”
You blinked, standing there as you felt your heart drop. Oh. You nodded, feeling as if he had forcefully shoved a giant boulder down your throat. Perhaps, you were right that he was simply just drunk. Like how your father promise things when he’s drunk and then forget it by the morrow. Your head tilted for a moment, surprised with how a very little thing got you aligning Neteyam with your good-for-nothing father.
“Uh,” you managed, forcing a tight, hollow smile onto your face though your chest felt like it just got fractured. You swallowed past the massive lump in your throat. “No, it’s all cool. You didn't say anything important or bad, Neteyam. You were just yapping about a stubborn direhorse... Don't worry about it.”
“Are you sure?” he pressed, stepping a fraction closer, his eyes searching your face.
You stepped back instinctively, making him stop. “Completely. I have to go, Kiri is waiting,” you lied smoothly, quickly darting past him before he could speak again.
That night, in the quiet darkness of your sleeping alcove, you actually cried in frustration. You felt so incredibly stupid for overthinking his words, for letting yourself daydream about what would happen if you talked sober. About the future. But then he was just drunk. It was just that stupid brew talking. It was so unimportant that he didn’t even remember it.
You groaned and sat up on your mat, forcefully rubbing your face and promising yourself that you won’t trust whatever comes out of his mouth about anything regarding what he wants.
More years passed, bleeding into a steady, familiar rhythm. And by familiar, that includes Neteyam who stayed exactly the same. His intense gaze that you once thought meant something still followed you everywhere. He watched you like you had personally hung the stars in sky, as if you were the absolute center of his universe.
Whenever you needed something done, he was there. Whenever you needed anything at all, you already have it. Whenever a stray leaf caught your hair, his hands were already reaching out. But you dared not read into it anymore. You had learned your lesson. In fact, you grew defensive, occasionally ignoring his quiet presence or sharply dismissing his help. “I can carry it myself, Neteyam,” you would say, and he would simply nod, his eyes darkening with a quiet, patient glint before he stepped back.
Now that you were fully of age, the older women of the clan was beginning to look at the youth with matchmaking eyes. Specifically, they were looking at you and Lo’ak.
One afternoon, a group of elders stood near the communal hearth, watching as you sit on a woven mat, aggressively swatting Lo’ak’s hand away as he repeatedly tried to pull a loose thread from the blanket you were weaving. You two were laughing, bickering like the chaotic children you had always been. Neytiri sat nearby, calmly rocking Tuk in her arms.
Neteyam was standing a few paces behind his mother, cleaning his bow, when one of the elder women gestured toward you and Lo'ak.
“Look at them,” one of the women murmured to Neytiri, a fond smile on her face. “Usually, friendships between girls and boys gradually fade with adulthood but those two have only grown even closer.”
They chuckled and another woman spoke, “A man and a woman cannot truly stay as just friends forever. Eventually, they will see each other for what they truly are. See, this will make a beautiful love story. The two troublemakers finally settling down together.”
Behind them, Neteyam’s entire body went rigid.
A sudden mental image of you and his brother ending up together and building a family flashed in his mind. Little kids with Lo’ak’s eyes wearing little loinclothes that you made yourself. He closed his eyes as a fierce, blinding fury erupted in his chest, so hot it nearly choked him. His grip tightened on his bow until his knuckles turned a lighter shade of blue. He hated hearing it. He absolutely loathed the images that popped in his mind unbidden.
He had spent years patiently growing into the man he believed you deserved. He didn’t want to impulsively decide on things that would ruin things for you, he didn’t want a fleeting, immature romance that could break, he was thinking about the future where he could already provide for you, protect you, and offer you everything before he spoke for you under the Great Mother.
He had a whole timeline mapped out in his head. He wanted it to be endgame.
But he had taken Lo’ak’s presence for granted, knowing you two were strictly platonic, but hearing the elders start to babble this nonsense made his blood boil. If you or Lo'ak heard this gossip, it might give you two silly ideas or coerce you into romance that was not real.
Neteyam stepped forward, his towering frame casting a shadow over the elders. “Respectfully, elders,” he began, his tone smooth but carrying an edge that made the old women blink in surprise. “The two of them have a bond of siblings. Pushing such expectations onto them will only ruin a good friendship. It is wiser to let them both find their own paths without the pressure of the imagination. Let them be.”
Neytiri glanced up at her eldest son, a knowing, quietly amused spark lingering in her eyes, though she remained silent. She adjusted Tuk in her arms, her sharp eyes sliding from the bickering pair in the clearing directly to her eldest son. She had always known. It was not her wild, reckless second-born who held a silent devotion for you, but her disciplined, fiercely guarded firstborn.
Neteyam ignored his mother’s perceptive stare, turning his gaze back to the clearing, watching you finally launch a small fruit at Lo’ak’s forehead. His jaw relaxed, his heart swelling with that same, consuming vow he had kept for years. He would wait, and when the time was right, he would make sure everyone knew exactly whose heart you belonged to.
Then came the festival of the New Moons.
The communal grounds were a brilliant, swirling chaos of heat, smoke, and pounding drums. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and sweet herbs. You were in the center of the performance circle, your body moving with a fluid, mesmerizing grace, letting yourself sway like a piece of cloth caught in a wild wind. The iridescent feathers of your costume caught the firelight, casting shimmering fractures of light across the crowd.
As you spun, dipping low to the rhythm of the drums, your eyes instinctively swept over the crowd, and caught on a shadow.
Neteyam was standing beside a thick column, a wooden cup held loosely in his large hand. His head was slightly bowed, but he wasn’t looking at the floor. His eyes were peering up at you through the fringe of his lashes, and the sheer, raw intensity of his stare nearly made your heart jump straight into your throat.
The tension in the air between you instantly became palpable, thick and suffocatingly hot. He wasn't even blinking, his eyes tracking your every move, tracing the curve of your waist as you bent, the sweep of your arms, the flash of your bare skin under the firelight. There was a profound, unbridled awe in his expression, but beneath it burned something much darker, a hungry, possessive edge that made your skin prickle with raw heat. For a breathless second, the rest of the clan vanished. The roaring drums became nothing more than the frantic beat of your own pulse.
You nearly missed your next step, your breath hitching as you forced yourself to spin away, breaking the heavy spell of his gaze.
Once the performance finally concluded, the tension dissipated back into the chaotic energy of the crowd. You made your rounds through the clearing, socializing with your friends from the higher branches, laughing at their endless conversations about the warriors, and grabbing small bites of food. By the time the night began to wind down, you made your way toward the back alcoves to get a refreshing drink of sweet water, but you came face-to-face with Neteyam.
He was leaning heavily against a carved wooden pillar, his chest bare, his skin flushed with a warm violet under the remnants of his festival paint. You could tell by the slight glaze in his eyes and the relaxed slump of his usually rigid shoulders that he was drunk.
Of course, you thought bitterly, a familiar wall of defense slamming up inside your chest. You ought to just ignore him. You didn't want a repeat of years ago. You didn't want to swallow another boulder.
You gripped your wooden cup tightly, ducking your head to smoothly walk right past him. But before you could clear his shadow, his large, warm hand shot out, his fingers wrapping firmly around your elbow.
He murmured your name, his deep voice thick and slightly slurred, but carrying a desperate, heavy weight. “Wait. Please.”
You froze, your back tense. “Neteyam, you're drunk. Go sleep it off.”
“Can we talk?” he pressed, his thumb brushing against the skin of your arm in a slow, pleading motion. “Just for a moment. Away from the noise.”
You closed your eyes, a heavy sigh escaping your lips. You shouldn't. You knew you shouldn't. But the raw vulnerability in his tone pulled at you, dangerous and magnetic. “Fine,” you muttered, pulling your elbow from his grasp.
You led him out of the chaos of the communal space, stepping onto a thick, quiet branch that overlooked the bioluminescence of the forest down below. The cool night air hit your face, but it did nothing to cool the burning frustration in your veins.
Neteyam followed you, stopping a few paces away, the moonlight catching the sharp angles of his face, making him look devastatingly handsome that you had to look away. He took a slow breath, his posture suddenly shifting, shedding the clumsy weight of the alcohol as he looked down at you.
When he spoke, his voice went incredibly smooth, completely devoid of his usual restraint.
“I have wanted to tell you this for so long,” he began, stepping closer, his eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying intensity. “But... I didn’t want to go through it prematurely... I wanted to make sure that I am a man worthy of you... Because it has always been you, the Great Mother knows. Since the day you stood in our doorway with leaves in your hair, it had been you, and if you’ll... If you’ll have me, I want to... court you.”
You stared up at him, but the romantic rush you might have felt years ago didn't come. Instead, a cold, bitter wave of disbelief washed over you. You rolled your eyes, letting out a sharp, sarcastic huff of a laugh as you stepped back, shaking your head.
“You are unbelievable,” you spat, your voice dripping with sudden, defensive anger. “You really think you can just stand there and say whatever you like to me, don't you?”
Neteyam blinked, looking genuinely caught off guard. “I am serious—”
“No, you're not!” you cut him off, your fingers curling into tight fists at your sides. “You can tell me whatever pretty, cruel lies you want to say right now, Neteyam, because it doesn't matter. You’ll just forget it all by morning anyway.”
A lump rose in your throat, hot and painful, but you forced the words out, determined to finally empty the heavy chest of secrets you had carried alone for years. If he was going to forget, then you could finally be honest.
“You want to know something funny?” you scoffed, a bitter tear threatening to spill over. “I liked you, Neteyam. I liked you so much. And I almost stupidly fell for your cruel jape the last time you got drunk and told me the same cruel things. I spent days overthinking it, thinking about all the things I want to say to you, only for you to look me in the eye and tell me you didn't remember a single thing and that it didn’t mean anything.”
Neteyam’s jaw slackened, his eyes widening in horrified shock as the slurred fog in his brain desperately tried to process what you were saying. “What... what do you mean?”
“It doesn't matter,” you said fiercely, taking a deep breath to hold your tears back. You looked at his beautiful, flushed face one last time, knowing that by tomorrow, his temporary memory loss brought by the alcohol would wipe his slate completely clean again. He wouldn't remember your confession.
“Good night, Neteyam,” you said quietly.
Without waiting for his response, you turned on your heel and walked away. Neteyam stood frozen on the thick branch, the cool night breeze rustling the leaves around him, but he couldn't feel it. The heavy warmth of the fermented brew vanished from his veins in a single, terrifying heartbeat, replaced by a cold, hollow dread that settled deep in his chest.
He stared at the empty space where you had just been standing.
The echo of your voice, cracked and furious, rang in his ears like the strike of a drum.
“I liked you, Neteyam. I liked you so much. And I almost stupidly fell for your cruel jape the last time you got drunk and told me the same cruel things... Only for you to look me in the eye and tell me you didn't remember a single thing and that it didn’t mean anything.”
His hand slowly dropped to his side. His fingers curled into a tight, trembling fist. He didn't know what to do. For the first time in his life, he was entirely paralyzed by a past action he couldn't even recall. The last time he had allowed himself to get horribly drunk was years ago, on the night of Lo’ak’s unilatron. He remembered waking up the next morning with a pounding skull, only for Kiri to look at him with a disappointed, cryptic glare and warn him that he had a loose mouth when he drank.
He had been terrified. He had seen how you avoided him in the days that followed, how your shoulders tensed whenever he walked by. He had genuinely believed he must have said something horrible, something reckless or possibly creepy that had scared you away. So, when he finally cornered you on that walkway, his only instinct had been damage control. He had desperately wanted to smooth things over, to ensure you didn't think he was a threat, blindly blurting out that he “didn’t mean anything he said.”
A choked, bitter sound escaped Neteyam’s throat. He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, dragging them down his face in pure, unadulterated frustration. He wanted to beat himself up. He wanted to find a solid stone wall and bump his head onto it repeatedly.
He hadn't scared you. He had broken you. He had coaxed a confession out of your heart, left you to mourn it alone for days, and then unceremoniously forced you to swallow a boulder by telling you his words were meaningless. And because your father was a man who drowned his life in a cup and spun empty promises by the campfire, you had aligned Neteyam right alongside him.
Neteyam turned and marched back into the clearing, his steps purposeful, hunting down his sister. He found Kiri at the back of a giant root, quietly sipping on a bowl of sweetened brew. She didn't even look when his heavy footsteps thudded against the floor, though her ears twitched.
“Kiri,” Neteyam called out, his voice raw, completely stripping away his usual stoic composure. “At the night of the unilatron festival... Years ago. What did I really say to Y/N?”
Kiri paused, “When you got really drunk?”
Neteyam closed his eyes for a moment before nodding, “Yes, when I got really drunk.”
She slowly turned her head, her sharp eyes taking in his flushed face, his panicked stance, and the sheer desperation radiating from his posture. “I think you already know,” she said quietly.
“Yes, she just told me,” Neteyam blurted out, the words tumbling out of him in a nonstop, uncharacteristic babble. He stepped closer, his hands gesturing wildly. “She just... Kiri, I didn't know what I said. She told me that I basically confessed to her that night. And if I said I loved her, if I said I wanted her to be mine, that was true, believe me. Every word of it was true, but I was so drunk, I didn't remember. And because you were so cryptic to me, because you told me I had a loose mouth, I thought I said something bad. I thought I insulted her and it will ruin whatever we had, so I told her that whatever I said, I really didn’t mean it.”
Kiri stared at her older brother, her jaw slightly slack. She had never seen Neteyam, the golden, perfect son, so completely unravel like this.
“Oh,” Kiri managed to say after his breathless rant. She blinked. “Is it my fault?”
“No!” Neteyam snapped softly, his tone hard but small, his ears pinning back in remorse. “No, it is not your fault. It is my fault. It is entirely my fault. But I need to know exactly what I said, Kiri. Tell me. I need to know so I can affirm it, tell her none of it was a lie, so I can make it up to her.”
Kiri let out a long, heavy sigh, putting her hand holding the bowl down. She looked at him with a mixture of pity and exasperation before she began to recount the night. She told him, in a dramatic recounting, how he had pulled you down by your waist, how he had twirled your hair, and how he had slurred out that he would beg the Great Mother to give you to him if he only prayed right.
As Kiri spoke, Neteyam let out a low groan, burying his face in his large hands. His shoulders shook with a silent, frustrated curse. He was so corny! But at least, he had been sincere. All of it were true, even though he cannot remember them at all.
“Fuck it, Kiri,” he muttered into his palms, his voice muffled. “I am a loose mouth when I’m drunk. I... damn. This is all going so wrong.” He dropped his hands, staring blankly at the wall, his chest heaving. “I wasn't planning for it to unfold this way. I was thinking... I was thinking that there should be a timeline to things, you know? That when I finally told her about what my heart really wanted, we would be grown. I wanted to be better. So I could provide for her. I wanted to have my own status, to make sure things would go perfectly from there, and that—”
“Neteyam,” Kiri called out calmly, cutting through his spiral.
He stopped, looking at her with wide, inquiring eyes.
“I think I know exactly where things went wrong,” she said, her voice dropping into that grounded, old-soul tone she often carried. “It’s when you allowed your micromanaging self to take over your heart. There isn’t a timeline for love, brother. And what you want, or how you think things should perfectly line up, isn't the only thing that's important here.”
Neteyam felt the words hit him like a physical blow. The absolute certainty he had carried for years. His meticulous plan to be your “endgame” suddenly felt incredibly selfish, incredibly foolish. He had fumbled. He had fumbled big time, and he had absolutely no map for the uncharted territory he had stranded himself in.
He thought about you. He thought about how you had admitted, with tears in your eyes, that you had liked him too. You had been looking forward to discussing your feelings with him. You had been ready to step into his arms, and he had blindly, stupidly ruined it before you could even speak.
“Bother,” Kiri called stepping forward to place a comforting hand on his rigid shoulder. “Just as a sisterly advice. The next time you try to speak with her, don't drink. Her father is a drunk, Neteyam. Her first experience with you being stupid was you being drowned in brew. I think you need to start from there.”
Neteyam's breath hitched. Her father. The comparison made a sickening wave of guilt roll through his stomach. He was doing everything wrong. He had strived his entire life to be the perfect son and the perfect warrior, but to the one person who mattered most, he had been nothing but a source of unpredictable, forgotten promises.
Neteyam did not sleep that night. He spent the remaining hours of the darkness washing his face with freezing river water, scrubbing the festival paint from his skin until it burned, and shedding every single ounce of his carefully constructed restraint.
The timeline was dead. It had done nothing but ruin everything, so if he were in a situation he didn’t know how to navigate, the only thing he could do is to fight. If he had to tear down the high canopy of Hometree to prove himself to you, he would do it sober, completely awake, and with a ferocity that would leave no room for doubt.
He had served you quietly before, but he will make sure everybody will not mistake his actions for anything but devotion for an intended mate now. He started the very next day, and you woke up that morning to find massive stacks of perfectly cut firewood that could provide warm for your family for the succeeding moons neatly piled outside your family’s hut, bound with a flawless hunter's knot.
“Who could have possibly left this here?” Your mother asked, her hand clutching at your arm.
You gritted your teeth as your eyes narrowed. “I don’t know...” But you do know. You have a hunch, at least.
“Should we get it inside... Or should we leave it there? In case someone mistakenly put it there?” She angled her head to look at you, but both of your attentions were snagged by your father walking on the branch leading to the hut.
Drunk. And walking remarkably straight enough to keep himself alive.
“Wondering where they came from, eh? I saw the Olo’eyktan’s eldest boy put them there. I’d say it was a tough task, getting all those piles of heavy wood up here,” he slurred before his eyes snapped to you. “That boy owed you?”
You closed your eyes to hide you eyes rolling, but before you could speak, he spoke again.
“Or is that boy courting you?”
“Vatu, what nonsense?! Neteyam is the Olo’eyktan’s heir. He will be paired with a strong and fierce huntress one day soon, or with a chief’s daughter from a different clan. Are you sure you didn’t mistake Lo’ak in your drunken haze?” your mother clarified, stepping outside.
You bit the insides of your lower lip, feeling a slight pinch in your chest at the words your mother uttered about Neteyam’s possible pair. She didn’t say anything wrong, and you knew that her words are completely true, but the fact still felt suffocating.
“No, I can tell those two apart. The taller one was definitely the one who brought these here... I’d ask him next time he does this, so I can be sure.” he walked past your mother and you, walking into the hut to sleep.
“There will be no next time,” you mumbled. You’ll put an end to this. Now.
But when you went to the communal clearing to gather breakfast to bring up to the high branches for your mother, you found a wooden tray with bowls of porridge, a leaf of honeyed hexapede, and the sweetest, rarest deep-forest berries still glistening with morning dew already resting on your usual place during communal meals.
“I can help bring it up, if you’d like,” a deep baritone sounded behind you, almost making you jump.
You knew exactly who it was.
You spunned around with sharp eyes. “What are these for?” you asked, your voice cold.
“Breakfast?”
Your lips pulled back to bare your fangs quietly and he looked at you as if you were a baby nantang showing its fangs for the first time. “I mean, why is this here? And were you the one who left firewood by our hut? Why are you doing this?”
He smiled, “One question at a time, beautiful. I’ll answer that all later, but I think we should really get that tray up before the food gets cold.”
Your eyes narrowed when he leaned forward to gather the tray, and you swat his hand. “I’ll do it. And get all the firewood back!” you groaned and lifted the tray up.
“I can’t,” he said and your head snapped at him.
“What do you mean you can’t?” you frowned.
He stretched his muscled arms with a little drama. “Because my arms are sore from getting them up there. I can’t get them all down anymore,” he pouted.
You hissed, “Stop doing all of these. I don’t need your charity.”
Neteyam didn't flinch at your hiss, neither did he give you that patient, sorrowful nod he used to give. Instead, he smoothly stepped directly into your personal space to take the tray from you. The sheer size of him cast a shadow over you, but his eyes were terrifyingly clear, burning with a fierce intensity.
“It is not charity,” he said, his deep voice smooth. “But you need to get used to it.”
Your breath caught in your throat. You stepped back, your heart hammering against your ribs as you watched him walk with your tray of food. You followed him immediately at the winding ramps leading to the higher branches though, determined to get your tray back.
“I can do that on my own. Give me that,” you pressed as you blocked him on the ramp, reaching for the tray but he kept it away.
“It’s heavy even for me, Y/N. There’s no way I’ll let you take this,” he said, his eyes serious on you. “Let me, okay?”
You blinked, feeling the urge to push him away because you suddenly realized how close his face was, but you know it was you who needed to move because you're blocking the path. He was quick to move, reaching the higher branches in no time, telling you that his excuse about his arms were a lie.
“Daughter?“
Your mother stood completely frozen by the entryway, behind her, the flap was shoved aside, and your father emerged, squinting against the bright morning light.
He rubbed his eyes, letting out a rough, gravelly grunt as he looked at Neteyam, and the tray he was holding. “I told you,” Vatu muttered knowingly. “It was Neteyam I saw.”
Katrey quickly snapped her head toward her husband, her eyes flashing with a warning glare, but Vatu ignored her. He stepped closer, leaning his heavy frame against the doorpost as his glassy eyes zeroed in on the warrior standing in front of their hut.
“Boy, are you courting my daughter?” Vatu asked bluntly, his voice carrying the rough edge of a man who didn't care for formalities.
“Vatu, be quiet!” your mother hissed, her face flushing with immediate embarrassment. She quickly stepped between them, offering Neteyam a deeply apologetic, polite nod. “Please ignore him, Neteyam. Thank you for the breakfast. I apologize for my husband's boldness to ask you things he knows nothing about. He is still out of his mind from the brew he drank.”
“It is nothing, Katrey,” Neteyam replied smoothly.
He didn't step back, nor did he look embarrassed by your father’s blunt interrogation. Instead, he straightened his broad shoulders, his towering frame carrying an unshakeable dignity as his golden eyes shifted from your mother directly to your father.
“And I do intend to win your daughter’s heart,” Neteyam said, his deep baritone ringing clear and steady in the morning air. He dipped his head in a respectful, formal gesture. “This is me asking for your permission, Vatu, Katrey.”
Your mother’s jaw went completely slack. Her eyes snapped up to you in a sudden panic, her breath catching in her throat. Neteyam politely extended his hands, smoothly transferring the weight of the heavy tray into your father’s grip. The sharp, piercing look your mother gave you told you everything. She wanted a full explanation.
Realizing the situation was spiraling entirely out of your control, you quickly grabbed Neteyam by his elbow, firmly pulling him away from the entrance of your hut and leading him down the walkway.
“Thank you, Neteyam...” your mother called out weakly behind you, her voice full of stunned disbelief as she retreated inside.
The moment your parents were safely out of view behind the woven fkap, you rounded on him, your hand dropping from his arm as you hissed fiercely, “What are you saying?!”
“Which part?” Neteyam asked, a boyish, devastatingly handsome smile flashing across his lips. His ears gave a playful, teasing flick. “I said quite a lot.”
You widened your eyes at him, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “You know exactly what I am talking about!”
Neteyam bit his lower lip, his playful demeanor instantly softening. His golden eyes began to roam across your face, slow and deliberate, as if he were completely feasting on your features. Beneath his skin, a bright violet flush crept up his neck and into his cheeks, so intense that he had to look away toward the canopy for a brief second to catch his breath.
When he looked back down at you, the boyish charm was gone, replaced by a raw sincerity.
“Well, I meant what I told your mother,” he said softly, his voice dropping into a low, intimate tone. “I am going to win your heart. You told me you liked me once... but now, you don’t, because I was stupid. I know I ruined it. But I will work very hard to turn it all back around. If you’ll allow me...” He paused, his gaze turning deeply pleading as he took a half-step closer. “But please, allow me.”
You let out a long, heavy sigh, the defensive anger in your chest suddenly feeling exhausting. You looked away from him, staring down at your feet so you wouldn't have to see his face fall. “I don’t know, Neteyam... it’s really not a good idea.”
A sharp, sudden edge cut through his tone. “Why? Because of Lo’ak?”
“No!” you whisper-shouted, your head snapping back up to glare at him. “I do not care for Lo’ak that way, and you know it! It’s only that... you are you, and I am me. You are destined for great things, Neteyam. The clan expects it. The right woman—”
“—is you,” Neteyam interrupted fiercely, his voice rising with a sudden, hot flash of anger that made your breath hitch. He stepped directly into your path, his shadow completely enveloping you as his jaw clenched. “Never speak that way about yourself. You are you, and you are the only woman I have always held close in my heart. If the clan knew how long I have burned for you, they would think it a no-brainer that I should chase after you now until you tire of running away from me.”
He caught himself, realizing his intensity was surprising you. He took a slow breath, his expression softening into something deeply tender as he reached out, his hand hovering just inches from your cheek, desperately wanting to touch you but restraining himself.
“You are what I want, Y/N. You are what I have always wanted,” he said, each word perfectly clear, perfectly sober. “And I am saying this to you now, sober and clear of mind, and I will never forget it again, even if Eywa strikes me down.”
Your lips pressed together into a tight line, your heart pounding so violently against your ribs that it physically ached. You let out a slow, trembling breath, your eyes drifting toward the vast, emerald forest stretching out beyond Hometree.
“Yeah... maybe don’t be that dramatic,” you mumbled quietly, your voice losing all of its biting ice.
Neteyam bit his lip again, his eyes tracking the subtle softenings of your expression. A quiet spark of triumph flared in his chest. It wasn't a no. You weren't yelling, and you weren't as angry as you had been. He was a skilled hunter, he knew exactly when to press an advantage, and he knew exactly when to slip away before his quarry recovered their senses and put up another wall.
“I have to join the morning patrol,” he said softly, backing away a single step while keeping his eyes locked onto yours. “I will see you later.”
Before you could gather your thoughts to give him a proper rebuttal, he turned on his heel and moved down the winding ramp, disappearing into the lower branches with a fluid, effortless grace.
You stood alone on the walkway for a long moment, your face burning with a fierce heat. Finally, you forced your legs to move and walked back to your family's hut. The moment your hand touched the woven entrance, the flap flew open, and your mother pulled you inside, her face tight with intense curiosity.
“What is going on between you two?” Katrey demanded immediately, “What did he mean by that?”
From the back of the hut, your father let out a loud yawn, stretching his arms as he walked back toward the hearth. “Didn’t you hear her, Katrey? The boy said he’s burned for your daughter for so long—”
“Couldn’t you have said that more properly?!” your mother snapped, throwing her hands up in utter exasperation.
“What, that's exactly what he said!” Vatu defended himself, completely unfazed as he collapsed back onto his sleeping mat.
You groaned loudly, burying your burning face in your hands as the chaotic bickering of your parents echoed around the small hut. Neteyam had completely broken down your defenses in less than ten minutes, and based on the look in his eyes, he was only just getting started.
In the next days, everywhere you went, Neteyam was there.
If you were planning to go down to the riverbanks to gather fibers for your costumes, you would turn to find a basket already filled with the finest, smoothest iridescent fibers from the deep forest. If a sudden midday downpour caught you near the low-hanging nurseries, a thick, dry woven cloak would materialize over you, smelling faintly of sweet mint and rain, before the first drop of water could touch your skin.
The clan, naturally, did not miss a single beat. The Omatikaya thrived on the shared breath of the community, and the sight of Toruk Makto’s eldest son carrying out manual chores for a single family’s hut became the premier spectacle of the high branches. The firewood had just been the beginning, he had also took it upon himself to check the structural sinews of your family's shelter after a heavy wind, climbing the high bark with his knife between his teeth, completely oblivious to the lingering stares of the elders below.
“He is stubborn,” your mother noted one evening as she watched Neteyam from the small triangle of the tent's opening. He was sitting cross-legged on the common walkway outside, thoroughly cleaning your family’s blades with fine sand and oil. “He has the Neytiri’s blood in that way. When they choose a direction, they do not turn around.”
“We will see,” you mumbled, twisting a fiber thread between your fingers.
“We will,” Katrey turned, her eyes searching your face with a softness you hadn't expected. “You know... Your father is many things, daughter. He is loud, he is foolish when the brew takes his mind, and he leaves the gathering to the women. But Neteyam... He looks at your mother's hearth before he seeks your hand. A man who honors the nest before he claims the mate is not playing a drunkard's game.”
The words pinched your chest, sweet and agonizingly sharp. You didn't answer her. You knew that Neteyam is far from your father. Too far your father wouldn't even make the cut for contention, and you felt a little shamed at how you came to a point where you’d aligned him with the likes of your father.
You were sitting by the lower root-pools one day, letting your bare feet dangle in the cool, glowing water while you sorted dried feathers by color when a sudden, heavy thud shook the branch behind you. You haven’t even turned around to see who it was when you heard Lo’ak’s flat voice calling your name. It was completely stripped of its usual teasing lilt.
You tilted your head back, looking up at him. His ears were pulled back slightly, his eyes wide and stormy as he stared down at you with his hands locked firmly on his hips.
“What's wrong with you?” you asked, setting down a blue fiber. “Did your ikran kick you?”
“Why am I hearing from the lower-branch boys that my brother asked your parents for permission to court you?” Lo’ak blurted out, stepping closer, his long tail thrashing behind him in a sharp, agitated arc. “Why am I hearing from the elders at the hearth that you and Neteyam are an ‘intended pair’ under the eye of Eywa? Since when do you and my brother even talk like that?"
You blinked. “Lo’ak... Well, your brother has asked my parents for permission to court me... And he is courting me—”
“And I never heard of this from the two of you? How long had this been going on?” he barked, though he quickly lowered his voice when a group of passing children looked over.
You sighed. “I didn’t tell you because we haven't really talked that way yet, but—”
“No? Oh, what, did he just come up to you one day and was like, ‘hey, I wanna court you—” he was in the middle of his suave reenactment when you groaned.
“No, no! Not like that,” you said. “I don’t know how to explain this to you, Lo, but years ago—”
“Years ago?! Oh, Great Mother! Am I the only one left in the dark about this—”
“Will you listen without cutting me off?!” you snapped, glaring at him and he rolled his eyes, letting himself fall to sit on the nearest root. You sighed, “Well. As I said... Neteyam is courting me. But I haven’t answered it yet.” you said, your eyes falling on the fibers in your hand.
“But you will answer it?” he asked.
Your eyes snapped up to him before you slowly nodded, “Yes,” you answered quickly. “Lo’ak, I will not lie to you. I have longed felt for your brother... I love him...”
He starded at you, his expression softening. “You’re my best friend, Y/NA. We tell each other everything. If you liked him even then, and if you knew he was looking at you differently, why didn't you tell me? Why did I have to find out from the others?”
The hurt in his voice made a heavy wave of guilt settle in your stomach. You reached out, placing a hand on his forearm. “Lo'ak, I swear to you, I was planning to tell you once I have answered Neteyam... You see, a few years ago... something happened, and I thought he was just playing with me. I wanted to test his sincerity...”
Lo’ak stared at the floor as he processed your words. “Perhaps I was just blind... Because, looking back to it all now... I think there had been signs,” he let out a rough huff, shaking his head. “I should have known the first time Neteyam acted all lenient because you were around.”
You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed with that familiar, traitorous violet flush as you remembered. “So... It's cool?” you asked.
“That my best friend and my older brother are going to do yucky stuff to each other? Not really—”
You threw a small pebble his way. “Shut up!” you groaned.
He laughed but then fell silent a few seconds later. “Listen to me,” he said, his tone suddenly turning incredibly serious. “He’s my brother, and I love him, but he’s also a hard-ass. He takes everything too seriously, and he thinks he knows what's best for everyone. If he makes you cry, Y/N... if he does something stupid and uses that Olo’eyktan-in-training excuse to justify it... I don't care if he's the eldest. I'll take his longbow and drop it in the bog.”
A soft, emotional smile curved your lips. “Thank you, Lo'ak.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, standing up and brushing the bark-dust from his legs. “I’m going to go find him now. He owes me a match for keeping this a secret. I’m gonna hit him in the ribs.”
Lo’ak did indeed find Neteyam, but the match didn't go quite as planned. According to Spider, who watched from the high branches, Neteyam had simply taken every single one of Lo'ak's aggressive strikes with a calm, unyielding defense, eventually disarming his younger brother with a swift sweep of his leg.
When Lo'ak lay groaning on the dirt, Neteyam had merely extended a hand, pulling him up before saying quietly, “I did not tell you because I had not earned her yet. I am still working on it.”
And working on it, he really was. You should have known, that to be on the receiving end of his relentless pursuit and focus, meant to have your resistance slowly worn down with every attempt. Even as a child, his focus to get what he wanted, which was the mastery of a warrior, was never weakened by any outside forces like the lure of playground fun.
And now, what he wanted was you and it’s not in him to relent. If anything, as the days lengthened, his devotion only grew more intricate, more deeply woven into the fabric of your daily life.
During the third moon of his courtship, you were assigned to lead the young girls of the clan in the ceremonial dance of the first blossom. It was a complex performance, requiring you to leap on high, narrow branches while keeping your balance on slick, moss-covered bark. You had been practicing for hours, your thighs aching and your fingers raw from holding the coarse training ropes.
When the sun finally dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in deep bruises of violet and orange, you sat alone on the edge of the high platform, rubbing your aching calves with a sigh.
A soft, familiar whistle cut through the quiet air.
You turned and saw Neteyam dropping down from a higher vine, landing with feline grace, no longer wearing his scout gear or his longbow. In his large hand, he carried a small wooden bowl filled with a thick, pale ointment that smelled strongly of crushed mint and wild ginger, the poultice the old healers used to soothe pulled muscles.
“Long day?” he murmured as he sat next to you, his large, calloused hand reached out with an almost terrifying gentleness.
“I told you, Neteyam,” you said, your voice tired, lacking the fierce venom it had carried months ago. “You don’t need to do this.”
His fingers wrapped around your ankle, lifting your foot to rest against his thigh. “Nonsense. I love doing this,” he smirked. “I’ll be doing this for the rest of my life, you know.”
You kicked his hand gently. “You are awfully confident.”
“A man can’t be hopeful now?” He dipped his thick fingers into the cool ointment and began to rub it into your calf.
Your breath caught in your throat as he worked with a meticulous, quiet concentration, his large thumbs tracing the tight knots in your muscles, applying just enough pressure to make you let out a soft, shuddering sigh of relief.
You leaned back on your hands, watching him through the fringe of your lashes. The dimming light caught the high, sharp angles of his cheekbones, the long line of his throat, and the muscular planes of his shoulders. He looked every bit the future leader he was born to be, yet here he was, holding your feet and treating your tired muscles as if they were the most sacred duties of his leadership.
“Neteyam,” you whispered, the quietness of the forest wrapping around you both. “Aren’t you tired?”
Neteyam didn't stop his hands. His thumbs made a slow, soothing circle around your calf before he spoke, “The scout didn’t take that much strength, nor was training the young. I bet you exceeded more energy in your practices—”
“In this courtship, Neteyam,“ you cut him off and his hand on your ankle stopped for a moment.
“Tired of what? I’m having the time of my life,” he said softly. He shifted his grip, his large hand sliding up to rest gently against the side of your knee, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin there. He looked up, his eyes burning with a devastating, quiet ferocity. “I would spend ten more years split-logging the forest if it meant I will have you, but I am not rushing you. I have all the time the Great Mother will give me.”
You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat feeling less like a boulder now and more like a warm, melting knot of wax. You pulled your leg back gently, and this time, he let you go, his hands returning to his lap as he watched you with that same, consuming patience.
In the succeeding moons, all the defenses you had built out of hurt and embarrassment had been worn down to dust by his continuous, unyielding presence. You found yourself looking for him during the communal meals. When he’s out with his scout party, you found yourself standing in the entryway of Hometree, your eyes fixed on the clearing, until the familiar, large silhouette of his direhorse finally broke through thicket.
Today, it was similar, but you were now standing on the high walkways of the roost, looking at the horizon to wait for the large wings of his ikran to fly over the fog when you heard the horn blew, a sharp sound that made your chest seize. Within minutes, the news tore through the high branches: Neteyam’s aerial patrol had run directly into an ambush. They had broken off to aid a Tlalim airship that was being swarmed by savage Mangkwan raiders.
The roost became a blur of movements. Jake, Neytiri, and a group of warriors mounted their ikran, the massive beasts screeching as they dived into the open air. Lo’ak was buckling his chest strap when he caught sight of you running onto the ledge, your hands trembling.
“Hey!” Lo’ak grabbed your shoulders, his eyes wide but steady. “He radioed. He’s fine, don’t you worry. They just needed reinforcement, but Neteyam got it, like always.” He rolled his eyes before mounting his beast, disappearing into the sky with the others.
His words should assure you, but it couldn't stop the suffocating weight that settled over you. For hours, everything was too quiet. You stayed at the high roost, your fingers digging into the rough bark, eyes watching the skies for any movement. Every minute felt like a moon. You thought of his unyielding presence, his quiet smiles, and how foolish you had been to let a single second go to waste.
Finally, the distant, rhythmic thumping of leather wings broke the silence.
The war party returned and as soon as his ikran touched down, you were moving. Neteyam unclipped himself, his body tense, his face and broad shoulders smeared with thick black soot and the dried blood of the raiders. He looked lethal, exhausted but still terrifying.
But the moment his eyes found yours, the hardened warrior vanished. His large steps ate the distance between you and you welcomed him halfway, throwing your arms around his shoulders. Neteyam let out a low, ragged growl, his strong arms instantly wrapping around your waist and pulling your body flush against his chest, lifting you slightly off the ground.
“I was so scared...” you mumbled against his neck, the scent of smoke and rain filling your lungs.
He reared his head back just enough to look at you, but because your arms were locked around his shoulders, your faces were scant inches apart. His eyes were burning with a fierce, possessive intensity while yours dropped to his lips, and the moment you angled your head, Neteyam closed the distance.
His lips came crashing down on yours as if that was the only thing that had kept him alive through the battle. It was instantly deep and devastatingly thorough, as opposed to a tentative and careful kiss you had imagined he would give you once you allowed him to kiss you. You supposed you should have known...
He consumed you, his hands pressing into your back, holding you so close you could feel the frantic, roaring beat of his heart against your own. You kissed until your knees felt hollow and the air left your lungs.
“Oh, come on!” Lo’ak’s loud, groaning voice broke the spell from a few paces away.
You pulled away from Neteyam’s lips and he groaned, his forehead falling against your temple as he murmured curses for his brother. You saw Lo’ak was wiping dirt off his own arm, rolling his eyes dramatically.
“Get a room, you two! This is basically an incestuous view to me!” he barked.
A few nearby hunters chuckled, and your face immediately burned hot. Neteyam moved his face to hide yours, leaving one possessive arm wrapped firmly around your waist. He glared at his younger brother, though a breathless, boyish smile tugged at his lips.
“Go clean yourself, Lo'ak,” Neteyam called back, his voice thick and deep.
Turning back to you, his expression softened back into that soul-stirring tenderness. He gently took your hand, his thumb rubbing the back of your knuckles. “Come,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours. “Help me wash this off.”
You raised a brow, grabbing his hand to hold it before pulling him away from the bustling roost, heading down the winding ramps and out of the Hometree.
“I was thinking of the root-pools,” he said as he fall into step behind you, but you chuckled and stepped past him.
His large steps ate away at the distance you created, his fingers touching the tip of your tail. You yelped, swatting his hand away as you broke into a sharp laughter and began running away. He chased after you until you reached the bioluminescent river. You threw yourself into the cool water unceremoniously, wading into the deep.
When you broke the surface minutes later, you saw Neteyam a few paces away, having already washed away the ash of the battle, his eyes immediately finding you. You waved your fingers, biting your lips before a shy smile cut through your lips. His head tilted, wading into the water but you backed away, luring him.
“Stop moving away from me,” he said, his deep voice making you breathless.
“Can’t catch me?” you teased, wading further away, relishing the way his eyes darkened at your challenge.
“Let’s see...” he trailed, wading in the water and looking so dangerous you knew he meant to catch you.
You turned and dove into the waters to escape him, but you haven’t made it far when a massive, silhouette loomed over you, and a moment later, a pair of large, fiercely strong arms wrapped securely around your waist, hoisting you to the surface and pulling you back against his broad, solid chest.
“You must never turn your back on your pursuer, beautiful,” he whispered against your ear, his deep baritone vibrating directly through your skin as you gasped for air. His lips immediately began pressing hot, burning kisses along the curve of your shoulder and up the sensitive side of your jaw.
You felt utterly breathless as you laughed, “Maybe I just slowed down so you could catch me,” you said, letting your head fall against his shoulder.
Your knees weakened under the water when you felt his kisses on your neck. He easily maneuvered your body around to face him, his eyes dark with a sudden, heavy hunger.
“How magnanimous of you,” he mumbled before his lips crashed down on yours again, deep and possessive, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a wild, commanding rhythm.
He waded through the water while your kiss deepened, and before you could even register the shallows, he hooked his hands under your thighs and hoisted you straight up onto the soft, mossy bank.
You yelped at the sudden rush of air, your hands immediately flying to grip both of his thick, muscled forearms for balance. Neteyam didn't give you a second to breathe. He followed you up onto the bank, crowding over your body as his lips crashed down on yours again. The grass pressed against your back as you lied back, your arms naturally wrapping around his neck to pull him down closer, matching his desperate, urgent rhythm.
His large hand cupped the back of your head, his long fingers winding tightly through your damp hair, anchoring you to the earth. You smiled against his lips, whimpering softly as you kissed him harder, more urgent and more desperate.
“Your lips are so soft...” he whispered, pulling back a little, his chest heaving as he stared down at you.
“So then keep kissing me...” you breathed, your fingers tugging at his braids.
“There’s something else I want to do...” he whispered, his voice dropping into a raw, gravelly register that sent a shiver straight down your spine.
You pulled away slightly, your eyes searching his face. “What is it?”
Neteyam swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he looked down at your body. “I don't know. Maybe it's too early for that...” he murmured.
“It’s probably not as fast as what I'm thinking then,” you said, raising a brow with a teasing, breathless smirk.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, his ears twitching as he looked down at you, momentarily distracted and thoroughly caught off guard by the implication.
“What are you thinking?” you countered, pulling his head down to press a firm, lingering kiss against his lips.
He shook his head, a dark, heavy flush creeping up his neck. “You will be disgusted. Well... I am disgusting. It is disgusting...” he muttered, his deep voice thick with a raw, primal lust that he was desperately trying to fight.
“Try me,” you mumbled, your voice dropping into a quiet challenge. “I want to know. What is it?” You squeezed his shoulders, anchoring him above you.
Neteyam bit his lower lip, his breath hitching as his gaze drifted downward, settling between your thighs. “I want to... I want to touch myself... and come... here,” he whispered hoarsely. As the words left his mouth, his large thumb slid down, pressing firmly through the damp fabric of your loincloth, finding the highly sensitive, swollen center of your heat.
Your breathing hitched in a violent wave of excitement, your eyes lighting up as a hot jolt of electricity shot straight to your core. “Let’s do it,” you whispered without a shred of hesitation. “And by the way... what I wanted was for you to... to put it inside me.” You spoke the last words so quickly, your face burning, that it almost got lost in the rush of the river.
Neteyam froze, choking on his own breath. “To what?”
You bit your lip, your hand shooting down between your bodies to palm him right through his loincloth. A sharp breath hissed out of your own mouth when you felt the immense size of him, entirely rigid and hard against your palm. “I want you to put your... I mean this... inside me.”
His golden eyes darkened into something utterly primal. “I’m trying to be so good, my love,” he groaned, his voice a strained, desperate rasp as his tongue darted out to wet his dry lips. “I want to do things the right way. I want to honor your family...”
“I don’t care. We will be mated soon under Eywa anyway, and we will be doing this for the rest of our lives,” you said, pulling his face down to kiss him fiercely, staring straight into his soul. “You get me?”
He let out a low, breathless chuckle, a deep snort escaping him as his forehead defeatedly hit the crook of your neck. “Yes... yes, I do.”
You angled your face to bite gently at his neck, your hand already moving to his tail to unfasten the intricate ties of his loincloth. “Take it out,” you whispered.
Neteyam didn't need to be told twice. With a low growl, he stripped away his loincloth and quickly reached down to shed yours away. He shifted his weight, kneeling between your thighs, his towering frame casting a massive, protective shadow over you. You were too busy looking at his hard length that you were uncaring of him firmly pressing your thighs apart, exposing your bare, glistening heat to the cool night air.
You saw his large frame stoop down, his head aiming for your center and your thighs instinctively threatened to shut close, but his hands were holding it so strongly you couldn't even move when his lips pressed against your softness. He groaned against the folds as his mouth opened to kiss it as he kissed your lips.
“Neteyam...” you groaned, bucking your hips, but he only coupled his lips with his tongue to lap at your wetness.
A few swipes and the folds parted to give him more of what he desires. You grabbed a handful of his braids when he suckled on your sensitive nub before his tongue licked another swipe from bottom to top, doing all of it instinctively as his own hand gripped his girth to stop himself from spilling prematurely.
He was trying so hard to hold out, but you taste so fucking good he can’t even think properly anymore. He gave himself a few pumps as he sucked and licked at your softness, occasionally nipping at your velvety folds, letting himself indulge in the sounds of pleasure you were making.
Your thighs were already trembling when he surfaced, kissing your thighs as he did. You were gasping for breath when he towered between your legs again, gripping his length, thick, heavy, and already crowned with drops of his own desire. He began to stroke himself right above you.
You watched, completely transfixed, your chest heaving as he pumped his hand up and down the length of his shaft. And this sight of him, the golden boy, the perfect, disciplined heir of the clan, completely unraveled, his jaw clenched, his hand working frantically on himself as he looked down at your naked body, was the hottest thing you had ever witnessed.
“Oh, baby...” he gasped out, his pace quickening until his entire body began to tremble with the oncoming release.
He let out a loud, guttural groan, his free hand grabbing the back of your thigh to push your knee back almost to your chest, exposing your pussy to him even more. You watched with wide, heavy-lidded eyes as he came directly onto your bare pussy, the thick, white heat of his release splattering warm against your sensitive skin.
You watched the essence come out of him in spurts and how he guided the wide head of his cock to part your folds, nudging at your entrance so he could spill inside you, too.Your hips bucked slightly at the sheer sensation, a soft whine escaping your throat as the warmth coated you every where. Neteyam’s chest heaved violently as he rode out the final, trembling waves of his release, his hand shaking against your thigh.
For a few seconds, the only sound was the rushing river and his ragged breathing. His eyes were busy watching you, darker and more intense than before. The edge of his release had cleared the frantic desperation from his mind, leaving only a deep, calculated hunger.
“This is so much better than all of my fantasies...” he croaked, leaning down to kiss you.
His large hands gripped your hips, lifting your firmly and ploppling you on his thighs. He was still incredibly thick, already hardening again as he aligned the tip of his length against your wet, coated opening. His arm wrapped securely around you, while the other held your waist. With a slow, possessive push, he slid in, careful not to hurt you.
But you were too impatient. You held onto his large bicep and pulled yourself up a little before you decidedly impaled yourself completely on his length. A deep groan left his chest as your heat tightly enveloped him, mingling with your sharp moan.
“Fuck,” his hand on your waist sought to pull you away but you wrapped your arms around his shoulder and ground your hips against his.
He caressed your back instead, his lips pressing soft kisses on your jaw and neck, distracting you from the throbbing discomfort of the stretch. It took a while of just you moving your hips in small circles against him, getting yourself comfortable, before you actually moved differently. Neteyam let out a fractured, warning growl into the crook of your neck as you ground your hips against his, the raw heat of your center completely swallowing him whole. He tried to hold still, his large hands anchoring your waist with a bruising grip to keep you from moving further, but the tight, pulsing squeeze of your walls was driving him insane.
“Wait,” he gasped, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as he forced his breath to slow. “Let me... let you get used to it, baby.”
“I am used to it,” you whimpered, your fingers digging into the thick muscles of his back, urging him to move. The slight ache of the stretch was already melting away, replaced by an demanding, empty itch that only he could fill. “Please...”
That was his breaking point. The last of his rigid restraint snapped like a brittle vine, and with a low, possessive grunt, his hands shifted from your waist to the backs of your thighs, pulling your legs up before sending a devastating, relentless rhythm of his hips rolling into yours with a heavy force.
Every upward thrust of his hips was deep and unyielding, his hard length sliding against your sensitivity. A loud, shameless moan tore from your throat when you felt his rough thumb rub the sensitive nub he had suckled just minutes earlier. Neteyam caught the sound with his own mouth, leaning down to capture your lips in a messy, bruising kiss, his tongue mirroring the deep, frantic rhythm of his lower body.
“I love you so much, baby...” he murmured against your lips.
“I love you, Neteyam...” you moaned, deepening the kiss.
The pace then became animalistic, stripped of all the careful gentleness of his courtship. His chest heaved against yours, the smooth skin of his torso slick with sweat and river water as he drove himself into you over and over, burying his length completely into you until the wet sounds from where you were connected were in contention with the rush of the river.
“Neteyam... Neteyam!” you cried out, your vision fracturing into white streaks as the tension tightly coiled in your stomach suddenly snapped. Your walls clamped down around him in violent, rhythmic spasms, a heavy wave of pleasure crashing through your entire body.
The intense, crushing squeeze of your climax was the final trigger he couldn't fight. Neteyam let out a loud, guttural groan as his fingers dug into the soft grass beneath you. He thrusted deeply one last time, pinning your hips flat against the grass as his own release tore through him, spilling his hot, thick essence deep inside your core in heavy spurts.
He trembled violently above you, his muscles locking up before he slowly collapsed forward, burying his face in the damp hollow of your neck. His breath came in ragged, burning gasps, his chest heaving against yours as you both rode out the lingering waves of your high.
For a long time, neither of you moved. The only sounds were the gentle lapping of the river against the bank and the rhythmic hum of the forest life. Neteyam remained buried deeply inside you, his heavy frame relaxed but still fiercely protective, shielding your bare skin from the cooling evening air.
He shifted slightly, letting out a soft, contented purr as he nuzzled his nose against your jawline, trailing lazy, wet kisses up to your ear.
“We will mate tomorrow... Can’t risk you hitting your head and running for the hills once you grasp just how crazy I am about you,” he murmured, his voice incredibly deep and hoarse from all the groaning.
You let out a weak, breathless chuckle, your fingers idly tangling into the loose braids near his neck. “I don't think I have the strength to run even if I wanted to, Neteyam. You completely ruined my legs.”
He snorted, a boyish, rumbling laugh vibrating through his chest as he finally pulled back just enough to look down at your face. His eyes were soft now, completely clear and filled with a warmth that made your chest ache. He raised a hand, his large thumb gently wiping away a stray tear from the corner of your eye.
“You know,” he murmured, a thoughtful, lazy smile tugging at his lips, “I was actually planning to play with you all here years ago... When I came to tell Kiri and Lo’ak to go back for Mo’at’s rituals.”
You smiled a little, “When I used goggles for the first time in my life and you came to tell everyone the party’s over?”
He let out a deep laughter, “See? I knew I was bad news to everybody! I bet I made a really bad first impression on you...“
You pushed your lips forward. “You were really serious, even then... So I didn't know how to act.” You pulled his face down for a kiss. “But things change anyway...”
He a raised a brow, “Mine didn’t. I liked you the first time I saw you,” he mused, his eyes feasting on your features. “Even then, I knew I wouldn't see you simply as a friend. My siblings are stirring up trouble again and I couldn't take my eyes off you. It actually annoyed the hell out of me.” He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“Annoyed you?” you questioned, blinking in surprise.
“Yes,” he admitted, a faint purple flush creeping into his own cheeks. "I was supposed to be playing the big brother role, interrogating my siblings about what they are abouy to do, but all I could think about was how cute you looked. Your ears were twitching, and you're trying to look everywhere but inside the house... Suddenly, I understood why boys my age had crushes.”
A soft, emotional warmth bloomed in your chest. You bit your lip, looking up at his handsome face, realizing just how long he had carried that quiet awareness of you.
“Well...” you mumbled, shifting your hips slightly beneath his, enjoying the way his breath hitched at the small movement. “If it makes you feel any better, you were secretly my crush anyway.”
Neteyam’s ears gave a sharp, skeptical flick, and he narrowed his golden eyes at you, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Nice try, beautiful. But I call you out on that.”
“It's true!” you protested, swatting his shoulder.
“It definitely is,” he countered smoothly, leaning down until his nose brushed against yours. “I was incredibly aware of you, Y/N. If you had looked at me with even a fraction of a crush, I would have known. You were always so quiet and formal around me, acting like I was just the strict older brother who was going to report you to my father.”
“Because I was terrified of you!” you confessed, your voice rising in a defensive laugh. “You were always so perfect and disciplined, standing right next to the Olo'eyktan. And besides, I had absolutely no one to tell! All the girls in the high branches were constantly whispering about how strong and handsome you are, and my only friends were your siblings. What was I supposed to do? Go up to Lo'ak and say, ‘Hey, I think your older brother is so hot’? He would have teased me until the next eclipse!”
Neteyam quieted down, his smirk softening into a look of pure, unadulterated tenderness as he listened to you ramble. He leaned down, catching your lips in a slow, sweet kiss that cut off your frantic explanations.
“You really thought that?” he whispered against your lips.
“Of course I did,” you murmured, your eyes melting into his. “There was no one else better than you, Neteyam. There never has been. You were the only one I wanted to look at.”
A deep, rolling purr erupted from his chest at your confession, a sound of absolute, victorious satisfaction. He tightened his arms around you, pulling you as close as physically possible, burying his face back into your neck as the bioluminescent plants around the riverbank began to glow brighter in the deepening night.
Lying there on the soft moss, connected and warm, the painful memories of the past years finally felt like a distant, faded dream. There is, indeed, no perfect timeline, and as he held you in the quiet dark of the forest, he knew that the future he had spent years yearning for was finally, beautifully alive.
Great Mother, I finally have her, he thought solemnly.
toji crying at his daughters highschool graduation... :( (papa toji x fem reader)
the photographer you guys hired is trying desperately to get a normal picture while your daughter keeps laughing halfway through every shot.
shes standing out in the sun in her graduation gown, fixing her hair between pictures and trying her absolute best whenever the photographer asks her to pose a certain way, and all you can think is how pretty she looks.
you dont notice it at first, hes standing beside you with his arms crossed, broad shoulders stiff beneath his button up, watching your daughter while she smiles for the camera. then your hand brushes his arm and you glance up, immediately pausing when you catch the look on his face.
his jaw is clenched tight and his eyes are so glossy.
before you can even say anything, a tear slips down his cheek. and you stare at him, almost shocked that youre able to keep it together more than he is.
"toji, are you crying?" you ask softly, shuffling closer.
his head turns so fast it almost makes you laugh.
"ain't cryin'." he grunts, pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek. the denial would have been much stronger if there wasnt another tear already making its way down his face.
he almost angrily wipes at his eyes and looks away toward the photographer again like that somehow fixes the situation.
across the lawn, your daughter is smiling through another picture, sunlight catching on her gown while she laughs at something the photographer says, and the second toji looks at her again, his expression crumples completely.
"fucks sake." he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand over his face, "look at 'er."
you look at her, and shes beautiful, the same little girl who used to spend most her time in her dads arms, the same little girl who used to hold onto two of his fingers instead of his whole hand.
toji shakes his head slowly, eyes fixed on her, his voice cracks barely. "swear to god she was a baby five minutes ago."
you smile softly, your hand rubbing the junction between his shoulders, reaching up to kiss his cheek.
"baby, shes eighteen." you murmur.
toji looks away because that physically pains him. he can feel his heart clenching, tears continuing to roll down his cheeks even though hes trying so hard to keep composure. his baby is all grown, and he cant take it.
youre laughing and getting emotional at the same time, your hand still rubbing his shoulders. the photographer calls for parents to join the next set of pictures, and your daughter immediately waves both of you over with the biggest smile on her face.
toji takes one look at her and lets out a long suffering sigh, shaking his head while rubbing at his eyes again.
"aint no reason she oughta be this grown already." he grumbles.
you hook your arm through his and lean into his side, feeling him immediately wrap an arm around your waist.
by the time you reach your daughter, tojis still visibly emotional, trying and failing to hide it while his daughter laughs at him for crying, and the look he gives her is so full of love it almost hurts to see.
your daughter smiles softly as she moves to hug him, and toji wraps his arms around her as he reciprocates it, holding her tight. his eyes are still glossy as he presses a kiss to her hair, hecause all he can see when he looks at her is the little girl who used to fit in his arms.
a/n: oh my god shes just his baby thats his baby girl😭😭😭😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢 toji cant take this hes gonna start begging you for another one LMFAO
Qifrey admits to you that he's never had an orgasm, and you offer to help with that.
In a bit of a drunken haze, Qifrey had admitted to you he’s never had an orgasm. He never had time to think of such things, but he would admit the shock on your face had him a little embarrassed, which was how he ended up in your room, in the dead of night, twiddling with his thumbs, and trying not to run back to his room. Pleasure was not a normal occurrence in his life, and quite frankly he wasn’t sure what to even expect. Sure, he had popped a boner on occasion, but he’d never done anything about it, just dealt with the discomfort until it went away. But you assured him, there was a much better way to deal with it.
What Qifrey had not admitted to you, was his attraction to you. To him, that felt infinitely more embarrassing than never having an orgasm. Especially if you didn't feel the same, he couldn’t imagine ruining your friendship like that. However, this seemed like crossing a line as well, but you suggested it and he was never one to deny you. You were a bit tipsy, and he really did plan to say no, but when you practically crawled across the couch and got in his face, telling him about how good you could make him feel; that was the first time he’d ever felt butterflies in his stomach at someone’s words, and well he wanted to find out more.
You walked out of your bathroom, entirely naked. His eyes widened, doing everything to look at your face and not your exposed form in front of him. He had seen you naked on multiple occasions, when you were trying on outfits for a night out, or simply just changing in general, you never cared, but this felt different.
“You can look, Qi,” You sauntered over to him, placing his hands on your hips, “It’s all for you anyway.”
His heartbeat quickened, his chest rising and falling in a rapid succession. You had given him permission, so why did this feel like an invasion of privacy? His voice caught in his throat as he slowly raked his eyes down your throat, to your bare chest. His breath hitched at your perfect breasts, nipples pebbled from the cool air blowing in from the cracked window. A wave of heat flowed between his legs, a slight twitch in his cock. This was different from the times this happened before. Before was an inconvenience, but now it was something he wanted to explore.
“If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, you tell me, okay?” You smiled up at him with your perfect teeth and your perfect lips, the ones he had thought about kissing so many times, but never in this context, certainly not, that would be indecent.
He nodded, allowing you to slide your fingers into the front of his belt and pull him towards the bed.
You sat on the edge, “Would you like me to take your clothes off?”
“I can do it myself,” He stumbled out, taking half a step back, the room suddenly much too hot.
“Okay,” You said calmly, not wanting to startle him, “Take your time.”
He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat before removing his robe, hanging it over your desk chair. He took a deep breath, meticulously removing the rest of his clothing and folding it onto your chair. He was left in his boxers, one arm crossed over his chest and holding his bicep as if to try and hide from you.
You tilted your head slightly, “You don’t have to remove those yet, if you aren’t comfortable.” You smiled and Qifrey suddenly felt even more self conscious as your eyes raked over his exposed form, “Do you want to come sit?” You patted the bed next to you.
He carefully made his way to the bed, the mattress sinking slightly as he sat next to you.
“Can I sit on your lap?” You asked, not wanting to do anything without letting him know first.
“Um, alright,” His hands shook.
You smiled, lifting yourself before straddling his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Is this okay?”
“Mhmm,” He mumbled, hands fisting the sheets.
“How about this?” You smirked, grinding onto his semi-erection.
He sucked in a breath, hands flying to your hips and holding tight. You froze, not wanting to startle him further, but the sheen of red that had taken over his face, and the ever growing bulge beneath you made you want to do it again.
“Can I?” You asked cautiously.
He nodded, arms shaking against you.
You rocked back and forth, a whine escaping Qifrey. He bit down on his bottom lip, “Uh uh,” You chastised, “I want to hear you,” Your hand snaked up his nape, curling into the back of his hair. Using your other to gain some leverage on his shoulders before grinding harder onto his bulge.
“Oh god,” Qifrey moaned, head falling forward into your collarbone. He had never felt anything like this. It was as if he wanted you to stop, but he would beg you not to if you tried. It was wrong, but fuck was it unbelievably pleasureable. Your nails raked against his scalp, almost in time with your hips grinding forward. An obscene wet noise filled the room as you sped up, your arousal coating his boxers and seeping through to his cock below, mixing with the pre dripping out of his red, mushroom tip. He had never wanted to feel something bare so badly, but that would mean removing you from his lap to peel off his boxers and he simply could not fathom that. Not when this felt so good, not when his cock was twitching, and something was building some immensely he wasn’t sure he could handle it, but he didn’t want you to stop. His hair was stuck to his forehead, glasses fogged as he breathed heavily into your shoulder, but you kept going. The prettiest noises and gasps falling from your lips. And he thought those were perfect, but what sent him over the edge was the breathiest moan of his name, your mouth mere inches from his ear.
A wave of ecstasy overtook his body, a warm liquid spilling into his underwear below. He bit down onto your shoulder, unknowing what to do with himself. You cried out, still rocking your hips, still chasing your own pleasure. But when you felt his cock stall underneath you, you stopped, not wanting to overstimulate the man, not yet at least, though you desperately wanted to finish yourself, tonight was about him.
“Are you alright?” You breathed out.
“That was,” He took in a breath, “Exquisite.”
You laughed, “Maybe next time you can put it inside.”
“Inside?” He lifted his head from your shoulder, tilting to the side when he met your gaze.
“Oh, Qifrey, I have so much to show you.”
A/N: I kind of want to make this a mini-series of first times with Qifrey
*Please do not repost, copy, or feed any of my works to your AI*
The holidays at Gojo’s place were always a mix of chaotic and strangely comforting.
This year he’d insisted both you and Megumi stay over for a few nights during winter break — “family bonding,” he called it with his signature blindfolded grin.
You knew better. He just liked having his favorite formal students under one roof where he could annoy them.
The first night he laid down his personal rules with mock seriousness:
“Door stays cracked at all times. I’m not raising grandchildren yet.”
Megumi had turned bright red. You’d just laughed nervously.
Now it was the second night. The house was quiet except for the low sound of the heater and the occasional creak of old wood.
Snow fell heavily outside the window, casting a soft blue glow into Megumi’s old room. The door was open just a few inches — enough that a slice of hallway light cut across the floor.
Snow piled up outside, turning the world into a muffled white blanket. You and Megumi were curled under the heavy comforter, the cracked door letting in a thin stripe of hallway light that stretched across the wooden floor.
Gojo’s “door stays open” rule hung over you both, but right now it felt distant. You were lying on your side, back pressed to Megumi’s chest in a loose spoon. His arm draped over your waist, warm and solid. Neither of you had planned for anything more than cuddling after a long day of holiday “family activities” (mostly Gojo forcing everyone to watch terrible Christmas movies).
Megumi’s thumb moved in slow, absent circles over your stomach, right where your oversized sleep shirt had ridden up. The gentle pressure felt soothing at first — just the warmth of his palm rubbing soft circles over the soft pouch of your lower belly.
“Mm… that feels nice,” you whispered, smiling into the pillow.
He hummed quietly in response, pressing a light kiss behind your ear. “You’re warm,” he murmured, voice low so it wouldn’t carry. His hand kept moving, slow and rhythmic, occasionally dipping a little lower before sliding back up. The touch stayed innocent for a while, just comforting affection.
You shifted slightly, pressing back into him more. A tiny giggle escaped you when his fingers brushed a ticklish spot. “Careful, I’m sensitive there.”
Megumi’s lips curved against your neck, you could feel the smile. “I know.” He did it again on purpose, a little lighter, and you both had to muffle quiet laughter into the blankets. His chest vibrated with a rare, soft chuckle of his own. These little moments were your favorite: when the usually reserved Megumi let his guard down and just existed with you.
His hand eventually wandered lower, still over your shirt at first, tracing the waistband of your sleep shorts. He paused there, fingertips slipping just underneath the fabric to brush the skin of your hip. “Is this okay?” he asked softly, always checking even when your bodies were already tangled together.
“Yeah,” you breathed, reaching back to thread your fingers through his messy black hair. You tugged gently, playful, and he rewarded you with another kiss on your neck, this one slower, lingering.
One thing didn’t just happen — it unfolded. His palm slid fully under your shirt again, rubbing wider circles across your stomach, then dipping down to the very edge of your shorts. He teased the hem for a minute, fingertips tracing the line where fabric met skin, before finally slipping underneath. No rush. Just warm fingers gliding over your mound, still gentle, exploring.
You let out a shaky exhale when his middle finger finally brushed between your folds. You were already getting wet from the slow teasing and the closeness of his body. Megumi noticed immediately, and you felt him twitch against your ass through his sweatpants.
“Quiet,” he reminded you in the softest whisper, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice, like he knew how hard that was going to be.
He circled your clit lazily at first, then dipped lower to gather your slickness before returning. Your breathing grew heavier. You turned your head, seeking his mouth, and the two of you shared slow, quiet kisses — more breath and little nips than anything loud. Every time one of you smiled into the kiss, it turned into another shared giggle, noses bumping, hearts racing from both affection and the thrill of the cracked door.
Megumi’s fingers eventually pushed inside you — one at first, then two — curling gently while his thumb kept rubbing your clit in those same unhurried circles he’d started on your stomach. The wet sounds were faint under the thick blankets, but they still felt risky. You rocked back against his hand, thighs trembling.
“Megumi…” you whimpered, barely audible.
He pressed his forehead to the back of your neck, breathing ragged. “I need you,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “Can I…?”
You nodded quickly, already pushing your shorts and panties down just enough. He did the same with his sweatpants, freeing himself. You felt the hot, hard length of him slide against your ass first, teasing, before he angled himself lower.
You lifted your top leg slightly. He pushed in slowly — so slowly — inch by inch, stretching you open while both of you fought to stay silent. When he bottomed out, buried completely, he wrapped his arm tighter around your waist, palm returning to rub soothing circles over your stomach again, right above where you were joined.
For a long minute you just stayed like that, connected and breathing together. Then he started moving in shallow, lazy rolls of his hips that barely made the bed creak. Every thrust dragged against that perfect spot inside you. Your hand reached back to grip his thigh, nails digging in as pleasure built in thick, warm waves.
The footsteps in the hallway came just as the rhythm was starting to speed up.
You both froze instantly, Megumi still deep inside you, throbbing. His hand flew up to cover your mouth gently. The shadow paused outside the cracked door.
Gojo’s voice floated in, casual as ever: “You guys need extra blankets? It’s getting colder.”
Megumi’s voice was impressively steady, though strained. “We’re good.”
A knowing pause. “Alright. Door open, remember~”
The footsteps faded.
The second they did, Megumi let out a shaky breath against your hair and started moving again, deeper this time, a little faster, the risk turning both of you desperate. His hand slid back down between your legs, rubbing your clit while he fucked you from behind in careful, controlled strokes.
You came first, clenching hard around him, biting his palm to muffle your moan. The orgasm rolled through you slow and intense, legs shaking. Megumi followed moments later, burying himself to the hilt and spilling inside you with a low, broken groan he pressed into your neck.
Afterward you stayed tangled together, his hand once again rubbing gentle circles over your stomach under your shirt. Soft kisses, quiet giggles, whispered “I love you”s exchanged in the dark while snow continued falling outside.
you both lay there catching your breath, bodies still connected and slick with sweat under the heavy comforter. Megumi’s hand kept up those slow, soothing circles over the soft pouch of your stomach, like he couldn’t stop touching you. Your breathing gradually evened out, but the warmth of him inside you, the way his cock gave a lazy twitch every few seconds, made it impossible to fully relax.
You shifted slightly, turning in his arms until you were facing him. In the dim light from the cracked door, you could see his flushed cheeks and the dark, half lidded look in his eyes. He was still hard.
“Again?” you whispered, a small smile tugging at your lips as you brushed his messy black hair out of his face.
Megumi swallowed, nodding once. “Only if you want to.” His voice was low and rough, the kind that always sent heat pooling in your belly. He leaned in and kissed you softly — slow and sweet at first, then deeper, tongues brushing as you both smiled into it. A quiet giggle escaped you when his nose bumped yours, and he let out a rare, breathy chuckle of his own, forehead resting against yours.
You pushed gently on his chest until he rolled onto his back. Keeping the thick blankets pulled high over both of you, you swung a leg over his hips and straddled him. The position felt intimate under the covers, its hidden, safe, but still risky with the door open just enough for trouble.
Megumi’s hands settled on your thighs, rubbing up and down slowly as you reached between your bodies. You wrapped your fingers around his cock, stroking him, smearing his leftover cum and your slick a few times before lining him up with your entrance. You were still wet and full from before, so when you sank down it was easier with a smooth, slow glide that had both of you biting back sounds.
You settled fully onto him with a shaky exhale, feeling every inch stretch and fill you again. Megumi’s head tipped back against the pillow, jaw tight, hands gripping your hips under the blanket.
“Fuck…,” he whispered, barely audible.
You started moving In slow rolls of your hips at first, grinding more than bouncing so the bed wouldn’t creak. The blankets stayed draped over your bodies like a tent, trapping heat and the faint wet sounds of him moving inside you. Megumi’s hands slid up under your shirt again, one returning to rub gentle circles over your lower stomach while the other cupped your breast, thumb brushing your nipple.
You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest, and kissed him deeply to muffle both your moans. Every roll of your hips dragged him against the spot you loved the most. Your breathing grew heavier, little whimpers slipping out despite your best efforts. Megumi’s fingers on your stomach pressed a little firmer, grounding you as pleasure built in thick waves.
“You’re doing so good,” he murmured against your lips between kisses.
That made you clench around him. His hips bucked up instinctively, pushing deeper, and you had to bury your face in his neck to stifle a moan. The two of you moved together like that. Soft giggles broke through whenever one of you shifted too much and the blankets rustled loudly, or when Megumi’s fingers found another ticklish spot on your stomach.
footsteps came without warning.
You were riding him a little faster now, chasing a edge, when a shadow fell across the floor. The door creaked open wider.
Gojo stood there, holding a glass of water like he’d just been innocently walking by. His blindfold was off, bright blue eyes taking in the scene under the dim hallway light: the obvious movement under the blankets, your straddling position, Megumi’s hands clearly gripping you, the way the comforter shifted with every roll of your hips.
For a split second, even Gojo looked surprised.
Then that signature shit eating grin spread across his face.
“Oh wow,” he said, voice loud enough to make you both freeze. “I was just coming to check if the heater was working… but it looks like you two are generating plenty of heat on your own.”
You stopped moving instantly, but Megumi was still buried deep inside you, throbbing hard from the sudden spike of embarrassment and adrenaline. You yanked the blanket higher, trying to hide as much as possible, but there was no hiding the fact that you were literally on top of him.
“Dad—” Megumi started, voice strained and hoarse. His hands tightened on your hips like he was debating whether to pull you off or keep you there.
Gojo leaned casually against the doorframe, not even pretending to look away. “Door was supposed to stay cracked, remember? I could hear the bed from the hallway. I am super angry, yknow.” His eyes sparkled with pure amusement.
Your face burned. You buried it in Megumi’s chest, mortified but still clenching around him involuntarily. Megumi groaned quietly, hips twitching once despite everything.
“ get out,” Megumi hissed, trying to sound threatening but mostly sounding wrecked.
Gojo chuckled, low and teasing. “I meannnnn, you guys had no respect for me, should I open the door fully, will that help?” He winked. “Or I can just stand here and supervise. Make sure the door stays open like I said.”
“Out,” Megumi repeated, face burning crimson.
Gojo sighed dramatically, but he was clearly loving every second. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave the water here. I want to have a conversation in the morning, megumi.” He set the glass on the dresser, gave you both one last lingering, mischievous look, and finally stepped back, pulling the door to its usual cracked position.
“Sweet dreams~” he called cheerfully as he walked away.
The second his footsteps faded, Megumi let out a long, embarrassed groan. You lifted your head, both of you staring at each other with wide eyes before breaking into quiet, breathless laughter.
“I hate him,” Megumi muttered, but his hands were already sliding back to your ass, squeezing.
You rocked your hips experimentally, still giggling. “He’s never letting us live this down…”
Megumi’s eyes darkened again. “Don’t care right now.” He thrust up into you harder, making you gasp. “Keep going. We’re finishing this.”
You started riding him again — faster this time, less careful, the adrenaline from almost getting fully caught making everything feel ten times more intense. Megumi’s hand returned to rub your stomach in those familiar circles while the other guided your movements.
You came first, clenching hard around him and biting his shoulder to stay quiet. He followed right after, pulling you down against him as he spilled deep inside you with a muffled groan.
Afterward, you collapsed on his chest, both of you breathing hard under the blankets, trading lazy kisses and soft giggles.
“Does satoru think I’m a slut now, or does he hate me now?” you whispered.
Megumi kissed your forehead. “Of course not… We’re adults, he’s probably just irritated, babe.”
pairing ﹕ izuku midoriya x g.n!reader genre ﹕ fluff, established relationship ﹕ this is timeskip izuku! ﹕ cws. very faint suggestive at the end. use of petname (honey.) reader calls him ‘zuku.
you were embarrassed to say the least. earlier in the day your boyfriend, izuku, tried to kiss you. when his face leaned in towards yours, his lips parted, eyes beginning to close.. you panicked. all for one reason. you’d never had your first kiss!
you couldn’t help but jolt back, your cheeks flushing as you looked at him with a look close to horror. izuku was confused, but immediately started apologizing. he became embarrassed himself saying that he shouldn’t have rushed into something without asking.
now you find yourself outside, hands over your face as your mind was only consumed of that moment. why did you freeze like that?! it wasn’t that you didn’t want to kiss him.. quite the opposite actually. you were just so afraid that he’d judge you for being new at this kind of thing.
which was stupid, he wouldn’t judge you for pissing yourself, let alone something so normal like being embarrassed about a first kiss. but it was embarrassing to you! you were twenty three and inexperienced! that’s totally humiliating!
your heart beats rapidly in your chest as you remember how soft his lips looked. how gentle he was.. god! this was awful. you tap your foot, wondering what to do. should you just forget it ever happened? or maybe you should just rip the bandage off and kiss him..
you didn’t have to do much more thinking. “honey?” a soft, familiar voice hit your ears. you jump slightly, lifting your face from your hands. “‘zuku.” you murmured, cheeks flushing again as you see him. he smiles at your expression before taking a seat beside you.
“i was looking all over for you.” he speaks, leaning against the back of the bench. you bite your lower lip, chewing it nervously. you didn’t respond, just looked at him before looking away like the sight of him burned you.
he tilted his head towards you, raising an eyebrow. he parts his lips to speak, but you cut him off. “i’ve never had my first kiss!” you blurt out before your hands fly to cover your mouth. damnit! why did you say that?! the tip of your ears turn bright red, looking at him as if trying to read his expression.
his lips remain parted in shock, blinking slowly at the sudden outburst. then.. he laughs. it’s not mocking. his eyes crinkle at the sides, his white teeth on full display as he laughs aloud. your entire face heats up, “wha- ‘zuku stop it!” you squeak into your palms.
he brings a hand to his chest, holding up his other as if he was telling you to wait. after a minute of his light laughter, he finally calms down. he wipes his eyes before exhaling. “did you think it was a secret?” he questioned. “i knew.. well, i assumed you’d never kissed anyone before.” he admits.
your eyes widen. what?! “then why did you try to kiss me?!” you retort, hands going from your mouth to cover your eyes. he lets out a soft chuckle, “.. uh, i dunno. i wanted to kiss you? pretty simple..” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “didn’t think you’d freak out.”
there was a small pause before you felt his calloused hands grab your wrists. he pulls your hands away from your face, “don’t cover your face..” he mumbles, frowning softly. “it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. i didn’t have mine until i graduated..” he confessed. it didn’t really help you feel much better.. but it was a little helpful.
“yeah well i’m twenty three and..” you trailed off, fingers twitching as you tried to pull your hands back. “so what? do you think that makes me see you differently?” “a bit.” he lets out a sigh, shaking his head. he lets go of your hands before cupping your cheek.
“i’m sorry for suddenly trying to kiss you,” he speaks softly. you bite the inside of your cheek, huffing. “i’m not upset.. i just didn’t want to.. dunno. disappoint you with how bad i am.” you reply, looking at him. your cheeks burn beneath his hands.
his frown turns into a small smile, “you could never disappoint me. especially not over something so little.” he reassures, “we don’t have to rush into anything.” you look at him as he says that. no! he has it all wrong.
“i do want to kiss you ‘zuku.” you admit, “i’m just nervous..” you attempt to turn your head away, but his hands keep you looking at him. his eyes go from your eyes to look at your lips briefly before looking back up. “how about a peck then?” he offers.
you go silent. a peck. just two pairs of lips touching.. simple. no skill required, no tongue. you swallow harshly then nod. “a peck.. okay. yeah.” you whisper. he smiles wider now, leaning in closer once again. you can see the freckles on his cheeks.
your eyes focus on his closed ones, then down his lips that are dangerously close to yours. before you can think about pulling away, his lips meet yours. it’s quick and gentle before he pulls away. your heart picks up, looking at him with something new in your eyes.
he soaks in your expression, a fond look forming on his face. “how was—” his sentence is cut short as you slam your lips onto his. it’s rough and messy. your lips move cluelessly against his, but you had the spirit! he melts into the kiss, doing his best to wordlessly guide you.
in only a few minutes you seem to get the hang of it. you’re no longer biting him on accident (even if he liked it), and your body leans into his with less hesitation. as the kiss intensifies, he slips his tongue past your lips eagerly.
your inexperience really shows at this part, unsure of how to move your tongue around the intrusion in your mouth. you moan against his mouth at the feeling and taste of him. his hand goes from your cheek to the back of your neck, holding you firm.
the two of you fall into a passionate kiss on the bench before he finally pulled away. you were breathless, lips coated in mixed saliva. “‘zuku-” you managed to speak. he tilts his head, the other hand still on your cheek as he brushes the pad of his thumb beneath your eye.
“hm?” he hums. you look down at where you two are pressed together, before looking around. you’re praying your neighbors didn’t see this interaction. you look back at him. he notices your wandering eyes, then smiles. he knows exactly what you’re thinking.. and honestly, he is too.
he stands up, taking you with him. his hands fall from your cheek and neck, one grabbing your hand. “let’s go inside.” he leans down, whispering in your ear, “we can try a bunch of new things there.” your body instantly heats again at his suggestive words.
you don’t protest though, if anything you lean against his side as you two walk to the door of your shared home. “just go easy.. okay?” you murmured, which resulted in him squeezing your hand to silently say—“of course.”
Izuku becomes almost desperate the moment your lips meet.
The second your mouth touches his, something shifts inside him. His hands grab your waist with clumsy urgency, almost trembling, as if he’s terrified you might disappear between his fingers. He pulls you sharply against him, lifting you effortlessly so you’re straddling his thighs.
His lips devour yours, his tongue seeking yours with a desperate hunger that takes your breath away. You can feel his heart pounding hard against your chest, his hot, ragged breath mixing with your own.
His fingers dig into your hips, sinking into your flesh like he wants to keep you prisoner. He controls every single one of your movements, refusing to let you pull away even an inch.
The kiss grows deeper, messier: tongues tangling, teeth clashing lightly, soft muffled moans escaping between your mouths.
Your hands slide to the back of his neck, then into his messy green hair. You grip it gently, and Izuku lets out a rough sound against your lips almost a growl.
After a few seconds, as the kiss makes your head spin, you feel something hard and burning press against your ass through his pants.
The realization hits you instantly. He’s already fully hard, his cock straining and rock-solid. A small smile forms on your lips against his mouth despite yourself.
Izuku doesn’t even try to hide it. On the contrary, he tightens his grip on your hips and presses you more firmly against him, rubbing his erection against your ass with obvious urgency.
He finally breaks the kiss, just enough to catch his breath. His forehead stays pressed to yours, his glasses slightly crooked, his lips swollen and wet. His green eyes are dark, clouded with desire.
“Do you feel what you do to me?” he murmurs in a hoarse, breathless voice. “The moment I kiss you… I lose my mind. I can’t stop.”
His hands slip under your shirt, caressing the bare skin of your back. He pulls you even closer, slowly grinding his hard length against you, as if he needs that contact to survive.
“Don’t stop…” he almost begs, his voice low and trembling with need. “Kiss me again. I need you baby.”
izuku midoriya starts tearing up as soon as his cockhead pushes into your gummy walls.
his body shudders as he threatens to collapse on top of you. various pleas and whines escape his mouth, your name on his tongue like a prayer.
“please, oh fuck— you’re so tight for me”
“you’re so so perfect, my love”
“please! god, you’re so beautiful”
he doesn’t know what he’s pleading for. but he knows he’s pleading for you.
and that’s all he can think about.
izuku’s hair falls in front of his eyes like a curtain, but his lovesick haze can’t be hidden behind the strands.
his hand grip yours tightly as he thrusts his tip in and out of your pretty hole. it’s too much for him, his dripping mushroom tip leaks and dribbles into and around your cunt as proof.
his free hand slides down your body, caressing your breasts and lingering along your tummy. finally, it reaches its home between your thighs. izuku’s thumb rubs sloppy circles around your clit, as he shakes from pleasure.
his forehead drops to meet yours as fat tears squeeze themselves out of his eyes and onto your cheeks.
“can i? oh please, baby, can i?” izuku babbles.
he’s trying to take it slow, to tease you even more with his painfully hard erection, but he was fraying at the edges. every choked out call of your name begged you to let him sink into you.
once you let him, izuku was eager to push the rest of himself into your warm pussy. his balls hit against you, heavy and aching.
his thrusts quickly transformed from slow and cautious to sporadic and desperate. every moan floated above the squelches of your pussy sucking him in and the slap of skin against skin.
his thumb that circled your puffy clit began stuttering, as did izuku’s hips. he was shaking, face buried into your neck because everything was too much to handle.
“please, baby. fuck, i need you! cum with me, please!” he cried, hot tears falling against your skin.
your pussy clenched around him deliciously, and he was a goner. izuku sobbed into your neck while he emptied himself into your fluttery cunt, hot and filling.
as you came, he kept humping you desperately, his sensitive cock dragging along your sloppy walls.
izuku didn’t bother to pull out as he kissed up your neck to the spot below your ear.
cw: smut, perv!izuku, fem!reader, mutual masturbation (kinda? idk im kinda slow), college au, roommates. lmk if i missed anything :)
a/n: i recently finished mha so bare with me, i will be writing alot about the boys, i miss them so bad fml :/
𖤓 Izuku was losing his mind. He never expected college would torture him like this– forcing him to live with you. The sweetest, most oblivious little tease he’d ever met.
His hand moved slowly up and down his thick cock, thumb smearing the steady leak of precum over the flushed head. A low, shaky breath left his lips as he leaned back against the headboard, eyes squeezed shut, sweatpants bunched around his thighs.
Through the thin wall separating your rooms, he could hear you.
Soft, frustrated whines. The wet, filthy sound of your fingers desperately pumping into your pussy. You sounded so close to tears, like you’d cry if you couldn’t cum soon.
“Fuck…” he whispered, tightening his grip.
He knew it was wrong. He knew he shouldn’t be jerking off to the sound of his roommate touching herself. But how could he stop? Not when you pranced around the dorm in those tiny sleep shorts that barely covered your ass. Not when your nipples poked through those thin tops every morning. Not when you got drunk and crawled into his lap, whining about how much you missed him, only to act like nothing happened when you sobered up.
His hand moved faster, the slick fap fap fap growing louder as he imagined you spread open on your bed, fingers buried deep inside that pretty cunt.
Then he heard it.
A broken little whimper of his name.
“Izuku…”
His hips jerked hard as thick ropes of cum spilled over his fist, painting his abs and chest. He bit down on his lip to keep from groaning your name loud enough for you to hear.
ꉂ ᵎᵎ cw/tw: 18+, fauxcest (big brother play), hopefully not ooc kiri, dom!eijirou, fem!reader, toxic ex/bf touya (possibly cheating on touya but he’s mean and toxic and the “breakup” is vague), hurt/comfort, suggestive, strangely fluffy, canon divergent, they both a little drunk…
ꉂ ᵎᵎ a/n: this is a reblog from my old blog and was originally a response to an ask. oooouhg hes so cute in this
ꉂ ᵎᵎ synopsis: your toxic boyfriend breaks up with you and ejirou confesses how he feels about you and how he’d treat you better
ꉂ ᵎᵎ w/c: 1.5k words
kirishima eijirou was a good guy. friendly, kind, gentlemanly, strong, and tall— everything a girl could ever want. you had always thought he was cute, ever since hanta introduced you two at that group hangout back in your freshman year.
but years before even meeting him, you had already decided that a girl like you could never be a good match for someone like him. you were a good hero, a good friend, an overall good person— but when it came to love, you were complicated. jealous, obsessive, bratty, and a crybaby— those were just a few of the traits that came with loving you. it was an ugly, volatile, and rough-around-the-edges side of you that you figured only someone just as messed up could handle.
that’s what you told yourself, anyway, every time you went back to touya. again and again. even when being with him felt like you were tearing off pieces of yourself just to keep him happy.
your dad sucked. touya’s did too. you didn’t want another father figure in your life— but you did want someone to take care of you. someone who could guide you without trying to control you. touya didn’t want to be a dad— he couldn’t, not after his own — but he didn’t mind being your “big brother.” it was twisted, maybe, but it was also what made him so hard to leave.
maybe in another life, you would’ve been normal. maybe then, you could’ve had someone like eijirou. someone good.
as touya called your name from the other end of the phone, you snapped back to the conversation, pulling yourself out of your drifting thoughts of eijirou. “baby,” you mumbled, not even realizing you’d been crying. “i swear my phone died. are you really not going to pick me up?
a sigh followed your words, his response delayed by the quiet shuffle of him rolling another blunt. “i explained to you that if you didn’t text me by 10:00 pm, i wasn’t gonna do shit for you. if you really cared about being picked up, you would have made sure your phone had enough battery to text me.”
“i didn’t even know it had ran out battery though! touya, please...”
“that’s a good one babe,” touya laughs, “i hope whatever guy you’re with right now finds it funnier than me.”
“i’m not with anyone, baby.”
“then why’s your location off?”
“it turns off when your phone dies!”
“yeah, sure. y'know what? i’m done with your shit— tell him i hope he enjoys my leftovers.”
and before you can even respond, touya hangs up, your next few attempted texts turning that familiar shade of green. with a trembling sigh, you take another drink of the alcohol in your hand, frustrated tears slipping down your cheeks as you sit alone on the porch steps of katsuki and eijirou’s rented house, the birthday party continuing inside without you.
needless to say, the soft click of the front door goes unnoticed. it’s only when you hear the birthday boy’s voice that you finally look up.
“hey, pretty girl,” eijirou said softly, taking a seat next to you, head tilted to shorten the height gap, “why are you crying?”
you hurriedly wipe your tears away, trying to save face. “ah, it’s nothing. just my boyfriend. you should be inside celebrating your—”
“no, no— it’s okay. shoto’s brother, right? is he okay?”
“he’s fine,” you sigh, unsure, “he just sort of broke up with me again? or… i don’t know.”
“again?" eijirou questions, his eyes narrowing, “does he do that often?”
you nod, avoiding his gaze. “yeah, i guess. when we argue.”
he clicks his tongue. “that’s fucked up,” he comments, the simplicity making you laugh, which in turn makes him laugh too. “okay— well i know that’s obvious, but it is! must make you stressed to disagree with him.”
another sigh escapes your lips as you take in his words. it was a truth you knew all too well already. “yeah, i know, but…”
eijirou waits a moment, giving you the chance to finish your sentence before speaking again. “but you love him?”
“something like that,” you mumble, holding your knees close to your chest.
“something like that?” he asks, the question hanging in the air as he fights the urge to ask what’s really on his mind. “well, i'd argue that you shouldn't let a guy like that make you cry.”
you laugh lightly, a faint smile tugging at your lips as you glance up at eijirou. “yeah… i guess you’re right.”
a warm grin spreads across his face at the sight of yours. “you’re pretty when you smile,” he says gently, before quickly correcting himself, “you're always pretty.”
heat rises to your cheeks, and you look away. “thank you, eijirou. i’ve always thought you were pretty too.”
“really?”
“yes, really.” you let out another laugh, this one sincere. “ever since i met you, i’ve thought that.”
“i thought the same thing too.”
a brief silence settles between you before he speaks again.
“why didn’t we ever get to know each other better?” eijirou asks, his voice light and curious, though there was an undercurrent of longing that made you wonder if he was a little tipsy.
caught off guard, your fingers fidget before you shrug. “i don't know. i just have a type i like, i guess.”
with his hands over his heart, eijirou dramatically pretends as if he had been shot. “ouch— are you saying i don’t fit the requirements?”
“no," you giggle, "it's just... hard to describe. there's just certain things i like.”
“and shoto's brother has those things? i guess what i'm asking is— what is it you like about him anyways?”
“well... he's tall.”
“i'm tall; taller than him.”
“is this a competition now?”
“yep. as long as i'm winning.”
you roll your eyes, continuing. “he's older than me.”
“i'm older than you too.”
“oh— only by a few months!”
“remind me if that's older than you or not...”
you giggle again, and in a mix of feeling carefree and the alcohol buzzing in your mind, the next few words tumble from your lips.
“he has a big dick...”
eijirou raises an eyebrow at that, as if he was questioning that you were implying he would not be well endowed. “you’d be surprised how much height correlates to dick size. seeing that i’m a lot taller than him…”
you cover your mouth coyly as the two of you laugh some more, not thinking about what you would blurt out next. “well, when we have sex, he lets me call him my big broth—" you cut yourself off — although way too late — now fumbling over your words. “i mean, he's like a big brother figure to me— or i mean, he, i...”
your face goes pale, knowing you can’t salvage it, and the silence from eijirou does nothing to ease the churn in your stomach. he probably thinks you’re disgusting, doesn’t he? the quiet was pressing down heavier with each passing second.
after what feels like forever, he finally breaks the silence. “is that really the reason you stay with him…?” when you nod, he laughs, almost incredulously. god, he must really think you’re a freak. he’s probably going to tell everyone, and it’ll spread, and you’ll lose your hero career, and—
“i could do that.”
you look up at him, blinking back tears, your ears ringing. “what?” you whisper, as if you’ve misheard him.
“i could do that,” he repeats, leaning into you, hands now by the sides of your thighs. “i'd be a much better one than him.”
“i don't — eijirou — i don't think you know what you're talking about...”
“no, i do. it's like when girls say, ‘daddy,’ right? i could do that. i'd never make you cry, i'd call you nice names, buy you whatever you want, fuck you however you wanted— i'd take care of you the way a ‘big brother’ should.”
the world feels like it’s spinning, the way he’s so close, his breath mingling with yours, your mind struggling to process his declaration of love. “i… i don’t know what to say,” your voice wavers.
“just...” his words trail off for a moment as he tries to think, adrenaline rushing through his veins as the girl he's always wanted to be with, was so close within his reach, both figuratively and literally. “…give your ‘big brother’ what he wished for for his birthday, okay?”
at your timid nod, his trembling hands reached out to cup your face, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones as he took in your expression, before closing the gap between the two of you and tentatively pressing his lips against yours. the moment you returned the kiss, you found yourself being gently pushed onto your back, the wooden planks of the porch meeting you with a quiet thud. as the intensity built up, teeth and tongue clashing, you could feel his growing hard-on against your thigh, before he eventually pulled away, panting as he tried to catch his breath
“....can i wish for more?” he asks at last, toothy grin and all.
kirishima eijirou. good guy, good friend, good hero, good lover, and most importantly, a better big brother than your ex.
✧ best friend bakugo katsuki x f!reader
✧ tw; smut, eating out; mention of alcohol and throwing up because of it (real quick) | idk what else
✧ word count: 3k (don't expect short things from this acc omg)
+ i never thought the first thing i would write in here would be smut but here we are. (i only have smut ideas for now oops) sorry about typos/grammar, I'm trying to remember how to write (uni fried my brain); i'll get better at it, promise!
anyways, send reqs, imagines, ideas for one shots, etc i would love to write them out!
"What do you mean you don't do sex?" Your friend questioned you with a whine; her pink skin tinted with an even more red-ish tone due to the amount of alcohol in her system.
"That's not what i said, Mina! I just mean that i won't let anyone put it in until i decide that their other skills are good enough." You insisted as you brought a snack into your mouth. "Plus, i should be basically wanting it if that's the case. I am so done with acting for them"
This was the first time in a couple of months that the friend group was able to meet. It was supposed to be a chill get together, some food and maybe a movie since everyone was so tired from running around the city doing hero work. That all changed once Kirishima and Kaminari came through that door with alcohol in hand. Sero and Mina didn't really think twice before starting to drink with the rest; but you knew that your best friend, Bakugo, didn't really drink thanks to a particularly bad fight some years ago, making you two the least drunk of the group.
"Seems fair to me" the red hair said a bit louder than necessary. "We gotta be men and make our ladies fee–"
"Really? How did we end up talking about this"
"C'mon, Sero, you cannot not agree."
"Nah, i agree, man. Seems a bit heteronormative though. What i–"
"Wait, but i think it really really really is more of a problem with hetero couples!" You chuckled while pointing fingers at yourself.
"Probably it's just your shitty taste on pathetic men, you idiot." Bakugo snickered next to you, earning a few of your friends to take a sip while trying to hold a laugh.
"Hey! You're not even participating in the conversation and that is the first thing you say??" You nagged while hitting his arm.
"Ha, you go on all those dates from your shitty apps and still don't get fucking laid? Really?" He bit back.
"It's okay. Even if his looks are popular, Bakugo probably is still a virgin, no one can get that close," Kaminari cackled with ease on the other side of the table. Bakugo definitely killed him with the stare that followed.
"Nah, i know he fucks around sometimes, with those shitty apps," you joked while imitating your best friend.
The constant bickering was comforting for all of you, that even after graduating and being busy in your everyday life, some finding love, some moving places and even after growing up, you were all still friends; just knowing that some things may never change.
That included Kaminari being the first one to fall asleep due to his intoxicated state, and Mina being the second, not before causing a ruckus about not wanting this night to end. Luckily, this was Kirishima's apartment, pretty new and spacious, had two bedrooms, one was used as a gym, and a small office.
It didn't take long before you were helping your friend find futons and spare blankets. The plan is to let the boys sleep in one room and you two girls could share Kiri's bed. easier said than done when having to deal with two very drunk and excited dumbasses. You were sitting in front of Mina trying to wipe off her make up while she sniffled about how much she loved you and enjoyed being there when you heard a commotion over in the other room. Apparently, one of them dropped some sort of drink over themselves? Maybe Kaminari finally threw up. You didn't want to know, just letting them do their thing while you saw Sero and Kirishima rush around trying to clean.
Luckily, Mina passed out right after. Now it was your turn, get ready and sleep. Maybe tomorrow you could all hang out again. But first, let's clean up a bit; you thought as you glanced over at the coffee table in the living room, before you started gathering stuff. Of course Bakugo beat you to it and was already washing some dishes.
"So i assume you didn't want to clean up whatever happened in the guys' room?" You broke the silence while heading into the kitchen space.
"Zero fucking chance I'm gonna be cleaning a dunce face's fucking mess!" he groaned in your direction, before adding in a calmer way "Let's just get this over with; s'annoying".
Katsuki was surprisingly tidy, you liked that; it was almost a routine for both of you to help clean after a get together no matter whose house it was. You knew what to expect, he'd clean the dishes, but would refuse to put them back into the cupboards and just leave them. That was your task.
"And.. i assume your date yesterday wasn't good either, huh?" Your friend broke the silence; not really mocking, he even seemed to be a bit curious.
"Yeah, well. The date was fine." You shrugged while organizing cups in the sink. "Conversation was quite good, looks were amazing.. but, man, that was the worst kiss I've ever had!" An unfiltered laughed came out of Bakugo's mouth, grabbing one last dirty bowl. "I'm serious, Katsuki. I'm so tired of being disappointed constantly. I thought i finally got my interest in someone, but look, i still had to make excuses to make him go to his own home".
He gave you an amused little smile, "you know, not everyone has had extensive practice", his hands were quick to go to his pants to pat them dry, but you extended him a tea towel.
"Hm? You mean to tell me the great Bakugo Katsuki didn't excel on his first try?" Now it was you who wore the teasing smile. Those red eyes narrowed, but you knew better than to wait for his reply, "I guess at least you make them feel good, you know? Like I'm sure with your personality, you at least try; most don't!"
"Damn, now what the fuck are you thinking about? ..fucking pervert" That was definitely an unexpected line from you, an unnoticeable blush invaded his ears though. He was mentally cursing at the countertop lights for being bright enough to let you see each other.
"Agh, you're the perverted one! I just want someone to try" you scoffed, "someone to grab my hand..." your hand reached for his, getting really into the fantasy of your perfect date that was playing in your head, "You know? when you're eating but he's playing with your fingers?" you showed him, interlocking fingers and stroking his thumb with yours, "or like those Bridgerton-like series where the love of your life invites you to dance.." you swayed into him, only realizing of the closeness between you two once your back bumped into his chest.
"You're an idiot, those aren't real" The words were harsh, but the voice seemed softer than you've ever heard it before. You looked up and regretted it the second you found those unwavering eyes on you already, heat going instantly into your face.
Your hand felt incredibly hot too, noticing the interlocking of fingers was still there, not really letting you go. You were used to seeing red in your best friend's eyes, but that same shade on his ears was new.
What was happening? you knew you two were the sober ones, but this whole atmosphere was intoxicating. Your legs even threatened to falter. You swore you saw Katsuki lean in a fraction, as if you weren't close enough, but he stopped at that, just a fraction.
"Waah, that was a lot. Sero went straight to bed too" a familiar voice broke into the slow motion of the whole moment, making you awkwardly push your friend away. "I see you guys are almost done here, nice!"
"It's under control, damn shitty hair." Bakugo's voice was probably more hostile than what he intended.
"Are ya okay though? Did you drink? 'cause you're also red." Wow your friend at least noticed that and not.. the rest.
"Shut it. I'm surely coming down with some shit. I’ll just take the sofa for tonight.” He was tense, eyes not making contact with either of you and a hand on his jaw and facing the away from the light source behind you to hide his expression.
After some back and forth, the redhead dropped it, still hesitantly he directed himself to the bathroom. (not wanting to fight the already frustrated Bakugo, definitely).
"..Katsuki?" Your voice trembled, his name barely making it past your lips once you heard the bathroom door close. "I– i.. sorry i got so close, i know you don't like contact" you did a small forced laugh, not really knowing how to let this pass.
"When have I ever refused any contact with you?" He muttered under his breath, eyes still looking to the opposite side from you; he was right though, you were one of the few people he let near his personal space. "You fucking need to stop thinking about stupid stuff though".
"My desires are not stupid stu–"
"You were doing that with me!" Bakugo turned around as he snapped back, swiftly finding your eyes, "so unless you want that with me, you should stop"
Hearts were beating so fast, those eyes still unwavering even after all the heat of your body rushed to your face at all of the new images that started popping in your head. You were so used to Bakugo's presence in your life almost everyday for years, you were used to his voice, his sharp comments, his competitiveness, but also to his laugh, to his care and to his warmth; yet, all this years, he had been just your friend. Right? Right? Was it the same for him? Your brain tried to remember everything and anything that could let you know what he was thinking right now.
"Tsk, that's what i thought" His eyes finally leaving yours.
"Wait.." you tensed up, feeling that gaze again, "do you..–"
"Stop. Thinking. Stupid. Stuff." He scolded while pressing a finger to your forehead. He inched closer until you felt the cold kitchen counter on your back, Bakugo's arms caging you on each side, "There's a line we shouldn't cross, do you understand?"
"Do you want to?" Your voice trembled, you didn't know if it was due to excitement, or fear, maybe a bit of both, of what it could be.
A smirk formed across his face, "You really are curious, huh?" his breath was caressing you, lips just hovering above yours.
"Yeah" You felt how your friend stopped breathing for a second after your confession.
"Fuck– stop. You don't mean that."
A spark of confidence made you do it. A tiptoe up was enough for your lips to meet his; barely a peck. Everything stopped. You could hear your heartbeat as you studied those widened ruby eyes before they closed.
Warm lips met yet again, goosebumps overruning your body, making you painfully aware of Katsuki's body pressing yours against the counter. It wasn't enough, you weren't close enough. Your hands made their way up to his nape, pulling him closer and earning you a small groan from him. Lips were gliding smoothly over each other without a rush in the world, but hungry, as if they longed to be together.
His hand traveled up the curve of your spine, as you felt his tongue request entrance to your mouth, gentler than expected. You melted into each other's arms, and you mentally were thankful for his extra support as Katsuki's tongue wrestling with yours made your legs feel weaker than usual. You were sure you forgot how to breathe when you felt small butterfly kisses being traced from your lips, to your jaw, to your neck.
"Stop me." He murmured against the sensitive skin of your collarbone. A plea, with the last bit of self control he had left inside.
"No".
Another playful smirk appeared on him before he tensed his muscles to hold you even closer. The kiss that followed was more determined and needy, eager to explore every inch of your mouth, to memorize it, as if everything he kept telling himself about staying under control and draw a line had vanished with your answer. Fuck that, he never wanted a line to begin with. Did he? He had pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind long time ago.
Shivers spread through your back when you felt Bakugo's rough hands travel down and under your top. An embarrassing whimper came out of you, your head barely making sense of what was happening, what you were feeling. But you didn’t want it to stop. His hands caressed your sides before finding their way to your waist to grip it firmly, to keep you there and continue biting his lower lip just so you could brush it with your tongue right after. Before you knew, your hips were moving against him, or at least trying to since his grip on you didn’t let you find friction by yourself.
"Now, they're sleeping" He reminded, inching away from you with half lidded eyes, "promise to keep it down and I'll continue".
A quick nod was everything you could answer, you knew that your voice would tremble if you tried to speak up. He kept that small distance, just enough for you both to be able to see his left hand slowly lower and find your core. His fingers traced a couple of painfully slow circles on your fully clothed clit. He just studied your every reaction, how you threw your head back, how your lips slightly parted and how your hips moved towards his touch. So hot, he thought.
His mouth made contact with your skin again, nipping and nibbling at the clothed and bare parts from your ear downwards. and down. He mouthed at your breasts a couple of times making you grunt at the teasing sensation, only to be distracted by a swift tug at the waist of your pants. The denim fabric soon rested around your ankles, leaving you feeling vulnerable to Katsuki’s touch and the cool room temperature. Down again. Until he was kneeling in front of you, dilated pupils fixed on yours, and a characteristic tug upwards of his lips.
You couldn’t stop the moan that came out when your clit was engulfed in his mouth. An overwhelming sensation flooding your lower abdomen every time a circle was traced over the cotton fabric covering your core. He savored how you enjoyed his mouth, leaving you unstable on your legs and doing everything to control your voice; just like you promised him. Your uncharacteristic obedience sending his mind running to the horniest thoughts he’s had in a long time. His hands danced along your thighs, giving regular squeezes to the sweet flesh on them, sometimes wandering under your panties to your back,
“Kats..suki.. ngggh, just take them off” you whimpered through, “stop teasing–”.
A scolding gnaw on your clit made you arch your back and hands shoot to his hair. He flicked his tongue once, twice, before you heard a chuckle and felt his fingers hook the fabric to finally slide it to the side.
“Just ‘cuz you’re being s’good”
You soon wished the room was even darker to hide the expression painted on your face when his lips captured your sensitive nub. He hummed at your taste and tighten the grip on your hips, all too pleased when you didn’t know if you wanted to squirm away or grind down on his tongue for more. Before he knew, his hips kept bucking up onto nothing, grunting each time his pants gave him any amount of friction; making your legs shake with the vibration. His tongue explored every inch of your soaking folds, flicking, teasing, nibbling around while lewd juices dripped down his chin. It wasn’t long before the room was filled with obscene noises, a mixture of his tongue working, ragged breathing and whimpering.
Your own arousal became too much when seeing katsuki’s forehead wrinkle in concentration, face buried between your thighs, nose nudging at your clit, more immersed in his tongue lapping at your folds than he would ever admit. Your insides craved for more, clenching around nothing, a sensation that became even more powerful when you could feel your peak getting nearer. You craved for him. But his hands were busy either kneading at the plump part of your ass or opening your folds to gain more access. He would definitely be ashamed of the eagerness he was eating you out with if it wasn’t because of the lust clouding his brain.
“more, i– m’gonna” eyes loosing focus, fingers clenching at those blonde strands.
He just hummed in approval and doubled down, stimulating and sucking on your clit; not caring about the tiredness of his muscle or the pain in his neglected lower region, determined to hear you drown in pleasure for him. Almost, more, you thought as you pulled him closer, hips starting to move on their own in search of his tongue. You pressed one hand against your mouth when you felt your orgasm wash over your body, sounds slipping through just enough to send shivers through Katsuki’s body down to his twitching erection. Sweet sounds that only encouraged him to keep you feeling that good for a little bit longer, just enough to see you trembling over him.
He soothed you with his thumbs on your hips as you came back down and he started to get on his feet. The ache on his knees was less than the one in his pants, but both were overpowered by the pure satisfaction he felt when he finally was at his usual level, eyes meeting your glossy ones, vision still blurred, breath still ragged. He couldn’t believe how long he has lived without a sight like this. A thumb wiped his chin before he leaned in to plant a deep kiss, letting you taste yourself, but soft enough to let you get back to your senses.
“As much as it pains me, we’ll have to end it here… for tonight.” he whispered against your mouth in between kisses.
“I wanna touch you..” you blushed at your confession after it slipped past your lips, making him let out a breathy laugh.
“No condom, sorry pretty” you shuddered at the sudden nickname while he still planted soft kisses and continued warily, maybe even a bit shy to put his wants out in the open like that, “we could– meet some other day and–”
“I’ve got a couple in my bag”
fuckfuckfuck this is really happening.
------
this got too long~ i could write the next... scene too.
If anyone is wondering, yeah- kirishima heard everything (:
He was confused at first, stumbling a bit when getting out of the toilet. saw some lights on and wanted to turn them off but heard the.. whimpering. Poor guy ran to his room (with the other guys already sleeping), blushing mess, steadily growing reaction and probably a bit traumatized by what he just heard.
the one where your best friend megumi fushiguro is over your shitty taste in men- so he ruins you for anyone else
warnings ⋆.˚ mdni, smut, bestfriend!megumi, female!reader, angst, reader calls him 'mi and i think its adorable, sweet moment when he confesses, megumi's a freak lowkey, vouyerism/exhibitionism for a hot sec, masturbation, teasing, pet names (baby), dirty talk, praise, piv, oral (f), fingering, squirting, he gets possessive, thigh slapping, pussy slapping, cum eating, finger sucking, unprotected sex (wrap it up), cum facial
wc ⋆.˚ 4.8k
megumi wanted to be supportive, truly. it took every ounce of willpower in his body to not go after the nth guy that just broke your heart and give him a good punch to the face. it also took a lot of self-restraint for him to not roll his eyes and go off on you for, once again, having shit taste in men. he didn’t understand what you saw in them, none different from the rest. they were all sleazy, unable to commit, and had a personality dry as hell.
megumi wanted you to choose him. it’s not that you didn’t, far from it– you were best friends. but his body, mind, and soul craved more than just weeknights on your living room couch, stuffing popcorn into each other’s mouths as you complained about the poorly written plot of the movie you picked together at random. instead, he wanted you to be perched on his lap, ignoring the low-budget film on the screen, letting it fade into the background while he stuffed you full with his cock, telling you how pretty and perfect you looked riding him. he wanted to hold your hand as you walked down the street together, surprising you with dinner reservations at your favourite spots on the weekends. he wanted to squeeze you closely against his chest while you two fell asleep yapping about nothing and everything all at once.
he never stopped feeling that way about you. first ignited during your senior year of high school, his attraction to you only grew more intense as you got older. now, in his twenties, he just felt sick to his stomach every time he witnessed you getting your heart broken. again and again. it was like clockwork, happening every few months, almost as if you craved the rejection. he knew it wasn’t true and that was just his frustration speaking. but what he did know, is that he’d never let you down like all of those assholes did. he’d cherish you in the way you deserved, treat you softly and tenderly when you wanted, but also rough and dirty when you craved to be wrecked.
he’d known you long enough to learn all of the different sides of you. he memorized the way your mouth twitched when you were angry, how you squealed in a very specific manner when you were excited, how your pupils dilated and lips slightly parted when you were turned on. but he never pointed it out to you nor laid his hands on you, no, he just watched. observed. silently taking notes on what it took to both make you happy and rile you up.
he heard you moaning on multiple occasions, whether it was from your own hands or the guy you were seeing at the time, his hands filthily stroking his cock from your living room couch as he repeated your name over and over again in his mind, coming into his hands to sweet thoughts of you and your pretty sounds ringing through his ears. you were comfortable enough around him to be as open as you were when it came to your sexual rendezvous. in fact, you refused to admit it to yourself, but you liked the idea of him hearing you and getting off on it. he often crashed at your place when he worked late since your apartment was closer to his office, and though he never admitted it nor had you asked, you figured he probably did touch himself to your sounds.
you, however, truly had no idea how much you were affecting megumi. you didn’t know how many times he spilled himself down the sides of his wrist to the beautiful melody of your whines, only suspecting. he felt dirty for doing it, but fuck, you were so perfect and pretty– everything about you– he just couldn’t help himself.
“could you pass me the chips?” you asked, interrupting his thoughts. megumi cleared his throat, quickly grabbing the bag off the end table beside him and handing it to you. “thanks, ‘mi,” you smiled, legs shifting on his lap.
he tried to ignore your innocent brushes against his cock. you were too engrossed in the movie to notice, because you sure as hell would have felt his boner by now if you were paying close enough attention.
“you’re killing me,” megumi muttered to himself.
you tilted your head at him for a moment. “did you say something?”
“no.”
megumi barely remembered the movie. his eyes were too focused on the way you sucked the salt from the chips off of your fingers, imagining it was your own cum instead. or his as you’d swipe the residue off of your lips right after he filled your mouth.
he sighed to himself, mind already gone. for the past few weeks, things had become extremely difficult for him. he’d been doing so well up until this point, or so he thought.
he was sick of hearing about the person you were seeing recently, some guy named yuji, eyes rolling subtly whenever you’d gush about how hot and kind he was. which boyfriend was this now? number fifteen? megumi didn’t care. he tried to. but he just couldn't bring himself to support you anymore, lying when he’d tell you to have fun on your dates when he really just wanted to ask you to stay.
“i’m going to sleep,” megumi announced suddenly, lifting your legs off of his lap and standing up from the couch, “if you’re staying in here to finish the movie, i’m taking the bed.” his tone was noticeably sour.
he had already closed the bedroom door behind him before you had time to protest.
you scoffed, clipping the bag of chips closed before sitting up and crossing your arms. “what’s his problem lately?” you tsked.
despite your curiosity, you just let him be to get over whatever attitude he was having and passed out on the couch right as the credits started rolling.
you awoke at 3 am to the sound of light clanging from the kitchen a few feet away, eyes groggily opening to see megumi pouring himself a glass of water. you just watched him through tired lids, lifting yourself subconsciously from the couch to walk over towards him. turns out you were thirsty, too.
“move,” you teased, still half asleep as you stepped in front of the tiny gap he left between him and the counter to reach up into the cabinet for a glass.
he froze, eyes squeezing shut tightly as your ass brushed against his core. he was too tired to think straight, gritting his teeth as he set his glass down on the counter in front of you with a quiet slam before grabbing your hips and turning you around to face him. you squealed, nearly dropping the glass in your own hand, but megumi already anticipated that, his fingers wrapping around yours to keep it steady as he gently lowered your arm to place it down next to his.
he let go, though his other hand stayed perched on your hip.
“w–what are you doing?” you gulped. something had shifted. your cheeks ran hot.
“you’re always like this,” he chuckled, low and dark, breath falling down your ear as he leaned over to whisper, “oblivious to everything you say and do.”
you inhaled sharply as his thumb pressed into your hip bone. “meg–”
he released his grip on you, stepping back from your body and turned to leave the kitchen. “sleep well, y/n,” is all he said, sending a wave in your direction with his back still turned to you.
you just stood there, stunned and confused. he’d never done anything like that, leaving you wondering what the hell he was talking about. “w–what,” you exhaled, still feeling flustered, “what the fuck?”
✧･ﾟ: ✧
you didn’t wake up again until 10 am, the sound of a loud thud originating from the bathroom and megumi’s scream jolting you awake.
“ah, fuck!” he cursed. you could hear him hissing in pain.
without hesitation, you jumped up from the couch and ran to the bathroom, pushing the door open concerned. you were lucky he forgot to lock it. “megumi, are you oka–”
you froze, mouth falling open as you realized he was completely naked, mid-stepping out of the shower. he just looked at you, eyes wide while he frantically grabbed the towel from the rack and wrapped it around his waist.
“do you know how to knock?” he asked, voice tinted with annoyance and nervousness, silently thanking the gods he grabbed his towel in time before you saw his growing boner.
“s–sorry,” you stuttered, eyes hastily searching around the room to focus on anything else but him, “i thought you hurt yourself, i got scared.”
“i bumped my head on the shower rod, but i’m fine.”
“that's good, then.” the silence was deafening; so many unspoken words and feelings fighting to break through your chests. “...i’m gonna go now.” you finished awkwardly.
“yeah, that’s probably best.”
you cleared your throat as you spun around and exited the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you. you rested your back against it for a moment, trying to catch your breath. your cheeks were on fire, thighs tightening, stomach churning. all these years being friends with megumi, being in close quarters countless times, and you never once saw him bare like that. you rarely even saw him shirtless. your brain didn’t fail to remind you of how sexy he was for the rest of the morning, every exchange of words between the two of you clearly trying to ignore the elephant in the room.
“i’ll be back in a few hours,” you said to him, not daring to look in his direction, hand resting on the front door handle, “i’m hanging out with yuji.”
“okay,” he said dryly, taking a bite of his cereal. you could feel his eyes burning into the back of your head as he sat at the dining table.
“feel free to stay or leave, or... whatever,” you murmured, before stepping out of the apartment. the door clicked shut.
megumi exhaled, slumping in his seat as he threw his hands over his face, frustrated in numerous ways. “jesus,” he sighed, “i’m going to fucking lose it.”
he spent the entire time you were away pumping iron in an attempt to rid his energy and horniness. and his annoyance about yuji’s existence in your life. he was dripping in sweat, defeating the purpose of his shower from earlier. at least you had texted him you were going to be away for an additional hour, so he was able to clean up without the risk of you walking in on him again.
he settled on the couch afterwards, flipping on the playstation to pass the time until you got home. he could hear you giggling from down the apartment hallway approaching the door. he felt sick when he heard a second voice that belonged very obviously to none other than yuji. he wasn’t looking forward to seeing his face when you two entered the apartment.
“hey, megumi, i’m back!” you greeted, voice sing-songy and sweet. he was hoping the sofa would swallow him whole. “i brought yuji, too,” you smiled brightly, but it faltered when you saw the subtle unamused expression on his face as he turned to look at you now standing in the doorway. you thought spending the day with yuji would help rid the… unexpected feelings from the morning, but once you saw megumi again, they all came rushing back. “we’ll just hang out in my room, we won’t bother you,” you sent another smile his way, forced, weaker, grabbing yuji’s hand and pulling him along with you towards the bedroom.
yuji didn’t notice the look of distaste resting on megumi’s face. “nice to meet you, man,” he said politely before disappearing down the hall with you.
megumi wanted to scream. he wanted to barge in there and make yuji leave. his jealousy was eating him alive to the point that he thought he’d snap at any moment.
he was always there for you. since day one. through all of your happy and terrible times. he knew of your flaws, yet still loved you despite them. you were so fucking beautiful that he didn’t know how the fuck he had managed to successfully hide his feelings from you for this long. what was so appealing about these random guys you dated short term? was it the sex? was it the thrill of novelty? was it actually you who was the problem in these relationships?
his head was spinning, and it only got worse as he tried to drown out your low moans coming from the bedroom. he should have known better. he shouldn't have stayed. he should have gone back home already.
irritated, he stood up and left the apartment, sending a quick text for you to check whenever you and yuji were done. he gagged at the image of you two going at it in his head.
megumi: i’ll come back later, let me know when he’s gone. i need to talk to you.
all he could do at this point was swallow his nerves and tell you how he felt. because if he didn’t do it now, he probably never would. and it would only end up in him exploding without warning and possibly destroying his relationship with you.
✧･ﾟ: ✧
yuji had already left the apartment, leaving you in an oversized t-shirt with nothing but panties underneath and disheveled hair. you saw megumi’s text, gut clenching as you read it. you weren’t sure what he needed to tell you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling it would be something unnerving. ‘i need to talk to you’ were hardly ever positive words in most circumstances, no matter coming from megumi or someone else.
you finished eating a light dinner, which is about all you could stomach– ham sandwich with a small bag of chips on the side– while you waited for him to return to your apartment after responding to his text. about fourty-five minutes later, you heard a soft knock at the front door.
your heart leaped as you stood up from the dining room table immediately to let him in.
your eyes widened when you saw the state of him. he looked like a wreck, eyes red and face slightly pale. “have you… been crying?” you asked gently, head tilting with concern, “is everything okay?”
“no,” he huffed running his fingers through his hair as he stepped past you into the apartment, clearly dealing with something pressing. “i’m not okay at all.”
you frowned. “what’s going on?”
and then he stopped pacing, eyes landing on you, lids dropping into an unreadable expression as your heart began to thump wildly against your ribcage. what was the atmosphere?
“you're what’s going on,” he finally said, voice cracking as if he was in the midst of breaking.
your lips parted, confused and pondering on what he said. “what do you mean?”
he sighed, “i’m saying that i– fuck,” he threw his head back, took a deep breath, then stepped closer to you. you were shaking, but not out of fear; out of anticipation. “god, y/n,” he groaned, “do you have any idea what you do to me?”
“i don’t–”
he kept going, pouring his feelings out like water from a broken glass. “i have spent years smiling and acting like everything was fine, like i didn’t want to hold you and kiss you every fucking second of the day.” you swallowed hard. “all those guys you swear are the one, fuck, i just want to smash their faces in every time they make you cry.”
“megu–”
“i’ve tried to be a good friend, i really fucking have, but shit,” he couldn’t go back now. he had already started, so he had to finish it, “i’m in love with you. i have been for years and you just keep walking around in here like you have no fucking clue.”
you just stood there, stunned, heart pulsing, head processing. megumi was in love with you? since when? why hadn’t he said anything before?
“i didn’t know,” you finally said, voice quiet.
“because i was afraid that if you did, it would ruin what we have.”
you were looking at him now. he seemed so tired and worn out from carrying his strong emotions for so long. you stepped forward, just enough to reach your hand up to cup his face. he released a shaky breath.
“‘mi,” you started slowly, “you should know me well enough by now that telling me your feelings wouldn’t push me away.”
his eyes lowered, full of sadness and a bit of shame for discrediting you. “you’re right,” he said, “i should have told you sooner.”
you offered a reassuring smile. “thank you for telling me now.”
he nodded, throat tight. “right, of course, yeah– you don’t need to answer right away or anything, i just,” he paused to breathe, “needed to let you know.”
you spent the next week thinking about your conversation with megumi. he didn’t reach out, just allowing you the space to process things. you even found yourself ignoring yuji’s messages and calls, mind constantly going back to your best friend any time you thought about going out with him again. he was sweet, but megumi had a point. every guy you met did eventually make you cry, for various reasons; some just a little painful, others far more heartbreaking.
megumi never left your side, no matter what you were dealing with. and you too realized, even within your scattered activities, you never left his, either. not once had he ever made you break down in tears from anything bad, only from joy and laughter.
you went over to his apartment this time, something you hadn’t done in a while– the two of you just seemed to fall naturally into the rhythm of always spending time at yours.
“come in,” he smiled nervously, stepping aside so you could enter the apartment. he didn’t know what to expect from the conversation you were about to have; you were either going to give him a chance or break his heart.
you took a seat on the couch, fingers fiddling nervously in your lap. he sat beside you, leaving a small gap between your bodies, just to test where things stood with both of you.
“i ended things with yuji,” you said suddenly, nearly whispering.
“oh,” megumi swallowed, “are you feeling okay?”
you looked at him and laughed. he was confused. “you don’t have to pretend to care, i know you wanted him gone.”
“that’s not what i–,” megumi took a deep breath, “i care about you and your feelings, y/n, not some random guy you were with,” he smiled softly, “so tell me, are you okay?”
“yeah,” you nodded, being truthful, “i can tell you honestly that i’m okay.”
“that’s good.”
a silence fell over the two of you for a few minutes, allowing you more time to process and think about the direction you wanted the conversation to go in.
“you know,” you started, “i’ve been thinking really hard about this, and you know what i figured out?”
“what’s that?” he asked, cautiously.
“that the signs were there all along, and i was just too fucking blind to see it, constantly chasing these other guys i thought would fix me, to change all the parts i hate in myself.”
“you don't have to change yourself for someone,” megumi assured, placing a hand gently on your knee.
you smiled. “for you i don’t.” his eyes went wide as you continued, your hand moving to rest atop his. his brain started to short-circuit; were you about to give him a chance? “you’ve always taken care of me and accepted every side of me, good and bad,” you squeezed him, “no one else has ever loved me like you do.” you looked at him, eyes telling, “so will you keep doing that? you know, loving me?” megumi just stared, blinking astonished. “and i’ll do my best for you, too.”
“holy shit,” he breathed, mouth moving faster than his brain, “i can’t believe it,” you chuckled at his surprise, “you actually want me?”
your smile became more flirtatious as you scooted your body closer to him, taking the risk of wrapping your arms around his neck. he inhaled sharply, your faces just mere millimeters away from touching one another. “well, yeah,” you giggled, leaning in slowly. megumi forgot what oxygen was, “i’m sorry it took me so long to realize it.”
you closed the gap, megumi’s hands finding your waist as he kissed you gently. your lips tasted like strawberries, just like he always dreamed they would, skin so soft he couldn't wait to explore every inch of you. the kiss turned heated quickly, your fingers tugging at his strands while his hands slipped underneath your shirt.
“bedroom,” you muttered against his mouth.
megumi couldn’t keep his hands off of you, the two of you sloppily making out and stumbling the whole way into the room. you chuckled when the back of your thighs hit the mattress and he toppled over on top of you.
“shit, y/n,” he breathed, pulling back to impatiently rip off your shirts, “your lips taste so sweet.”
“wait until you taste my other pair,” you teased, sending him a wink.
he groaned. “you can’t just say that, oh my god,” he watched as you unclasped your bra and tossed it aside somewhere, “fuck,” drool forming in the corners of his mouth when he finally got to see your pretty tits, “you’re going to be the fucking death of me.”
his mouth attached to your hardened nipples immediately, a soft cry falling from your lips from the contact.
“so good, ‘mi,” you sighed, body shifting in his hold, “touch me more.”
he obliged, one hand moving upwards to cup your free breast while the other crawled up the insides of your thighs. he gripped your plush legs intensely before lifting his hand and giving it a slap. you moaned, body jolting from the sensation. he groaned, your hips brushing against his bulge.
“so perfect,” he whispered, leaning up to move his head towards your clothed core, “and all fucking mine.” he unbuttoned your pants, pulling them off of your body swiftly before dropping his head down to your cunt, spreading your folds apart for easier access. “god, look at you,” he moaned, salivating, “you’re soaked this much already?” he tapped your clit with the tip of his tongue, chuckling as you whimpered and chased him with your hips for more, “needy little thing, hm?”
“do something,” you whined, hands grabbing the back of his head to push him down against your cunt. he resisted, having too much fun teasing you.
he tsked. “what, yuji not fuck you right?” he smirked, lightly tapping your clit again, fingertips resting right at your entrance. “that why you’re so impatient?” he pushed his fingers in a little further, shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he watched your mouth part wider in anticipation. “he couldn’t make you come?”
“shut up, megumi,” you rolled your eyes, fingers curling into the sheets as he finally flattened his tongue on your bundle of nerves, “fuck!”
he paused again, lids falling dark as he looked up at you, chin resting on your pelvis. he smirked. “who's the one shutting up now?”
you glared at him, “you fucking–”
he didn’t give you a chance to finish your clap back, shoving his fingers into your hole and curling into your gummy walls, finding your sweet spot instantaneously. his tongue circled your clit sloppily, your sweet arousal coating his cheeks as he buried his face deep inside of you.
“fuck– i’m– shit–” you gasped, stuttering as he pressed up into the spot that made your toes curl one final time, releasing your juices all over his fingers and face. he moaned against you, eyes rolling backwards as he filthy licked and slurped your pussy, swallowing every last drop of your cum.
“my pretty baby,” he cooed, trailing kisses along your body as he made his way back up to your face, “gonna ruin you for everyone else.”
he kissed your lips, hard, you melting into him and relishing in the taste of your release on his tongue. you rutted your hips into him, desperately needing his cock to fill you up. he laughed against your mouth, hand sliding down your torso to reach your dripping sex. he coated his fingers in your arousal before giving it a hard, wet slap. you jolted, a whimper escaping your mouth and down his throat.
“not enough?” he pulled away, smiling wickedly, “need to come some more?”
“fuck, baby,” you breathed, pawing at his arms to pull him closer, “need you inside of me.”
megumi leaned over and bit your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin as your nails dug into his biceps, sighing blissfully. “you sound the prettiest when you're begging for my cock,” he whispered, low and raspy, as his lips ran across your skin up to your earlobe. he bit down once before sitting up to remove his pants, kicking them off his ankles onto the floor.
your eyes glossed over at the sight of him, tip angry and dripping. he smiled proudly, stroking himself a few times to ready himself for you. you gasped as he slid inside your cunt, filling up your walls and bottoming you out slowly. he hissed at the feeling of you clenching around him, sucking him in. “s–shit,” he moaned, “you feel even better than i imagined.”
he started to move, cock pistoning against your cervix at a steady pace as your synchronized breaths grew heavy, you bending your knees to assist him in stuffing you even fuller. he pushed them back further by your thighs, a guttural groan escaping you as his tip reached your deepest pleasure point, body arching from the contact.
“harder, ‘mi,” you choked, arms falling limp onto the mattress. you screamed as he started speeding up, filthy, loud sounds of his pelvis slapping against your ass filling up every corner of the room. you were drooling, lips coated and red.
megumi gritted his teeth, pressing a thumb into your clit to push you over the edge again, both of you nearing the breaking point of your release. your nails scratched down his back as your body recoiled continuously from him pounding into you relentlessly.
“such a good girl for me,” he purred, mouth agape and eyes glassy, lost in the way you squeezed his cock. “bet yuji never made you feel like this, huh?”
“n-no,” you gasped, back arching, whines dripping off your tongue.
“who do you belong to?” megumi taunted, filling your cunt with an incalculable speed, your bodies so blissed out and overstimulated you both didn’t want to stop. “say my name.”
“megumi!” you cried, body convulsing as you began to come undone. he began to slow his thrusts, but made them even deeper.
“louder.”
“holy shit– fuck,” you screamed, knuckles turning white from your intense grip on the sheets, “fuck, megumi, i’m coming!”
he snickered as he released a growl, circling your clit even faster as he felt you coat his cock with your cum. “that’s it, baby,” he was grunting, sending short thrusts into you, “spill all over me.”
you were trembling beneath him, megumi grabbing your hair to force your head up off the mattress as he pulled out of you at the last second and released his hot ropes of cum on your face. you whined, sticking out your tongue as you tried to catch his seed to swallow. laughing elated, you licked your lips, eyes fluttering up at him flirtatiously as you moaned from his taste.
“tastes so good, baby,” you cooed, biting your lip.
megumi exhaled heavily, still gripping your hair, groaning at the sight of his release dripping all over your face. “fuck,” he swore, “you look so pretty wearing my cum.”
“i’ll wear your cum any day,” you taunted, sliding onto your knees as you stayed positioned like that in front of him. your eyes flickered from his length just inches away from your lips up to his eyes. you wanted him to wreck you even more.
“shit,” he laughed, shoving his fingers in your mouth as he stared at you. he let out a broken rasp as you sucked on them. “not done? you still want more?”
you nodded, humming around his digits, tongue coating every inch. “mmm– want you to break me.”
he fell into a smug look, leaning over so his breath was grazing your face. “oh, baby,” he sang, “did i completely ruin you already?”
accidentally baby trapping satoru while riding him
the room is thick with the smell of sex and sweat. gojo is sprawled beneath you on the ruined sheets, his usual infinity long gone, silver hair sticking to his damp forehead. his chest rises and falls rapidly, pale skin flushed pink all the way down to the sharp v of his hips. you’ve already made him cum once, but you never stopped riding him. now he’s overstimulated, cock still rock-hard and throbbing inside your soaked pussy, every drag of your walls making him twitch and curse.
“fuck—baby, slow down,” he groans, voice hoarse and broken. his fingers dig bruises into your hips as you grind down on him again, taking every inch until his tip kisses your cervix. “i’m too sensitive—shit— you’re gonna kill me.”
you’re not listening. not really. your own orgasm is already building again, hot and vicious, your clit grinding against his pelvis with every roll of your hips. you’re dripping down his cock, creamy white streaks of both your releases coating his shaft and dripping onto his balls. the wet, filthy sounds echo with every bounce.
“you feel so fucking good, satoru…” you whimper, bracing your hands on his abs and lifting yourself until only his flushed tip is inside you, then slamming back down hard. his cock stretches you so perfectly, thick and veiny, pulsing against your walls like it was made for you.
gojo’s head tips back, white lashes fluttering, mouth open in a silent moan. “princess—ahh—fuck, i’m serious. i’m gonna cum again if you keep—ngh—keep squeezing me like that.” his abs tense under your palms, hips jerking up involuntarily to meet your rhythm.
you lean forward, pressing your tits against his chest, and start riding him faster. the new angle makes his cock drag right over that spongy spot inside you with every thrust. your pussy flutters and clenches greedily around him, milking his overstimulated length without mercy.
“shit—wait, baby—slow— i’m close again,” he gasps, voice cracking. his hands slide up your back, then back down to grip your ass, trying to control your pace. “you gotta pull off— i can’t— fuck, i’m gonna cum inside if you don’t—pull out—!”
the words barely register. everything feels too good. his cock is swelling even thicker inside you, twitching wildly, the heat of him overwhelming. your thighs burn, your clit throbs, and another orgasm is rushing up on you like a freight train. instead of lifting off, you grind down harder, rolling your hips in tight circles so his cock stirs deep in your pussy.
you cum with a broken cry, walls clamping down around him like a vice. your cunt spasms violently, rhythmic pulses squeezing and fluttering around his cock as pleasure whites out your vision. gojo chokes on a moan, hips stuttering up into you.
“fuck— no, wait— i’m cumming— i’m—!”
he tries to pull you off at the last second, but your thighs lock tight around his waist, keeping him buried to the hilt. thick, hot ropes of cum flood deep inside you as he cums harder than the first time. pulse after heavy pulse, his cock jerking and spurting against your cervix while your pussy keeps milking him through your own orgasm. you don’t stop moving—riding him through it in sloppy, desperate strokes, prolonging both your highs until his cum is leaking out around his cock with every bounce.
gojo’s eyes roll back, a wrecked, broken sound leaving his throat as you keep fucking yourself on his oversensitive dick. “too much—fuck— you’re still going—hah— you little menace…”
only when your orgasm finally ebbs do you collapse onto his chest, both of you panting, trembling, and covered in sweat. his cock is still buried deep in your cum-stuffed pussy, twitching weakly with aftershocks. you can feel how full you are—his warm seed sloshing inside you with every tiny shift of your hips.
gojo lets out a breathless, slightly delirious laugh, wrapping his strong arms around you and holding you flush against him. one hand slides down to press firmly on your lower belly, right where his cum is settled deep.
“you… you didn’t pull off,” he murmurs against your hair, voice rough and sex-drunk. there’s a dark, possessive edge beneath the amusement. “i told you to pull out and you just rode me harder. greedy girl.”
you hide your flushed face in his neck, smiling against his skin as you give one slow, lazy roll of your hips. his cock twitches inside you again, pushing more of his cum deeper.
“oops,” you whisper, clenching around him on purpose.
gojo groans, hips bucking up weakly. “yeah… real convincing ‘oops.’” he kisses the top of your head, then tilts your chin up so he can claim your mouth in a messy, tongue-heavy kiss. when he pulls back, his blue eyes are half-lidded and hungry. “guess you baby-trapped me, huh? fuck… why is that so hot?”
his hand rubs slow circles over your belly. you can feel his cock starting to harden again inside your messy, cum-filled cunt.
“you’re not going anywhere,” he says, voice dropping lower as he starts rocking up into you again, slow and deep. “not until i fill you up at least one more time. since we’re already making a mess… might as well commit.”
you moan softly, already moving with him.
looks like you’re keeping every single drop tonight.
Yuji hovers above you, sweat beading on his forehead, arms straining against the bed on either side of your head. His fingers tangle in your hair, his hands holding you gently as he rolls his hips into you.
“You feel so good around me sweet girl,” he says, voice rough with passion and desire, his cock sliding in and out of your pussy at a slow pace.
Your breathing comes in short gasps with every thrust, his cock filling you up until no empty space was left inside you, until the only thing you knew was him. Moans fall from your soft lips, mouth hanging open ever so slightly, tears staining your cheeks from the pleasure coursing through your body.
He places soft kisses to the corner of your lips, along your jaw, down your neck and shoulder. Cock sliding out and back in like waves in the ocean, he’s hitting your cervix, brushing against your sweet spot before pulling out until only the tip remains just to do it all over again.
“H-harder Yuji, p-please,” you stutter, nails digging into the rough skin of his abdomen, legs bent in the air only spreading wider for him to reach deeper.
Yuji loves to fuck you slow; he likes to watch your face screw into one of pleasure, for your body to squirm under his until you cum on him, but sometimes you just want him to be rough with you.
“You know I can’t last long when I fuck you hard baby,” he groans, lifting his head up just enough to place a soft kiss to your ear.
“Please Y-Yuji,” you beg, gazing up at him with the same teary-eyed fucked out look that could make him cum with the first slide in.
Burying his face in your neck, he fixes his grip on you, holding you tighter underneath him. Snapping his hips against you, you whimper out from the difference in thrusts, the feeling of his cock pounding inside of you enough to bring you to the brink of your orgasm. It didn’t help that his mouth where small whimpers and groans fell from was right by your ear, hearing his pleasure only added to your own.
“So tight... f-fuck... you’re doing so good for me... this pussy is all mine to take care of...”
The praises go straight to the heat pooling in your lower belly. Your nipples rub against Yuji’s chest, his abdomen dragging against your clit every time he rubs his cock on your cervix. You wrap your arms around him, nails dragging down his back, listening to him whimper and whine from the pleasurable pain.
“This what you want, baby? Want me to make you feel good, huh?”
“Y-yes Yuji, p-please make me c-cum,” you stutter, eyes shutting tight from how full you are, drool dripping down your chin without shame from how good he is making you feel.
His hips snap harder against you, eager to feel your release, begging with your body to feel good for him. Incoherent words leave your lips, moans mixing with his name are repeated while he fucks into you unforgivingly.
“You close baby,” he asks, groaning deep and rough with the way your walls flutter around him, clenching around his length tight.
“S-so close,” you whine, squirming your hips around, catching your sensitive bundle of nerves on his rough skin.
Lifting your hips slightly, the angle has Yuji pressing against your sweet spot, and you can’t help but come undone. Cum gushes from your entrance, dripping down the length of his cock as he continues to fuck you, your back arching from the bed as a series of curses and whimpers rumble from you.
“F-fuck, so wet baby. Feeling good because of m-me.”
He drives himself to the hilt one last time before allowing himself to release inside of you.
Long, thick ropes of warm cum fill your pussy, coating your walls in his desire, flooding back out when no more will fit. Obscene groans fill the air as his hands grip you, his hips stutter, his legs and arms tremble around you.
Hanging his head low, he rests his forehead against yours, breath mingling in the space between you. You catch your breath the best you can before lifting up to kiss him rough, not soft and needy, but like you were ready for another round.
“Lay down. I want to ride you.”
Yuji stares up at you, a small smirk spreading across his face from your words, and he is quick to listen to your demands.
synopsis: you and satoru gojo absolutely do not have a thing for each other. you only spend time together because of your shared affection for his dragon. at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself—because there’s no way you’d ever fall for the most insufferably cocky, sharp-tongued, ridiculously charming dragon rider on the entire isle of berk… right?
alternatively, in which a dragon plays matchmaker and you save satoru’s ass.
tags: fluff, mild angst, smut (oral sex, unprotected sex, fingering, riding), action, frenemies to lovers, how to train your dragon!au. pining, idiots to idiots in love. profanity, injuries, blood, reader almost drowns, etc.
word count: 16.1k
a/n: art by _3aem on x. reposted from my old blog :)
“Piss off, Gojo.”
Satoru Gojo does not piss off. You’re fairly certain he doesn’t know how to. It’s stitched into his DNA, being an annoying twat on the good days and an all-round prick on the others.
“I would,” he says. “But Sukuna really wanted head pats and for whatever reason, he thinks mine are unsatisfactory.”
The aforementioned Sukuna, of course, refers to his dragon—the last-remaining Night Fury on the Isle of Berk.
“You couldn’t have picked someone normal to bond with?” you ask the dragon.
Sukuna blinks slowly, entirely unfazed, then shifts his massive head a fraction closer to your shoulder. His scales catch the sunlight like dark, wet marble, but the way he’s leaning into you gives him all the menace of a particularly clingy housecat. A housecat with fire breath, razor claws, and the ability to level a village if he ever got bored enough.
Satoru, stretched out on the grass beside him, grins. “Don’t blame Sukuna,” he says, resting his weight back on his palms like he owns the hill, the sky, the whole bloody island. “He can’t help liking you better.”
“Everyone likes me better.”
“Mm. Bold claim.”
“True claim,” you retort. You scratch absentmindedly under Sukuna’s jaw, right where the scales give way to smooth skin, and he lets out a deep, throaty rumble of pleasure. It vibrates through the ground beneath your feet, a sound that would send most of Berk sprinting for the hills. You barely flinch. He’s impossible not to soften toward—something Satoru has weaponised far too often.
“I’m just saying,” Satoru drawls, “you might be his favourite person on the island.”
“He doesn’t have many options,” you say.
“Wow. And here I thought we were friends.”
You roll your eyes. “We are not friends.”
“Acquaintances?” he tries, silver hair glinting in the sunlight and blue eyes far too bright and mischievous and knowing.
“Barely.”
“Brutal,” he says. “You talk to all your barely-acquaintances this much?”
“Only the ones who refuse to shut up.”
“That’s most people, though.”
“Maybe you’re the problem,” you shoot back.
It’s exhausting, really, how he manages to talk in italics, every word tilted just enough to keep you bristling. He’s the single most aggravating man on the entire Isle of Berk—and that’s saying something, considering the place is full of dragon riders who think personal boundaries is a suggestion, not a rule.
You’d like to say you hate him. Really, you would. It would make things simpler. But hate implies he occupies actual space in your head, and the problem—the infuriating, inescapable problem—is that you refuse to give him the satisfaction.
“Why are you even here?” you demand finally, because you’ve learned the only way to deal with Satoru Gojo is to stay on the offensive.
“Sukuna wanted pats,” he repeats.
“Pretty sure Sukuna can find his own way here.”
“Yeah,” Satoru says, grinning wider, “but I can’t.”
You blink. “Are you—are you implying you used your dragon as an excuse to see me?”
“No,” he says immediately, dragging the vowel out. “Definitely not. I have so many better things to do.”
“Name one.”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Thinks for a second. “…Patrolling?”
“That’s not better.”
“Depends on who you ask.” He falls back fully onto the grass, folding his arms behind his head, one long leg bent at the knee. The picture of ease, like he hasn’t just dropped the suggestion that he wanted to see you and then refused to elaborate. Like he hasn’t steadily been driving you insane since the day you met him.
The wind shifts over the hill, carrying with it the salt of the distant sea. Berk stretches out below—scattered houses of stone and timber, smoke curling from chimneys, dragons wheeling in the sky above the watchtowers. Out past the cliffs, the ocean flashes silver under the sun, calm for now but never for long.
“Illegal trapping’s been getting worse,” Satory says idly after a moment.
You glance at him. “And yet you’re here annoying me instead of dealing with it?”
“Hey, I’m off-duty.”
“You’re never off-duty.”
“True,” he admits, shameless. “But my boss doesn’t need to know that.”
You roll your eyes. The boss in question is Yaga the Vast, chief of Berk, who has approximately zero patience for stragglers like Satoru and yet, somehow, keeps putting him in charge of things anyway. Probably because when he isn’t being insufferable, Satoru is annoyingly good at his job.
Sukuna shifts closer again, massive head nudging your shoulder with a low whuff. The force of it nearly knocks you off balance.
“He’s so needy,” you mutter, scratching under his jaw again.
Satoru props himself up on his elbows to watch. “You love it.”
“Do not.”
“Do too.”
“Do not.”
“Do—”
“Finish that sentence,” you warn, “and I swear I will throw you off this hill.”
He smiles, unbothered. “Can’t, gorgeous. Sukuna would just catch me.”
“Shame,” you say.
Sukuna rumbles again, louder this time, as if laughing at the both of you. Which is ridiculous, obviously. Dragons don’t laugh. Probably. You’re still scratching absentmindedly at his jaw when the shout comes from below the hill.
“Gojo! We’ve got movement near the cliffs!”
It’s one of the younger riders—Yaga’s apprentice, maybe. You don’t remember his name. He’s sprinting uphill, out of breath, waving both arms wildly.
Satoru sighs. “And here I was enjoying my day off.”
“Trappers?” you ask, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah.” He pushes to his feet. “Looks like it.”
The apprentice finally reaches the top, panting. “They spotted nets near the west cliffs,” he manages. “Could be setting up for a catch.”
Satoru dusts off his hands lazily, as though he hasn’t just been summoned to go handle the exact kind of people who would love to get their hands on a Night Fury. On Sukuna. You glance at the dragon, who’s gone very still beside you. His tail flicks once, sharp and restless.
Satoru notices too. “Relax,” he tells him softly, before turning that insufferable grin back on you. “Rain check on the head pats?”
“Not my dragon,” you remind him.
He winks. “Technicality.”
With that, he swings easily onto Sukuna’s back, all long limbs and practiced motion, like he was born in the saddle. Sukuna launches into the sky a moment later, wings snapping wide, dust kicking up in their wake. You watch them go, a dark shape against the sunlit clouds, until they’re nothing but a speck over the cliffs.
You’re still staring at the empty sky when the young rider clears his throat.
“Uh… hi,” he says awkwardly. He’s about your age, maybe a bit younger, with a nervous energy that makes you want to pat him on the shoulder and tell him to relax. He’s holding a map, which he’d pulled out of his pocket and now folds and unfolds with frantic hands. “You’re, uh, you’re the mapmaker, right? The one who lives by the sea?”
“That’s me,” you say, forcing yourself to look away from the horizon.
He nods, relieved. “Right. Yaga said to give you this. It’s the new coastline for the north. He said you’d be able to sketch it out better than anyone else.” He holds out the piece of parchment.
You take the map, unfolding it to see the jagged lines and rough sketches of a coastline you haven’t visited yet. The lines are crude, but the general shape is there. “Thanks,” you say. “I’ll get on it as soon as I can.”
“Right,” he says. “So… you and Gojo. You guys are… close?”
You stiffen. The question is innocent, but it feels like an accusation. “No. Not at all.”
He looks skeptical. “He talks about you a lot. Like, a lot lot. Says you’re the only person who can keep up with him.
You fight the urge to groan. “He’s a liar.”
“Yeah, he is.” The young rider laughs, a short, nervous sound. “But I don’t know. It’s weird. He’s always, like, looking for you. Or waiting for you.”
You don’t know how to respond to that. It’s too close to the truth. You just shrug, then look at the map. “I should get going. I have a lot of work to do.”
“Right. See you around, then.” The rider turns to leave, jogging down the hill with a newfound energy, happy to escape the awkwardness.
You look at the map, then at the sky where Sukuna and Gojo disappeared. You can’t stop thinking about the way Gojo smiled when he told you that Sukuna was just an excuse to see you. It was a joke, you know that. He’s always joking, always playing with words. But the way he said it… it felt like there was a kernel of truth in it, a tiny, infuriating admission that you didn’t want to acknowledge.
You trace the lines on the map, but your mind is elsewhere. You’re picturing him, the way he looks when he’s serious, the way he talks when he’s trying to get under your skin. You’re picturing Sukuna, the way he leans into your touch, the way he rumbles with contentment. You’re picturing the two of them, a perfect pair of chaos, a storm of annoying energy.
You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You have work to do, a map to sketch. But you can’t help but wonder if Gojo and Sukuna are okay. You can’t help but wonder what he’ll say the next time you see him.
A soft breeze, smelling of salt and distant rain, carries the sound of Sukuna’s contented rumble. You look up from your work, the firelight from your cottage flickering on the parchment in your lap. The Night Fury, a silhouette against the moon, lands with a soft thud, a dark shadow in the growing dimness. You can’t help the small, reluctant smile that tugs at your lips. It’s a happy sound, that snort of his, and it’s hard not to feel a little bit of warmth toward the gigantic reptile. The smile vanishes the moment you see Satoru Gojo dismount.
He slides off the dragon’s back and lands on the packed dirt with a huff. His silver hair, usually perfectly styled, is now adorned with a scattering of leaves and twigs. He looks ridiculously pleased with himself.
“Looks like you had a hard day,” you say, voice dry. You don’t bother looking up from your map, a new survey of the eastern coast that is proving to be a nightmare of jagged inlets and hidden reefs.
“The hardest,” he replies, walking toward the fire. Sukuna follows, a low purr rumbling in his chest as he nudges your shoulder gently. You stroke the smooth scales under his jaw.
“Did you, by any chance, get your head stuck in a bush?” you ask pointedly.
He laughs. “Just a little turbulence. But don’t worry, it was for a good cause.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? And what’s that?”
“Well, you know,” he says, pulling a stray leaf from his hair. “I had to make sure the trappers didn’t get away. Can’t have them messing up the ecosystem, can we?”
“But your impeccable hair and abysmal flying skills get a pass, I suppose.”
“Priorities, you know.” Satoru sits down on a log across from you, the firelight glinting in his bright blue eyes. “What are you up to? Still drawing pretty pictures of rocks and water?”
“I’m creating an accurate navigational chart for the fishing fleet,” you correct. “So that they don’t end up on the bottom of the sea.”
“Right, right. Important work,” he says. “You’d be a lot faster if you had some help.”
“I’m perfectly fine on my own.”
“I’m just saying,” he drawls, “a second pair of eyes could be useful. Especially mine. They’re very, very good eyes.”
You roll your own. “I’m not interested in your help, Gojo. Or your eyes, for that matter.”
Sukuna, who had been contently nuzzling your shoulder, chooses that moment to let out a slow, mournful sound, as if he understood the conversation and is deeply disappointed by your attitude. He nudges Gojo’s head with his own, then your shoulder again. He goes back and forth, like a pendulum. It’s slightly annoying.
“See?” Gojo says, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Even Sukuna agrees. He thinks we should be friends.”
“Sukuna thinks you should be less annoying,” you counter, reaching out to pat the dragon’s large head. He lets out a low rumble, pleased.
“That’s a matter of opinion,” Satoru says. He leans forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He told me on the way here that he thinks we would make a very handsome couple.”
You snort. “He has terrible taste. You’re lucky he hasn’t left you for a better rider.”
“Impossible,” Satoru scoffs. “I’m the best. And he knows it.”
“And the most modest, too,” you mutter.
Sukuna lets out a deep, throaty rumble, and gently nudges you closer to the fire. The action is subtle, but a piece of your parchment slips off your knee and lands with a quiet rustle on the ground near Satoru’s feet. He bends down to pick it up, his long fingers brushing against yours as he hands it back.
“Clumsy,” he says, but the glint in his eyes tells you he’s not talking about the paper.
You ignore him, focusing on the map, but your hand trembles slightly, and the ink bleeds on the line you’re trying to draw. You let out an exasperated sigh, and Sukuna, with a loud huff, settles down between you and Satoru. It’s a deliberate move. The dragon’s nothing more than a massive, scaly chaperone.
“Look at him,” Satoru says, his voice softer now. “He’s tired. Trappers, you know. They’re more persistent than usual.”
“Did you catch them?”
“Most of them. They had nets—one almost got Sukuna. If he hadn’t been so fast, it would have been a rough night.”
You look at the dragon, who is now snoozing with one eye open, the firelight catching the dark, wet-looking scales on his hide. A sudden wave of protectiveness washes over you, a familiar feeling when it comes to the dragon. But then you look at Satoru, and see the deep weariness in his eyes, the faint lines of stress etched around his mouth, and that familiar wave of protectiveness becomes tangled with something else, something you refuse to name.
“You should get some rest,” you say, the words feeling foreign and heavy on your tongue.
He looks surprised. “Worried about me?”
“I’m worried about Sukuna,” you shoot back, and the warmth in your stomach curdles into a familiar acidity. “He needs his rider to be in top form. The last thing he needs is to be stuck with a tired, insufferable oaf.”
He laughs. “You wound me. But thank you. It’s nice to know someone cares.”
“I don’t care,” you insist, and you know you’re lying. You also know he knows you’re lying. It’s a game you play, a tense, stupid dance.
Sukuna lets out a snort. He flicks his head towards Satoru, then towards you, as if to say, just talk to each other, idiots. You want to kick him. Affectionately, of course.
“Well,” Satoru says. “I suppose I should go. Duty calls and all that.” He stands up, stretching his arms over his head before shaking it.
“You’re going back out?” you ask, a note of alarm in your voice that you can’t control.
“Nah,” he says, smiling a little softer now. “Just kidding. Yaga told me to stay put until morning, ‘cause he said I caused enough trouble for one day.”
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
He reaches down and ruffles Sukuna’s head, though his words are addressed to you. “I’ll be back tomorrow for some more pats, okay?”
Sukuna huffs happily in response.
Satoru turns and walks away, a long, lanky shadow disappearing into the darkness. Sukuna watches him go, then turns his gaze back to you, his garnet-coloured eyes flashing. He nudges your hand again. You know what he wants. He wants you to talk to Gojo. He wants you to go after him.
You sigh. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not his keeper. I’m not yours, either.”
Sukuna snorts, a clear, exasperated sound, and settles his massive head on your lap. He’s warm, a solid weight of comfort in the cool night. You don’t bother to shoo him away. You simply sit there, under the moonlight, and stare into the dark where Gojo disappeared.
“It’s a fool’s errand,” you say, dropping the rolled-up parchment onto Yaga’s desk with a resounding thud. The Chief of Berk, a man with a beard as formidable as his temperament, looks up from the horn he’s polishing.
“What is?” he asks.
“This,” you say, pointing an accusatory finger at the map. “The north coast. It’s impossible to draw from the ground. I’ve only been there twice, and I spent most of the time trying not to fall to my death. The cliffs are sheer drops. The inlets are jagged and hidden. I need to map it from above.”
Yaga stares at you for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. You hold his stare, a silent challenge. You’ve never been one to back down from the Chief, a fact that both annoys and impresses him.
He sighs. “Fine. You’re right. You’ll need a rider.” He looks around the hall, his eyes scanning for a likely candidate. Your heart sinks into your stomach when he lands on the very last person you want to see.
“Satoru!” he bellows.
Satoru Gojo, leaning against a support beam, in the middle of conversation with Yaga’s apprentice, gives you a little wave.
“Yeah, boss?” he calls out.
“You’re taking our mapmaker to the north coast,” Yaga says. “She needs to draw it from the air.”
“Pleasure’s all mine, Chief,” he says, sauntering over to the desk. “North coast, huh? A little chilly for you, isn’t it?”
You resist the urge to punch him. “I’ll manage. Let’s just get this over with.”
He claps his hands together. “Excellent! My calendar is wide open.”
The next morning is cold and brisk. A light mist hangs over the village, and the air smells of wet stone and woodsmoke. You’re waiting by the flight academy, a satchel slung over your shoulder and your sketchbook clutched in your hands. You’ve been waiting for ten minutes, which is ten minutes longer than you’d like.
Just as you’re about to turn and leave, you hear a loud, familiar whoosh of wind and the deep, throaty rumble of a Night Fury. Sukuna lands right in front of you. Satoru leers at you, seated on his back.
“Ready to fly, gorgeous?” he asks.
“I’m ready to get this done,” you correct.
You climb onto the dragon’s back, settling behind him on the saddle and placing your sketchbook and charcoal pencils carefully in your lap. Sukuna lets out a low purr, a rumble that you can feel vibrating through your body. He nudges his head back, giving your hand a soft, affectionate lick.
“He’s excited,” Satoru says. “He loves when we all go out together.”
“He’s excited about the snacks I brought him,” you say, pulling a piece of dried fish from your satchel and holding it out to Sukuna. He devours it in one gulp.
“You brought snacks?” Satoru asks. “For the dragon, and not for your very handsome and talented pilot?”
“You are not my pilot, and you are not getting any of this fish.”
He kicks his feet against Sukuna’s side, and the dragon launches himself into the air. You grip the saddle, your knuckles turning white. The wind whips at your hair and clothes, and you close your eyes for a moment, letting the sensation of flight wash over you. It’s a feeling you’ve never gotten used to, and it’s always a little terrifying, a little exhilarating.
Satoru leans back. “You’re good at this. Not screaming, I mean.”
You grit your teeth. “I’m a mapmaker, not a child. I’m used to dangerous situations.”
“Oh, I know,” he says, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “You’re the one who saved my ass, remember?”
The memory of that night, of his blood on your hands, of the raw fear in your gut, flashes through your mind. You shiver, a cold feeling that has nothing to do with the wind.
“I’d rather not,” you say.
He doesn’t respond. Sukuna, as if sensing the shift in the atmosphere, lets out a low, questioning snort. He banks left, heading toward the northern cliffs.
The gentle, rolling hills of Berk give way to a brutal, unforgiving coastline. The cliffs are dark and jagged, the sea a churning mass of white foam. You pull out your sketchbook and begin to draw.
You work for hours, meticulously sketching every rock formation, every inlet, every hidden cove. You direct Satoru to turn this way and that, and he, for once, doesn’t argue. He lets you work, his body a steady, comforting presence in front of you, ensuring Sukuna’s movements are smooth and controlled.
At one point, you get so focused on a particular series of sea caves that you lean too far over the edge of the saddle, and almost lose your balance. A long, strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back against a warm, solid chest. You stiffen, your body rigid with surprise.
“Careful,” Satoru whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “Don’t want you falling to your death.”
You push him away, heart pounding. “I had it under control.”
“Sure, you did.”
Sukuna lets out a low, knowing chuff, a sound that makes you want to smack him. You ignore him, focusing back on your drawing, but it’s hard to stop thinking about the feeling of his arm around your waist, the warmth of his body against yours.
“You’re quiet,” he says after a while.
“I’m working.”
He hums. “Right. I just thought, you know, we could talk. Get to know each other. Since we’re going to be hanging out more often, we might as well be friends.”
“We are not going to be friends,” you say for what feels like the hundredth time.
“We are,” Satoru says. “We’re a team. You and me. And Sukuna, of course.” He reaches forward and strokes the Night Fury’s head, and the dragon rumbles with contentment.
“He’s your dragon,” you mutter.
“He likes you, too. More than me, I think,” Satoru says, and there’s a flicker of something in his voice—something soft and genuine—that makes you look away from your sketch and at him instead. His eyes are fixed on you, a strange mixture of warmth and… something else. You can’t quite place it.
You look away, your heart pounding again. You can’t handle this. You can’t handle this man, this dragon, this strange, dangerous intimacy that has sprung up between you.
You land back in the village as dusk is falling. The air is colder now, and the stars are beginning to peak out. You slide off Sukuna’s back, your legs shaky from the long flight. You feel a hand on your arm, steadying you.
“You did good,” Satoru says.
“So did you,” you say.
He smiles, a real smile, one that reaches his eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners. It’s a smile that you realise you haven’t seen very often. It’s a smile that makes the hollow cavity inside your chest where your heart lies skip a beat.
You turn away, clutching your sketchbook to your chest. “I’ll bring this to Yaga in the morning.”
“Right,” he says. “I’ll see you around.”
You walk away, but you can feel his gaze on your back. You can feel the warmth of his hand still on your arm. You don’t look back.
You make it to your cottage, but you don’t go inside. You sit on the stone step, your sketchbook still in your hands, and stare at the sky. You think about the north coast, about the cliffs and the caves, but also about Satoru. About the way his arm felt around your waist, about the way his smile made you feel, about the way he wasn’t being annoying for once.
You hear a soft thud. Sukuna stands behind you, a small branch in his mouth. He drops it at your feet. A branch from a Night Fury’s nest. He jabs at your hand with his nose, his eyes fixed on yours.
You know what he’s doing. He’s trying to tell you something. He’s trying to tell you that Satoru is not so bad. There’s a place for you in his life, in their life.
You reach down and pick up the branch, then look back at the dragon. You sigh, a long, drawn-out sound.
“You’re a terrible matchmaker, you know that?” you whisper to him.
Sukuna lets out a low purr and nudges you again. You don’t know what to do. You’re a mapmaker, a person of logic and order, and this man and his dragon are nothing but chaos. There’s absolutely no way anything good could ever come out of this.
“Head pats? Again?” You shoot Satoru an unimpressed glare, though the effect is rather diminished by the fact that you’re hanging upside down, trying to fix a hole in your roof. “At least come up with a better excuse.”
“Can’t. The dragon wants what the dragon wants,” Satoru says. “And what the dragon wants, the dragon gets.”
You grunt, shoving a loose thatch of straw back into place. Your ankles are looped around a wooden beam, your torso dangling over the edge of your cottage’s roof. The world is a strange, inverted place from this angle. The grass is a vibrant green sky, the clouds are a white, fluffy ground. Satoru Gojo’s annoyingly perfect face is floating in the air below you. He’s leaning back, his hands in his pockets, watching you with a smile. Sukuna is a little ways off, chewing on a large branch.
“And what the dragon wants is for me to risk breaking my neck just so you can make a terrible joke?” you ask.
“No, no, the dragon wants head pats,” Satoru corrects, shaking his head. “I’m just here to deliver the dragon to the head pats. A simple go-between.”
“You’re a go-between for your own dragon?”
“Look, it’s a complicated relationship,” he says. “He’s a very discerning dragon.”
You roll your eyes, a motion that makes your head throb. You pull yourself up, muscles straining, and clamber onto the roof. You sit on the ridge, straddling the peak, and pull a loose piece of wood from the hole. The wood is rotten, and the smell of mold and wet earth makes you wrinkle your nose. A sudden gust of wind snatches a loose piece of cloth from the edge of the roof, and you watch as it flutters to the ground and lands directly at Satoru’s feet.
He picks it up and says, “Lost something?”
“It’s just a rag,” you say.
He examines it, shaking it out with a flourish. “Looks like a perfectly good rag to me.”
“It’s not,” you say. “It’s old and worn out. Just leave it.”
He doesn’t. He folds it carefully and places it in his pocket, before walking over to where Sukuna is lying, and pulls out a piece of meat from his saddlebag. He tosses it to the dragon.
“So,” Satoru says. “Roof problems?”
“No,” you say, “I just enjoy dangling from high places.”
He laughs, a clear, loud sound that makes your stomach feel weird. “I get it. You’re a thrill-seeker. It’s one of your many charming qualities.”
“I’m not a thrill-seeker,” you say. “I’m a mapmaker. I prefer quiet, predictable things.”
“Still,” he says, “here you are, hanging from a roof, and here I am, your friendly neighbourhood… well, whatever I am.”
You groan. “You’re a pain. That’s what you are.”
“And you’re my favourite pain,” he says. “You’re the only person on the entire Isle of Berk who doesn’t fall all over themselves to talk to me.”
“That’s because I have a working brain.”
He laughs again, and you find yourself staring at him. He’s leaning against Sukuna’s side, his arms crossed over his chest. His silver hair catches the sunlight, and his bright blue eyes are fixed on you. He’s the most infuriating man you’ve ever met, but you can’t deny that he’s also breathtaking.
You tear your gaze away, a flush of heat creeping up your neck. You turn back to your roof, your hands shaking slightly as you try to hammer a loose piece of wood into place. You miss, and the hammer clatters to the ground, landing with a soft thud on the grass.
“Fuck,” you say, eloquently.
Satoru bends to pick up the hammer, turning it over in his hands. “For someone who claims to like quiet, predictable things, you have a funny way of living on the edge.”
You scowl down at him from the roof ridge. “I’m fixing a hole, Satoru. Not fighting a dragon barehanded.”
“Could be both, if you fall on Sukuna.”
Sukuna, hearing his name, glances up, tail flicking idly. He looks like he’d catch you if you fell. Probably. Maybe. If he felt like it.
“Very reassuring,” you mutter. “Give it back.”
“Come get it,” Satoru says, grinning.
You glare at him. He leans back against Sukuna’s side, one long leg crossed over the other. He looks like he could stay here all day, bothering you from ground level while you slowly lose your mind above him. You wipe the sweat from your brow with the back of your wrist. The sun’s beating down hard, pressing heat into the back of your neck. Your hands are already splintered from the wood, your hair sticking to your cheeks. You have an entire day’s worth of mapping to do but here you are, arguing with Berk’s most irritating dragon rider over a hammer.
“Fine,” you say. “Keep it. I’ll just tell everyone you bullied me into falling off my own roof.”
“But you didn’t fall,” he says. “Yet.”
You wish you could throw something at him. Preferably something heavy. Like a rock. Or maybe the entire cottage.
Instead, you clamber down from the roof ridge to the small platform just under it, wiping your palms on your trousers. From here, the world tilts alarmingly close. Satoru watches your careful descent with the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth.
When you reach the edge, you stretch your hand out. “Hammer.”
He taps it against his chin thoughtfully. “What do I get in return?”
“Your continued survival.”
“Tempting.” He tosses it up, easy and careless, then finally lobs it towards you. It arcs through the air, spinning end over end, and you snatch it out of the air just in time, the impact jolting through your wrist.
“Show-off,” you say.
“You’re welcome,” he says.
You don’t dignify that with a response, instead crawling back to the hole and fitting the new piece of wood into place. The hammer thunks steadily as you nail it down, the sound mingling with the wind and the distant crash of waves against cliffs. Satoru hums something under his breath, a lazy, tuneless thing. It carries upward, curling under your skin despite yourself.
You focus very, very hard on the roof.
When the piece finally holds, you sit back, wiping your forehead again. Your arms ache, your knees are bruised, and you can feel bits of straw clinging to your hair. Glorious, really.
“Done?” Satoru asks.
“For now,” you say.
“Good,” he says, pushing off Sukuna’s side. “Because Sukuna’s patience is running out.”
At the mention of his name, the dragon lets out a short, sharp huff, nostrils flaring. The branch he was chewing lies in two neat halves at his feet. His pupils have gone wide, round as coins—his version of puppy eyes.
You narrow yours. “This is emotional blackmail.”
“It’s effective,” Satoru says cheerfully, already strolling over to you. “C’mon, he’s been waiting all day.”
You glance from the dragon’s enormous, hopeful stare to Satoru’s infuriating grin and feel, very distinctly, like you’re being tag-teamed.
“Fine,” you mutter, hopping lightly off the lower edge of the roof. You land in a crouch, knees absorbing the impact, then stand and dust yourself off. “But only because he asked nicely.”
Satoru bows low, one hand over his heart. “As the humble messenger of the dragon, I thank you for your generosity.”
“Shut up,” you say, but there’s no real heat behind it.
Sukuna lowers his massive head as you approach, scales gleaming like wet stone. He makes a low, thrumming sound as your hand comes to rest between his eyes, the tension in his frame melting instantly. It’s absurd, how such a creature—so powerful, so feared—can melt into warmth at something as simple as a touch.
You scratch behind his jaw, feeling the rumble travel through your palm. “You deserve a better rider,” you murmur, just loud enough for Satoru to hear.
Satoru presses a hand to his chest. “Wounded. Absolutely gutted.”
“You’ll live.”
He leans against Sukuna’s shoulder, close enough that you catch the faint scent of wind and leather and something warm underneath. “You always say that like you’re sure.”
“I could be wrong,” you say sweetly.
“Now who’s emotionally blackmailing who?”
You roll your eyes. The wind picks up again, tossing Satoru’s hair into his eyes. He doesn’t move to fix it, just grins at you through the mess like he knows exactly what kind of picture he makes—irritatingly golden in the sunlight, with the dragon at his side and the whole damn world under his heel.
“You really are full of yourself,” you say finally.
He tilts his head. “Takes one to know one. Speaking of which, did I tell you about the trappers that thought they actually had a chance against Sukuna? Even I don’t stand a chance against Sukuna, and that’s saying something.”
“Trappers?” You raise an eyebrow, keeping your hand moving against Sukuna’s scales. “I thought you lot scared them off two weeks ago.”
“We did,” Satoru says. “Or so we thought. But the funny thing about pests—” He leans lazily against Sukuna’s massive shoulder, folding his arms. “—is that they always crawl back when you’re not looking.”
You frown, not at him for once, but at the idea of it. “Where?”
“Southern Coves,” he says. “A little group at first—three, maybe four men. We figured they were amateurs, probably thought they’d make their fortune dragging a few Terrible Terrors back in cages. Easy enough. Send them running, burn a net or two. Job done.”
The way he says it—casual, dismissive—doesn’t sit right with you. It rarely does, when Satoru Gojo talks about problems like they’re inconveniences rather than… well, problems.
“But then?” you prompt.
“But then,” he says, drawing out the words, “we found another group. Bigger. With better equipment. Steel nets, reinforced cages, the whole shebang.”
Your hand stills against Sukuna’s jaw. “Reinforced cages?”
“Mhm.” He tilts his head, watching your reaction like it’s more interesting than the story itself. “Not something you find lying around unless you’ve got coin. Or connections. Or both.”
Sukuna shifts beneath your touch, nudging his head into your palm like he can sense the tension in your shoulders. You scratch harder, both to soothe him and yourself. “That doesn’t sound like a coincidence,” you say.
“It doesn’t sound like much of anything,” Satoru counters flippantly. “Could just be a few desperate men pooling what they’ve got. Could be something else. Either way, we’re keeping an eye on it.”
“And by we you mean…”
“The riders. Me, Suguru, Kento, Haibara—the usual.”
You narrow your eyes. “You mean the same group that considers dive-bombing into cliffs a legitimate training exercise?”
“Worked out fine for me,” Satoru says with a shrug.
“Everything works out fine for you,” you shoot back.
That earns you a flash of his grin—bright, boyish, and infuriating. But it fades, just a little, and he says, quieter, “Doesn’t always.”
It’s the kind of admission that makes your stomach twist, because it’s true. Riders don’t always come back. Dragons don’t always survive. Trappers—real trappers, the kind with coin and steel and a hunger that isn’t easily sated—don’t play fair.
You exhale slowly. “You think they’re after Sukuna.”
“Everyone’s after Sukuna.” He says it like it’s a joke. “Last Night Fury, blah blah blah. People can’t help themselves.”
You glance at Sukuna. His pupils are still round, content beneath your touch, but his tail lashes once, like even he knows the weight of those words. A rare thing: fear dressed up as restlessness.
An unease worms its way beneath your ribs. It feels like the calm before a storm, the air just a shade too still, the sea too quiet. The trappers Satoru described don’t seem like scavengers chasing scraps. They’re organised. Equipped. Waiting for something—or someone. You hate it. You hate that Satoru can stand opposite you, hands tucked in his pockets, as though the world isn’t about to tip over its edge.
“You should be more worried,” you say finally.
“I worry plenty.”
“You don’t act like it.”
“Would it help if I wrung my hands and wept dramatically at your feet?”
“I’d pay good money to see that,” you say automatically. Sukuna nudges you again, harder this time, nearly knocking you off your feet. You steady yourself with a laugh that comes out thinner than you’d like. Satoru watches the two of you, his smile softened into something that almost looks like thought. Then, just as you’re about to ask another question, a shrill whistle splits the air from somewhere down the hill.
“Show time.” Satoru straightens, stretching his arms overhead. “Sounds like they’ve spotted another group near the coastline.”
Your stomach sinks. Already?
Satoru clicks his tongue, turning back to Sukuna. “Up, big guy.”
The Night Fury rises in a smooth, graceful motion, all coiled muscle and gleaming scales. His wings snap open, blotting out the sun for an instant, and you step back instinctively. Satoru sings into the saddle. He doesn’t look at you until Sukuna’s already crouching low, ready to launch.
“Don’t worry too much,” he says. “We’ve got it handled.”
“You don’t know that.”
He grins down at you. “Sure I do. I’m me.”
“Again?” You stare at Yaga the Vast like he’s sprouted another head—which, considering the man’s already broad shoulders and beard thick enough to hide a small family of sparrows, would be quite a sight. “You want me to map out the north coast again?”
“Yes,” Yaga’s voice rumbles, his arms crossed over his chest. The firelight in the great hall casts half his face into shadow, making him look even more immovable than usual. “But this time, you go deeper. Past the cove, beyond the breakers, to the inlets we’ve yet to mark. Unless we map out our neighbouring areas, how will we be able to defend Berk?”
You blink slowly, as if stalling will make the task shrink back into sanity. “Defend Berk from what, exactly? The world’s deadliest flock of puffins?”
“From anyone who thinks Berk is ripe for the taking,” Yaga replies. His thick fingers drum against his arm. “We can’t pretend we’re isolated forever. Already, the trappers sniff at our borders.”
You mask the prickle of unease that shivers down your spine with a scoff. “So your solution is to send me to traipse along the most dangerous stretch of coast known to dragon or man?”
“You won’t be alone. Take that scoundrel of a dragon rider with you.”
You groan, dragging both hands down your face. “Not him.”
“As if there were any other scoundrel I could mean,” Yaga says, almost indulgent.
“Satoru Gojo,” you say, lowering your hands and scowling, “is less of a companion and more of a—what’s the word—parasite. Loud, obnoxious, impossible to get rid of once he latches on.”
“He’s effective,” Yaga says.
“He’s insufferable,” you say.
“Both can be true,” he says. “And if you want Berk defended, if you want us to have some place to safely hide, or if you want your precious maps to mean something, you’ll take him with you. End of discussion.”
You gape at him, outrage coiling hot in your chest. But before you can muster a reply sharp enough to singe even Yaga the Vast’s vast beard, a familiar voice cuts through the hall.
“Did somebody say my name?”
Of course. Speak of the devil and his Night Fury, and both shall appear.
Satoru Gojo strolls in; his hair is a windswept mess of silver, his tunic is half-untied, and there’s a cocky grin already plastered on his face. Sukuna pads in behind him, the great black beast moving silent as shadow, his eyes glowing faintly in the dim hall light.
“Perfect timing,” Yaga says. “You’ll be escorting our mapmaker along the north coast. Deep waters. High cliffs. Dangerous territory. See to it that she comes back alive.”
“Yes, boss,” Satoru replies. His gaze slides to you, and his grin widens. “Couldn’t stay away from me, huh?”
Your hands curl into fists at your sides. “Believe me, if I had a choice between this and swimming naked through eel-infested waters, I’d be halfway to drowning by now.”
“Romantic. You always know how to make a man feel wanted.”
Sukuna rumbles low in his throat, the kind of sound that could be a laugh if dragons were capable of such a thing. You swear he’s mocking you, too.
Yaga heaves a sigh. “Enough. The pair of you leave at dawn. Supplies will be waiting at the stables. Make sure you chart everything—caves, currents, shoals, nesting grounds. The more detail, the better.”
You open your mouth to argue, to plead, to hurl one last desperate objection into the flames. But Yaga fixes you with the kind of look that ends battles before they begin. You clamp your jaw shut.
“Fine,” you mutter. “At dawn.”
“Looking forward to it,” Satoru says brightly, clapping you on the shoulder. “You, me, the sea, a few deadly cliffs. It’ll be fun.”
You glare at him. “You have the worst definition of fun I’ve ever heard.”
He leans down, so close you catch the faint scent of leather and salt. “That’s because you haven’t tried my kind of fun yet.”
Before you can throttle him, Yaga clears his throat. “Gojo,” he says. “I want your usual post-mission report for this one as well. How Sukuna flies, how he fights—everything. Not a single detail should be omitted.”
“Not just that,” Yaga presses. “Every maneuver. Every burst of speed. How he responds under pressure. The trappers are adapting. If they’ve learned to counter one type of dragon, they’ll learn to counter another. We need to be ready.”
“Of course, boss.”
Satoru says it so confidently that it makes you want to hit him with the nearest tankard. He doesn’t care about reports—he’s probably never written anything down properly in his life—but somehow Yaga keeps trusting him with “observations” and “evaluations.” And somehow those “reports” always end up getting him exactly what he wants: more freedom, more lenience, more time spent to annoy you.
“I’m serious,” Yaga says. His gaze sharpens, sliding briefly to you before returning to Satoru. “I want precision. Not exaggerations, not flourishes. If there are trappers along that coast, I want to know how they move, what they use, where they hide. If Sukuna faces them, I want to know every reaction. Understand?”
It’s subtle, that pause on Sukuna’s name, but it hooks in your gut like a barbed fishing line.
“Your last report,” the chief continued, “was ten pages of what Sukuna ate, and a drawing of your own face in the margins.”
You can’t help it—a bark of laughter escapes you. Satoru grins wider, like he’s proud of the memory.
“Historical accuracy,” he defends breezily. “Someday, bards will want to know I was the handsomest man alive while Sukuna was saving lives.”
Yaga doesn’t look amused. In fact, the firelight catches on the hard planes of his face, casting the deep creases at his brow into shadows that look almost like cracks. “Enough,” he says, but this time there’s a finality to it—like stone slamming into place, sealing a tomb.
You should probably let it go. Keep your head down, accept the assignment, and try not to imagine all the ways you might die tomorrow. But Yaga’s words stick in your ears like thorns. He’s always been thorough, sure, but the way he said it makes something twist uneasily in your gut.
Why does it feel less like he wants a record of Berk’s defenses and more like he wants a catalogue of its weaknesses?
You frown, shoving the thought down before it can root itself. Paranoia. That’s all it is. Spending too much time around Satoru Gojo rots the brain.
“Sir, yes, sir,” Satoru says, snapping a salute. “We’ll chart your cliffs, your caves, your currents, your… cozy little hidey-holes. And if the trappers do come sniffing around, we’ll have a nice little map all drawn up for them, won’t we?”
It’s meant to be a joke. You know it is.
Yaga’s eyes cut to him, sharp and assessing, but then—to your surprise—soften into something close to approval. “Just bring me the report.”
You’re dismissed. Or maybe exiled. Hard to tell with Yaga.
Satoru stretches like a cat as you both step out into the night air, his hair catching silver in the moonlight. Sukuna slips behind him, shadow melting into shadow, only the gleam of his garnet eyes betraying him.
“This is gonna be fun,” Satoru says.
You snort. “You heard him. Reports, details, flight maneuvers—like you’re some glorified scribe. What’s he going to do, publish a book?”
“Who knows? Maybe Yaga just really likes bedtime stories.”
“You’re going to fall if you keep bending over like that.”
The words brush the back of your neck, almost lost to the roar of the wind. Satoru’s voice, of course, because if anyone was going to ruin the thrill of flight over the North Sea cliffs, it was going to be him.
“I’m not bending over,” you snap, leaning forward on Sukuna’s broad back to adjust the rolled parchment strapped at your hip. “I’m securing the maps so they don’t blow away. Some of us actually care about documenting this trip.”
“Mm,” he hums, far too close behind you. “You say that, but it looks a lot like you’re presenting yourself to me.”
You jerk upright so fast you nearly throw yourself off balance. “I will throw you off this dragon.”
Sukuna rumbles beneath you, wings slicing through the wind. The cliffs roll past below—jagged teeth rising from the sea, waves smashing themselves to froth at the base. A treacherous coast, all jagged rocks and narrow inlets, the sort of place even seasoned dragon riders avoided unless they had a death wish. But, you remind yourself, you’re riding with Satoru Gojo. Death wishes are practically stitched into his skin.
“Relax,” he says lazily, shifting so that his chin rests on your shoulder, bold as anything. “If you fall, Sukuna will catch you. Probably.”
“Probably?”
“Eighty percent sure.”
You elbow him hard in the ribs. He laughs. The wind whips against your face, tugging at your hair and lashing past your chin. You should be focusing on the coastline, on the cliff formations and hidden coves Yaga wanted mapped. Instead, you’re stuck with Satoru practically wrapped around you like an overgrown barnacle.
Below, the sea shifts from deep sapphire to frothing white, currents curling against each other in unpredictable swirls. You sketch the outline hastily, balancing parchment on your knee, your fingers stiff from the cold. The smell of salt, the tang of brine—it all presses sharp in your nose, mixing with the faint smoke curling from Sukuna’s nostrils as he exhales.
“You’re making that bay too small,” Satoru says, peering over your shoulder. “It’s at least twice that size.”
Your head snaps towards him. “You’re a dragon rider, not a cartographer. Shut up.”
“I’m just saying,” he says. “If you want this to be accurate, maybe listen to the guy who’s actually looking down at it.”
You jab your charcoal against the parchment with unnecessary force. “I am looking down. You think I’m staring at the clouds?”
“Wouldn’t blame you. They’re very fluffy today.”
You grit your teeth. It’s either throw him off Sukuna’s back or commit to your map and pretend his voice doesn’t grate against your ears.
The coastline curves sharply, forcing Sukuna to bank hard. The sudden tilt knocks your knee against the saddle, the parchment slipping sideways in the wind. You swear under your breath, catching it just before it can flutter away.
“Careful,” Satoru drawls. “Wouldn’t want all your precious squiggles to drown.”
“They’re maps,” you snap, tucking the roll more securely under the leather strap. “Not squiggles.”
Sukuna lurches again, this time with a force that wrenches you off balance completely. One moment you’re clinging to leather straps, the next, you’re weightless—dangling over empty air, your stomach dropping out as the sea roars up to meet you. Your scream is swallowed by the wind.
Cold air slams against your face, your limbs flailing as the ocean surface rushes closer, white spray licking like fangs. You think, absurdly, that this is it. Yaga will get his precious map back water-stained and half-torn, and Satoru will laugh at your funeral pyre.
The sea devours you whole. Salt scorches your mouth, icy shock steals the breath from your lungs, and the water closes like a fist around your ribs. You kick, thrash, but the waves drag you under, tangling your limbs. The North Sea swallows you whole, dragging you down, down, down. Your maps slip free, parchment dissolving into sodden clumps as the current claws them away. Panic claws harder.
Through the blur of bubbles, a shadow streaks above—massive wings cutting the sky. Sukuna. You can just make out the gleam of his scales as he dives, but the current twists you sideways and drags you deeper.
You feel hands.
Hot even through the freezing water, strong fingers hook beneath your arm and haul you against a solid chest. Your head knocks against leather and chainmail. You cling without meaning to, nails biting into Satoru’s sleeve as he kicks upward, legs cutting the water with terrifying strength. The world tilts again, the suffocating weight of the sea giving way to open air as he breaks the surface.
You cough, choking up brine, the cold biting so deep it feels like your bones are splintering. But there’s air—ragged, salty, glorious—and Satoru’s arms are still wrapped around you, keeping you afloat.
“See?” he says, breathless. “Told you one of us would catch you.”
“Shut—” you hack, spitting seawater in his face, “—up.”
With one arm, Satoru signals upward, and Sukuna swoops low, skimming the waves. The dragon’s vast shadow falls over you both, wings slicing the mist. With a smooth, practiced motion, Satoru boosts you toward the saddle. You land gracelessly, half-sprawled, coughing into your sleeve. Sukuna steadies his flight. Moments later, Satoru swings up behind you, water dripping from his hair.
You twist, glaring, salt-stung eyes narrowing. “You dropped me!”
“I saved you,” he says.
“If you’d stop distracting me, I wouldn’t have fallen in the first place.”
“Aw, admit it,” he says, tugging you back against him as Sukuna banks into the wind again. “You wanted me to play hero.”
Your jaw locks. You want to scream, punch him, and shove him straight off Sukuna’s back. But the truth sticks bitter at the back of your throat: without him, you’d be a corpse rolling in the tide right now.
Instead, you grit out, “The only reason you’re still alive is because I’m too cold to kill you.”
“Sure, gorgeous,” Satoru says, far too cheerfully for someone who just dove into the North Sea like a loon. He pats Sukuna’s neck. “Land over there, big guy.”
Sukuna banks again, wide wings slicing through the mist as he angles toward a rocky shelf jutting from the cliffs. It’s not much—a spit of grass clinging stubbornly to stone, slick with sea spray and battered by wind—but it’s flat enough for a Night Fury to perch. The dragon’s claws scrape against the stone before he settles down.
You peel yourself upright, every muscle trembling from the cold. Water streams from your hair and sleeves, soaking into the saddle leather, dripping in miserable rivulets down your legs. You feel like a half-drowned cat.
Satoru swings off Sukuna and immediately shivers, shaking out his hair. Droplets fly everywhere.
“Ah!” You swipe your face with your sleeve. “Do you mind?”
“Not even a little,” he says.
You clamber down less gracefully, boots squelching against stone. The moment your feet hit solid ground, the wind slices through your wet clothes. Your teeth chatter so hard it feels like they might rattle loose.
“Right,” you say, hugging your arms around yourself. “Let’s make this quick. I need to salvage what I can of the map before—”
“Before your hands freeze off?” Satoru interrupts. He crouches to scratch Sukuna’s chin, even though he’s dripping seawater like a broken barrel. “Sorry, cartographer, but your squiggles can wait. We’re both shaking. That’s a fast track to hypothermia.”
“I’m fine.” Your voice wobbles with a shiver. “We don’t have time to—”
“You’re not fine.” He straightens, eyeing you in that annoyingly perceptive way of his. “Your lips are purple. You’re shivering so hard I can hear your knees clacking. Don’t make me be the sensible one here, sweetheart—it feels unnatural.”
You glare. “If I die of cold, I’ll haunt you.”
“Oh, you already haunt me.” His grin softens the jab. “Now, strip.”
“I— Excuse me?” you splutter.
“Your clothes are soaked,” he says matter-of-factly, already tugging at the laces of his tunic. “Wet fabric sucks the heat right out of you. The best thing we can do is get ‘em off, huddle together, and hope Sukuna doesn’t roast us in our sleep.”
You blink at him, scandalised, even as another violent shiver racks your body. “You’re insane.”
“True. But I’m also right.” He pulls his tunic over his head in one easy motion, tossing the dripping cloth onto the stone. The setting sun’s light catches across his bare skin—broad shoulders, pale scars scattered across his abdomen, lean muscle shifting as he moves.
You pointedly do not stare.
“You’re ogling me,” he says.
“I’m glaring at you.”
“Your glare looks a lot like ogling.”
“Die.”
“Already almost did,” he says lightly, wringing out his sleeves. “Your turn.”
Every inch of you bristles at the command. Still, the damp fabric clinging icily to your ribs argues louder than your pride. You peel off your own tunic with stiff fingers, ignoring his wolf-whistle, and spread it on a rock to dry. The wind hits your bare skin, covered only by the slip you’ve worn inside, cold and merciless, goosebumps rising instantly.
Satoru’s eyes flick toward you, lingering longer than you like. He doesn’t comment. Doesn’t need to. The curve of his mouth says enough.
“Don’t you dare say a word,” you warn, hugging your arms over your chest.
“Not one word,” he promises. “Plenty of thoughts, though.”
You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “This is torture.”
“No, this is survival.” Satoru pats Sukuna’s flank, and the dragon obligingly lowers himself, curling his massive body into a crescent. His wings arch inwards, a living shelter against the wind. Heat radiates from his scaled belly.
“See?” Satoru gestures grandly.
You want to argue. You really, truly do. But your legs wobble under you, and the promise of warmth tugs at you. So you crawl into the nook of Sukuna’s body, pressing against his side. Satoru follows, sprawling next to you, then tugging you firmly against him. His skin is startlingly warm, even damp as it is, and his arm slides around your shoulders.
“Move,” you grumble, trying to twist free.
“Nope,” he says, tucking his chin on top of your wet hair. “You’ll freeze.”
“You’re unbearable.”
“So you’ve said. Multiple times.”
You want to snap back, but the heat of him seeps into your skin. Sukuna’s breathing is a thunderous rhythm behind you, the rise and fall of his chest as steady as the tides. Satoru’s warmth presses into your back, his heartbeat steady against your spine.
The shivering ebbs. Your eyelids grow heavy.
You think, just before sleep drags you under, that maybe it isn’t so bad—being held like this, the storm kept at bay by dragon wings and an irritating idiot who refuses to let you drown or freeze. You’d rather die than admit it out loud.
“Oh, my Gods.”
The voice snaps you awake like a slap. Your eyes peel open blearily, gritty from salt and sleep. The first thing you see is scales—Sukuna’s broad, ridged side, still warm beneath your cheek. The second is pale dawn light seeping over the horizon, turning the sea into hammered silver. The third, and the worst by far, is Yaga’s apprentice standing ten paces away, gawking at you like you’ve sprouted a second head.
You jolt upright so fast your skull cracks against Satoru’s chin.
“Ow—fuck!” Satoru lurches back, clutching his jaw. His hair is sticking up in ten different directions, his chest bare, his arm still heavy across your waist. He blinks owlishly, still half-asleep, then follows your line of sight.
“Oh,” he says. “Morning, kid.”
The apprentice—gangly, freckled, barely old enough to grow a proper beard—turns a shade of crimson so bright it could signal passing ships. His dragon, a lumbering Gronckle, looks pointedly in the other direction as though it, too, is practicing modesty. The apprentice’s mouth opens, closes, then opens again. “I—uh—you—Chief Yaga sent me—”
You scramble upright, hugging your damp tunic to your chest as though it might shield you from the apprentice’s wide-eyed horror. “It’s not what it looks like.”
The boy squeaks. “It looks like you and Gojo—”
“It doesn’t,” you snap. Heat crawls up your neck, sharp as the morning chill.
“Actually,” Satoru drawls, still lounging half-naked against Sukuna’s side, “it’s exactly what it looks like.”
You kick him in the shin. He hisses through his teeth but grins anyway. Bastard.
The apprentice makes a strangled sound and stares very hard at the cliffs instead. His ears are scarlet. “Chief Yaga said—he said it was urgent. Two dragons were stolen last night.”
“Stolen?” you ask.
He nods quickly, eyes still fixed anywhere but at you. “By trappers. They slipped past the watch posts by the southern coves. Took a Nadder and a Zippleback. Riders tried to give chase, but they were gone before dawn.”
You freeze, cold in a way seawater could never manage. Images slam unbidden into your head: chains biting into scaled hides, muzzles forced over mouths, wings bound and flailing. Dragons screaming as they’re dragged into cages.
“Shit,” Satoru says, the first hint of sharpness cutting through his lazy tone. He pushes to his feet, water-dark trousers hanging low on his hips. Sukuna rumbles beside him, wings twitching restlessly.
The apprentice swallows, wringing his hands, as his Gronckle hovers above the ground. “The Chief sent me to find you. He said you’re needed immediately—both of you. He was… angry that you weren’t at the watch last night, Gojo.”
You flinch. Angry. Of course he was. You were out here, tangled up in a mess of salt, warmth, and sleep, while dragons were dragged away into darkness. Your stomach knots.
Satoru’s hand brushes yours. “Not your fault,” he murmurs.
You want to believe him. You don’t.
“Which direction?” Satoru asks crisply.
“East,” the apprentice answers. “Towards the mainland, we think. Scouts found broken nets on the tide and claw marks on the rocks, but… there were too many tracks. More than just one ship. It’s—bigger than usual.”
You hug your tunic tighter, your unease curdling into something colder. Too many tracks. Bigger than usual. And Yaga, always conveniently aware of where the trappers struck, always pushing for maps that stretched further, deeper, as though he wanted Berk’s vulnerabilities laid bare on parchment. Something ugly stirs at the back of your mind.
“Great job finding us, kid,” Satoru says. “Go on back, tell Yaga we’re on our way to Berk.”
The apprentice nods and urges his Gronckle away. Silence stretches after his wings vanish into the horizon. The only sound is the crash of waves and Sukuna’s low, restless growl.
You finally tug your tunic over your head, the fabric clammy against your skin. “Two dragons. Gone. While we—” You swallow down the lump in your throat. “While we weren’t there.”
Satoru’s gaze flicks to you. “We’ll find them.”
You want to argue. Want to spill the unease clawing at your ribs—that this isn’t coincidence, that someone is feeding the trappers information, that Yaga’s heavy insistence on maps and watch-posts feels less like defence and more like design. But Satoru swings into the saddle, his hand extended down to you, and all you can do is shove the suspicion somewhere deep down where it won’t choke you.
Later. You’ll think about it later.
The ride back to Berk is wordless. Sukuna cuts through the dawn sky with a speed that makes your bones rattle, the wind lashing your damp hair against your cheeks. The village comes into view—first the crooked rocks of the cliffside, then the smoky thatched rooftops, and finally the wide stone courtyard where riders and dragons gather in knots of uneasy conversation.
Yaga waits at the centre of it all, arms folded across his massive chest. His scowl alone could ward off a sea storm. You’ve seen him angry before, but this—this is something else.
Sukuna’s talons scrape stone. Riders hustle across the square, tightening harnesses, checking saddlebags, shouting clipped reports to one another. Dragons bristle and shift, their restlessness bleeding into their humans. You slide down from Sukuna’s saddle, boots hitting the stones. Satoru follows, rolling his shoulders once.
“Come,” Yaga’s voice booms from the centre. “Where were you?”
“Taking the north coast maps you wanted, remember?” Satoru says. “Thought you’d be proud I was finally listening.”
Yaga’s jaw ticks. “While you wasted time drawing cliffs, two dragons were stolen from right under our noses. A Nadder and a Zippleback. Good, loyal beasts, now likely in chains.”
You open your mouth—an instinctive we didn’t know, we would have been there if—but Yaga’s eyes cut to you, and the words wither in your throat.
“And you,” he says, quieter but no less cutting. “Distracted.”
Your cheeks burn hot as a furnace. You force yourself not to look at Satoru, not to flinch under Yaga’s disappointment.
“Careful, Chief,” Satoru says, stepping forward. “Sounds almost like you’re blaming us instead of the ones who actually stole the dragons.”
Silence. Riders shuffle uneasily at the edge of the square, pretending to busy themselves with tack and gear. Yaga exhales. He gestures with a curt hand, and says, “Enough. We’ve no time for excuses. Gojo, you’ll take Sukuna east. Track the trappers. If they’ve gone towards the mainland, we need to know which paths they’re using. Don’t engage. Don’t be reckless.”
“Reckless?” Satoru echoes. “Chief, that hurts me.”
“It’s meant to.”
Yaga turns to you. You think—hope—he’ll send you with Satoru. You’ve flown the coasts enough times now, you know the currents, the cliffs, the possible landing points. Together, you’d be faster.
“You,” Yaga says instead. “Stay here. The maps you made—finish them. Copy them properly, mark all the coves and hideouts. We’ll need every detail if we’re to tighten our defenses.”
“But—” You start. “With all due respect, I should go too. I was with Satoru when we—”
“No.” Yaga’s eyes harden, the finality in them brooking no argument. “We need accuracy more than we need an extra set of hands in the sky. Your maps will serve Berk better than you will.”
Heat floods your chest: anger, shame, suspicion all jumbled together. The same suspicion that had gnawed at you when the apprentice spoke of too many tracks, bigger than usual. The same suspicion that whispers now: why does he care so much about these maps?
Satoru’s hand brushes yours again, quick, almost hidden. When you glance at him, his expression is unreadable, but his mouth quirks, almost imperceptibly, in reassurance.
“Don’t worry, gorgeous,” he says aloud, stretching his arms. “I’ll bring your lizards back safely. Maybe even some extra, if they’re feeling friendly.”
“Go,” Yaga growls.
Satoru vaults back into Sukuna’s saddle. The Night Fury launches skyward in a storm of wings and air, climbing so fast your stomach flips just from watching. He doesn’t look back, but you feel his absence immediately, like the ground beneath you has shifted.
“Chief,” you try again, forcing the tremor out of your voice, “if there are more ships than usual, if this is bigger than—”
“Finish your maps,” Yaga cuts you off, turning away.
You stand there for a long moment, your fists clenching around nothing, as riders murmur and scatter and dragons snort restlessly at their sides. Something in your gut twists again, sharp and certain. Yaga doesn’t just want you out of the mission. He wants you blind, and you don’t know why.
Satoru Gojo doesn’t arrive back with the rest of the riders and it takes you about four hours to swallow down your pride and admit that something has gone terribly, horribly wrong.
At first, you tell yourself he’s late because he’s lazy. Because he got distracted chasing a gull or decided to nap on Sukuna’s back somewhere over the cliffs. That’s his style, isn’t it? Careless, infuriating, utterly impossible to pin down. But when the other riders return—faces set in grim lines, dragons shuffling uneasily on the packed earth—there’s no trace of him.
The knot in your stomach hardens into stone.
The courtyard empties slowly, mutters and wary glances trailing after you as you linger by the dragon pens. You can’t ask them where he is, not when your throat is tight with fear. You can’t ask Yaga either—at least, not openly, when you already suspect he doesn’t want you to know the answer.
Instead, you find the apprentice.
He’s lugging a basket of fish towards the Gronckle pens, shoulders hunched. You stride over and plant yourself in his path.
“Where’s the Chief?” you demand.
The boy nearly drops the basket, mackerel slopping over the edge. “Wh-what?”
“Yaga,” you say. “Where is he?”
He stammers. “He—uh—he’s in the great hall, I think. With some of the elders. I’m not supposed to—”
You move before he can finish. The great hall looms at the centre of Berk. Its roof rises steeply, carved dragon heads snarling from the beams. The heavy double doors are shut, but a warm glow seeps from the cracks—torchlight, flickering against the chill dusk. You shouldn’t be here. Yaga will flay you alive if he catches you sneaking where you don’t belong. But the thought of waiting, sitting idly while Satoru doesn’t come back doesn’t sit right with you.
You slip inside.
The hall stretches wide and long ahead of you, the walls lined with shields and old weapons that gleam in the light. Long tables stretch out across the floor, empty, a few littered with tankards and scraps of parchment. The far end is dominated by Yaga’s chair, carved from mahogany, massive enough to dwarf even him.
It’s empty.
You turn away from the chair—because on the nearest table is your map.
Or rather, it should be there. The stack of parchment you left after your last session of furious sketching is gone, only a faint smear of charcoal dust staining the wood. The straps you’d used to tie them together still sit at the edge of the table, neatly coiled, but the maps themselves have vanished. Your stomach lurches.
The map of the north coast. The one you risked half your life to sketch, nearly drowned for. Every cove, every inlet, every hidden path marked out in careful strokes of charcoal—gone.
Your hand curls tightly around the strap left behind, the leather cutting into your palm. The room spins, your thoughts snarling into one conclusion: if Yaga has the maps, he didn’t take them to protect Berk. And if he doesn’t have them, then someone else does. And Satoru still hasn’t come back.
You hurry out of the hall, past the empty pens, past the wary stares of villagers who pull their cloaks tighter as you barrel through. The sky is already bruising into night, gulls wheeling overhead in harsh cries that grate against your nerves. You don’t think. You just turn—towards the cliffs, the only place that makes sense. The north coast, where your maps pointed. Where Satoru isn’t supposed to be.
The path narrows as you climb. The wind rises, sharp and cold, tugging at your tunic. The sea roars below, white foam smashing itself against black rock. Each gust shoves at your balance, each step rattles your teeth. You know these paths—you’ve sketched them, charted them—but tonight they feel alien, hostile.
Your lungs burn. Your legs ache. Still, you push forward, clutching your side, muttering curses under your breath.
A shadow moves above you, massive fast, cutting across the purpling sky. The figure drops lower, angling towards you. You stumble to a stop, heart hammering, and tilt your head back.
Sukuna.
The Night Fury flies through the dusk, scales glinting dark blue where the light catches. His cry rips through the cliffs—sharp, haunting, enough to send a flock of puffins exploding from their nests. The wind from his wings slams into you, sending you staggering backwards.
He’s alone. The dragon banks sharply, almost skimming the sea, and you see a saddle still strapped tight, leather dark with seawater, reins dangling loose.
He lands on the cliffs just ahead of you, talons tearing furrows in the stone. His wings flare wide before folding in, each movement rippling with tension. He’s restless, furious, his chest heaving and his tail lashing like a whip.
“Sukuna,” you breathe, your voice cracking.
He turns at once, those twin rings of garnet eyes locking onto you. Recognition flares, but it’s not soft. It’s sharp, wild, like he’s on the edge of bolting right back into the sky. His nostrils flare, smoke curling as he huffs out a growl.
Your legs move before your mind catches up. You rush towards him, arms out, words tumbling uselessly from your mouth. “Where is he? Where’s Satoru?”
Sukuna lowers his head, nostrils flaring again as though scenting the wind. His scales are slick with salt, his wings ragged from the flight, his whole body coiled tight with an agitation you’ve never seen in him before. He paces, restless, claws scraping sparks against the stone. The saddle’s empty. Satoru’s gone.
The thought claws at your skull, frantic and ugly, but you push it down, shove it away, refuse to let it root. “Take me to him,” you say. “You hear me? Take me to him!”
Sukuna freezes. His head tilts, eyes narrowing, sharp and assessing. You think he’ll refuse, that he’ll vanish into the sky without you. But he shoves his massive snout against your shoulder, hard enough to nearly knock you flat. His wings flare again. It’s not an invitation. It’s a command.
Your hands fumble with the saddle’s straps as you clamber up, fingers numb, stomach twisting. The moment you’re seated, Sukuna surges forward, leaping into the air and spreading his wings. The world drops away beneath you, cliffs shrinking, sea spreading endless and merciless below. Wind tears at your face, your hair, your clothes. You clutch the straps tightly, the air freezing your cheeks, your heart slamming so hard you can’t tell if it’s fear or relief.
Sukuna doesn’t soar, doesn’t play with the air currents or bank lazily just to terrify you the way Satoru likes to. He cuts through the night like an arrow, wings beating ruthlessly, each downstroke flinging you forward until your stomach lurches. The North Sea yawns before you, and the cliffs crawl past in uneven shadows.
“Where are you taking me?” you shout, though the wind steals most of it away. Sukuna’s neck stiffens, his flight angled low, purposeful.
The further north you go, the rougher the landscape grows. The cliffs rise higher, crueler, sharpened by centuries of waves gnawing at their base. The moon breaks through the clouds in flashes, silvering the rocks. You’ve charted these shores on parchment, every inlet and alcove, but in the dark, they look unfamiliar.
Sukuna dives. The drop rips the breath from your chest and tears your stomach into your throat. You can only cling and pray as he folds his wings tight and plummets. At the last possible instant, he flares his wings wide, landing with a shuddering crash onto a stretch of uneven stone, claws biting through moss and shale.
You scramble down, your boots skidding on slick rock as Sukuna growls. Ahead, the cliffs hollow into a cove, a natural amphitheatre of stone and sea. Torches burn inside, small orange flames that lick against the rock, wrong against the wild dark.
In the centre of it all: Yaga.
The Chief of Berk stands with his arms crossed, broad shoulders squared and cloak snapping in the wind. His great beard glints ruddy in the torchlight. But it isn’t him that makes your heart stutter. It’s what’s at his feet.
Satoru.
He’s on his knees, wrists bound in thick rope, head tilted at an insolent angle that doesn’t quite hide the blood streaking down his temple. Even half-slumped, gagged with a strip of cloth knotted cruelly between his teeth, he radiates infuriating carelessness—eyes narrowed, expression hovering between boredom and mockery.
You make a sound—something strangled, something useless—and stumble forward, only for Sukuna to block you with a sweep of a wing. He growls again.
“Finally,” Yaga says. His voice booms off the rock, heavy, immovable, the kind of voice that fills halls and commands loyalty. “I was beginning to think you’d abandoned him.”
“What are you doing?” you manage to ask.
“What I should’ve done the moment that creature set foot on Berk.” His eyes cut to Sukuna. “That dragon is too dangerous to be left in the hands of a fool. Or worse, shared between fools. Give him to me, and I may let Gojo live.”
Satoru makes a muffled noise behind the gag, rolling his eyes so hard you half-expect them to stick. You can almost hear his voice anyway: Don’t listen to the old man, gorgeous. He just wants my dragon ‘cause he doesn’t have one of his own.
Your chest feels too small, your pulse hammering against your ribs. “You—you can’t mean that. Sukuna’s not a weapon. He’s not—”
“He’s a Night Fury,” Yaga says. “Do you have any idea what that means? The power he carries? No village could stand against us if he were ours. No trapper would dare threaten us. Berk would be untouchable.”
“He’s not yours,” you say.
Yaga’s gaze flicks past you. “And yet here he stands, listening to your commands. Think, child. You’ve seen the cliffs, the danger at our borders. Berk is one storm away from ruin. I won’t gamble its survival on the whims of a dragon who answers only to Gojo.”
Satoru gives a muffled, derisive laugh that earns him a kick to the ribs. He tips his head back, gag muffling whatever clever retort he tries to spit out.
“Is that why you funded the trappers to surround your own village, Yaga?” you ask, mustering up all the courage you own.
Yaga stills. His boot rests against Satoru’s ribs, his shadow thrown long against the cove wall. His lips twitch beneath his beard—not surprise, not shame. Annoyance.
“You shouldn’t know that,” he says slowly. “The apprentice talks too much.”
“You set them on us. You set them on him.”
A sound splits the night—metal ringing against stone, boots crunching over gravel. From the shadows at the edges of the cove, men appear. Rough-spun leather, ragged furs, nets rolled thick over their shoulders. Their faces gleam with salt and grease, their eyes hungry. Dragon trappers. You know them by the stink alone: fish oil, blood, old smoke. They slip from the dark like wolves, more than a dozen, their movements practiced, circling.
The torchlight catches iron chains coiled in their fists. Hooks. Bolas. Shackles built for wings, not wrists.
“You’re working with them?” you say.
“I’m using them,” the chief says. “They have the means, the tools that I don’t have.”
You think of the maps gone from the hall, the apprentice’s trembling mouth, the sidelong glances of riders who returned without their strongest, without him. Pieces snap into place with a sickening clarity.
“You sold us out,” you whisper again. “You sold him out.”
“I did what I had to. Berk survives because I make hard choices. You, girl—you make sketches. You play at your little maps, but I—I see storms on the horizon. Dragons beyond counting. Trappers fattening themselves on our weakness. Do you think a village of fishers and smiths can stand against that? No. But with a Night Fury—with that beast, Berk rules the seas.”
Sukuna’s growl reverberates through the rock beneath your feet. His pupils pinprick, his wings hitch upward, every line of his body coiled to strike. You know he understands enough: tone, intent, threat. He does not know, yet, how to forgive.
“Tell me,” Yaga says, low and inexorable, “what’s one boy’s life against the safety of a whole people?”
Satoru chooses that exact moment to lurch upright against his bindings, muffling something sharp and entirely unhelpful through the gag. You catch the roll of his shoulders, the tilt of his chin. One boy? Try national treasure, old man.
You almost laugh.
Chains rattle. The trappers are closing in. Their boots scrape the shale, torches lifting higher, nets poised to fly. The scent of pitch and iron stings your nose. There aren’t raiders in passing—they’re hunters, professional, and they’ve been waiting.
You step forward, planting yourself between them and Sukuna’s flank before you even think it through. “If you think he’ll ever obey you, you’re a bigger fool than I thought,” you bite out. “Sukuna isn’t a weapon. He isn’t yours to wield.”
“He will be.”
The nearest trapper lunges. A net arcs through the air, weighted corners sparking as they whip forward. You throw yourself sideways, but you needn’t have bothered—Sukuna’s blast rips it to cinders mid-flight. The explosion lights the cove for a split-second, dazzling white, searing afterimages into your vision. Rock shatters, smoke plumes, men scream.
The Night Fury roars.
The sound is primal, thunder given flesh. Sukuna surges forward, plasma bursting from his jaws in ragged, relentless blasts. Trappers scatter like startled crabs, some diving for cover, others spinning their chains desperately to keep him back. One man screams as his bolas ignite mid-spin, molten metal splattering his arm.
You drop to Satoru’s side in the chaos. He turns his head sharply, eyes catching yours, blue in the firelight, furious and alive. Your fingers fumble at the knots. The rope is soaked with seawater, swollen tight, cutting into your palms as you fight with it.
“Hold still,” you hiss, though he’s hardly moving.
He snorts through his gag. The knot slips at last. The rope slackens, and Satoru jerks his wrists free with a hiss. He tears the gag from his mouth, coughing once before grinning up at you, that same insufferable smile that somehow hasn’t dulled even after being tied and bloodied.
“Miss me?” he drawls.
You shove his shoulder. “Get up.”
“Oh, I plan to.” Satoru’s gaze flicks past you, to Yaga still looming at the centre of it all.
Sukuna lashes his tail, knocking two trappers flat, and whirlls his head back towards you both, plasma building in his throat again. The trappers rally, more of them pouring from the shadows at the mouth of the cove, their nets glowing with oil to withstand fire, their bolas gleaming with sharpened edges meant for wings. Their shadows jitter grotesquely against the cove walls, wolfish and endless. Sukuna’s blasts have rattled them but not broken them—they circle tighter, nets at the ready.
A horn splits the night.
It’s high and keening, rolling down from the cliffs above: Berk’s call to arms.
Shapes tear through the dark sky. Dragons. Not one, not two—a little less than a dozen, wings beating hard, riders silhouetted against the clouds. Their cries cascade through the air—the iron thrum of Nadder wings, the heavy, beating thunder of a Gronckle, the shriek of a Zippleback.
The riders dive. Bolas meant for Sukuna snap backward, suddenly tangled in fire. A trapper screams when a Deadly Nadder’s spines pin his arm to the cove wall. Yaga’s apprentice clings desperately to his dragon—far too small for this fight, a Gronckle, wings buzzing frantically—but his horn blast keeps sounding, rallying the others.
“Traitors!” Yaga bellows. His face is red with fury, veins bulging in his temple. “Do you side with him over your own chief?”
“Over a traitor, yes!” the apprentice shouts back.
The cove fractures into chaos—dragons wheeling, trappers shouting, nets burning in mid-air. Sukuna tears through them, plasma lighting up the night. You turn towards Satoru, only to freeze.
Yaga’s hand clamps down around your arm, thick and brutal, yanking you off your feet. The world spins; your back slams against his chest, his arm like an iron band around you. He drags you towards the cliff’s edge, gravel skittering into the black maw of sea below.
“Stop!” His roar drowns even the dragon cries. “Or she falls!”
Sukuna halts mid-pounce, talons gouging sparks in the stone. The other riders hover, their dragons’ wings beating the air in slow, heavy pulses. Even the trappers hesitate, chains slack in their hands. The sea crashes below, white foam gnashing against the rocks, a drop so sheer it makes you feel nauseous.
Yaga’s breath rasps against your ear. “The Night Fury, girl. Give him to me or you’re gone.”
You twist, fighting against his grip, nails digging into his arm, but he’s immovable, a wall of muscle and conviction. He jerks you closer to the edge, and the heel of your boot slips on loose gravel. Your weight tilts towards the abyss.
Somehow, impossibly, you make eye contact with Satoru—astride Sukuna. His white hair gleams in the torchlight. Sukuna crouches beneath him, plasma pulsing faintly in his throat, tail still twitching.
Satoru’s lips move.
Eighty percent.
You blink, barely comprehending. “What?” you croak out.
Eighty percent.
Suddenly, you know. He wants you to trust him. He wants you to fall. It’s insane. It’s impossible.
The apprentice screams your name from somewhere above. The riders shout warnings. The trappers lunge forward, seeing their chance. Yaga tightens his grip, preparing to hurl you like discarded cargo into the sea.
You make the choice first.
Your knees buckle, and you let yourself go slack. His grip loosens in shock—just enough. You wrench sideways, twist hard against his hold, and throw yourself forward into the air.
The sea roars up to meet you. Wind tears your scream to shreds. There’s only the black water yawning wide, jagged rocks slick with foam—until Sukuna dives down, his wings folded tightly. He rockets down the cliff face, plasma sparking in his jaws. You glimpse Satoru’s silhouette against the stars, leaning low in the saddle, eyes locked on you.
The air sears past your skin, the spray of the sea already stinging your face. Claws close around you.
Sukuna’s talons scoop you from the air. The force of it nearly rips the breath from your lungs, but the relief, the sheer surge of it, blinds you more than the wind. He angles upward in a steep climb, wings snapping wide, hauling you clear from the rocks and the ravenous waves.
You’re pressed tightly against his chest, his claws curled just enough to cage you without harm, his scales hot with exertion. Above you, astride the saddle, Satoru twists in his seat, grinning down at you.
“See?” he calls. “Told you. Eighty percent.”
You want to kiss him. You also want to scream. Instead, all you manage is a hoarse, furious, “You’re an idiot!”
Your first kiss with Satoru Gojo occurs because of Sukuna.
Not because you wanted it to. Gods, no. You’d rather have wrestled a Gronckle with one arm tied behind your back than admit you were even remotely tempted by the smirk plastered across Satoru’s stupid face. But Sukuna, traitorous beast that he is, decided that enough was enough.
It starts when the Night Fury refuses to let either of you down. You’re sore from the fight, ribs aching where Yaga had grabbed you, salt still drying and sticking to your skin. You’ve been through enough for one night, and all you want is the ground. Just solid ground beneath your feet.
Sukuna, it seems, has other ideas.
He lands not on the village cliffs, not near the dragon pens, but on the highest bluff overlooking Berk. A windswept place where he knows neither of you can escape quickly. He lowers his head, eyes narrowing with that calculating look he always gets when he’s three steps ahead of everyone else.
You try to slide off the saddle. His tail lashes, blocking your path.
“Really?” you snap, shoving at the scaled wall of muscle. “I’ve had enough for today.”
“He just doesn’t want us to leave,” Satoru supplies. “Can you blame him? We make such a great team.”
You whirl on him. “You nearly got yourself killed.”
“Nearly. Keyword.”
Your teeth grind. The wind snaps your hair into your eyes, the sea growls far below, and Satoru is—well, Satoru. All flippant grins and infuriating calm, as if Yaga’s betrayal, the trappers, the near loss of Sukuna, none of it left so much as a scratch on his spirit.
You jab a finger at his chest. “You think this is funny? You were gagged and tied and—”
“—and you swooped in and saved me,” he says. “Admit it, you couldn’t stand to see me suffer.”
“You—” you splutter. “I— That’s not—”
Sukuna rumbles, wings settling around you both like a barricade. His eyes gleam faintly in the dark, twin garnets pinning you where you sit. You realise too late: he’s cornered you.
Satoru tilts his head. “You hear that? He’s saying we should kiss and make up.”
“He is not,” you say flatly.
“He definitely is,” Satoru insists. He leans in just slightly, enough to test the boundaries, enough for your heart to betray you by stumbling over itself. “C’mon. Wouldn’t want to upset him. He’s had a rough day too.”
You glare, but the problem is that Sukuna seems to agree. He nudges the both of you closer with the blunt force of his snout, nearly toppling you into Satoru’s lap. The dragon huffs smoke, satisfied, before curling into the stone and laying his head flat as though to say, Now behave.
You should shove Satoru away. You should storm off, make the climb down the cliffs yourself, risk the dark. Anything but this.
The adrenaline of the fight still thrums through your veins. Your pulse hasn’t slowed since you saw him bound on his knees, blood dripping from his temple, smirking like a madman even then. You remember the feel of the ropes cutting your palms as you freed him, the wild terror that maybe you’d been too late.
Maybe that’s why you don’t shove him away. Maybe that’s why you let him close the distance, why your lips meet his halfway in a kiss that’s less a decision and more a consequence, inevitable as the tide.
It’s clumsy, at first. You’re too angry, he’s too smug. But he softens into it, just a little, and you hate the way the ground seems to tilt under your feet, how the world narrows to salt air and warmth and the reckless promise of him.
When you finally break apart, breathless, Satoru grins like he’s just won a war.
“Knew you liked me,” he says, blue eyes sparkling.
You shove him hard in the shoulder, though your face burns. “That was for Sukuna,” you say.
The dragon rumbles again, smug as any beast can be. Satoru only laughs, tipping his head back, and pulls you in for another kiss.
It’s ecstatic, the feel of Satoru’s tongue lapping at your folds.
His tongue is wet and hot as it laps over the sensitive nerves, and you can feel the way he hums happily as he laps at the juices that drip onto his waiting mouth. You’re sure his face is going to be covered in your slick by the end of this, but it seems like he couldn’t care less, if his moans and groans are any indication. Your fingers tangle in his white strands of hair, gripping hard to keep him where you want him. His arms are wrapped around your legs, keeping them open as he feasts on your cunt. You can see the muscles in his back flexing as he tries to get closer, get deeper, and you can only hold on for dear life, feeling the way he drives you higher and higher towards your orgasm.
Satoru is making a mess of himself, and you know he has a thing for being covered in your slick.
The moment the thought passes through your head, you can’t help the cry that escapes, a full-body shiver wracking through your body. He groans into you, the sound vibrating against your skin, and you feel his tongue move in a way that you know has him spelling his name, over and over again. You tug at his hair, trying to move him, but his arms tighten and he doesn’t budge.
You let out a moan, trying to speak. “Satoru, I—I need you. Inside me. Now.”
He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking harshly. “One more, gorgeous. Give me one more, and then I’m all yours.”
You whine, feeling the heat in your stomach build, and Satoru continues to eat you out. Your back arches off the bed, and you grip his hair tighter. Your thighs start to close around him; he lets go of one of your legs to press two fingers into your heat, pressing right into that spot that has you crying out his name, curling his fingers as his tongue flicks rapidly over your clit. Your body shakes, and you cry out his name, feeling the way your cunt tightens and throbs around his fingers.
Satoru groans, moving his face away from your core and watching as the aftershocks of your orgasm make your body tremble. He pumps his fingers slowly, prolonging your pleasure, and you whine at the sensitivity.
He smiles softly, kissing the inside of your thigh, before removing his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and licking the juices that cover them. He lets out a pleased moan, eyes locked onto yours, and moves to kiss you.
His lips are warm, and you taste yourself on his tongue. It only serves to rile you up more when you feel the way his cock throbs where it presses against your thigh. You raise your legs to wrap them around his hips, and you push him lightly. Satoru moves willingly, letting out a moan as he lies on his back. He grips the sheets in anticipation, watching as you straddle his lap. He groans, feeling the way your cunt settles on his thighs. You smile, running a finger down his chest, and he bucks his hips in response.
You let out a gasp when the tip of his cock rubs against your folds. He moans.
Satoru’s hands grip your hips tightly, and his thumb rubs circles on your skin. You can feel the way he trembles under you. Your hand wraps around his cock, pumping lightly; he whines. You position the tip at your entrance, rubbing it against your clit, and moan.
“Stop teasing,” he groans, and you grin.
“Or what?” you taunt, grinding against his length. “Are you going to punish me, Satoru?”
He growls, hips jerking upwards. You gasp, feeling the tip rub against your folds, catching at your slit, and try to lower yourself. But Satoru tightens his hold, not letting you sink further onto his cock. You glare at him.
“I should,” he says, and suddenly his arms are around you, flipping you onto your back.
He settles between your thighs, his arms framing either side of your head. His hair falls into his eyes, and you can feel his cock brushing against your folds. You move your arms to wrap around his shoulders, nails scratching lightly down his back.
Satoru groans, burying his head in your neck, nipping lightly.
“Fuck,” you breathe out, feeling his hips jerk.
The tip of his cock rubs against your clit again. He lets out a breathless laugh.
“I will,” he responds—only to be interrupted by a loud, keening wail from outside your cottage door.
The sound is so piercing, so demanding, that for a moment you think some villager has wandered into mortal peril right outside your door. But no—no, you recognise that guttural, almost petulant cry. You and Satoru both freeze.
“Was that—” you start.
Another wail, louder this time, rattles the hinges of your cottage, followed by the unmistakable scrape of claws against wood.
Satoru drops his forehead against your collarbone. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
The Night Fury wails again, insistent, tail thudding against the doorframe. You bite back a laugh, half-giddy, half-exasperated, and say, “I think someone wants attention.”
Satoru lifts his head, hair mussed and eyes narrowed. “He’s the worst cockblock in history,” he mutters. “Tell him to go hunt some haddock or terrorise the chickens, or—Gods, literally anything else.”
The next sound isn’t just a wail. It’s a low, mournful croon that slides under your ribs and squeezes. Sukuna isn’t just loud—he’s lonely.
You soften, even as Satoru makes a strangled noise of despair above you. “Satoru…”
“No,” he says, rolling off you onto his back. “No, no, don’t you dare give him those eyes. He doesn’t deserve those eyes. I was right there, gorgeous—right there.”
You’re already tugging your tunic back over your shoulders, laughing despite the ache in your belly. “He’ll tear the cottage down if we don’t.”
Satoru throws an arm over his face, groaning into the crook of his elbow. “I hate him. I actually hate him.”
But when you slip to the door and crack it open, Sukuna is there, his massive head lowered to the threshold, those garnet eyes glowing with expectation. He snorts the moment he sees you, bumping his snout against your chest.
“Alright, alright,” you murmur, your hands automatically smoothing over his warm snout. “Head pats. Happy?”
Sukuna rumbles, pressing harder into your palm. Satoru groans again. “Unbelievable. My dragon just stole my girl. I’m doomed.”
You glance over your shoulder to find him sprawled on the bed, hair a disaster, chest heaving, the blankets thrown over the lower half of his body. He’s sulking. You grin.
“Maybe he just knows when to step in,” you tease, scratching gently at Sukuna’s scales.
“Step in? He barged in.”
Sukuna lets out a little huff and nuzzles harder against your hand.
Satoru groans once more, louder this time, dragging the pillow over his face. “I’m moving out.”
a/n: thanks for reading! i have a habit of turning sukuna into animals lol he was also a horse in my old gojo tangled!au
ꉂ ᵎᵎ cw/tw: 18+, suggestive, mention of creampie, ooc (for the plot), softdom!izuku (the classic) bratty!sub!fem!afab!reader (classic), possibly not accurate/possible portrayal of wisdom tooth drugs, not proofread #pen to paper
ꉂ ᵎᵎ a/n: this is a reblog from my previous account. i wasn’t born with wisdom teeth i’ll never experience this first hand
ꉂ ᵎᵎ synopsis: short blurb; bitchy gf reader driving izuku home from the dentist after getting his wisdom teeth removed and he’s up to no good!
ꉂ ᵎᵎ w/c: 389 words
is this thing on
has anyone thought about izuku and his bitchy girlfriend where she has to drive him home from the dentist after getting his wisdom teeth removed? and instead of being all sluggish and mumbling “i love you’s,” he keeps trying to finger her as she drives?
───
“izuku, quit fucking doing that,” you scold, trying to squeeze your thighs tightly together.
he just giggles, his finger teasing the slit of your pussy through your panties. “you’re so cute when you’re focused.”
“i’m not gonna look cute if you keep that up,” you snap, prying him off you, all while keeping your eyes on the road.
with a grin, he puts his hand back on your thigh, this time just keeping it there. “when we get home, i’m gonna fuck you sooooo good… like… until you can’t walk…” he whispers, almost snickering, his breath brushing against the shell of your ear.
“no, you’re not,” you sigh, annoyed by his drug-fueled antics. “you’re gonna go lay in bed and take a nap.”
“will you come with me?” he tilts his head, peeking at your cleavage.
“no, because i have to make dinner.”
this time, he’s the one who sighs. “why can’t we just skip to dessert?” he asks, hand creeping up under your skirt again for the nth time.
you shoot him a quick glare, finding yourself lecturing him. “i doubt eating me out could make you full, and you need to recover well, so, until it can— we’re going to eat chicken noodle soup instead.”
“dudeee,” he drags out the word, his eyes widening as you had suddenly triggered a memory. “i was telling the nurse about that.”
“what nurse?” you question, brows furrowing in confusion. “telling about what?”
“at the dentist, babe!”
“oh. those are called dental assistants.”
“well,” he slurs, fishing some sort of package out of his pocket. “the dental assistant was asking me about what i was gonna do when i got home, so i told her that i was probably gonna fuck you until you were like, nice and full of my cum… and she gave me this!”
as your eyes dart from the road to what was in his hand, you realized it was a condom.
“you’re such a fucking idiot,” you mumble, ears red as he laughs at your reaction.
ꉂ ᵎᵎ original a/n: that night you left a voicemail for the dentist’s office apologizing for your boyfriend giving them the play by play on how he fucks his “hot ass girlfriend.”
I REALLY REALLY LIKE YOU (so won’t you stay the night?) w/c: 16.1k - ; HIGURUMA HIROMI x F!READER
✎ᝰ you like him sooo much. you don’t think he feels as strongly as you do.
࿄ ! warnings — porn WITH LOTS of plot, MINORS DNI, piv, very explicit smut, protected sex, cunnilingus, fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms, doctor!female reader with a nipple piercing (very self indulgent, soz), established relationship, miscommunication trope, angst-ish, praise, dacryphilia if you squint, dirty talk, very soft pleasure dom!higuruma, slight age gap (reader is 27, higuruma is 35)
/note. first fic i’ve written in almost two years omg sedate me (also realised just how illiterate i’ve become so please bare with me on any typos i tried!!)
sometimes it’s hard to get a read on higuruma, you think. he’s somewhat of a stoic person, face unchanged by even the most devastating or sanguine of news, and it’s no different now that you’ve started dating him officially. you consider yourself lucky enough that you get to see him outside of the shell that is his “overworked public defender” exterior, and even luckier that you get to call this man your lover, partner, darling of intrigue (or, as you describe him to your friends, your dear boyfriend).
however, something has felt… off as of late. nothing that would require you to raise a red flag of warning, sure, but the only way this feeling could be describe is that it’s akin to the taste of milk the day before it’s supposed to be thrown out — it smells good enough, but the beginning forms of congealing and clotting have collected along the bottom of the carton, and with enough shaking, would end up in your cup of warm tea unsuspectingly…
and as of right now, your relationship with higuruma has felt like the inception of expired milk. granted, when prompted by curious friends and family about your budding relationship with the man, you generally have nothing but good things to say about him. higuruma is a gentleman, and he’s kind, and remembers all the things you’ve told him in the short times you’ve been seeing each other, and altruistic to his very core. he’s also a very generous lover in the bedroom, so your sexual compatibility has never been considered as something to ring alarms about. everything should be great…
but it isn’t.
you see, while you’ve only been together for a few months, give or take, you feel as if many a milestone should have been crossed by now… the most important one (in your eyes, anyway) being that you stay the night at each other’s place.
and yet, it hasn’t happened. you think to all the times where you and higuruma have finished fooling around in the comfort of his bedroom, out of breath and very sated, and the dimming of the sky begins to brush over the horizon — and like clockwork, you sit up, scratching the soft skin of your belly awkwardly as you say, “gosh, it’s getting late.”
the response you’ve so desperately sought out for was a lidded eyed higuruma, who would be looking up at you with so much desire and yearning, his arms outstretched to wrap around your body to pull you in, with barely a word uttered between you two as he says, “i would really like if you could stay.”
unfortunately, that has never been the case during these few months, where he would sit up next to you, nodding owlishly as he helped you collect your clothes, calling a taxi while helping you to the door and kissing your forehead goodbye.
the disappointment in itself feels unfounded and unwarranted. he’s a nice man. he never leaves you high and dry, always pays for your ride home, ensures that you text him when you get there, and he’s sending you a good night text where he asks when you both may see each other again.
the guilt you feel for the rejection that climbs up your throat when he doesn’t offer you respite at his home is insurmountable, to say the least. it’s no different at your place either: by the time you’ve disjointed from his sweaty grasp, he’s already jingling his car keys while looking for his displaced socks.
it doesn’t make any sense to you. did he not see this going beyond a few dates and sex? he had already introduced you to his cat, shifu, and likewise had became acquainted with your own kitten, popo. it felt incredibly serious in your eyes. you had gushed about him to your friends, posted him online via fleeting 24hr story posts, but his existence in your life was there.
so what was going on?
it feels like your day has been dragging on after having spent the morning in your own bed yet again, your mind going back to a few nights ago where you had a nice home cooked dinner with higuruma, with the night — of course — ending in sexual intimacy (you think the few glasses of pinot noir and a seductive carbonara made you a deer in headlights to your boyfriend’s whims, despite all your warring feelings), and, like clockwork, with higuruma picking up your clothes as he dialled for the taxi to come pick you up, much too drunk to drive you home (and apparently too out of his wits to suggest that you stay the night).
your eyes stay glued to the text chain between the both of you, with the last two of your messages having been left on delivered since last night — albeit they’re nothing out of the ordinary, just you tell higuruma you made it home safely and that you couldn’t wait to see him again… and nonetheless, the texts stay unread, taunting you through the screen.
a deep sigh leaves your chest, and you close your phone to look off into the distance (the aforementioned being the sharply lit hallway of your workplace, with patients and nurses going in and out of their respective rooms). just then, one of your colleagues-turned-friends rounds the corner, and you look up to see shoko, hands on her hips when she sees you sulking on the waiting chair outside your office.
“you’re looking especially forlorn today,” she teases and you deadpan at her as she takes a seat next to you, nudging you gently. “what’s up with you, huh?”
you nibble on your bottom lip, shaking your head. “it’s… it’s nothing,” to which shoko scoffs at, this time poking you with her foot.
“are you seriously going to try and lie to me right now?” she says, unimpressed. you shake your head.
“exactly,” she responds, poking your arm. “so i’ll ask again: what’s up with you?”
you huff, looking down at your phone, edging down a fingertip to switch the screen on just to see a whole lot of nothing (save for a the same text messages staring up at you) on the OLED.
shoko snatches the phone from your hand before you can protest, and her eyes glance downwards and her shoulders sag in immediate knowing. “ohhhh… it’s him.”
you don’t even have to answer, nor do you really want to.
she nudges you again, this time with her elbow. “did something terrible happen with him? why is he not answering your texts?”
“it’s… stupid,” you sigh, shrugging to which shoko scoffs.
“it’s obviously not stupid if it has you moping around like a heartbroken, lovesick tween,” she snorts, to which you nudge her this time. “if he’s making you feel like this, then maybe you should talk to him about it.”
you huff, snatching your phone back. “it’s not that simple… we’ve only been dating three months… that’s nothing in the adult world.”
shoko rolls her eyes, unimpressed. “don’t give me that bullshit. you’re a grown ass woman, and i’ve never known you to not communicate your feelings like one either—”
she then pokes your foot with hers. “and who cares if it’s only been three months? it’s not like you’re asking him to get one knee and buy a ring, you’re asking for attention. that’s not exactly a big ask.”
you sigh resoundingly and defeatedly, shoko’s words reminiscent of what you should’ve been thinking if you were a mature, adjusted woman.
“i know, i know… it’s just… when we have sex—” (the word is uttered under your breath, your eyes darting around the near empty hospital hallway), “he knows just what to say and do and everything seems perfect.”
you swallow thickly. “the we finish and he acts like he doesn’t know how to speak to me… then in return, i don’t know how to speak to him.”
you then laugh bitterly. “god, how pathetic does that sound?”
shoko stares at you for five solid seconds before slapping a palm against her forehead, to which you sit up in alarm.
“sho—?!”
she just as quickly responds with an iteration of your name. “you’re not pathetic,” she says, voice firm. “you’re human, and you just happen to be caught up with an emotionally constipated man. it happens to the best of us. either way, none of this is your fault in particular.”
your eyes begin to water slightly, and you have to tuck your thumbs into the sleeves of your jumper to dab at the inner corners of your eyes. you lean your head on shoko’s shoulder, sniffling quietly.
“what do i do? do i break up with him—?”
shoko snorts again, shaking her head. “you don’t have to go to those extremes just yet, silly.”
she then throws an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a side-hug that has you leaning even further into her hold. “you should definitely talk to him, though. sit his ass down and look him in the eyes and say, “we need to talk,” and if he’s half the man you say he is, he’ll listen. it’s that simple.”
you nod against her. “you’re always right, shoko… that settles it. i’ll talk to him.”
“of course i am,” she teases with a grin, pressing her lips to the crown of your head gently.
just then, her pager goes off with a loud beep and she groans, giving your shoulder a warm squeeze before standing.
“i’m off to finish off my rounds. i’ll find you in your office later, yeah?”
you nod again, smiling up at her. “yeah, i’ll see you then, sho’.”
shoko disappears with a wave over her shoulder, her heels a familiar click clack against the tile as she slides around the corner, and you’re left with your phone and unanswered texts all over again.
your stomach churns, fluttering with anxiety at the idea of confronting him, or worse, upsetting him about something as menial as this (though, clearly not with the way it has consumed you to the point of fatalistic worry that your romance is already over before it could properly blossom into something more).
either way, shoko was right. you deserve to know your place with a man you actually see a future with, no matter how early or budding the prospect is.
you unlock your phone again, fingers padding until higuruma’s contact comes up on the screen: hiromi <3
you ring him without so much a second glance, paying no heed to what he could be doing right now as a man of such a busy and demanding career.
the cell rings once, twice, a third time— then it clicks, higuruma’s warm voice through the speaker.
“hello?”
you can hear the clicking of multiple keyboards in the background, and he’s obviously in the middle of working, that much you do know, so you can’t help but let out a puff of relief at the fact he’s picked up almost instantly.
“hey, hiromi. it’s me,” you breathe, a straying finger playing with a lock of your hair absentmindedly.
your name leaves his lips just as breathlessly, and you have to bite back at smile at the fact you can just hear the corners of his mouth lift up in his voice.
there’s a slight pause with some shuffling, and suddenly it’s a lot quieter. he’s giving you his full attention, which eases some of the pressure in your mind.
“is everything okay? I don’t usually expect to hear from you during a working day.”
you let out a little puff of air, as if to deflate yourself like a balloon and a dirty spoon. “no, no, everything’s fine, i just… wanted to ask if you were busy friday night, since you, uh… never responded to my text.”
his voice catches from beyond the speaker and he sighs, and you can hear him rake a hand through his hair.
“i’m sorry. i got caught up in work, and i meant to open your message but i got caught up in work and it slipped my mind—”
there’s a slight moment where higuruma exhales, mumbling quietly, before he clears his throat. “to answer your question, yes, i’m free on friday. did… you want to do something?”
you pretend to hum thoughtfully, as if you hadn’t been mulling over these date plans for the past few days since you’ve last seen him. “i was thinking dinner at my place? if that’s alright with you, of course.”
higuruma laughs softly, a slightly crackle to the sound. “i’d love that. what should i bring?”
“just yourself,” you say teasingly, a fond smile now lighting up your entire face. “maybe a bottle of wine but that’s not obligatory in the slightest.”
he laughs softly — low and warm, the sound washing over the phone line like liquid honey, so much so that you almost forget that the purpose of this impromptu date is to talk to him about the future of their relationship.
emphasis on almost.
“you sure? i have no trouble picking something up.”
you shake your head, nibbling at the skin of your bottom lip as his words drape over you. “really… i don’t mind.”
“if you insist, my love. i will be there around seven?”
you hum sweetly. “seven is perfect.”
“seven it is,” he responds, and you hear some movement from behind the screen and higuruma coughs. “i should get back to work now but… i will see you on friday?”
“o-oh yeah, of course,” you stammer, a little shy now for some reason. “don’t let me keep you. yes… i’ll see you then. bye hiromi.”
he murmurs your name with the same adieu, voice terribly soft, as it always is when he’s talking to you.
when the line clicks dead, all you’re left with is silence and the quiet ache in your chest that seems to ebb and flow but never truly go away when it comes to him.
you stare at your phone a moment longer, before stuffing it into your pocket and getting up from the chair.
friday suddenly can’t come quick enough.
ᝰ ᝰ ᝰ ᝰ ᝰ
the rest of the week comes and goes, and before you know it, friday evening is just mere minutes away.
you walk around your apartment doing some finishing touches while dinner cooks: fluffing up your couch pillows, making sure your little cat stays tucked in and asleep in the spare bedroom, fixing the angles of your framed photos, and of course, making sure your bedroom is presentable lest you partake in any after meal activities (which, of course, is purely contingent on how the conversation with higuruma goes, and that conversation will be had, you have made sure of it).
you then saunter to your bedroom mirror, hands smoothing over your dark evening dress as you take a mirror selfie, sending it to your friends who insist that you’re not too dressed up, as they respond with a flurry of heart eyes, compliments and gushing words.
with some newfound confidence, you throw your phone onto the bed, admiring yourself in the reflection for a moment, and the thought of higuruma’s reaction to how you look sends your knees into a slight buckle, to which you scold yourself over.
“composure, woman,” you grumble, storming back into the kitchen, your heels clacking alongside you in rhythmic fashion. “it’s not about that right now.”
unbeknownst to you, higuruma stands outside your apartment, glancing at himself through the metal of your numbered door, and he lifts a thumb to brush through his eyebrows and the front of his hair.
with one arm, he tightens his black tie against his crisp white shirt, balancing a bottle of pinot noir and a bouquet of dark orchids and lillies. he checks the time on his wristwatch once more, waiting for the clock to strike at exactly seven when he lifts a finger to press against the doorbell.
you’re back in the kitchen and checking on the starter when you hear it, gasping and muttering a few expletives under your breath as you click and clack to the front door, unlocking it and pulling it open, smiling up and expectantly at higuruma in all his glory.
“hey. right on time.”
a slow, steady curve of a smile spreads across his face as he takes you in — really looks at you — for the first time that week since your last rendezvous.
“you,” he says softly, voice already teetering on ragged, “are killing me.”
he steps forward, eyes scanning you up and down like he wants to permanently etch the image of you right now into his retinas and brain.
as bashful as ever, you bite back a smile, cheeks heating up at his very obvious appreciation. higuruma then gestures to the bottle of wine and bouquet of flowers in his hold. “these are for you. i know you said i didn’t need to bring anything but… it didn’t sit right with my conscience to show up empty handed while you dote on me.”
you awe at him, taking the the gifts into your arms, and stepping backwards into your apartment. “really, hiromi, you shouldn’t have… but please, come on. dinner will be ready in just a moment.”
hiromi steps in from behind you, and you don’t check to see that he’s already close to next to you as you get out a vase and fill it with water to accommodate for the lovely flowers.
he follows you inside, his gaze still roaming appreciatively over the way the smooth fabric of your dress curves over your hips as you walk. you can see his fingers twitch at his side from your periphery and you have to bite back a pleased smile at how well received your current get up is with the man lingering behind you.
“you look absolutely stunning, by the way,” he says, almost exasperated at the fact.
you look at him over your shoulder for a mere second, smiling as humbly as ever.
“thank you… you clean up well yourself,” you jest, with a teasing lilt to your voice.
you take out a vase, filling it up with water. “um, dinner won’t be ready for a little while so feel free to make yourself comfortable.”
all the while, hiromi just watches silently as you put the flowers he brought you into the vase. as if operating on pure instinct, he takes his blazer off, draping it over a dining room chair. his tie has already come a little loose.
he watches you bustle around the kitchen and youre yet to see that he just... stands there, watching you, so obviously taking in the way that you look.
you hum a little tune to yourself, getting out a couple plates as you finish up, eyes darting when it feels like you’re being watched from your peripheral vision.
you spin, wine glasses in your hand as you raise a brow at hiromi, walking over to where he leans by the dining room table.
“when i said make yourself comfortable, i meant make yourself at home. not watch me while i finish dinner.”
the corner of his lips twitches — like he knows he’s been caught.
he holds your gaze when you walk over, his eyes on you like an animal about to pounce on his prey, but when he catches you staring right at him, he has to look away for a moment and clear his throat, as if to signal that he was deep in thought and definitely not checking you out.
you huff, rolling your eyes as you place the glasses on the table. “the starter will be done soon… i just need to make sure that the wellington doesn’t burn and…”
you turn to him again as you trail off, hands moving from your hips to shoo him off. “now go away. snoop if you must. i’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”
“snoop?” he echoes, feigning offense as he finally pushes off the table. "i’m just appreciating the view."
hiromi gives you a slow, crooked smile of appreciation coupled with defeat — rare and genuine from a man of his stoic disposition (has that been said before?) as he then turns to wander into your living room.
when you finish up like promised, placing two plates on the table: two identical dishes of shrimp risotto across the table, parallel, you wander off to the living room, and you find hiromi strewn across the couch like he owns the thing, and from where you stand, you see his fingers over the spine of one of your textbooks on the coffee table before pausing at a framed photo: you and your friends, arms all slung around each other, grinning like fools in front of cherry blossoms.
his thumb brushes over it gently, and you almost don’t want to call for him from where you’re greedily eating up the way he fits in your home.
instead, you compromise. you quietly walk back into the dining room, coughing loudly before shouting out.
“hiromi, your presence is wanted!”
“yes, ma'am.”
he’s already there before you know it, his long legs carry him the distance to the dining table in a few strides, pulling out the chair across from you and sitting.
“that smells good.”
“thank you,” you say, sitting down. “please, enjoy.”
he doesn't move right away.
instead, he just... watches you spoon up your food, and it’s only when you look up at him to wipe away some remnants from the corner of your mouth does he smile softly and pick up his spoon.
“then i’ll start before i embarrass myself by staring at you any longer.”
he takes a bite — and genuinely moans in appreciation.
“… this is incredible.”
you smile softly, a little flustered. “thank you… it’s just something i threw together. i’m glad you like it.”
he laughs a little to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.
“just something you threw together? bullshit. this is better than most restaurants here in tokyo.”
another bite: this time, a slightly bigger one. he savours it, closing his eyes as he tastes it on his tongue.
“where the hell did you learn to cook like this?”
you shrug, taking another spoonful into your mouth. “cooking’s fun. there’s actually not much to do as a working woman when you don’t have time for anything but work, eat and sleep… might as well make it more tolerable.”
hiromi pauses mid-bite, his eyes narrowing slightly. “are you saying you spend your spare time cooking?"
he stares at you, completely incredulous before a slow, crooked smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“you’re unreal.”
you raise a brow while hiding back a humble smile over the curve of your spoon. “i mean, what else could possibly better suited for my time? plus, i like cooking for people… makes me feel good.”
hiromi can't help the way his eyes rove over you again, lingering on your mouth, your neck, the smooth expanse of skin he can see above the neckline of your dress.
“you enjoy doing it for others, huh?” he teases, though there's a hint of something else in his voice. “and if you're the only person there? who do you cook for then?”
you ponder at that, taken aback at his faithfulness. “hm. i guess i’ve never really thought of it that way.”
you think for a moment, then takes a sip from your wine glass, sweet and red yet bitter and light. “i guess it’s a little different when it’s for myself… but that could be applied to almost everything in my life. i think you have to be slightly masochistic to be a doctor.”
a soft huff of laughter escapes him at that, his eyes warm and bright on yours over the rim of his glass.
“slightly masochistic, huh? is that a requirement for you doctors?”
hiromi takes another sip in tandem, tongue in cheek before he huffs again. “i guess that's how you end up working yourself into the ground for ungrateful patients and shitty hours."
“hey — takes one to know one,” you retort, raising a brow. “swap patients for clients and defendants and that’s basically your life to a t.”
hiromi tilts his head backward as if in thought before nodding in agreement, his shoulders shifting beneath his shirt.
“fair enough,” he concedes, lips curved in a wry smile. “though i get to charge them a hell of a lot more.”
he takes another bite, then:
“that being said... my shitty hours do come with a good salary.”
“oh?” you says, spooning another bite into your mouth. “here i thought that public defenders were one of the more oppressed groups in our judicial system.”
“ah—” he smirks, leaning forward slightly. “careful, doctor. i’m not just a public defender anymore.”
hiromi’s voice drops a notch — smooth, confident and it almost has your spine sitting up straight from the buzz of conduction that tickles up the nerves.
“i’ve got my own practice now. we handle civil litigation and criminal defense — you know, pro bono for those who need it most."
he watches you over his glass as he takes another sip, smacking his lips quietly as if to make a point.
“please don’t let the modest suits fool you. i can afford to take you out for more than just dinner.”
you raise your hands in mock surrender. “forgive me for my preconceived notions… and that’s very good to know.”
he laughs, low and warm that it has you grinning from bask of it, and there's a flicker of something proud in his eyes.
“not going to lie, i like that you didn’t know,” he admits, swirling the wine in his glass. “means you weren't after me for my bank account.”
his gaze lifts to meet yours, suddenly serious.
“...you were after me for me.”
it’s your turn to laugh quietly this time, leaning back in your chair.
“well, while i am glad to have given you that impression, i grew up relatively well off… men with money are a dime a dozen. it means very little to me in the grand scheme of things.”
hiromi’s lips quirk in an amused smile, eyes narrowing slightly. “is that right? have you dated a lot of rich men, doctor?”
you snort, leaning forward onto the palm of your hands as the man in front of you sets his fork down, his wine glass joining it in a quiet, soft thump. his eyes never leave your face. “do i give you that impression?”
“no, not at all,” he jibes, cheeks dimpling ever so faintly, “but i am beginning to wonder if I'm at risk here," he teases, but there's a hint of sincerity in his voice. "you might take one look at my paycheck and dump me for someone richer."
you shake your head, smiling a little. “au contraire, mr lawyer… all i can do is assure you in that—” and you top off his glass of red, before pouring some in your own.
“money just doesn’t impress me quite as much as you may think it does.”
you polish off your plate, looking at him. “now, are you done? the main is almost ready.”
hiromi blinks at you.
right. dinner.
you don’t fail to notice that he’s been sitting, staring at you the entire time. nevertheless, he recovers quickly with a curt nod, flashing you a lazy smile as he finally sets his silverware down.
“yes, i’m done. that was delicious, by the way… not that i expect anything less from you, doctor.”
he grins wider, raising his empty wine glass in a mock toast.
you rolls your eyes at him fondly, playfully brushing past his shoulder with the sway of your hip as you take his plate and your own to the kitchen behind where you eat.
the moment you walk away, hiromi’s eyes follow, lingering like a dedicated flame. he lets out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair and he tries his hardest to stay seated — fingers drumming once against the table — before finally standing and walking into the kitchen behind you.
he leans against the arched doorway, arms crossed over his chest.
“let me help.”
you look over at him, putting on your apron and taking out some folded oven gloves. “i would be a terrible hostess if i let my guest help me cook.”
he steps closer, too close; close enough to smell the vanilla in his hair that mingles with the faint citrus of your perfume.
“then consider it a rebellion," he teases, his voice low and gentle, "against good hosting."
his fingers graze yours as he takes the dish from your hands, the heat between them not just from the oven.
“let me do this… please?”
you raise a brow in contemplation before decidedly raising your hands in stark white defeat. “okay… fine. you’ve officially browbeaten me into submission,” and you rest your hands on your hips for a second, before lifting up a tray.
“here. you can take the pot of gravy to the table while i slice the wellington.”
he smiles triumphantly, taking the pot from you easily. he’s a little too smug, the look in those grey eyes justifiably victorious.
“i am good at that, you know," he says as he walks away. the words have a double meaning, and you can’t help think that the both of you know it.
he sets the dish down in the middle of the table, then returns to the kitchen again, finding his way behind you once again.
“i would hope so, mr lawyer,” you say, passing him a pot of potatoes. “now take this and sit down. i’ll be there with our second course of the evening.”
“yes, ma'am.”
the corners of his lips twitch, holding back a smile at the authoritative tone in your voice. you can tell he wants to tease you more, to say something cheeky and infuriating, but the side eye glance you give him makes him hold his tongue, bowing his head as he returns to the dining room.
he takes the potatoes like the committed one he is and sits, hands on his lap, a proper gentleman waiting for his meal.
but his eyes never leave you.
you return, with two plates of beef wellington and tenderstem broccoli (to which you’ve told hiromi that there is a difference and that it is superior to normal broccoli), sliding them onto the table.
you sit across from him once again. “well then… please enjoy.”
he looks down at the meal before him; and then, of course, there's you in front of him.
he has to swallow thickly so as to not give anything away in his voice, dark eyes lifting back to yours.
“thank you,” he says quietly. “this looks amazing.”
you beam at him, (and you subtly notice that you keep doing a lot of that tonight, but can it even be helped when in such gorgeous and suave company?), digging into your own portion.
hiromi chews and swallows, making little to no noise —but then says suddenly, "can i ask you something?"
you look up at him, mid bite, nodding. “of course.”
“why’d you go into neurosurgery?”
his voice is gentle yet serious, which is typical of hiromi’s nature. it’s one of things you like most about him.
he watches you closely as he waits for the answer, to which your lips curl a little at the corners as you think, your eyes flitting down to your plate. “it was the only specialty that didn’t make me want to off myself after every rotation.”
hiromi is surprised into a shocked, choking sort of laugh. his eyes roam over you, a slight smirk on his lips.
“that is... brutally honest.”
you laugh a little sheepishly, shaking your head.
“i’m sorry i don’t have a more politically correct answer… i’m sure if you asked me 4 years ago in the midst of med school, i would’ve said that i just want to help people…but it’s like you said: the people are ungrateful and the hours are long. and the pay always starts out to be downright abysmal.”
hiromi snorts, shaking his head almost ruefully.
“oh, believe me, i know how bad the hours are. and the pay is just a joke, so much so it feels like an insult. you can work yourself to the bone and there's no reward—just a slap on the back and a 'keep up the good work.'”
his fingers drum softly on the tabletop, like he can't stay still. he lets out a sigh, a tired sound, accompanied by the dark circles under his eyes, as if to serve as a physical reminder of their shared relatability.
“i get it. trust me… i get it.”
you nod, eyes softening. “yeah… it’s pretty much exactly that.” you then huffs, shaking your head. “but i don’t know… i like my job for the most part. i work with a lot of kids mostly, so that’s the silver lining. although, maybe not… while they’re a lot more pleasant than the adults i take care of… that makes the suffering oh, so much worse.”
“you..." he pauses, a look on his face you can’t quite name. "...you like kids?"
“mhmm,” you hum behind a sip of wine. “i love them… i especially adore the kids i work with…” and you say it all with a growing smile on your face, unknowing to you but ever so obvious to the man sat opposite you.
“i think someone who dislikes the world’s most innocent would be someone i wouldn’t particularly want to get to know in any capacity… how about you? do you like kids, hiromi?”
he doesn’t hesitate for even a second. “i do.”
the smile on his face is almost boyishly earnest when he says it— and he looks at you, with your soft, pretty features—and all he can picture is the way you'd look, a little swollen with a child in your belly.
he swallows, heat rising in his face. “... i like them a lot.”
this time, it’s your turn to be a little shocked, and you raise a brow. “really?” with blatant disbelief laden in your tone.
“huh. i never got that vibe from you.”
his lips twitch, caught somewhere between a smirk and an honest-to-god blush.
“you don't think i look the type?” he leans forward slightly, voice dropping. "just because i spend my days arguing with assholes in court doesn't mean i don't want to come home to tiny little people who call me daddy.”
he says it casually (too casually) but his eyes flicker to yours for just a second, testing the waters.
“...i have always wanted kids.”
you smile at that, chuckling at his choice of words.
“so, let me get this straight: you’re a 35 year old defence attorney who earns a decent living, loves kids and is dashingly handsome? what exactly were you doing before we met?”
his cheeks flush even warmer at your words, squirming a little in his seat. hiromi ends up just mirroring your own smile, dimple in his right cheek flashing as he does.
“not finding the right woman.” he lets out a mock sort of sigh. “i was starting to think I'd die alone, honestly.”
you let out a genuine laugh at the pure cynicism in his words. “oh? pray tell. what was the dating scene like before i came and saved you?”
“a nightmare,” he deadpans, shaking his head. “i dated this one woman who kept asking me what my net worth was. another one wanted me to choose between her and my career, and that's not even including the ones who just... couldn't handle the long hours, or the demanding work of being with a defence attorney of all people.”
hiromi gives you a rueful smile, but there's a subtle trace of bitterness in his eyes. “i was starting to think my only life partner would be my job.”
you hum sympathetically at that. “i can imagine…” and you trail off, before letting curiosity slip into the conversation.
“did you ever expect to be married by now?” and then you’re backtracking a little, sheepishly waving your hands. “not that there’s anything wrong with being unmarried at your age—!” you add, to which hiromi laughs at your sincerity, leaning backwards into the seat, arms folded.
“and, of course i don’t think you’re old by any means… I’m just… curious, is all.”
he makes a noise of understanding, nodding. “i’ve always thought i would be married before i turned thirty-five,” he admits quietly, taking another sip of the wine in his glass.
hiromi looks down at his hands, a little abashed as he says, “...i know, i know. it doesn't make sense. i’m relatively young; i’m successful. hell, i’ve even been told i’m attractive, which is really strange to say out loud.”
you laugh and so does he, but there's that rueful sort of edge to it again. “i guess i just never met the right woman.”
“did you ever get close to?” you ask, finger dancing over the rim of your cup.
he lets out a humorless sort of huff, scrubbing a hand over his face as he thinks.
“once or twice,” he confesses, “i got close a couple of times. things were going well, and i thought we were on the same page, and then... suddenly, they'd realize the hours were too stressful. or i was too obsessed with my job. or we just wanted... different things.”
hiromi glances at you across the table, grey eyes steady as he says, “it never worked out for one reason or another.”
you hum again, pondering… thinking.
“that’s fair… unfortunately, i can’t fault it. long hours can really make or break a relationship. it’s always that, coupled with miscommunication.”
“miscommunication,” he repeats, almost grimly, the word itself leaving a tart taste in his mouth.
he says your name, shaking his head. “you have no idea. i’ve been told i was too 'emotionally distant', that i don't show enough affection. that i expect people to read my mind. hell, i’ve even had women walk out because they said i was 'too intense'.”
he snorts.
“i’m not that difficult, am i?”
you go noticeabley quiet at that, eyes widening before they dart back to your finger playing with the rim of your wine glass. “difficult?…that’s a loaded word.”
he cocks his head at the hesitance in your voice, as if he can practically see you gearing up to respond with some sort of placating bullshit— you're too nice, too kind —so he speaks before you can.
“please," he says softly. “be honest. i can take it.”
you open and close your mouth, looking at him with pitying eyes for a second before sighing defeatedly, looking down at your half eaten meal.
“i actually think it might be the opposite… you’re not…” and you trail off, nibbling your bottom lip gently.
“i don’t know how to articulate this in a way that doesn’t sound too presumptuous or… insulting.”
“then don't sugarcoat it.”
hiromi’s voice is quiet but steady, eyes locked on yours despite the forlorn look of something… not as hard hitting as agony, but not as unassuming as pain.
"i’m asking because i want to know. not for comfort. so say it—whatever it is."
you sigh again, this time deeply.
“i don’t think you’re intense enough.”
he blinks at that, caught completely off guard by the response. you could see that he was bracing himself for something bad — probably waiting for you to list all the things he was used to hearing from past relationships. this was probably the last thing he was expecting.
hiromi’s lips part, grey eyes widening ever so slightly.
“...say that again?”
you look up at him from your plate, swallowing thickly.
“…i… i like you a lot, hiromi… and i know it’s very early days into this relationship,” and you say that a little quieter than the rest, “but sometimes… sometimes it feels like you don’t… like me all that much, at least, not as much as i do.”
you scoff, face warming a bit under the strobe light of the dining room. “god, i sound like an immature school girl with an unrequited crush.”
hiromi’s throat seemingly goes completely dry, all the air leaving his lungs in a quiet whoosh. “...what makes you think that?”
you shrug, shaking your head, picking up your fork to drag a stray piece of broccolini stem across your plate, back and forth, back and forth.
“it’s silly now that i think about saying it out loud.”
immediately, his expression softens, almost pained by the hesitance in your voice.
he looks at the uncertainty in your eyes and you don’t fail to notice that his arms twitch, as if he wills them to stay by his side.
“please,” he repeats softly. “tell me. why would you think for even a second that i don't like you?”
“it’s not that i think you don’t like me, or that you don’t enjoy my company to a certain degree…” and you trail off, looking up at him, eyes soft and gentle but a little nervous.
“i… just… sometimes, beyond our sexual chemistry… i never know what you’re thinking… you don’t say much, nor do you call, o-or tell me what you’re really thinking. and i know, it’s only been a few months, so i’ve kept most of this to myself in fear of… scaring you away with my own intensity…”
the longer you speak, the more the breath leaves your body, and the more his expression grows solemn in nature.
hearing the quiet insecurity in your own voice makes your chest ache in a way you can’t control, and you’re sure hiromi feels it too, with the way he shakes his head slowly, as if trying to clear it.
“...you can't be serious,” he murmurs. “...of course i like you. more than like you. i thought that was obvious.”
you’re still rendered unable to look him in his warm grey eyes.
“i know you like me, of course i do… but i don’t know…” and you trail off, the vegetables on your plate thoroughly covered in sauce and gravy now.
“i just… i’ve never stayed the night, nor have you offered… and i know, i know it’s immature of me when i could just ask, and you’d more than likely say yes, but…”
the words get stuck again, and you have to swallow the lump in your throat.
“i don’t know. it’s stupid. i’m sorry.”
meanwhile, hiromi is stunned into momentary silence.
almost immediately, he reaches across the table, fingers closing gently around your wrist.
“no,” he breathes, eyes pleading. "it’s not stupid, not at all. look at me.”
you looks at his hand enclosed around your wrist, before meeting his earnest gaze, still waiting… quiet and expectant.
his grip tightens ever so slightly.
"you’re not stupid," he repeats, his voice even more gentle. “don’t apologise. i’m not upset, i just... i can't believe you've been feeling this way and i never knew. i was so worried about scaring you off, i’d never even thought to consider about how you'd view me during all of this.”
his thumb brushes over your pulse point, feeling your racing heart beneath his fingertips.
it’s your turn to look at him in disbelief.
“you’ve been worried about scaring me off?”
his free hand runs anxiously through his hair, frustration clear in his expression.
“of course i have,” he confesses. “you’ve no idea how much i’ve tried to keep myself in check — to keep myself from going too hard, saying too much, going too fast... i didn't want to scare you off or make you think i was clingy.”
his thumb continues to brush circles across your wrist, the motion so soothing, so subconscious, he doesn't even realize he's doing it, but it helps lower your guard nonetheless, as he has you huffing out a laugh now, way more relieved and very sheepish.
“i… i had no idea… now i feel silly for assuming the worst. i’m sorry.”
“don’t say that,” he murmurs, giving your wrist a light squeeze.
“i should have been more straightforward from the very beginning, i just... i didn't want to push you. i figured you'd want to take things slow. that you'd want space. i didn't want to...”
he scoffs, his voice growing thick. “...i didn't want to come on too strong too early on and end up losing you.”
you slide your wrist out of his hand to replace it with your palm instead.
the moment your hand slides into his— warm, steady, and oh so, sure —something inside him cracks open like a gently steamed egg. his breath hitches.
“i really like what we have, hiromi… and i’d like us to be serious. i want you to want me even if you think i’ll reject you… because nine times out of ten, i’m most definitely thinking the same thing as you.”
hiromi looks down at your joined hands, then back up at your face. the softness in your eyes undoes him completely.
“... i want that too," he agrees quietly. “more than anything.”
you nod, smiling at him. “okay, then. it’s settled.”
the both of you just stare at each other, his eyes that bore into yours wordlessly converse with your own weighted gaze, hopeful and filling in the gaps of what doesn’t need to be conveyed.
“so…” you finally voice, “what would you like to do after dessert?”
hiromi’s thumb brushes over the back of your hand this time, absentminded.
his adam’s apple bobs and settles before he clears his throat.
“i have somewhat of an idea," he says, voice low and sultry, “but it might make me a bit of a bastard to suggest it out loud.”
you shrug, your other hand sliding atop their already conjoined ones. “i guess i’ll be the judge of that.”
hiromi’s eyes flicker down to where your hands encompasses his, and he sniffles thickly.
“…how would you feel if i suggested i spend the night at your place?"
you smile, almost showing all of your teeth.
“i’d really, really like that…” but then your face falls in innocent confusion. “though, i fail to see how that would make you look like a bastard.”
his eyes darken at your guileless smile, and he manages to keep his voice steady as he says, “...well. there is one caveat."
you narrow your eyes curiously, lips pouty.
“oh? what is it?”
for a second, hiromi is completely distracted by the pout of your lip, but when you squeeze his hand, he recalibrates, coughing with no cough backed up.
“well,” he says as casually as can be, fingers still brushing softly across your knuckles. “i have one or two... expectations, i suppose you could call them, for the night. if you're amenable, that is.”
you nod, eyes wide, still a little confused and unsure but ready to accommodate to his very preferences.
“i’m all ears— oh,” and realisation washes all over your face. “are you insinuating what i think you’re insinuating?”
seeing you begin to catch on spreads a slow, predatory smile across his lips.
he takes his time before answering, dragging out his words like silk. “that depends. what do you think i’m insinuating?" he asks, head tilting to the side.
you bite your bottom lip, before smiling innocently, shrugging.
“hey, you’re supposed to be the bastard right now. it wouldn’t be ladylike of me to say.”
a low, rumbling laugh escapes him — dark and full of promise.
“then i’ll say it for you.”
he leans across the table just slightly, voice dropping to a velvet murmur.
“i want to stay the night. and not just sleep,” and he says your name even quieter after, “i want to have you, touch you everywhere, taste every inch of your skin.”
hiromi’s hand glosses over your knuckles again and then your palm — slowly and deliberately.
“and if you're lucky... maybe i’ll let you get some sleep afterwards.”
your eyes widen, and after a pregnant pause, you inhale deeply, nodding as you pull your hand out of his grasp, standing abruptly from the table.
hiromi blinks, taken aback by the sudden loss of your touch. the beginning twist of a frown takes over his once keen expression as he watches you stand, his tone confused when he says your name, eyebrows furling. “are you oka—”
“how about we skip dessert for now?” you interject, taking the dishes from the table.
a marauding, lopsided grin spreads across his face once again.
“oh,” he says, standing slowly from the table, dangerous when he walks toward you, closing the distance until he's just behind you against the sink. his hands rest lightly on your hips. “i like that idea.”
he noses at your neck. “i guess dessert will be served,” he murmurs against your ear, lips soft.
you snort, placing the dishes in the sink, as you look behind your shoulder and up at him. “so cheesy.”
“maybe,” he admits unashamedly, his voice a low rumble against your ear. he doesn't move his hands from your hips despite your slight movements around the kitchen jostling him around. he knows it’s impractical, but he can’t seem to let go of you knowing what is yet to occur.
“but you're still standing here. still letting me touch you.”
his lips brush the shell of your ear as he adds, barely above a whisper:
“...and later tonight, when i’ve got you gasping and begging and completely undone, you'll be calling me a lot of things.”
he grins unabashedly against your skin.
“cheesy won't be one of them.”
with an airy sigh, you lean back in his touch, eyes fluttering at his touch and words, before you flicker them open, clearing your throat as you move his hands away.
“at least let me clean up before you try to seduce me, ‘romi,” you retort, opening the dishwasher.
his grip tightens on you instinctively when he hears it, but he has to let go of you when you push his hands away, albeit reluctantly, stepping back to let you clean up.
“you’re no fun,” he complains in a teasing, exasperated voice. "you really are going to make me wait, aren't you?"
“i’m not leaving dirty dishes in the sink because you want to get your dick wet,” you say crudely, turning to face him with folded arms and a smirk on your face.
“besides, aren’t you always telling me that patience is a virtue?”
he laughs tightly, shaking his head at the vulgar words coming out of your mouth, he then closes the distance between you to cage you in against the counter.
“not when the patience has me aching for you,” he maintains, voice low and rough. “you’re making it hard to behave.”
you let your hands slide up his chest, fiddling with the buttons on his dress shirt, a teasing smile on your face.
“are you that insatiable, my dear hiromi?”
his breath stutters in his chest as he watches you toying with the buttons on his dress shirt.
his eyes are hooded, darkened by pure, aching want.
“you have no idea.”
his pelvis dips in, pinning you even further against the kitchen counter.
“it’s taking every ounce of self-control i have to keep from hauling you off to the bedroom this very second. you’re going to drive me absolutely insane.”
you gasp when you feel the very presence of his desire for you — thick and wanting against his slacks, and you slide your hand down to his belt loops, pulling him closer to press a kiss to his jaw.
“is there any way i could incentivise you to wait a little while, at least until my kitchen doesn’t look like such a mess?”
a low, ragged groan escapes him as he feels your kiss on his jaw, the sound coming deep from within his chest.
when you suggest that he wait, he bites the inside of his cheek, hard, and when he speaks, his voice comes out thick.
“define a while.”
“no more than ten minutes,” you insist, your arms going to wrap around his waist.
he has to swallow, closing his eyes to ground himself when you wrap your arms around him. your touch is soft, gentle on purpose, but you’re sure that it is pure torture to him right now — like the sweetest fire engulfing you in its steady flames.
he takes a deep breath, inhaling your scent, before he growls low in his throat. “ten minutes,” he affirms, eyes opening to meet yours.
“you have ten minutes and then I'm having you.”
you smile, kissing his cheek before letting go. “go wait in the bedroom… i’ll be right there.”
he lets out an almost pained-sounding laugh when you kiss his cheek.
hiromi nods only once. “i’ll be waiting,” he says, voice gruff, full of barely-kept-together restraint.
he leaves the kitchen, heading to your bedroom, his thoughts already a mess of fantasies and wanting.
at just around seven and a half minutes, you saunter into your bedroom, your heels clicking and clacking against the hard floor, and you knock teasingly, a sultry smile on your lips as you lean by the doorway.
hiromi stands by the window — deliberately composed — but the moment he hears your heels, his control slips.
the low click-clack-click of your steps sends a thrill straight down his spine. he turns slowly, and there you are: leaning in the doorway like some kind of vision sent to ruin him.
his jaw tightens.
“cutting it close,” he murmurs, voice rough with hunger as his eyes drag over every inch of you. “i was about to come looking for you.”
you roll your eyes, walking up to him and you wrap your arms around his neck.
“i’m two minutes early. what happened to the ever so patient man i know, hmm?”
his hands find your waist instantly, like a pair of magnets fighting against gravitational pull.
“that man,” he murmurs, leaning in until his lips are just a breath away from yours, “disappeared the second you kissed my jaw and let me know how badly you want me as i do you.”
a low hum vibrates in his chest as he finally closes the distance: not quite kissing you, but letting his lips ghost over yours with every word.
“you happened. you’re my kryptonite."
“that’s not good,” you pout, eyes flicking from his own to his lips.
“now there’s nothing stopping me from using my powers against you,” you tease, your lips one breath away from his.
a dark, thrilling laugh rumbles in his chest.
“oh, but you already have,” he whispers, lips brushing yours with every word. “every time you look at me like that… every time you touch me… i’m putty in your hands.”
his hands tighten on your waist, pulling you flush against him so there’s no space left between the both of you.
“but go ahead," he dares, voice low and rough. “use them.”
you roll your eyes. “like i said before… cheesy.”
you don’t let him retort, pulling him down by his loosened tie to kiss him deeply.
hiromi lets out a low, ragged sound the second your mouth touches his, like all the air leaving his lungs in a one swift rush.
he kisses you like a man starving, every kiss heavy and demanding, filled with a need that borders on desperation. he can't get close enough to you; he pulls you up hard against him, fingers slipping into your hair to hold you in place as he slides his tongue against yours.
your head spins, letting him overcrowd your very senses until your knees are buckling, until you're breathless and trembling in his hands.
you can’t help but whine haplessly into his mouth, your tongue gliding against his and you eventually pull apart, moving his hands off of you to hold him by the arm.
“take off your shoes.”
when you pull back, it takes him a moment to collect himself enough to hear your words.
he lets out a low, ragged laugh at your order, though he obeys immediately. his shoes get kicked off his feet and hit the floor with a thump and he looks at you, eyebrow raised.
“bossy,” he quips, his voice still rough. “you’re lucky i find it sexy.”
you kick off your own heels, tugging him by his arm till he’s at the edge of your expansive bed, and you push him down into the silky sheets and quilted pillows.
he lets himself be pushed back easily, his eyes darkened with desire as he looks up at you.
immediately, he reaches for you, wanting to haul you down on top of him.
“c'mere…" he murmurs, the words both an order and a plea.
you swat his hands away, but you comply anyway, climbing on top of him, your arms wrapping around his neck.
his breath hitches as you settle on top of him — warm, soft, perfect. “you’re killing me," he grunts against your lips, hands sliding up your thighs to grip your hips.
he arches slightly beneath you, silently begging for more.
“do you have any idea what you do to me?
you shake your head, laving wet kisses against his jaw, neck and the corner of his mouth, avoiding his lips that edge towards you.
“no… but i’d really like for you to tell me.”
his fingers dig into your hips as you kiss every inch of skin except his mouth and lets out a low, ragged swear when you drag your lips over his jaw, leaving his skin on fire.
“i ache,” he confesses, voice cracking, “i ache to touch you, to taste you, to be inside you. you’re all i think about sometimes — all i want… you drive me crazy.”
a pleased grin takes over your swollen lips, and you place your hands flat by his head as you look down at him. “good answer.”
you finally decide to take him out of his misery, sliding your arms around his neck again and then slotting your mouth over his.
he groans against your mouth, the sound coming from deep within him, the last thread of his restraint snapping.
without warning, he flips you both over so you're beneath him, his hips pushing between your legs, pinning you down against the bed.
his lips crush yours in a crushing, searing kiss. he parts your lips with his tongue, invading your mouth like a man starving. he kisses all sense of reason from you, his hands gripping your hips almost painfully tight.
you squeak against his lips when he does, your hands holding his face as you lick into his mouth with just as much passion and enthusiasm.
your arm lifts slightly to rest against the back of his neck, eyes rolling back under their lids as you moan into him.
he feels your moan vibrate against his mouth, sending fire through his veins.
his hands slide under your dress — slow at first, then bolder — as they glide up the soft skin of your thighs. a low noise rumbles in his chest when he feels you trembling beneath his touch.
“let me feel all of you,” he pleads, voice ragged with need as he grinds down harder, the heat between you almost unbearable. “please.”
you break the kiss with a wet pop!, pushing him onto his back and into the pillows as you kneel up on the bed.
“since you asked so nicely,” you tease with swollen, shiny lips, your hand pushing a strap down from your shoulder.
his breath comes fast and uneven as he watches you move over him, rasping out your name with a voice thick with desire, hands twitching at his sides like he's fighting not to reach for you.
but when you slowly push the strap down, revealing just a hint of skin, his control frays at the seams.
hiromi surges up suddenly, fast and smooth, flipping you beneath him once again in one swift motion.
“let me," he sighs against your ear. “let me undress you."
you giggle, but it’s only full of desire. “you’re so impatient, today, hiro… but please, be my guest.”
when you give him permission, he doesn't hesitate. his hands fly towards to the zipper behind you, tugging it down agonisingly slowly, letting each inch of skin reveal itself like a gift he's unwrapping with reverence.
“so beautiful," he murmurs raggedly, eyes dark and hungry. “i’ve been aching to see you like this again for days.”
you bite your lip, the straps of your dress falling down your shoulders loosely, the material around your breasts bunching up around you as hiromi pulls down the zip even further. his touch — even the most innocent touch — has your body on fire, your blood singing while every muscle in your body coils tight with aching.
“it hasn’t even been a full week since we last had sex,” you breathes, a little giggly and very infatuated with the man lying on top of you.
“every moment i’m not touching you is a moment too long, as far as I'm concerned,” he contends, leaning in to brush his lips feather-soft against your neck.
as the dress drops away from your top half, he drinks in the sight of you, like a man dying of thirst. “christ, you're gorgeous.”
you open your mouth to retort teasingly, but instead you just sigh when his lips touch your skin, the dress bunching and falling to sit around your waist, inadvertently revealing your bare breasts to him, and surprisingly, a silver bar in your left nipple.
hiromi’s eyes land on that small, shining piece of metal with a sharp intake of breath.
for a moment, all he does is stare, his heart hammering in his chest.
“you got a piercing,” he murmurs, voice coarse. “and you didn't tell me?
he can't help himself; he reaches, calloused fingers tracing lightly over the skin over the shiny metal. it’s like a jolt to his monkey brain receptors, seeing you like this. “when did you get this?”
you bite your lip, a soft groan leaving your throat.
“back during my rebellious university days… took it out once i grew my frontal lobe,” you tell, then your eyelashes flutter to where he thumbs around the hardened peak, “but i put it back in every now and then so it doesn’t close up… i never meant to not tell you, hiro.”
meanwhile, you can tell hiromi is so overwhelmed right now: by you, by the sight of you like this, and all he can do is take a slow, sharp inhale as his fingers runs over the jewelry.
“it’s...holy, it's sexy," he mutters, his eyes still fixed on your chest as his thumb and forefinger run feather-light over the cold titanium. “jesus, i don't think i’ve ever been more turned on by something in my entire life.”
you can only just let out a bubble of laughter, eyes hazy at how fascinated he is with a simple piercing on your body. it soon breaks off into a moan when his fingertip flicks against the skin.
“you sure know how to make a woman feel beautiful.”
“you are beautiful,” he murmurs quicky, voice thick with veneration, with you at the altar. “every inch of you.”
his lips find your neck again, soft, hot kisses trailing down to your collarbone. then lower.
when his mouth hovers just above the silver bar, he looks up at you through his lashes — dark eyes burning with hot desire.
“may i?” he asks, breath ghosting over the sensitive skin.
you keen at his words, the way he’s looking at you right now doing little to quell the flames in your lower belly.
a sharp whine leaves your throat before you can stop yourself, nodding. “of course, hiro.”
his whole body responds to the way you give him consent, shuddering while his groin drags a little against you. he has to take a moment to compose himself, though the moment lasts less than a few seconds because he then he lowers his head, mouth closing around the sensitive, metal-clad nipple. he sucks gently at first, his warm, soft tongue moving in slow, languid licks.
there’s something so oddly intimate about this, despite the obviousness of him almost having you. it can't be described with mere words — you just... feel completely taken with him, and you know he feels the exact same. it has you wanting to slap yourself for ever second guessing how he feels about you.
your eyes flutter shut, a hand weaving into his strands as he sucks the sensitive peak, a flurry of gentle whines and whimpers leaving your lips in succession.
the sound of your whimpers — soft and needy — has him sucking harder, teeth grazing. one hand press further onto your hips, wanting to keep you here like this for as long as possible, while the other slides up to your other less than decorated nipple, fingers pinching and pulling at the skin.
“that’s it, sweetheart," he whispers softly, lips trailing a path up your chest. “let me hear you.”
his hand moves then, tracing down the flat of your stomach, his fingertips dipping beneath the waistband of whatever's still left of your dress.
you hum, helping him pull down the rest of your dress as you shimmy, till you’re fully naked, save for your cotton panties, a cute navy blue with a growing damp spot in the middle of it.
“jesus...” he breathes, voice raw when he says your name as he takes in the sight of you — flushed, trembling, so wet for him already.
hiromi’s fingers trace the damp spot over your panties with agonizing slowness, watching your hips twitch beneath his touch.
“so responsive,” he murmurs. “so perfect.”
he leans down until his mouth hovers just above the fabric. “can i take these off?”
you nod incessantly, watching as his deft fingers curl into the waistband.
you’re a little breathless when you eventually speak while his hands drag down your thighs with your permission, pushing them together slowly. “just for the record, while i think the fact that you ask for my consent is really sexy… i always want you to touch me, hiro.”
his breathing stutters at your words, his fingers now back on the edge of your panties.
a low, ragged sound rumbles from the depth of his chest.
“oh, sweetheart,” he drawls, eyes dark and hazy with need. “i will never forget you said that.”
his fingers slide beneath the fabric, tugging softly. “lift your hips for me, baby.”
you comply obediently, lifting your hips and letting hiromi slide your underwear down your legs, a slight string of your wetness snapping and pooling against the cotton of the panties.
he watches every movement, entranced and breathless as the last scrap of fabric finally falls away, leaving you bare under his ravenous gaze and preying hands.
the glistening heat between your thighs steals his voice completely; all he can do is crawl back up your body, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the inside of your thigh… then higher… until his breath fans over you, searing and eager.
“so pretty," he says to himself. “so wet.”
hiromi looks up at you one last time before he leans in:
“let me taste you.”
you bite your lip, eyelashes fluttering when you feel a puff of balmy air over your sensitive folds, your hole clenching over nothing, eyes lidded as you watch just how close he gets to where you want — no — need him.
“are you asking or are you telling?” you breathe out, voice sliced thick with unrepentant desire.
hiromi chuckles softly, eyes still fixed on your core as he edges closer.
“i’m telling,” he says, subdued in its tone. “i just want to make you feel good.”
his mouth is so close that it's almost like he's speaking against you. “can i, sweetheart? please," he mutters, eyes meeting yours in a way he knows you can't resist. “let me taste you.”
you whines at the way he speaks to you, it going straight to your already leaky core while your mind turns to mush even before he can even get his mouth on you. you end up just nodding dumbly.
“o-okay. yes, please.”
“good girl,” he responds, the words barely above a whisper, like a secret just for you and him.
and then his mouth is on you, hot and sure and devastating. he laps at you like he's been starving, slow at first to savor every drop, then deeper, hungrier. his tongue circles your clit with just the right pressure — one hand sliding under your lower back to hold you steady as his lips close around that sensitive nub.
“mmm,” he groans against you, on purpose but also not, feeling how your entire body jolts at the sensation.
you taste sweet and sharp all at once.
your mouth falls slack, your hand weaving into his thick dark strands as a saccharine moan flies out of your mouth.
“oh, hiro—” you sigh breathily, lidded eyes watching the way he devours at you, the way the curve of his nose digs into your puffy little clit, his groans sending little pulses of sharp pleasure through you, your essence flowing out of your tensing hole.
when he hears name on your lips like that, it nearly unravels him.
he growls against your slovenly cunt, drinking in the way you shudder and pulse under his mouth. the more you drip, the deeper he laps at you, chasing every drop. his tongue circles your clit again and again before he pulls back just enough to blow softly over your wet heat.
“so responsive,” he grunts heavily. “do you like it when i eat you out like this?”
he doesn't wait for an answer: he instead just dips two slender fingers inside you without warning, curling them just right as his mouth closes over your clit again with an intense suction.
you cry out, your fingers tugging on his hair a little tighter as he curves two fingers inside your wet cavern. a breathy “oh, fuck Hiro” climbs out of your chest, and you subconsciously raise your hips against him, body like a live wire when the curve of his angular nose digs into your clit in tandem with his soothing yet bullying tongue.
on the other hand, the way you tug on hiromi’s hair makes him shiver, the vibration travelling from his mouth to your body.
pulling his mouth away from your core ever so slowly, his fingers work even deeper, crooking just right as he looks up at you through thick, dark lashes. “say it again,” he demands, his breath fanning against your inner thigh. “my name. i want to hear it again.”
“hi-hiro,” you stutter, a heavy moan tearing out of your esophagus when his blunt fingers catch against that spongy spot inside of you, your back arching. “fuck, ‘m close… slow down… i’m gon’... ‘m gonna make a mess—!”
“yeah?” he double checks, fingers moving in fast, torturous circles.
“you want me to slow down, sweet thing?” he dips his head, kissing your inner thigh with a wet open mouth. “but i thought i was gonna make a mess of you. isn’t that what i promised, sweetheart?”
he sucks a mark into the skin — dark and blooming like the others, a quiet claim in the midst of your harvesting orgasm.
“you’re so close,” he groans in awe. “so pretty when you're about to come all over my fingers, sweetheart.”
you shake your head as if trying to will away the intensity of what’s to come, intaking a sharp breath as your stomach tenses, eyes rolling back, your mouth dropping in a silent scream as you cum all over Hiromi’s fingers and face, squirting clear liquid all over him.
you warble out his name in a sea of “oh fuck Hiro, right there, don’ stop, ‘m cumming, oh Hiro—” riding out your peak against his mouth, nose and fingers.
all the while, hiromi doesn't pull away. he can’t, not does he want to.
the moment you cry out his name, he groans low and deep, fingers still pumping deep inside you, curling them just right as your walls clamp down hard and arduous.
his lips stays locked around your clit — sucking gently, rhythmically — as you sob through your orgasm, and even as your body tenses and spasms into oversensitivity, he doesn’t stop.
he drinks your arousal like a man possessed, and his cock is painfully hard now, straining against his slacks as he grinds into the mattress below.
hiromi drags every last wave from you with slow thrusts of his fingers and soft flicks of his tongue until you’re whimpering, pushing weakly at his shoulders.
when your trembling begins to subside, he pulls back slowly: lips glistening and slick with your release. he looks up at you through hooded satisfied eyes, kissing your inner thigh gently.
you pant breathlessly, looking down at him for a second before collapsing despite already lying down, boneless. when you come to, you cover your face when you see the dampness on the sheets that still drips from your boyfriend’s face.
“please, please don’t tell me i squirted on you,” you say, muffled.
he smiles against the skin of your inner thigh, teeth grazing gently, his fingers tracing lazy circles against your blanched flesh as he watches you try to collect yourself.
“oh, sweet thing,” he coos at you, “is that what you're worried about? that you made a mess?”
he kisses right behind your knee as he pulls his fingers from you slowly, bringing them to his lips and humming in deep, vulgar satisfaction as he sucks each one clean. “i don't mind a little mess.”
you groan behind your hands, shaking your head.
“you don’t understand, hiromi… i’ve literally never done that before… i’m mortified.”
he chuckles quietly against your skin, his hands continuing to move across your body like he can’t keep them still after witnessing you fall from grace, like he just needs to be touching you.
“sweetheart, you have nothing to be embarrassed about, i promise,” he states, matter of fact.
hiromi reaches up to pull your hands away from your face, looking at you with eyes full of a tenderness that nearly burns your skin raw.
“look at me.”
you sigh, opening your bleary eyes to look down at him, letting him pull your hands away.
he looks into your eyes, his gaze locked and intense, still dark and hungry behind his usually warm and sated pupils.
“you don't have to be embarrassed," he repeats, his thumb stroking your thigh. "i liked it.”
his eyes drop to your lips and he wets his own, tongue darting out. “it made me feel so good to make you feel so good, sweetheart," he admits softly.
you can’t help but pout nonetheless. “…really?”
“baby,” he lets out, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your thigh. “i swear i loved it. i love feeling you lose control like that… knowing that i’m the one to make you—” he presses another kiss to your skin. “—feel—” kiss. “—so—”kiss. “—good.”
you sighs as he litters kisses all over your skin, chewing on your bottom lip to wane the noises that want to come pouring out. “hiro…”
the man in question lifts himself over you slowly, bracing on one arm as the other trails up your side. his lips hover just above yours.
“yeah, sweetheart?” he asks, a thick palm sliding up your soft belly, to grope at your breast, before tipping your chin upwards to him. “what do you want?”
you just… shake your head. “nothing… just want you.”
the simplicity of your words have him sighing.
“you have me," his gaze locking with yours as he grinds up his clothed core between your legs, his body settling against yours. he brushes up your cheek, thumb grazing your bottom lip. “all of me. you know that, right?”
you nod sweetly, tongue darting out to lave over his thumb. a cloying mhmm leaves your throat.
hiromi is entranced — absolutely spellbound by the sight of your tongue on his thumb and the little sound that leaves your throat in accompaniment.
“so greedy already," he tuts, sucking through his teeth as he presses his thumb gently against the wet muscle. “can’t keep your mouth off of me, even for a second, huh?”
the words are set to be teasing, and a little humiliating but all you do is shake your head, closing your eyes, sucking on his thumb with more force before blinking them back open, your eyes boring into his own, wide and wet.
the sight of you like this: lips parted, eyes wide, sucking gently on his thumb, has him pushing his thumb deeper between your lips.
“you’re going be the death of me, you know that?” he breathes. “so sweet. so pretty.”
you exhale faintly at his words, your teeth dancing around the digit, refusing to break eye contact for even a second.
hiromi lets out a slow, shaky rumble when your teeth skims his thumb. his eyes darken, jaw tightening as he watches you with barely restrained hunger.
“keep looking at me like that,” he grunts, sotto voce, "and i won't be able to go slow as i want.”
his hips shift forward instinctively, the clothed, hard length of him pressing against your thigh insistently.
“do you want me to fuck you now, sweetheart?”
your head bobs up and down wordlessly, your lips still pursed around his thumb that still slides against your tongue, eyelashes fluttering when you feel him hard against you despite the layers of all his clothes.
he groans at your silent answer, but it’s simply not enough.
hiromi pulls his thumb from your mouth slowly, pressing a quick, soft kiss to the corner of your lips. “you’re going to have to use your words for me, sweetheart,” he insists, “i want to hear you say it.”
much too pent up to retort or feel any shame about your desire for the man in front of you, you steadily oblige, a deep, warm suspiration of air leaving your chest.
“please fuck me, hiro.”
a guttural, ragged sound rips from his throat at the sound of his name coupled with your words, the wanting in your voice completely unravelling what's left of his control.
he kisses you roughly, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. “since you said that so politely...”
you smile against his lips, wrapping your arms around him as he utters those words against you, your legs spreading to wrap around his hips.
hiromi kisses you even harder now, his tongue delving in deep, his fingers gripping your bare ass as he pulls you against him.
in haste, his hands begin fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to shed the fabric keeping him from you.
he pulls away, fixing you with darkened gaze as he undoes away his tie, flinging it over the edge of the bed before shrugging out of his shirt, his eyes never leaving yours. he’s impatient, almost hurried, like he needed to be inside you yesterday or else he might go insane.
the dark haired men looks like he's barely holding on as he pulls a gold foil wrapper from his trouser pocket, black swallowed pupils watching you tentatively now, waiting to see if you’ll say no to him in any way shape or form (and although he would appease to whatever you wanted at the time, he’s convinced he might actually break right now).
you’re the only thing holding his control together, and he needs to know he can touch you right now.
you lean back, watching with longing filled eyes as hiromi strips, till he’s just as bare as you are.
his body is all lean muscle and sharp lines as he spreads his legs, ripping open the foil packet to pull out the latex.
he looks at you again, and the way you're watching him like you want to devour him alive steals whatever teasing words that he had locked and loaded at that moment.
he says your name with a rasp, clear ing his throat. “are you sure?” while rolling the condom down his pulsing length slowly. “last chance to stop.”
even though they both know there's no going back: not when he's already kneeling between your thighs, and especially not when your legs are already parting for him without his hands intervening.
you blink slowly at him, akin to a sated cat, a saccharine lilt to the sigh that leaves you, giggling breathily.
“i know you mean well, babe, but asking me if i’m sure while you roll a condom over your really hard dick…” and you trail off with a raised brow, opening your arms as you settle further into the sheets.
“just come over here already.”
he hisses out a laugh at your words, before letting rip a deep, guttural groan as his gaze drops down to the shine between your thighs. he quickly obeys, crawling forward until he's sitting up on his haunches over you.
“so bossy, sweetheart,” he sighs, hands roaming over your legs, and simply put: he cannot get enough of you. “i like it.”
you can’t help but quirk up the corner of your lips, your arms wrapping around his back, hands pressed against the planes his shoulders, your legs spreading to wrap around him.
he inhales coarsely as you pull him closer, your legs locking around his waist like a vice now.
hiromi leans down, brushing a soft peck to your lips tenderly, before dragging it to your ear.
“ready?” he rustles, the tip of him nudging against your heat, already slick and welcoming.
you give him the okay with a dip of your head, eyes looking up at him wide eyed and full of anticipation. “ready.”
a slow, steady exhale leaves him as he lines up, observing the rise and fall of your tensing stomach and fluttering eyes, the hand resting between your bodies guiding him to you.
he doesn't look away even as the thick tip of him breaches past the first ring of muscle, to which the both of you moan synchronously.
hiromi takes one of your hands, threading your fingers with his.
it’s so intimate that’s it’s almost heart-stopping.
“you okay?" he asks, every part of him so aware of how vulnerable you look and are right now.
you utter out a delicate, “mhmm,” a docile noise following soon after when you feel the rest of his weighty cock push through your wet cavern.
he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, his fingers binding around your hand.
“you feel so good," he gasps, his voice bumpy with barely tethered restraint.
he then stops for a moment, stilling to let you adjust, not wanting to hurt you.
“you okay, my love?” he whispers and asks again, scanning your face, to which your thumb brushes over the back of his hand that rests over your head.
“yeah… keep going… please.”
he leans down to smooch your forehead. “anything you want, sweetheart," he rumbles, his hips pressing forward slowly, sinking into you inch by inch until he's deep inside you, and you're both completely joined, and that feeling you’ve both never been able to shake finally makes sense.
harmonious groans leave your lips, your pussy stretching to accommodate his girth, and it’s still a struggle even though you’ve been thoroughly prepped.
looking down ever so slightly, your chest rises and falls heavily as you break eye contact to look at where your cunt is wrapped around his cock, folds swallowing up his length and sucking him in further.
the sight of you — glistening and perfect — has hiromi letting out an uncharacteristic moan, loud and brazen.
“jesus—” he hisses, your name coming out wobbly. it’s all too much, yet he can't even look away: but neither can you.
his hips twitch forward on instinct, not pulling out yet —just pressing deeper into you with a slow roll of his pelvis that makes your breath hitch and your thighs didder around him.
“feel that?" he croaks hoarsely. “all of me... for you.”
he leans down until his damp lips brush yours.
“look at me when I'm inside you," he pleads. “please.”
you tilt your head up, locking your lips with his wetly, eyes up at him. your nails dig softly into the scruff of his neck, and you lift a thigh to sit comfortably around his waist.
the way you look at him has him groaning, so he kisses you again, more thorough this time, pouring everything into it. his hips begin to move — slow at first, a gentle roll that draws a whimper from your throat.
“so sweet," he murmurs against your lips. “so damn sweet.”
hiromi’s hand slips between your bodies to touch where you’re joined, and then he’s stroking two fingers gently over your clit in small circles as his cock slides almost bottomless inside you again.
“feel good?”
you choke on a gasp, your hand flying down to hold his wrist, keeping it there as you nod.
“feels so good,” you whine. “more, hiro.”
he growls low in his throat at the sound of those words, his gaze locking onto your eyes.
“more?” he asks, breath hot on your lips. “say please, sweetheart.”
“please,” you whimper obediently and instantaneous, too wound up to retort with any sarcastic witticisms.
he rewards you with a slow, penetrating thrust, just enough to make your back arch and your breath catch, before pulling almost all the way out.
“like that?” he soughs, “or do you want it harder?”
he doesn't wait for a response this time.
with a sharp snap of his hips, he drives into you - deep and sudden - and it has you clenching down on him with every push and pull.
you squeal in ecstasy, each drag of his veiny, thick cock against your sensitive walls sending you reeling. you swear you can feel the beat of his heart inside of you as his length fucks into you, fast, wet and noisy.
one of your legs start to slip from his waist from the sheer force of his thrusts, and without breaking his rhythm, he catches it firmly to drape it over his shoulder.
“there you go, pretty thing,” he chuckles affectionately. “let me take care of you.”
the new angle makes you gasp as he sinks even deeper - each stroke hitting that sweet spot like he was made to fit right here.
he leans in close, brushing a kiss to the inside of your knee, and then up to your thigh.
hiromi’s hands finds yours again, fingers lacing tight and over your head.
your eyes practically roll back into your skull, and there’s nowhere to hide as hiromi forces your arms over your head, masking the desire of wanting to see your face wound up in pleasure with an act of romanticism.
“you’re doing so good for me,” he groans. “so perfect.”
in any other situation, you would make fun of him, teasing him for being such a romantic, but this new position has you speechless, practically sobbing as you feel the head of his cock press so much deeper, heeding the ceiling of your cervix. your eyes begin to water with pleasure, and your fingers tighten around his own, your nails digging into his knuckles.
every whimper and desperate noise that falls from your lips is symphonic, and hiromi cannot get enough.
he needs you closer.
he lets go of your hands to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you up - so you're sitting in his lap, your arms snaking around his neck on instinct, your faces so close, every shaky breath washing over the other's skin.
“there you go.”
he starts to thrust up into you with a renewed fervour, like he was born to do this - to love you like this. each snap of his hips draws a gasping sob from your throat, and he feeds on it. “that’s it… take all of me.”
you cry into his mouth, arms wrapping around his neck tighter as you pull him closer, mouth sloppily slotting over his, all teeth and saliva and tongue — hardly even a kiss at this point, but you’re desperate, wanting to be as close to him as possible.
this new position has him bouncing you up and down his cock, hips thrusting at a pace that starts to get sloppy, and you can tell what that means.
“you close? i…’m close,” you moan, eyes hazy.
hiromi breaks the kiss with a gasp, forehead dropping to yours, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
“so close,” he groans, voice broken. “you’re killing me, sweetheart — so tight, so wet, fuck.”
his thrusts grow deeper, more uneven; he can't hold back anymore, so one hand slides between your bodies again to rub tight circles over your swollen clit.
“come for me," he grunts against your lips. “please,” and your name comes out half a syllable or two. “…let go.”
he’s barely moving inside you now, with hiromi dragging his cock back nice and slow against that spot deep inside that makes your vision blur with white-hot pleasure.
you grunt a little animalistically when his thumb returns to your overworked love button, your thighs seizing on either side of hiromi, your nails digging into his back, sure to leave red, stinging welts.
“oh god, hiro—” you sob, tongue lolling out of your mouth. “fuck, ‘m—” and you gasp sharply, choking sweetly as you cum, eyes lulling back, vision turning white as you babble nothings that make sense to nobody, throwing your mouth over his to moan onto his tongue, all the while you creams all over his cock.
watching you hit your peak causes hiromi’s hips to stutter, then still deep inside you as the orgasm rips through him, violent and blinding.
“sh-shit—“ he chokes out against your mouth, your name following soon after as his body bows forward, pressing you into the mattress as he empties himself into the condom with a low, shuddering groan.
his breath comes in dilapidated bursts against your skin, sweat-slicked and trembling in your arms. he pants against your cheek, body still shaking, his hand stroking your hair in reverent tenderness.
“that... was incredible,” he gasps, voice still raspy from how badly he fought for breath. “i don’t think i’ve ever —fuck — come that hard.”
he presses his lips on your pout, but softly this time, his breath then hot on your neck as he nuzzles his face against it, leaving a kiss right behind your ear. “feeling okay, sweet thing?” he whispers. “i didn't hurt you, did i…? think i got a little too carried away at the end there.”
you shake your head, eyes fluttering shut as he presses wet kisses onto your moist skin.
“no, fuck no,” you contend. “that was probably the best sex of my life.”
hiromi laughs at that, the sound low and affectionate.
“yeah?” he smirks, pressing another kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulder. “best you've ever had, huh?”
he lifts his head to look at you, a cocky little grin settling on his face.
“guess i did a pretty good job, then," he says, clearly pleased with himself.
you hum, and mirror a smile back at him, nosing his damp hair. “it was more than pretty good, hiro.”
he nuzzles into your post-sex affections, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, then another just below your ear.
“you’re gonna make me fall in love with you,” he jokes quietly.
then he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes full of warmth, yet dark.
“if i haven't already.”
you raise a brow at him, your lips curled up slightly. “i mean… isn’t that the goal?”
he chuckles smoothly, shaking his head with a smirk. “you’re going to get a big head at this rate, sweetheart,”he teases, wrapping you further into his arms .
“can’t help it when the sexy man in my bed thinks my pussy is that good it could make him fall in love,” you tease.
he groans, half-laughing, half-groaning at your words. “what a way with words, my love,” he mutters, pressing his face into your neck, as if to try and hide the way you make him feel.
it’s hapless anyhow, since he can't help the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, the affection so plain and simple even in the way he speaks to you.
“but to answer your previous question… yes," he murmurs earnestly, lips still brushing over your skin like a painter and his most prized canvas. “i hope so.”
there’s a pregnant pause before you hum. “… i hope so too.”
however, he lifts his head after, eyes locking with yours - serious now.
“for the record," he says softly, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "It's not just your…pussy, or how you’d put it—” to which you laugh, and to which he kisses you to shut you up.
“…it’s you.”
you break out into a fit of light giggles anyway, holding his face to kiss all over his sharp and curved angles: from his nose to his cheekbones.
“and, for the record,” you mock teasingly, “it’s not just your gorgeous nose or big di—”
hiromi presses a hand over your mouth before you can finish that sentence, face reddening. “you can't say that,” he protests weakly.
“god, you’re shameless, woman," he grumbles, shaking his head at you.
you snort into his hand, all the while you ever so accidentally clench around hiromi’s softening penis that’s still inside of you.
you wiggle your brows up at him, amused when he jerks at the sudden clench (half-limp, half-alive, it’s hard to tell) and lets out a strangled groan.
“you're evil,” he hisses, eyes squeezing shut as if to hold back the feeling. “absolute nightmare.”
but his pelvis still twitches forward on instinct — he truly can't help it — his cock stirring again inside you with a slow, traitorous throb.
he glares down at you through heavy lashes. "don’t do that again.” his voice cracks halfway through.
“you say that but i can feel you getting hard all over again, baby,” and you whisper the last part like it’s shameful.
you pullshim down by his neck to kiss against the husk of his ear. “what’s the consensus on a round two? i’m thinking that we take a little break before we resume activities.”
he shudders as your words almost drown him from the outright viscosity, his body already responding at the mere suggestion.
“a break... sounds good,” he mumbles against your skin, planting a kiss between your shoulder and neck once more. “i’ll go get something to clean up."
hiromi pulls back, slipping out of you, making you hiss at the removal, stretching your back with a groan as you then wander around the bedroom, throwing on an oversized hoodie and some panties.
when hiro returns from the bathroom, you grin at him, passing him some folded items. “here. i, uh, have some spare men’s clothes,” to which hiromi raises a brow and you gasp in exaggerated offence, shoving his shoulder playfully, “don’t give me that look—! i like the way men’s stuff fits sometimes…” and you drop the articles into his hand. “consider this impromptu sleepover the prequel to so many better, more prepared ones in our future.”
hiromi watches you, dazed and perhaps still a little drunk on you, but he manages to laugh at the defensive grin on your face. he takes the clothes, unfolding them and glancing between them and you.
“and you’re sure you want me to stay the night?" he asks, as if you won't actually want him to.
you can only roll your eyes, deadpanning.
“baby. i am 100% sure… i would’ve liked to have gotten this crossed off of our list sooner but…” you shrug with some diffidence. “next time it can be your place… if you want.”
he’s already tugging on the soft cotton shirt as you speak. “of course i want you at my place,” he says. “anytime. any night. every night, if we can.”
he cups your face gently, his thumb brushes over your cheek. “if that's what you want too.”
you grin, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pull him down for multiple wet smooches. “of course it’s what i want, silly.”
he kisses you back at your pace: romantic and thorough, then teasing and humorously.
“good,” he murmurs against your lips. “really good.”
he envelops his arms around you, pulling you flush against him despite the layers now between your bodies.
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