mk

You enjoy your nights in Summerhall much better than your nights in the Red Keep.

There’s a certain sort of tranquility that lingers around you as you recline in your chaise, perched beneath one of the many latticed windows that overlook the rolling countryside. The sky is an inky black beyond the glass, and a storm brews on the horizon, the smell of rain seeping through a crack in the frame.

You read your novel surrounded by the silence of your chambers, save for the crackling of the fire across the room, the light rustling of parchment as you flip through the pages, and the occasional drip of wax from your chamberstick into the steel pan at its base.

But as you begin a new chapter, your peace is shattered by a great commotion outside your door. You jump a little in your seat as a chorus of voices fills the halls, and it takes you mere seconds to cross your chambers and pull open the door to investigate. In the hall, you find two kingsguard, their armour gleaming beneath the thrown light of overhead torches, hauling your husband across the stones. Your mouth drops open, listening to the clamour that falls from Daeron’s mouth as he’s pulled down the hall like a petulant child.

“She will scold me, don’t you understand? I–I will be punished. You ca–can’t let—”

The kingsguard spots you in the doorway, dumping the prince unceremoniously at your feet. One of them offers you a polite, but sorry smile, whilst the other gestures to the kneeling prince with a wave of his hand.

“He is claiming he is ill,” the guard says quietly.

Your husband is yet to look up. His blond hair falls across his face like tattered curtains, and his entire body shudders as he kneels before you. You can hear the ragged panting falling from his lips, and you can’t help the small flicker of guilt that passes through you.

“He says he consumed something,” the other guard adds on, noting the pity in your eyes. He has a small, slightly humoured smile on his face. “A prince should not accept uncorked wines from strangers.”

With that, you nod curtly and dismiss the guards with a mumbling thank you. You stare down at your husband, who sways a little where he’s hunched. You don’t know what to say to him. So you back away, the material of your chemise fluttering around your knees as you move.

The movement finally draws Daeron’s eyes, and he snaps his head up to look at you. When you lock eyes, now several feet separating the two of you, he lets out a pained moan. It catches you off guard, and you freeze where you stand, your frame illuminated by the roaring fire beside you. Daeron grips the doorframe as he hoists himself to his feet, his legs shaking. His cheeks are flushed a brilliant red, and his eyes water, filled with tears.

“My heart,” he says, syllables strung around a broken whine. “P–Please do not be mad. I did not mean—I did not intend for this to happen.”

“You are drunk,” you reply plainly, crossing your arms over your chest. In response, Daeron whines, stumbling into the room and slamming the door shut with an uncoordinated kick. He loses his balance and leans back against the door. You scoff, looking him up and down, taking in his dishevelled and obviously inebriated state. “You told me you were riding into the village.”

“I was,” Daeron huffs, running a hand through his locks, brushing them away from his eyes. “But I took—I drank something.”

“Clearly,” you bit out, and the venom in your tone makes him whimper.

And then fall to his knees.

Your eyes grow wide, lips parting. “Daeron—?”

“A wine. No, a potion,” Daeron corrected, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. “She s–said it would make me feel good.”

You frown, taking a subconscious step forward. “Who?”

Daeron whines as he watches you draw nearer, eyes raking down your body. Swollen pupils drag down the curves of your chest and where the fabric of your chemise flutters softly against your waist and tummy. His breath hitches when his eyes settles on your obscured pelvis, his mind running wild, his knowing of what lies beneath driving him to shut his eyes and let out another high-pitched sound.

“The woman,” he replies, breathless as his eyes remain closed. When he opens them, he finds your face, and you’ve taken another step closer. “A witch.”

“A witch?” You echo, sceptical.

“Yes,” Daeron sobs, arms reaching up now. He takes two handfuls of your hips, fingers digging into the covered flesh of your arse. You let out a squeak, and your husband pulls you to him, burying his face against your covered mound. He speaks against the fabric, voice muffled. “She said it would m–make me feel good. But I’m hurting, my heart, I’m h–hurting.”

He nuzzles against your mound, and you let out another squeak-like sound, one of your hands shooting down to fist his hair. He groans loudly as you pull him away, only to see a wet patch on the thin white material from where he had been trying to mouth at you. For a moment, you peer down at him curiously. He meets your gaze, and the fire you see in his eyes makes something swoop low in your belly.

“Where are you hurting?” You ask him softly, scratching at his scalp.

The blush on his cheeks deepens, and with surprising strength, he pulls your hips back to him once more. He presses a kiss to the curve of your lower belly, then to the top of your mound, his eyelashes fluttering as he attempts to keep his eyes open and on you.

“Need you,” he says simply, not answering your question. The hands gripping your hips shift, and he finds the hem of your chemise. Dragging his palms along your knees, and then your thighs, he slowly starts to lift the material, eyes flicking down to your pelvis again. “Need her.”

Before he can push your chemise up any higher, you take a step back. A loud, distressed moan falls from between his lips, and he falls forward onto his hands and knees. He pants like a dog, raising his head to stare up at you as his knees and palms kiss the worn Myrish carpet sitting across the stone.

Your chemise settles back around your knees again. “You need to see a maester.”

He groans. “No, no, no, please, my sweet girl, please don’t s–send me away. Please, I’ll be good, I just need—I just need you, please.”

You bite your lip, assessing, one last time, for any real illness that may be consuming him. But you see nothing. He appears drunk, but his eyes are watery not cloudy, and he speaks to you through desperate stutters not inebriated slurring. As you watch him, he sits back on his haunches, his hands flying to the hem of his tunic. He doesn’t even bother unbuttoning the garment, instead simply ripping it over his head to reveal his flushed chest and sweat-slick abdomen. You realised then that his cock was almost splitting the seam of his trousers, straining taut against the stiff material.

You breathe in, then out, steadying yourself. He waits patiently in the burning silence of the room. Sitting there like a puppy.

“Okay,” you say finally, delighting in the way excitement sparks in his eyes. “Okay, Daeron, you can come here.”

You step to the side and settle down in one of the chairs sitting before the fireplace. Daeron groans, relieved, before crawling across the floor to settle himself between your legs. You part your knees as his palms find the soft skin of your thighs, pushing the soft cotton of your chemise upwards until it bundles at your hips.

He lets out a pleased, almost wistful sigh while you take your chemise and pull it over your head, dropping it down the side of the chair. Daeron hooks his hands beneath your knees and pulls you forward a bit, and you grip the arms of the chair as your arse slides against the cushioning.

“Thank you,” he whispers, licking the side of your knee. Not a kiss, a lick. You squirm, caught by surprise, as he licks a flat stripe up the inside of your thigh. The sensitive skin there is ticklish, and you can’t stop the way your muscles tense up. But he continues: sliding his tongue along your bare skin until his lips press to the thin fabric of your smallclothes. He hums, visibly delighted. “Here she is…”

Daeron lifts your legs and hooks the back of your knees over his shoulders as he pushes himself forward, planting his mouth firmly against your clothed core. He inhales deeply as his lips part, his tongue pressing to the split of your cunt as one of your hands finds his hair again. His arms hug around your thighs, his biceps tacky with sweat as he kisses across the gusset of your smallclothes, holding you at an angle so he can drag his tongue up and down.

Small sounds of pleasure leave your throat as you gently rock against him, head tossed against the backrest of the chair. You idly stroke your fingers through his hair, massaging at the nape, and you feel him purr against you: a soft, content growl from the back of his throat as he pushes the tip of his tongue against the covered bud of your clit before attempting to suck it into his mouth.

You sigh out, scratching shallow lines down the warm skin at the back of his neck. “Daeron, take them off.”

He pulls away from you straight away and does what he’s told. His lips are glistening and puffy, the tip of his nose red and his eyes shining with tears as he hooks two fingers into the band of your smallclothes. You use the armrests to lift yourself, helping him pull the item over the curve of your arse, down your thighs, and away from your ankles.

“There’s my pretty girl,” Daeron mutters as he repositions your legs back over his shoulders once more.

He kneads the fat of your thighs, shifting his head to take a gentle bite. You shudder against him, a low sound passing through your lips as you slip your hand back into his hair. He kisses over the indents of his teeth, then angles inwards. He licks straight between the split of your pussy, hole to clit, and you suck in a breath.

He hums. “The prettiest girl in the whole realm. All for me…”

“Daeron,” you moan, and he finally places his mouth on you.

His lips and tongue burn hot against you as he licks between your folds, his tongue quick to swipe downward and across your hole. You feel him collect the slick pooling there, and his eyes shoot up to find yours. He mumbles something into you as his tongue pushes in, but you catch him before he can get too far.

You pull him out by the roots of his hair. “Speak properly.”

“Love it when you’re this wet,” he whispers, pink lips glistening with your slick. “Love it when I make y–you wet like this.”

You bite your lip to suppress a moan, smiling around the pressure of your teeth as you push him back between your legs. He groans happily, lips drawing the pearl of your clit into his mouth in a lazy drawl, suckling gently as he squeezes the meat of your thighs. You hum, a satisfying weight forming in the base of your spine, weighing down the pit of your tummy.

Stroking his hair, you recline on the chair as he takes what he needs. His tongue moves quickly once he releases your clit from his mouth with an audible pop. The sound makes you whine into the quiet of your chambers, and you stare up at the high ceiling as his tongue drags down through your folds before curling straight into your hole. You keen then, your husband splitting you open, tongue shifting deep as his nose ruts against your clit. Heart hammering in your chest, you tilt your head down to watch him, the hand you have in his hair tightening as he whimpers against you.

“Feels so good,” you whisper, the syllables nearly vanishing amongst the hissing of the fireplace. It throws out a pleasant heat that warms the bare skin of your chest. “Daeron, sweet boy, m’so close.”

He releases a loud, broken moan against you, his eyes lifting to watch the pleasure fissure across your face. His eyelids flutter, his chest heaving, his panting loud as he flicks his tongue against you. It’s a burning-hot desire in the depths of his soul: he wants to see you release above him, wants you to come on his tongue and sear the image deep into his retina. Too many times he has left you for princely duties, and too many times he has fisted his cock raw to such visions.

“Need it,” he’s slurring into you, but you can’t hear it. “Need it.”

The vibrations of his drunken rambling have you cresting the edge of pleasure like a ship across a wave. Your ringed fingers pull tight at the roots of his blond hair as you anchor him to your core, your thighs tightening against his ears as your release surges, peaks, then spills. Your legs shudder as you come around his tongue, the pressure in your spine releasing a flood of tremors through your body as he licks you through it. Chants of his name fall from your lips, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

Daeron pulls away from you, a thick strand of saliva connecting his bottom lip with your pussy. His mouth and chin is slick with you, and he takes a moment to stare at where your hole flutters and drools in the absence of his tongue. It makes him pout, brows furrowing as he leans forward to press a warm—too warm—kiss to your swollen clit.

“S’alright, my sweet girl, I’m here,” he mutters against you, before he’s pressing a line of kisses down the seam of your pussy and back to your hole. His eyes flutter shut, dizzy with need, as his tongue finds you again, and the sensation has you yanking on his hair. You moan around a gasp as you pull him from you, his lips parted, his eyes black under the expansion of his pupils. 

Daeron swallows, eyes flitting over the features of your face. You smile down at him as you remove your legs from his shoulders. You take your fingers out of his hair too, before angling your leg down to nudge your foot against the laces at the front of his trousers.

“Take them off,” you tell him, the ball of your foot brushing over the heavy tent at the front.

That makes him groan lowly, and you remove your foot as his fumbling fingers find the laces, tugging them impatiently. As he does this, he shifts forward to kiss your knee, spreading your slick from his chin to the skin there.

“I love you more than anything,” he says as his trousers loosen. 

He pulls away and quickly gets to his feet so he can tug his trousers down. You watch him from your seat in the chair, naked body warmed by the fireplace. Daeron kicks his trousers away, and then undoes his breeches. When the white material falls, you can’t help but moan at his hard cock bobbing free—and you notice the cum already leaking from the tip, smeared down his shaft and glistening on the soft skin.

You spare a glance at his discarded breeches, the front of the material damp with spend. You bite your lip, hiding your grin. He’s spilled in his trousers from putting his mouth on you. He catches your expression and moans softly, his brows drawing together, a blazing blush creeping up his neck. His ears are red too.

“M’sorry,” he murmurs, slinking back to his knees. One of his hands shifts to grasp the base of his cock. “M’sorry, my heart, I didn’t mean to—”

You pick yourself up from the chair and sink to the floor with him. The worn carpet beneath you provides an ample landing site as you close the gap between the two of you.

Your husband’s mouth is warm and sticky against yours. His tongue wastes no time in pushing past your lips with each move of his mouth, and his free hand finds the back of your neck. Your arms wind around his neck as the two of you kiss beneath the orange glow of the steadily dying fire.

You shuffle forward, feeling the wet tip of his cock slide against the skin near your navel. Daeron shudders against you, rocking his hips to chase the feeling, his cock rubbing along the softness of your tummy as your tongues meet again and again. One trembling hand holds the base of his cock, guiding the movements with tiny little jerks of his hand, and you feel him sighing into your mouth as pre-cum smears across the skin that covers your womb.

“Need her,” Daeron whispers into your mouth as your nails scrape across the strong span of his shoulders. You whimper as he gently nudges your legs apart with his strong thigh, the head of his cock trailing down your mound. “Need you, sweet girl. Need it s–so bad, I—”

You plant one last warm kiss to his lips to shut him up, before you retreat backwards onto the carpet beneath you. He watches you carefully, eyes following the bounce of your tits as you fall back onto your hands, beckoning him with a tilt of your chin.

“Yes, yes, yes,” your husband drags out, practically throwing himself over top of you. He settles between your bent, parted legs, and he fists himself as he angles his hips, pushing the head of his cock against your pussy. He groans when it makes contact, skin-on-skin, fiery hot. He rocks his hips, sliding the length through your folds. “Ah, f–fuck, fuck, oh my gods, sweet girl, oh—”

You lift your legs and wrap them around his hips. The sudden movement snaps him out of whatever stupor he’d sunk himself into, and he allows a taut grunt to slip between his teeth. He drags his cock back down until he can press it to your hole.

“Here we go,” he mumbles, more to himself than you. The head of his cock is sucked in, and your legs tighten around his hips, urging him to shift closer. Daeron’s head lifts, watching bliss consume your pretty features. The sight has his cock jerking, barely an inch inside you, a sticky sort of pleasure trekking down his spine. It makes him shudder, eyes snapping back down to where your pussy takes him. “That’s it, open up for me.”

You arch against the carpet as your husband shoves into you. No warning, no more slow and steady. The prince snaps his hips, and suddenly, he’s balls-deep inside you, stuffed tight to the hilt and moaning like a whore. You lock your ankles behind him, taking him deeper, mewling his name as his arms cage either side of your head, his face hovering above yours. His blond hair frames his wrecked face, and you watch in amazement as he groans. His cock twitches heavily inside of you, and then you feel it. He’s coming.

Again.

“Huh–huh, f–fuck, shit,” Daeron rambles around his dog-like pants as he spills inside of you, his abs shifting as his stomach tenses, balls drawing tight as a second orgasm spears through him. He screws his eyes shut, gasping as he empties himself, one-thrust in. 

It makes you moan, one hand reaching up to swipe his hair from the side of his face so you can cup his cheek.

“You feeling good, sweet boy?” You ask him gently, thumb stroking the scar along his cheekbone.

His eyes snap open, and he whines. “Yeah, m’sorry. M’so sorry, sweet girl.”

You shake your head, hand finding the back of his neck now. You bring him down to kiss you, and he mewls desperately into your mouth as the two of you connect, your tits pushing against his sweaty chest. Your tongue finds his, and he rescinds control, allowing you to lick across his teeth until he stops panting. When you part, you squeeze your thighs around him, urging him on.

“One more then, Daeron,” you tell him, slowly shifting your hips, prompting him to move. “Be a good boy and give me one more.”

Daeron groans, and listens. He draws his hips back then slams forward. You moan when the tip of his cock punches right against a spongey spot inside you that has you keening, mind going blank. His pace is hurried, desperate, but his rhythm is drunken and rolling. His hips slide against yours, his cock rutting in and out as you meet his movements. Your back scrapes against the carpet as he surges above you, his breathing hitting him in hard grunts as his arms tremble. 

You hold him tightly, feeling the rub of his cock against the tight walls of your pussy. A searing pleasure sparks low in your belly. Dull to begin with. But as your prince shifts above you, driving you against the carpet again and again, flushed skin glowing orange from the flickering flames adjacent, it starts to build. You call for him, and he coos down at you, brows drawing together as he nears his third release.

“I’m here, I’m here, my heart, y’doing so good,” he mutters, rolling his hips. His cock hits deep, and he struggles to speak around a whimper. “Doing so good. So good, sweet girl. Fuck, you’re perfect. All—all mine.”

You mewl your response, and Daeron bends down to kiss you. He keeps his rhythm as steady as he can as your mouths slot together. The movement of his lips is lazy, and before long, you’re simply pressing your parted mouths to one another, panting as your bodies join. His nose brushes against yours and he places a wet kiss to the corner of your mouth.

His cock pushes up towards the plug of your cervix, and you can’t help the strong current of electricity that thrums through your veins. Your body shakes, and a moan slips out of your mouth as your head falls back, your back arching further off of the carpet. Daeron takes the opportunity to suck a kiss to the base of your jaw, then another to the column of your throat. As you rock together, his teeth graze your skin. His pants brush past your ear as he licks the thin sheen of sweat from the apple of your cheek.

You huff, managing a small frown through the weight of your impending release. “Daeron.”

“M’sorry, m’sorry, I know,” he rambles, pulling himself upwards to hover above you.

His thrusts speed up, and you let out an animal-like yowl as he grinds against you. He sees your face flickering, the way your entire body racks with tremors as your legs draw tight around his hips. Your heels dig into the muscles of his arse, urging him closer, and your fingers trace bright red lines down his back.

He can’t help but moan your name. “Gods, I love you. I want you to come for me. Please, sweet girl, need to feel you come around me.”

You try your best to keep your eyes open as the fire dwindles beside you, but something even hotter blazes deep within your belly.

“M’coming,” you tell him, body stretched taut, burning hot like an ember. “Come with me.”

Daeron’s mouth drops open in a desperate, whiney plea of your name, his eyelids fluttering as he spills inside of you. Your words were like a lever, opening the floor beneath him. His third orgasm is even harsher than the first: it sears along his spine, forcing him to curl over, and his weight becomes too much, arms giving way until he’s practically lying on top of you. He continues to rut his hips, whimpering as he empties himself inside of you, cock jerking, and jerking still, as the wet walls of your cunt hold him in a vice.

The feeling of being filled sends you over the edge, your release pulling you under alongside him.

“Daeron—” You gasp out, body stiffening as you come. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, mouthing at your pulse as he continues to roll his hips against you. Your release has you shuddering, and your prince holds you through it as the world around you turns on its axis and stars burst vividly behind your drooping eyelids.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Daeron whispers into the damp skin of your neck, nuzzling your pulse. You give him a little moan from the back of your throat in response, and he presses one last kiss to your cheek before he gingerly lifts himself from you.

Lazily, you gaze at him as he rights himself and draws his eyes to where his cock splits you open. You bite your lip, muscles mellow as you watch him pull his cock from you with an oversensitive hiss. Cool air kisses you there, and a small gasp leaves you, his seed drooling from your hole, much to his amazement.

“Don’t waste, sweet girl,” he mutters to your pussy, hands slowly caressing your legs until he can hold the backs of your knees. He shuffles forward, pulling your pliant body to him, hoisting your legs up enough for him to comfortably bend and slide his tongue into you.

You seize up, a moan caught painfully in your throat.

Daeron moans loudly into your core as his tongue spreads you open. He licks his own seed from inside you, his nose rubbing against your puffy clit. The moan in your throat finally escapes, and you swear it hits the roof as you angle your chin to the ceiling. One unsteady hand drags down your body and finds his hair, but you don’t have the strength to tug. Instead, you hold him securely, blond strands soft between your fingers.

He fucks his tongue into you with his eyes closed. You realise then that, although he knows this will make you feel good, he’s not doing it for you. He’s doing it for himself.

A stuttered mewl leaves his throat and is muffled in your core. His tongue curls deep inside you, and you feel it wriggling, moving, searching. Overstimulation becomes a heavy weight in your abdomen, and you finally muster enough strength to wrench his face away from you. He manages to sneak one last flat lick against you before he finally concedes and rests his head against your thigh.

He places a kiss to the soft skin there as he looks up at you, eyes glistening, face wet.

You look down at him, the hand in his hair dragging down the side of his head to cup his cheek.

“D’you feel better?” You ask, your thumb finding the corner of his mouth. You push it to flatten against his lips, and he easily parts for you. You slip the digit inside, hooking over his teeth, running over the front of his tongue. He closes his mouth and sucks.

“Yeah,” he mumbles around your thumb, his tongue vibrating against the pad. He says your name, desperate and needy. Then his eyes close, and he hums, content. “I love you. More than anything.”

You smile at him, cooing in response, “I love you too, my prince.”

———

need a man to talk to me like this

tags 🌿

“So are we going to talk about it?” Shoko’s words confuse the hell out of you. It must be obvious the way she sighs, and Geto laughs without looking up from his phone, probably texting another girl. “Are you going to continue to sit there and pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about?”

“So, I actually have no idea what you’re talking about?” Another bold-faced lie to two of the people you care about the most.

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N. Next week, not ringing any bells for you?” You retrace the days until you’re hit with an upcoming December 7th. Now Suguru's smugness makes sense. Instead of admitting that you know what they’re talking about, you slump back into the couch and pick the next best option— playing dumb.

“Hmmm, nope. Nothing’s coming up.” That finally pulls Geto away from his phone, and Shoko puts her unlit cigarette down, to just deadpan. Their stares linger long enough for you to finally give in with a sigh. You couldn’t ignore his existence forever. “Yeah, I know.”

“We’re throwing something for him. You should be there.” That uncomfortable pit in your stomach opened up again. It had been months since you last saw Gojo. You didn’t even see him when he was in the hospital; you couldn’t bring yourself to. Seeing him all managed up, tubes sticking out of him, face uncharacteristically unresponsive to you made you nauseous, but not seeing him all that time made seeing him now harder.

“I don’t think either of us wants to see each other, or else we would have by now.”

“You don’t want to see him for some reason, but he wants to see you.” Suguru’s words hit the dead center of your armor, stinging you a little.

“He asks about you all the time,” Shoko adds, another stinging sensation.

“It’s honestly starting to get annoying.” You can’t help but laugh at Geto’s words. If anyone was being forced to put up with Satoru, it’s Suguru. They’d been best friends for what felt like a lifetime. You’d know, you and Satoru had been friends for an actual lifetime. You remember when Suguru Geto first became friends with Satoru, after all, Satoru practically forced you two to get along. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t missed your shared obnoxious best friend. 

You’d actually be doing more than lying, whatever is worse than lying. That's what you’d be doing if you said there wasn’t a Satoru-sized hole in your life. 

Anyone in their right mind would miss their childhood best friend. Especially if they beat the odds against dying, but that feeling of seeing Gojo— stupidly walking around, talking, and somehow taking all the space when doing so, laughing loudly with no regard for volume—felt wrong. All you could imagine is his lifeless body on the operating table, and a bunch of words you wished you had said hanging on your lips. If you’re being honest, that’s the reason you won’t see him. You were too much of a coward to admit you were madly in love with your best friend, and after surviving, you don’t think you could hide it from him anymore.

If he didn’t feel the same, it might kill you on the spot. To know that the person you loved more than anything got the chance to live again, and you can’t be there because of something as potentially one-sided as feelings, was too much. The lump in your throat builds, and you’re blinking back tears, realizing the two other people in the room were watching you struggle.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’s probably mad that I haven’t seen him, and I don’t blame him. Why would he even want me there?” Shoko sighs and turns around with a simple "whatever," but Suguru keeps his eyes on you, unmoved by your words.

“This is his first birthday after almost dying, and all he wants is to see you. I’m not saying you have to stay long, but…” His phone vibrates in his lap, a loud buzz filling the room and cutting him off, “…give the guy a proper goodbye if you’re set on not seeing him anymore. He deserves it.” With that, he hops up off the couch and answers whoever is on the other side of the phone.

You hate Suguru Geto so much. You hate how good he is at reading people and getting under their skin without all the information. However, you’re sure that he knows that you’re head over heels for his best friend. Which makes you standing inside of Satoru’s house dressed up, and almost about to pass out, even more sinister on his part. Shoko had warned you it was a surprise party, but you didn’t think sitting in Satoru’s place without him would make you feel so nauseated.

 It was almost the same. The same art that you put up on his living walls still held in place, the couches you fell asleep on way too many times to count, even the busted KitchenAid mixer that Toji had gotten (stolen) from his ex (situationship) still sat on the polished marble counter—a perfect capsule of time, unmoved by the months of change in Satoru’s life.

You wondered if he had stayed the same?

“Nanami just texted me! Everyone in position!” 

For those few minutes of you hiding alongside Suguru and Shoko, you felt the anxiety at its peak. Palms sweating profusely, heart about to break your ribcage, breathing rapid enough that it makes Shoko pull you towards her. Calming you down slightly enough to force a smile on your face when the lights come back on and scream surprise. For a moment, you forgot that you hadn’t seen your best friend in months until your eyes looked past his familiar white hair. His ghostly pale skin is covered in deep beige scars. They litter his body, one after the other, past his black top, and you assume the rest of his body.

That accident was written all over him. Seeing him didn’t make you as sad as you expected. It made you angry, angry at yourself for making him go through this change by himself. That anger almost completely takes you over before your eyes bounce to his— the same blue eyes that always make your breath catch. Gojo could never hide what he was thinking. The look of utter shock caught in his eyes pointed directly at you. He looked like he saw a ghost, and just as you were getting ready to say something, Haibara moved forward with his specially decorated birthday hat.

The party moved on as normal, or as normal as a party could while you’re actively dodging the host. Especially, after he stared you down whenever the group sang Happy Birthday. You managed to avoid the birthday boy at his own party. The getaway plan was even better. You’d go to the garage to grab another case of beers for everyone before saying goodbye. Fortunately for you, no one was nearby to see you sneak into the dark room. Clumsily, you look around trying to find the switch, praying you don’t accidentally open the garage door, before finding it.

Instead of your sweet ticket out of the party, you’re met with a motorcycle. Satoru’s motorcycle, specifically. In absolute pristine perfect condition. Something about seeing the motorcycle made you livid. Why the hell would he keep something like that around?

“If you were planning on never speaking to me again, I highly recommend not coming to my birthday party at my house.”

The words immediately freeze your anger into fear. Your heart drops to your feet when you turn to be met with a clearly very pissed-off Gojo. Arms crossed his broad chest, making him only look wider. Unlike most other people, Satoru's eyes get brighter when he’s angry, pissed, or irritated. Right now, two piercings, cold blue eyes stared down at you, locking you in place. You scramble for words to say, looking around for anything that could help you before you see it again, and your anger comes back.

“You still have the motorcycle?” The words come out with more bite than you mean, but right now, you really want to scream at him for being so reckless. He scoffs before laughing, almost maniacally.

“Are you kidding right now? You avoid me for months, and the first thing you have to say is some smart remark about the motorcycle? Seriously Y/N? No, how are you? No, are you okay? No, I’m sorry that I ghosted my childhood best friend during the hardest part of his life?!”

He’s right. You know he’s right. Anyone in their right mind would’ve cussed out. Screamed in your face, kicked you out of their home, and told you never to see them again. Yeah, that stupid motorcycle pissed you off, but he’s more right now.

“Gojo…”

“No! I’m not done.” He closes the door behind him. The music of the party muffled, leaving only you two truly in the moment. “You didn’t call. You didn’t text me. You didn’t let me know if you were okay. I’ve been up for months trying to get as much information about you as possible without crossing the random wall you put between us, Y/N.” He was beyond angry; he was livid. 

“Gojo-“

“Do you know how awful it feels to have to learn how to walk again, all while worrying if the most important person in your life is okay? For the first person you think of when you wake up from almost dying, to not want anything to do with you?”  His bright eyes start to redden with tears. Satoru was always sensitive, something you’ve always loved about him. “Every day, part of me hoped you would come through that hospital door, and every day you didn’t. My first friend, the last person I’d expect not to show up, did!”

“Gojo.”

“Why are you here now?! Why, after all this time, did you show up here? Especially if you were going to leave before I could say anything to you. If you were going to leave, haunt my fucking house and me, then you should’ve never come.” His voice cracks at the end, and that’s when he finally looks away from you. He’s right, you should’ve never come to his house or this party. You should’ve been a better friend. You should not have fallen in love with him. He was so upset with you in a way he had never been before; it felt like it was eating you alive. He shouldn’t be crying on his birthday. He should be laughing, making others laugh, annoying everyone in his general vicinity, being the Satoru Gojo you had the opportunity to fall in love with over the years. 

You hadn’t even noticed your own tears building before they dropped. Throat tightening, you struggle with what to say. So you settle for the easiest option.

“I’ll leave.” 

“No.” His head whips around, as if the two words startled him. “Not until you tell me why you disappeared?”

“Gojo.”

“I deserve to know why my best friend of almost three decades decided to stop talking to me for no apparent reason.” The misty-eyed stare between you is strong. Neither of you is backing down in silence for what feels like an eternity. Somewhere in between his anger and frustration, a pleading look flashes across his face. He needed the truth, and you were too scared to admit it. The words taste like bile just thinking about them. “Y/N please. You don’t have to stay. We don’t ever have to speak again. Please tell me.” The words come out so sweet, sweeter than you deserve, and it finally makes you snap.

“I couldn’t- I couldn’t look at you like that. I didn’t know how I could ever look at you as lifeless. No one wants to see the person they’re in love with barely grasping onto life. I didn’t have the courage to face you, and I couldn’t see you again without telling you that I’m in love with you. I couldn’t take it knowing I’d lose you after you got a second chance, because I can’t help but love you, Satoru. I know I’m a coward, and you deserve a much better best friend, but if you want an answer. I’m scared that knowing how I feel will make you not want to be around me, and I just can’t take that.” 

You’re a mess. The makeup you had on definitely was ruined. The anxiety of the confession burns through your body, followed by the lightheadedness of the relief. If you don’t get out of here soon, you’re definitely going to pass out.

“You’re in love with me?” All you can do is nod.

“I’m so sorry-” Satoru cuts you off. More specifically, his lips are what cut you off, and it takes you a full second to register that Satoru Gojo was kissing you. When the second did register, you’re quick to follow through. Hands finding his chest, and slowly up to his hair. His lips taste like whatever fruity seltzer he’d been drinking before, but they were as soft as they always looked. Slowly, but surely, the anxious and timid kiss grew needy and feverish. Somehow, your back is pressed against the fridge, and you’re clawing at both his shirt and hair. Satoru’s no better; his hands are focused on keeping you close, but his foot kicks your legs apart enough to slot his thigh right against you. Lips locking slower and messier each time, both of you practically out of your mind.

A loud thud is what pulls you away from the rather starving man in front of you. You don’t realize how desperate you were for air until you see how heavy you’re breathing. Satoru just kissed you. You two just made out. He has you pressed against his fridge because you two were making out. Sixteen-year-old you is probably somewhere losing her mind right now.

Before you can question what that noise was, Toru is pulling your face back towards him. He’s holding himself a few inches away, close enough that if you could lean and close the gap, you would, but far enough for Satoru to keep you back.

“You love me?” The question barely comes out above a whisper. You attempt to nod, but his hand keeps your head from moving. “Uh uh. I need you to say it.” His words are quick, but soft, like he’s afraid to break the moment with his need to hear you say the four simple words, so you do.

“I love you, Satoru.” His brows scrunch together like the words almost hurt him. “Are you okay with that?”

“What do I have to do to keep you here?” Maybe it’s the blood coming back to his head, but his question catches you off guard. 

“Huh?”

“What do I have to do?”  he repeats, “to make sure you don’t stop loving me, Y/N?” You can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous he sounds.

“I could never stop loving you, Satoru.” His eyes finally open to meet yours. He obviously was both amused and upset by your answer.

“Just tell me anything. I need you not to leave again. It’ll kill me.”

“Gojo. That’s not funny.” You try to move back to emphasize your seriousness, but the now warm stainless steel presses back against you.

“I’m not joking. I can’t have you leave again. I’ve been waiting since the day I met you for you to tell me you feel the same. If you leave me now, I don’t think my body can withstand that. So please.” Your eyes widened. 

Gojo loves you back.

He’s been waiting on you this whole time, as you had. Two idiots dancing around the fact that you both were hopelessly in love with the other. You’re so happy you could cry, and the tears do start to come, but Satoru squeezes your jaw, pulling your attention back to him.

“Tell me what I need to do to make sure you don’t leave me again.” You try to think of anything, but you keep drawing a blank, until that stupid hunk of metal shines over Satoru’s shoulder. Your entire body freezes up, and you feel that irrational anger coming back.

“Get rid of the bike. That thing almost took you from me.” He looks behind him briefly before snapping back to you.

“Deal.” Before he can open his mouth to say another word, you’re putting your lips back on his, dragging him back to you. Just like a perfect match, it feels like second nature to kiss Satoru. He knows just where to put his hand without getting into deep water. Just a row of deep, slow kisses, until you go to pull him closer and he does the same. Leaving you to grind harder than expected on his thighs, a pathetic moan tumbling out of you. Satoru breaks the kiss, bright blue eyes peering down at you in shock. 

“Sorr-” His hands drag your bunched-up dress across his thigh again, forcing another breathy moan out of you. 

“You sound better than I could’ve ever imagined, and I’ve imagined a lot.” He does it again, this time flexing this strong muscle, making you fall forward in a shudder.

“Tell me what you’ve imagined?”

“Oh, my god.” The heat between your thighs builds as you gleam under Satoru’s gaze and shamelessly ride his thigh. “This. Turning you on. Making out. Making you feel good.” The way his soft lips lightly trail down your neck, kissing between the confessions. It’s dirty and pulls another moan from you. Grinding down on his thigh shamelessly harder this time. “Making you cum for me, and just for me. Over and over, just like how I’m going to now.” 

It’s pathetic how much you’re chasing your own orgasm, but the high of the confession is lighting every nerve in your body on fire. He smells good, he tastes good, he feels good, and he’s all yours. As if he reads your mind, he presses his thigh into you, practically lifting against the fridge. 

“Tell me you love me.”

“I love you, Satoru.” You pant, eyes rolling back in your head, at a particularly rough drag. “I’m so close. Oh my-”

He snaps his thigh from you, and it practically hurts. You chase the feeling of the rough denim material, only for him to press your hips into the fridge. Pulling you into a sloppy kiss, tongues lazily meeting, almost your dying protest. You try to get his attention even though you could barely focus, by pulling his hair, but it just makes him moan unashamedly, hands squeezing at your waist. When he finally pulls away, his eyes are so low you’d think he was high if it wasn't for the obvious blush across his face or the swollen, spit-covered lips. He stares at your eyes, slowly bouncing between your lips and your eyes, questioning something.

“I was so close.”

“I know. I heard.” You’re sure your blush is now matching his. His chest shudders with anticipation. “Can I ask you a big favor?” At this point, you’re convinced you’d do anything for this man.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll get rid of the bike if you get on it.” Scratch that. You’d do anything but get on Satoru’s once highway ticket to death. 

“No.”

“Y/N-”

“No! I’m not letting you take me out on a ride. I hate that stupid bike.”

“We’re not going out. I just-” His eyes avert from yours, looking up at that garage ceiling. Are his ears turning red? “-I just want you to get off on it.” A beat of silence passed, and then another. By the time the fourth passes, Satoru closes his eyes and swallows in obvious embarrassment.

“What?” How the hell does one get off on a motorcycle? Let alone one that tried to kill your best friend?

“It would be in park! You wouldn’t have to go anywhere, but here. It’s a thing I’ve had for a while, and I dunno...” He rambles on and on before he finally looks back at you with an absolutely hopeless look in his eye. Past the point of pleading, this is his entire ego on the line. 

“Is it something you really want?” He nods before the sentence ends. You think long and hard about it before looking in his eyes and sighing. You’re just as hopeless as he is. “Fine, but don’t be hurt when this doesn’t end up working.” His entire body lights up with a new vigor, arms wrapping around you and lifting you easily over the bike. You knew Satoru was strong, but he lifted you like it was nothing, which shouldn’t be possible after all his body had gone through.

You’re pressed against the metal head of the bike, thanking your earlier judgment that you wore a skirt. Satoru looks like he’s about to explode from just staring at you sitting on the damn thing. He swallows hard again—it’s kinda cute. His eyes are locked on where your panty-clad cunt is meeting the cold black metal.

“Satoru?” You squirm at the intensity of his stare.

“Right, m‘sorry. You have no idea how long I’ve thought about this. I thought it would never happen.” His eyes finally look at yours, softening when he sees the worry in your eyes. “If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to.” You mull it over for a second before letting the fear creep in. 

“No. I want to do this for you.”

“Jesus, don’t say that.”

“But I do. I want to recreate every little fantasy you have about me locked away.” Satoru shuts his eyes and drags a hand down his face, bringing a cocky grin to your face. You’ve always liked teasing Toru. He shakes his head in some form of restraint before narrowing in on the start.

“If you’re uncomfortable at any point or want it to be over, you tell me, and I’ll toss the thing to the curb faster than you can blink.” He’s serious, and it is sweet enough to warm your heart and ease your nerves, but you can’t help but giggle at him. “You ready?” You give him a small nod, and the engine revs, filling up the garage. 

Your question about how one gets off on a motorcycle gets answered as soon as the metal rattles against your swollen clit. Immediately, your body slumps forward.

“Oh my god-” The vibrations are so strong, you know your entire body is shaking with the bike. It feels so good. It feels even better when you lift your eyes to see Satoru staring down at you like you just set off his world. Another strong vibration has you loudly moaning. There’s no way you’re not going to cum fast. “Satoru, it's so good.” 

“Yeah?” You nod, unable to say anything that’s not an incoherent mess. How you two can hear each other over the loud ass engine is a miracle you’re not going to question. This stupid motorcycle is pushing closer to an orgasm than you’ve been able to bring yourself to in months. The harsh shift of the metal against your clit is too much; you’re too sensitive, forcing you back searching for some reprieve, but Satoru is quicker. “Nuh uh. Don’t run from it, baby.” 

Oh, he’s an evil son of a bitch. Hands forcing your hips to grind hard into the rapidly shaking metal, leaving you with no escape. You reach out to grab his wrist, hoping it would alleviate the pressure, but it doesn’t. 

“Want you to cover it, baby. Need you soaked so I can lick you clean and give you another one. So I can get you wet all again when I sink into that pretty pussy, and make you cum all over again.”

“Wan-ahh to fuck me, Toru? Oh fuck!” He smiles and wipes the thin line of drool you have yet to notice.

“Yes. More than anything. I think I can cum from just thinking about it. I’ve gotten off more times than I can count.” If you were in a better state of mind, you’d probably ask him why, but instead all you can say is—

“I’ve gotten off you, too, Toru.” It’s rushed, and there was definitely some kind of curse word thrown in there, but it works. Satoru’s ears are burning red, and his mouth is gaped open, hands slowing their motion to a teasing rhythm. “Ngh- All the time.”

“Tell me more.” His words are just as quick as yours. “Y/N, please tell me more.” You’re trying so hard to focus on him and his words, but the way Satoru keeps pushing you into the vibrations is making you want to tip your head back and ride out the feeling that’s starting to cool in you. One of his hands holds your face, forcing you to look at him.

“I- I think about you touching me, Toru.” It’s all you can manage.

“Like how I am now?” You nod, or nod as best as you can in Satoru’s grip.

“Think about how good your hands feel when you touch me. H-oh, how- they’d feel better in me.”

“Want to know what I think about when I’ve gotten off to you?” You’re quick and eager to nod. “When we were sixteen, the first time I ever saw you in a real swimsuit, I wanted to lay you on my bed and eat you out until you were begging me to stop. I think I fucked my hand raw to the thought of it.” Your eyes widen at the confession. You’re sure there’s a huge sopping mark on the metal, from how wet you were.

“I still had braces-”

“And they were cute. You’ve never not been beautiful. There’s never been a moment when I haven’t thought you were beautiful.” What? The rush of emotions fills you, almost over-taking the lust-hazed brain you had. The tears in your eyes are becoming more out of the random sincerity, than the overwhelming pleasure between your legs. 

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“Yes.” He’s quick with it. Mouth dropping right on your pulse point, and dragging his way to your ear. “Always will. Thought you were beautiful the first time I met you. I thought you were beautiful when you gave me that pity dance at prom. I thought you were beautiful at graduation. I think you’re beautiful now, riding my motorcycle in an inch of your life, and I know you’ll be beautiful when I take you upstairs and fuck you full.”

Everything is too much. His cologne, the sweetness of his words, the filth rolling off his tongue, the battering of the shaking metal against your clit. It’s no surprise when your vision starts to go white.

“S-Satoru. I’m gonna-”

“Yeah? You want that?” You’re nodding dumbly, as to be expected by now. “Baby, you’re dripping off the bike.” Were you? Oh well. “Gonna let me clean you up with my tongue before I take you inside and show you everything I’ve wanted to do to you for years?”

“Oh my god, Satoru.” Your hand flies on the bike onto one of Satoru’s forearms for leverage. Nails digging into his skin so hard that it would surely leave marks.

“I know, baby. Just say yes for me. You can do that, c’mon.”

“Yes-fuck. Yes! Please.” His face lifts from your ear, blue eyes focused on your face in just enough time to watch you fall over the edge. Eyes rolling back, mouth hanging open, surely nothing but obscenities and Satoru’s name coming out. You don’t know if you’ve ever cum this hard in your life, but it just won't stop. It’s probably embarrassing how pathetic you look on Satoru’s bike, the same bike that you hated for so long. That now you probably hate just a little bit less.

By the time you’re coming down, the motorcycle is off, and Satoru is peppering sweet kisses up the side of your neck. The sweetest of words leave him that are barely being comprehended. His face finally comes into view again, albeit a little hazy.

“You did great, baby.” That signature Satoru smile was there again, pointed at you. It felt great, almost better than that insanely strong orgasm you just had. You hadn’t realized just how desperately you needed a Satoru Gojo smile aimed at you until you finally got it again. The music inside the house cuts through the moment.

“Satoru, the party-” His hands leave your face, swinging your body towards him before he drops to his knees. 

“It can wait.”

“Satoru-”

“I distinctly remember someone telling me I have a mess to attend to, and from the looks of it, I got a lot to clean up.” Curse Satoru and his height. There’s no way any normal man could get on his knees and still be taller than his bike, but Satoru Gojo has never been normal. His slow kisses up your still quivering thighs make you also want to forget the party. Hell, if you could make everyone in this house disappear right now, you would.

“Everyone is inside.” He leans in closer, with another sloppy kiss.

“I’m aware.” His breath tickles the inside of your sensitive thighs.

“Everyone wants to celebrate you.”

“They’ll want to celebrate me later.”

“Satoru, it's your birthday.” You hate the way your voice wavers.

“I’ll have other birthdays, but since it’s my birthday, why don’t you let me have my gift?”

“Be serious.” Satoru’s eyes flicker up to yours, a look so stern it snatches the air out of you. He is being serious.

“If you don’t want to do this, I will walk away right now, happily. I’d never make you do something or do something to you that you don’t want, but I’m not leaving unless you and you alone don’t want me.” The intensity in his voice makes a shiver go down your spine. “Because right now, Y/N, I couldn’t care less about this damn birthday party.” 

That throb in your heart gets mistranslated somewhere down in the pussy, because you’re practically inching your lower half closer to Satoru’s face, forcing him to be face to face with your soaked panties. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” Satoru’s eyes glistened over as he'd just seen something amazing. Before you can say anything, he pulls your legs closer and further apart before slotting his face right against your core and taking a deep inhale. Only to let out the most pathetic moan ever. “And you smell so good. Wonder if you taste just as good?”

You practically jolt at the long drag of Satoru’s tongue against your covered pussy. The sensation was almost too much; you’re still so sensitive from your orgasm from just a few minutes prior. Here he was eating you out through your panties like a madman.

“T-Toru!” Your body tenses at the unabashed groan he lets out, against you. When his mouth latches against your clit, sucking the sensitive bud, you damn near scream his name out. Your hands find their way into his messy white locks, tugging harder than you meant to.

“Haa— do it again.” Oh, Satoru was overly freaked out. His sharp nose catches your clit perfectly, long tongue stuffing itself into your core through the cloth, sure enough, your hands are pulling Satoru’s pale hair again, earning yourself a pathetic moan from him. 

“T-Toru, are you, shit- gonna take them off?” Without a word, he yanks them down like he’s crazy. The fanning of hot breath against your core makes you twitch. He pulls away slightly enough before dragging two fingers through you; the loud pop of your wetness is almost deafening against the muffled music. You watch him gather your sex all down his fingers, watching your previous orgasm damn near run down his wrist before he drags his eyes to yours, and puts the fingers in his mouth.

Your jaw unhinges at the sight. Satoru Gojo is lapping at his fingers, greedily sucking and making out with them. Pale skin flushed, eyes so hazed over they could be mistaken for black, moaning like a porn star over the taste of your pussy. His other free hand comes down to palm himself over the jeans that seem way too tight for him, eyes rolling back. It was almost like he was alone, but it was you he was tasting. It was downright pornographic and depraved, and it was severely turning you on. Your body is turning into a furnace from how hot the scene made you. 

This would be an image that would stick with you forever.

“Fuck you taste perfect. You are perfect.” Is he…pussy drunk?

“Satoru…are you okay?”

“Yes.” He pops the digits out of his mouth. “Gonna be better after I eat this pussy, and get her all ready and stretched for me.” Satoru’s mouth is back on you before you can do anything. If his hands hadn’t already locked your legs back into place, you surely would’ve fallen off the bike.

Satoru was starved. Lewd slurps fill the air enough to make your ears hot in embarrassment and pleasure. Satoru could’ve sworn he was in heaven.

That he ever actually got out of that hospital bed, and died right there on the table, but the very real sounds of your pretty moans, the feeling of your twitching legs around his head, the addictive taste of your wet cunt, it was all too real to be fake. So much better than all the filthy fantasies he had stored in his head for years. If the perfect rough drag of his scarred lips right before they latch to your clif again didn’t get you, then the feeling of his fingers pressing against your opening will.

“Toru, I’m s-so sensitive.” If he heard you, he didn’t say anything, instead letting out a high-pitched, muffled moan against your core that has you shutting your eyes. When those pretty fingers you’d always wished were in you instead of yours were, it takes everything in you not to ride them, as the work past the ring of muscle, stretching you so good.

Satoru is so close to cumming his pants. You’re just as fucking warm and wet as he knew you’d be, and it’s driving him insane. Well, he’d already gone insane when he watched you cum on his bike, eyes rolling back with his name on your swollen lips. If he were any less of a man, he would’ve gotten it on camera and watched it over and over again, have it etched into every part of his body until his wrist snapped in half, every fleshlight he owned was battered, and his dick fell off.

Squelch.

Squelch.

Squelch.

You had the nosiest fucking pussy, and it was making him weaker with every push of his fingers that you cunt greedily swallowed.

“Satoru, you eat it so good.” Had you even meant to say that? No, but Satoru was both so happy and angry when you said that. Happy because you couldn’t keep yourself together enough to keep those inside thoughts inside. He was eating it good; he had been practicing for this day since he found a stray thong you accidentally left at his dorm years ago. He put it on a Fleshlight and taught himself how to eat your pussy. Making his jaw ache until he knew that he’d have you crying out for him to stop because it was too good. Almost cumming in his pants the first fifteen times. 

Now that’s why Satoru’s angry. All those fantasies don’t live up to the real thing. He could only imagine what you would say to him in those moments, but you’re here in real life, saying all the dirtiest words he could’ve prayed for. He knew how not to cum in his pants when practicing, but the real thing, oh, it was too much. Which is why he practically sobs into your soaked core, mouth, and fingers, desperately picking up speed to hide the way his hips pathetically fucked up into the tip of dangling foot for any kind of pressure like some ravaged animal.

“Hnng-ah fuck! Are you b-breathing?” Satoru Gojo couldn’t care less about air. He could go back on a ventilator for all he cares. He needs to make you come as soon as possible. His tongue circled your clit, desperate to hear those tantalizing sounds leave you. You were practically dripping down his wrist. When his long fingers graze that sweet spot, that’s when it unravels. “Satoru, I’m gonna-” You try to pull him away, tugging at his hair only for him to smack your hand away and push even further into you. 

He needed to make you cum more than anything right now, and he’ll be damned if you don’t cum on his face after he worked so hard.

“So good, so good, so good, I’m- cumming. Satoru, I’m gonna-” Right over the edge you went again. This time, with so much intensity, you think you actually do black out. Satoru doesn’t dare let up, his eyes roll to the back of his skull, watching the thin line of drool hang from your lips as your head tilts back. Wet patch in pants growing as stream after stream of cum leaves his weeping cock right as your foot presses down in uncontrolled pleasure. Obscenely loud, moans escaping you both like you’re getting ready to fuck on camera. 

It takes you, silently begging, and both of your hands to get Satoru to come off your poor, battered pussy. Neither of you says a word, just desperately staring at one another, breathing heavily. Satoru’s face is almost completely red except for the beige scars that almost look pink against his skin. Eyes low like eating, you put him in a daze. The entire lower half of his face is soaked, soft lips puffy and glistening, just begging to be kissed. Though you’re not fully down, after waves of your orgasm are still hitting you, you can’t help but lick your lips.

“Don’t.” Satoru’s voice is hoarser and deeper than it was when you two first walked in here. Something about him was laced with lust and want. It sent sparks down your body. He sounded so fuckable.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t lick your lips like that. Don’t look at me like you’re starving for me. I can’t-” He takes in a shuddering breath like he’s barely holding on before he pops up. One hand pulling you by your throat for a kiss, making you taste yourself on him, and damn, do you both taste good. Satoru’s hands are the only reason why your wobbly legs haven’t given out from underneath you.

Sloppy kisses that end with loud smacks, an inappropriate amount of whining, and the need to touch everything you could. The scene was enough to make someone look away in embarrassment. You two are stuck on each other, obsessed even. You pull away when the air supply runs out, shivers going down your body. 

Have you ever been this turned on? The answer is obviously no. Even fantasizing about Satoru wasn’t enough to get you like this. Satoru has that effect on you.

“I can't resist you.” Seems you have the same effect on him. He can’t help but get a couple more small kisses in before trailing down your face again. “Are you okay?” Satoru’s voice is soft; it's almost sickening.

“I can barely feel my legs.” He laughs, eyes crinkling at the end. He’s still your Satoru.

“That’s a problem.”

“I know, how am I going to walk back in there without looking stupid?” Without so much as a grunt (or a warning), you’re being lifted off your feet, body held bridal style with no ease.

“Nah, I mean you shouldn’t be able to walk at all. Guess I got to fuck that mobility out of you?” Your hand swats his chest like an impulse. Cheeks feel as if they could turn red. He makes quick steps to get inside, but before he can open the door, you stop him. 

“Everyone is still inside.”

“Then they’ll get out.” He says it like it's obvious.

“Satoru.”

“I’m serious. They’ll either get out, or they’ll hear us. I don’t care about them right now.” He’s insane. That accident took all the common sense out of his head.

“Sat-” It’s too late, the garage door flies open, and you close your eyes, hoping the dark lights hide your ruined makeup, disheveled dress, and loose ponytail. The music doesn’t stop, neither does Satoru, but he does laugh.

“You can open your eyes; no one is here.” What?

You do open your eyes only to be met with the fact that a single soul is in the house. Not even any on the balcony like they were before.

“Wait, does that mean-”

“Now we really don’t have to be quiet.” Satoru doesn’t even pay attention to the empty room, circling the apartment to find his bedroom. He doesn’t even bother closing the door behind him, making quick strides with you in his arms before he gently tosses you on the bed. He’s almost immediately taking his clothes off, blue eyes almost glowing in the darkness of the room. Satoru practically rips his black shirt off his body before he goes for the belt.

“Wait.” His eyes widened in fear, halting immediately. “Can I take them off?” You think the question might’ve killed him because he stares at you in shock before nodding his head like an idiot. He’s rushing over to the side of the bed, and he has to hold his smile back when he watches you struggle to balance your weight on your knees.

Yeah, he needs one more round.

The moment you get your hands on the belt, it’s over. Heat zaps down Satoru’s spine. As crude as it sounds, he’s never had you this close to his dick before. He doesn’t know just how long he’d last if you were even to stare at it long enough. Before he can bring himself to tell you to stop, you’re already pulling his pants down, damp boxers on display.

“Did you-”

“Yes.” He answers embarrassingly too fast. 

“You got off eating me out?” That blush creeps up Satoru’s neck all the way up to his ears.

“Yeah, I’ve gotten off from your perfume lingering in my bed.” He hadn’t meant to say that, but it makes your jaw unhinged enough to flash another sinful image through Satoru Gojo’s head. Making him visibly twitch.

“You’re such a perv, Toru.” The words are meant to be mean, but in all actuality, you’re not any better. The number of times you’ve gotten off to his cologne being stuck in your passenger side seat belt is one too many for you to admit. You shift closer, planting a kiss on his tip through his boxer, making his hips buck into your mouth.

“Don’t.”

“You can get a taste of me, but I can’t get a taste of you?” You drag your tongue across his print and the damp patch, watching his mouth drop slightly, a coy hum on your lips. “That’s unfair, don’t you think?” Toru nods dumbly, body unconsciously leaning into you. “Can I go down on you, Toru? I’ve thought about it so much.”

“Yes. Fuck yes, please.” Satoru knows this is a bad idea. He cannot cum again before he has sex with you, but as he made clear earlier, he can’t say no to you. So when you pull down his boxers only for his dick to smack right against his stomach pulling a weak moan from him, he just prays he has it in him to pull you off before he comes down your throat.

“Toru-” You’re in utter shock. Satoru’s dick is big. Not just big, it’s humongous, he’s fucking hung. No wonder he was so arrogant all the time; he had the size to back it up. “You’re so big.” There’s enough lubricant from his previous orgasm for you to stroke him comfortably.

“Fuck, you can’t say that.” He twitches in your hand as you let the spit from your mouth dribble down his oh so sensitive, bright red tip. He was so cute under your hand, slightly bucking up into your hand unknowingly. 

“But you are, and it’s so pretty.” Satoru Gojo loved to be praised. Any person with working eyes could tell you that. “Need to taste it.” You don’t let him say anything before you kiss the tip, earning a soft whimper from him. 

So he does whimper? Good to know.

One torturous, slow lick after the other has him clenching his fist by his side until they look like they’re going to pop. When you finally take him in your mouth, every thread in him snaps. Hands find purchase around the back of your head. He was right, you guys don’t have to worry about being quiet anymore. He’s practically moaning like a bitch in heat at every bob of your head. You’re not much better, loud slurps filling the room if it’s not your own pathetic moans around him. 

“Shit! I’m- you feel so good-ahh. Hnng- please don’t stop.” Like you would ever, Satoru Gojo has you wrapped around his finger just as much as he’s wrapped around yours. You’re practically dripping all over his sheets at every thrust, gagging a moan every time he tip hits the back of your throat. Spit spilling at the corners of your lips like the Satoru only slut you are. Watching his eyes roll to the back of his head, his chest rise at a sharp breath, the way your name rolled off his tongue. It was breathtaking being the one to make Satoru Gojo fall apart like this.

Just a little more, and he’ll cum down your throat just the way you wanted. Your hand that was absent mindedly drawing rough circles on your clit, moves to cup his spit-covered balls, fondling them gently. The change made Satoru stop with a particularly rough thrust to your throat and rather loud broken whine. One hand gripping your hair with a tight lock, and the other holding your throat in place. His tilted head comes back down, his chest erratically heaving as he gives you an almost pained look.

“Don’t do that.” It’s quick, and thought it didn’t sound as assertive as it was meant to be you pause befoe pushing your luck, moving your hand again, which makes Gojo thrust forward again, a loud gag coming from you, your hand constricting your throat. His other hand knocked yours away. He looks almost lost, torn as he works your throat over him. “I’m not cumming anywhere that’s not inside of you. If you do that, I’ll cum all over your face and waste all of it. We wouldn’t want that now?”

Satoru was so close to coming that the corner of his vision started to turn fuzzy. If he hadn’t stopped when he did this night might’ve taken a different turn. Mouth still full of his cock you shake your head no, eyes hazed over in your own lust. He painfully removes himself from your mouth, cussing himself out internally the entire time. It’s taking everything in him not to pull your warm, wet, hot mouth back over here and fuck it raw. 

“Take the dress off.” You scramble to pull the dress over you, moving to the middle of the bed and tossing it somewhere into the abyss. “You’re so good for me, baby. I love it.”

“Yeah?” Oh yeah, you’re gone. Who wouldn’t be looking at Satoru’s perfect body, even if all scared up, he’s still undeniably sexy. “You’re so good for me, Toru.” His weight shifts the mattress as he makes his way over to you. 

“I always want to be good for my girl.” His hands grab your ankles, pulling you. towards him. “Need to fuck you good.” That fucked out look on his face is all you see before he’s pushing your hands into the mattress for another sloppy makeout. You could kiss Satoru forever. His tongue knows just what way to lock with yours in the most lewd way, like he was made to kiss you. He pulls back, grabbing the base of his dick, which his hand could barely fit around.

He slowly glides his jerky cock through your wetness, making you both twitch. Saying nothing but watching it slip through and gather more lubricants, the tip hitting your abused clit so sinfully it made your jaw drop.

“She’s so messy.” You couldn’t care less what he was babbling about right now. You just needed him to put it in already.

“Stop teasing Toruuu.” You whine only to get a cocky grin from him. He was letting up, picking up the pace, to watch you squirm. 

“You want it that bad-oh.” All that squirming managed to slip the tip in, stopping you both. The smile is wiped clean off his face. Instead, one of awe replaces it as he watches himself fuck the same inch into you, sensitive head trapped between your warm, gummy, wet walls. “You- you- feel so-”

“Yeah, bet it would be better if you actually fucked me.” His eyes meet yours with a hard glare. 

“Count.”

“What- oh my god.” Your mouth forms a ‘o’ as he sinks more into you.

“Count. C’mon, my smart girl can tell me how. How many inches are in her right?”

“T-Two.” 

“There we go.” He pushes in more, holding back on his bodily urges that are telling him to quit with all the teasing, but he can’t.

Three follows with four, five with six, and by the time you’re at the last two inches, you’re practically shaking. There’s a line of drool hanging from Satoru’s mouth like he’s gone completely brain dead, eyes not disconnecting from where you two meet, like he’s hypnotized.

He is hypnotized.

“Just two more, baby.”

“Eight-ngh Satoru, please. I can’t!” Your body burned at the stretch. No one’s been as big as Toru.

“No. You can.”  You let out a high-pitched whine when he finally bottoms out.

“Nine! Fuck Satoru, I’m so full.” Those words bounce off deaf ears. Satoru is falling off this plane of existence; the only thing keeping him grounded is the clench of your core around him, sending shivers down his spine. When he doesn’t move, you call his name, only to hear a muffled moan into your neck. It takes pulling him out of your neck to see what’s happening, finally.

He’s so fucked out he’s not comprehending right. His blue eyes are crossed in pleasure, line of spit rolling down to his thick neck, shaking body completely flushed red.

“Pussy so good. It’s gonna kill me.”

“Toru, I need you to move.”

“I can’t. Need a second. It’s too good.”

“Toru, please, I want you to fuck me. Need you to fill me up.” It’s those words that put Satoru out of his daze, or at least his body out of its daze. His hips roll into yours with a sinfully quick pace. His hands roam your body, trying to find something to feel. 

“Want me to cum inside?” He grumbles in your ear with another fast snap of his hips. “Want me to fuck you full?” You nod as best as you can, mouth hanging open with pathetic noises coming from you, and another lewd squelch comes from you. “I think this pretty pussy wants that too. Just listen to her.” 

Nothing but the nasty wet smacks filling the room makes your ears burn. 

Plap, Plap, Plap.

“She’s practically begging me to pump her full of my cum. She’s so good. She’s so fucking addictive. So much better than anything I’ve used.” You’re half paying attention to him. More focused on how deep his dick is in you. Every thrust feels like the air is getting snatched from you in the best way. Besides, you’re not too far behind him in sounding incoherent.

“Toru, it’s so deep-ngh. I-hic” Were you crying? “Fuck don’t stop. Please don’t, don’t, don’t.”

“Wouldn’t fucking dream of it. Your pussy is so good to me, you’re so good to me.” One of his hands comes down, forcing your legs to wrap around his shoulders. “I need to fill you. Need to fuck you good. Need it. Need it. Fuck I need it.” The new angle, the stretch, the pressure, it has you seeing stars, and when Satoru hits that one spot, your entire body tenses. 

Something’s different.

“Oh my god, Satoru!”

“Right there?” He whines out, head reeling back every time he hits that spongy spot inside. You nod, fat tears rolling down your body, it’s almost too much, but before you can even think about Toru’s already pinning your hips. “Don’t you dare think about running from me. Waited too long for this, for you.” Each bed shaking brutal smack brings you closer, but something is different. 

More intense, it’s deeper. It makes your entire body tremble. 

“Sssatoru I- something feels-” 

“Nuh-uh. That’s not my name.” Fuck he’s hitting it so good you may not be able to tell him. Your back is starting to arch in, tasting your release, which makes your vision come in and out.

“Baby! Something’s different! I’m-” Your cut off entirely by the smack of Satoru’s fingers against your clit, making you jolt in pleasure. You’re so close.

“Don’t call me that. That’s not what you call me. You want to cum, you want me to fill you up so good you’ll be dripping me for days? Then you call me by- FUCK-” Your cunt clenches around him, making his head pop from your ear to the air, making him look at you. He’s just like you—unfocused eyes, pathetic moaning, completely fucked out and pussydrunk to your dickmatized. “You-you call me by my name.”

“T-t-t-” You’re right there.

“C’mon, be good for me and say it.”

“Toru! I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna-” His fingers come down in a harsh rub of your throbbing clit, and you’re gone. Your warning is a faded memory of the past, as the tremors of your orgasm take over. Vision completely gone, ears ringing, in what is the strongest orgasm of your life, given to you by none other than your childhood best friend.

“Oh, my god.” Satoru watches you spray the entirety of the sheets beneath you, his hand, lower stomach, and most importantly, his cock. Never in his wildest dreams did he think watching the girl he loves the most squirt all over would happen, but when it does, it hits him like a bag of bricks. Making him cum so hard he slumps forward, letting out the most pornographic cries, eyes almost shut as he watches his seed mix in with your cum, and it sends lightning down his spine. “It won’t stop.” He doesn’t know who he’s talking about, but you still haven’t stopped. He fucks you through it, almost losing his fucking mind doing so, house full of sounds that would surely get him a noise complaint.

When you both come down from the mutual orgasms, neither of you dares to move an inch. Both of you are still shaking too hard to be fully conscious. It’s only when that tear hits your stomach that you start to come back. Satoru’s head is down, in shoulder trembling just like you.

“Toru?”

“Don’t move. I can’t- don’t move, please.” He sounded so weak, it damn near made your heart clench. “Listen, baby.” You almost yelp at the overstimulation when Satoru gives a few weak, shallow thrusts. A popping squelch rings through the room. “Sounds so beautiful.” 

“Satoru, come here.” He doesn’t hesitate, meeting your lips one more time, with the shakiest and sweetest kisses of the night. He gently pulls out, and you groan at the big loss. Missing the fill now that it’s gone. How were you ever going to get anything done now that you know what sex with the love of your life feels like? His head falls to your shoulder, making sure to keep his weight off you. It’s silent for a little while, you two bathe in the post-sex afterglow, until the question in the air rings too loud in your mind. “So what does this mean for us?”

“Don’t ask such dumb questions.”

“I’m serious-”

“I am too. You’re not going anywhere, Y/N. Whether that's you being my girlfriend or, preferably, my wife, you’re here to stay. I’m here to stay. We’ve spent too much time avoiding the obvious to be picky about what we are now. We’re in love. Simple.” His arms sling around you, pulling you closer. The warmth of his body felt grounding.

“I love you, Toru.” You declare for the umpteenth time.

“I love you, Y/N.”

It’s your phone that wakes you up from your deep sleep with your boyfriend(?) at what had to be noon. 

“Satoru.” You grumble against his chest, refusing to open your eyes.

“Ignore it.” He makes no effort to move. The ringtone faded for all of three seconds before it blares up again, making you sigh.

“I got it.” He pulls you against him again, weakly trying to hold you back. “Toru.”

“Fine.” He rolls over, allowing you to crawl over him to grab the blaring phone, but not before smacking your ass as you bend to do so. You shoot him a dirty look, and he shrugs. “What? It’s great ass, and it’s mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah, baby, that’s my ass, that's my pussy, that’s my heart, you’re my girl.” You have to bite back a smile at his words. The thought of finally being Satoru’s girl makes your chest all fuzzy.

“So does that mean that’s my dick and my heart?”

“You know it. Now I highly suggest you answer that phone, or else I’ll show you what else your dick can do.” You scoff, but it’s clear by the way your nipples perk up that you’re turned on. Satoru pulls you on top of him, pressing his half-hard dick against your bare cunt. Disregarding who can hear you two, as he kisses down your bare body. You press the accept button before you have half the mind to ride him and show him what his pussy can do.

“Hello?”

“Oh. My. God.” Geto and Shoko’s voices flood the other side of the phone. “This was better than we could’ve imagined.”

“What are you two going on about?” Satoru looks up at you through his pretty lashes, a confused look on his face.

“We called Satoru, not you.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Please tell me you two have finally sorted things out. I was plastered by the time Geto was kicking everyone out of the house.”

“I think they did more than just sort it out. I’m never touching that motorcycle again.” Your jaw drops in horror before Satoru grabs the phone from your hands.

“You two really need to get a life.” You make out the words “dumbass” on the other end of the phone. “Uh-huh. Anyway, I got some time to make up for. I'll talk to guys later.” He tosses the phone to the other side of the bed, pulling you closer to him. “Good afternoon, baby.” You giggle at his antics, heart swelling with joy. Everything feels perfect.

“Good afternoon, Toru.”

A/N: I wrote this over the cycle of two ovulation cycles...no regrets! I'm hella rusty too, this might be a mess potench. Also, this wasn't proofread... so my bad!

It’s as if the man only falls for you more and more every day. Geto’s been with you for roughly two years now and yet you’ve never revealed this sudden… mask kink you clearly have. He likes the Scream franchise just as much as you do and the idea of chasing you around and eventually fucking you in costume definitely excites him.

So there you are; sitting in his lap and pouting, steadily snaking your arms around his neck and pulling yourself in close before you plant a chaste little kiss on his lips.

“C’mon Sugu, I know you’ve thought about it before,” You point out to him in a low purr as your lips depart from his.

The hands that’d been calmly resting on your hips suddenly grow intrigued as they slide up to your waist and give you a soft squeeze, “I really haven’t.” He admits honestly. You can see it all in his eyes that he silently agreed to this the moment you brought out that stupid mask.

At his soft admission, a gleaming smile spreads across your face, “Okayy, well you are now… So is that a yes or what?”

He pretends to think for only a moment longer, glancing off to the side in faux thought before landing those pretty lilac irises back onto you, “Yeah, sure. Tomorrow's Halloween so, we can do it then.” Geto tells you.

And that was all it took. 

Halloween night was here before you even had time to fully prepare for it. The entire day you weren’t able to stop thinking about the moment Geto would walk through the front door, dressed in all black with that overly attractive ghostface mask cloaking his equally beautiful face. 

Your heart was racing in anticipation as the sun began to set outside and the clock ticked closer and closer toward the time of which he would return home from work. You knew he’d be there no more than thirty minutes after and all you could do was wonder how this all would go down.

Clad in only one of his oversized white t-shirts, you distracted yourself by mindlessly scrolling on your phone as you awaited the moment he’d get home. Any second now and you’d hear that lovely security chime go off—

You jump a little in your bed when your thought is cut off by an incoming unknown number. If you weren’t buzzing with excitement before, you damn sure are now because it’s clear your boyfriend is going out of his way to play into this with you. There are practically small hearts in your eyes as you tap that enticing green button on your screen to answer the phone.

Biting back a smile, you’re quick to bring the phone up to your ear, “Hello?”

An almost low-quality distortion to the person’s voice is instantly recognized by you—it wasn’t Suguru’s voice at all, it was that infamous voice changer that spoke to you. “Why don’t you wanna talk to me?” A man asks, and you know this line all too well.

Hell, you know the entire dialogue. This is exactly why you sit up in your bed and hold back that smile of yours like your life depended on it. Tilting your head into the phone, you glance around your bedroom, “Who is this?”

“You tell me your name, I’ll tell you mine,” The ‘mystery’ man continues. 

You had to slap a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from giggling right then and there. Your dark little fantasy was becoming true right before your very eyes and it had a sliver of excitement slipping down your spine. Sliding out from your bed, you take small steps toward the nearby window and glance outside.

Scoffing softly, “I don’t think so.” You quote, straight from the first Scream. You’ve seen the movie enough times to recite the whole thing word for word, even his lines.

It’s a bit off-script how things go from here on out but, that’s the goal.

“Aw, you’re no fun.” He purrs. Even with that damn voice changer, you’d recognize that purr any day. You know this is your boyfriend and that only has your body heating up with each passing second.

Now you’re left to improv a bit. “Think so?” You reply as you pull your bedroom curtains closed and turn away from the window.

“Oh I know so, sweetheart. It’s Halloween night and you’re doing nothing to celebrate.” The man on your phone points out. 

You’re walking out of your room now and taking a careful peek into the dimmed hallway. “And that makes me not fun? What am I supposed to do to celebrate Halloween aside from dressing up and maybe handing out some candy?”

He chuckles. “You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you can figure something else out.”

“Let me guess,” Your brows raise a little, “I should be watching scary movies?”

“That depends. You like scary movies?” There you are, right back onto the script.

“Uhuh,” You hum in response with a slight nod as if he could see you.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” And there it is, infamous line one of many. You nearly let out a dreamy sigh knowing that it’s nothing but your boyfriend on the other end.

Allowing yourself to smile this time, you trek down your hallway and towards the staircase. “Uhhh, I dunno,” Of course you know, but where’s the fun in saying it so soon?

“You have to have a favorite. What comes to mind?” Every scratchy distorted-pitched word that pours from the man’s mouth has anticipation bubbling within you.

You sigh. “Uhmm, Halloween!” As you recall that answer straight from the movie, you turn to your staircase and allow your eyes to scan the first floor of your home.

Most of the lights are on so it’s not too dark or anything but you really are curious whether or not Geto has made his way inside already.

“Y’know, the one with the guy with the white mask who walks around and stalks babysitters?” You quote flawlessly yet again. You’re such a fanatic for the Scream franchise that you’re loving every single second of this.

“Yeahh,” He purrs again, making your heart involuntarily flutter.

You begin to slowly descend down the flight of stairs, “What’s yours?”

“Guess.” He orders on the other end.

Pausing halfway down, you glance over to your kitchen. The light is still on and everything is exactly the way you left it. “Uhm, Nightmare on Elm Street?” You soon reply.

“Is that the one where the guy had knives for fingers?” The way your boyfriend knows every word to this just as well as you do makes your stomach churn in affection just a bit. 

Your voice turns enthusiastic and you continue your steps down, “Yeah! Freddy Kruger.”

“Freddy, that’s right.” He continues, “I like that movie—it was scary.”

“Well the first one was but the rest sucked.” You’re downstairs now, looking around at the way all the blinds in your home are open. Did you leave them like that for this exact reason? You don’t remember.

“Mhm,” ‘Mystery’ man hums and you swear you can picture the smirk on his face as he utters the next infamous line. “Soo, you got a boyfriend?”

You pull your lower lip into your mouth for a second before smiling, “Why? You wanna ask me out on a date?” Now you’re making a right to enter your living room, heading toward your couch placed in the center.

“Maybe. Do you have a boyfriend?” He asks again.

You pause for a second. This literally is your boyfriend so, surely he wants you to play into this question, right?

“No.” You chirp simply.

You can hear the smile on his face even through that stupidly attractive voice changer, “You never told me your name.”

You know what comes after this and you can’t help but begin to look around as you plop down on your couch, “Why do you wanna know my name?” 

It’s silent over the phone for a long couple of seconds

“Cause’ we wanna know who we’re looking at.”

Your heart surprisingly sinks as those words hit your ears. We? That’s not… how that scene goes. He was supposed to say that he wants to know who he’s looking at. There’s no we? Where the hell did he even get that from??

For the first time since you picked up this damn phone and started this whole thing, you’re actually a bit nervous. Chuckling loosely, you try to play it off as your eyes glance around your living room, “What do you mean, ‘we’?” 

There’s a shuffling over the phone for just a moment. Then, you hear that distorted voice again, but the pitch is slightly different. “C’mon, princess. You’ve seen the movies, you should know by now that there’s hardly ever only one killer.” The man says. 

Eyes all over every corner of the house, heart thumping slightly in your chest, you can feel your anxiety rising within. “I… I don’t understand.” You murmur softly.

And then… all the lights go out with a loud noise coming from somewhere outside. If you weren’t shaking in fear before, you damn sure are now. Your eyes go even wider and you move to put your phone on speaker, clicking your flashlight on right after. 

“S-Suguru, this isn’t funny! I like the movies ‘nd all but I’m not the biggest fan of being scared, you know that.” The person(s) on the phone can hear the clear trembling in your voice as you stand up and point your flashlight to whatever area your eyes land on, searching for any signs of anyone.

There’s a snicker over the line. “Oh but this iss funny, sweets.” The tone changed again—it’s still distorted in that famous Ghostface pitch, but it’s not Suguru nor the person who’d said something before. “You look sooo scared right now.”

Aw hell, that lets you know he (or they) can see you right now. Which is just great considering you can’t see shit aside from darkness and the few areas of your house that your light lands on. You’re scared to leave the living room but… you’re also terrified of staying right where you are. You don’t know how many Ghostface’s are in your house right now and you don’t know what the hell Suguru has planned for you tonight.

“Stop playing around! Turn the lights back on and quit this scary shit, Suguru.” You huff out into the call, taking one step to your right and hearing the floor creak below your foot.

The house is eerily quiet—which is ridiculously concerning considering how he-, they can see you but you can’t see them at the moment. How the hell are they talking to you without you hearing them? They are in your house now, right??

“You said you wanted to get fucked by Ghostface, baby.” The voice returns, as does that natural purr, letting you know it’s Geto talking once more. “You never said how many…”

You slowly walk around your couch and shift your flashlight toward the blinds, trying to get a look outside your windows. “Are you serious? That sounds insane. How many of you are there?!” Your gaze flicks toward the nearby staircase and you only scare yourself as your eyes get lost in the darkness of your home.

Geto’s still talking, “Including me, there’s three of us. How does that sound, hm? I’m obviously not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to but, you do know who we all are.”

You swallow thickly. “Do I?” This time your words leave in a whisper and you swear you hear a shuffling coming from upstairs.

Lord knows you’re scared out of your mind right now. But, it is comforting to know that whatever this is, your boyfriend is in control of it all. You trust him more than anything, so there’s no real reason to be scared… right? 

“Mhm. So how ‘bout we play a game?” Your boyfriend requests, and the sound of him smiling again is heard through his tone.

You stop walking entirely and your eyes are fixated upstairs as you flash your light up there. “Okay Jigsaw.” You snort, “What… What kind of game, huh?”

He sighs, almost sounding as though he were sitting back against something. “The one you and I were going to play. Y’know, you run around ‘n hide but if I find you, I fuck you. Let’s continue that but… with two others.”

“Suguru, you’re gonna let two other guys fuck me?” You’re beyond baffled by this whole thing. Never in a million years would you have expected this from your boyfriend. This is the same man who got mad a while ago for the way some guy who was all flirty with you at a restaurant…

Geto hums deeply, “S’long as you’re okay with it and they find you before I do, yeahh.”

“I didn’t know you were into that…” You reply, moving a hand to tug his shirt further down your body. Knowing that there was more than just him in the area right now made you a bit self-conscious.

“Didn’t know you were into masks but the Ghostface thing really does it for ya’, huh?” Suguru snaps back with that sass you know and love.

“I mean…” You shrug, “Yeah.”

“Right. So then, the game is simple. You try to hide and whoever finds you first; fucks you.”

“That’s it?”

“Oh, nooo. There’s more to this baby…” You swear you hear a creak upstairs—coming from somewhere down the left end of the hallway. It gives you the chills as Geto continues. “See, I know how loud you are when you cum so… tonight, I want you to be nice and quiet.”

You gulp, “What happens if I’m not?”

“Another one of us will find you.”

“Oh—“

“…And join in.” He steadily adds on with an amused smile on his face that you obviously can’t see right now.

Your heart races at the thought alone. “Oh.”

Just for extra consent, Geto tilts his head against the phone, “That alright with you?”

“Yes… but, wait do I still have to be quiet even if there ends up being two of you guys fucking me…?” You lean to the side a bit and aim your light toward the direction you heard the creak, spotting no one and no signs of life whatsoever.

“Yep.” Geto replies with a teasing pop of the ‘p’.

“But—“

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll do fine. After all,” The voice changer clicks off and Suguru’s tone is nice and clear with you, “Y’know whose cock you’re supposed t’get loud on.”

You feel yourself throb at the sound of his voice without that stupid filter, puffing out a little sigh in reaction to his lewd words. 

“Oh, and by the way…”

“Huh?”

The voice changer clicks on one last time and he chuckles. “They’re already in the house.”

——

Okay, you knew Halloween was one of Suguru’s favorite holidays but shit you didn’t expect him to go all out like this.

Not one, not two, but three Ghostfaces in your home searching for you right now? You’re lucky the house is big and there are plenty of places to hide but fuck is your anxiety through the goddamn roof as you sit in the empty tub of your first-floor bathroom. The door is shut but not locked and you’ve got the tub curtain pulled closed, just in case one of them does happen to stroll in.

Obviously, this wasn’t the best hiding spot in the world but you wanted them to eventually find you. You were scared in the beginning because of how unexpected this was but now you’re just as excited as you were when you first received that infamous phone call and recited all the lines with your boyfriend.

As soon as the call had ended, you clicked your flashlight off and snuck around in search of a hiding place—which is roughly how you ended up where you are now…

Now you’re left wondering who would find you first. Well, that and who the hell is under two of those masks. You suspect one of them is Gojo Satoru since that’s your boyfriend’s best friend but the other guy… you’re not too sure. Geto said you knew him but that still doesn’t help much.

Your boyfriend has a lot of friends that you know. Which one does he trust enough to let them have their way with you??

After maybe fifteen minutes of sitting in the tub, you start hearing someone outside the bathroom door. Footsteps shuffle by and you can tell the person went off into your kitchen. Then you hear the sounds of doors and cabinets opening, all of which make your breath hitch.

It’s so nerve-wracking and exciting waiting for someone to swing open the bathroom door. The footsteps soon pass it again and you let out the faintest sigh.

…Only to hear those steps halt not too far off from the door. Then, they turn and your body stiffens up entirely as each thump against the hardwood floor draws closer and closer to the door. You can’t see it because of the shower curtains but, there’s a shadow at the bathroom door.

Then you hear a small clinking sound, followed by a very soft… thump? Almost as if someone were leaning against the bathroom door to listen.

It was so scarily exciting that you had to move a hand over your mouth to keep yourself as silent as possible. After which, it’s all so very motionless.

There’s no sound, safe for someone walking around upstairs, and you just know someone’s outside the bathroom door right now. Your heart sinks into your ass the moment you hear that doorknob turning torturously slow until it’s lightly pushed open. 

Then, there are but two soft steps taken inside and you don’t hear it but the door is closed behind whoever just entered.

They could be coming in to just use the bathroom… riiiight?

That’s extremely naive of you to think but a girl can only hope. Another step is taken deeper into the bathroom and that soft clinking sound you heard before is getting louder. It’s faint, almost like… jewelry or… necklaces slapping against one another gently. Jewelry… Necklaces… Which one of Geto’s friends do you know wears a lot of jewelry...? C’mon, think.

Necklaces… rings maybe… piercings—

The very second it clicks in your brain who this might be, you practically flinch right out of your skin as you spot a knife slowly moving to slide the bathtub curtain open. As the curtain is pulled open, you’re met with the tilted head of someone in a Ghostface costume.

Your eyes are all wide on them and you genuinely have no idea where on your body this guy is looking but the mask is actually quite scary when it’s all dark and neither of you is making any sudden movements.

His head slowly angles to the opposing direction, just like Ghostface often does in the movies, and you gulp loudly. The curtain is pinned to the wall by the knife in his hand and you think you’re sweating.

“Scared?” His voice is deep. Familiarly deep. It quickly confirms your suspicions of who’s face may be lying beneath that iconic mask.

With your eyes all frantic along what’s covering his face, noticing the bits of blood and cracks decorating it, you swallow thickly yet again. “Choso?” Your voice is hardly above a whisper and the air feels so heavy with tension.

His hand moves away from the wall and the knife, which you hope is fake, is placed on the edge of the tub with a soft tapping noise emitting into the still air. Then he takes that same hand and lifts it to pull his mask up to the right side of his face, revealing his expression to you as he crouches down to your eye level. You quickly feel your fear die off and it’s replaced with… something else as you study his face. There’s fake blood splattered on his skin, makeup extending the tattoo along the bridge of his nose, and piercings that stand out against his facial features.

“The tub, really?” He whispers to you, chuckling softly and flashing this kind smile at you that makes you feel overly warm inside. “S’this the best you could do? Y’know if I was a real killer you’d be dead right now, right?” Choso teases, all of his words kept in a low voice.

You roll your eyes and shift against the cold tub flooring, “I wouldn’t have hid in here if you guys were real killers, I’m not dumb.”

His lips curve into this sexy yet lazy smirk and you can feel your heart fluttering in your chest. You had a thing for Choso way back before you started dating Geto and it seems as though your body hasn’t forgotten why. “Yeahh?” Choso chastises with another tilt of his head, “Think you would be the final girl?”

Leaning forward a bit, you nod. “No, I know I would.”

Choso lets out a hum before biting his lower lip for a moment. Then, he lets it fall from in between his teeth and you think you’re in a trance. “Oh she’s cocky, huh?” He teases.

You smile at him and then push up to stand on your knees. Leaning all the way forward, you slowly reach for the knife and take it into your hands. Then you move to hold the tip of it right underneath his jaw and the sound of his breath hitching hits your ears just right. 

You openly stare at his lips and watch the way his smirk slowly transcends into a full cocky smile. “Y’know that’s not fake, right?” Choso hushes out to you.

The knife is carefully caressing his skin as you trace it up slightly to his chin, “It’s not?” You ask innocently, placing your free hand on the edge of the tub and watching how he slowly moves to sit on his knees so that he’s looking up at you.

His face is all pretty from this angle, big brown doe-eyes batting up at you so softly, such a pretty face of dark innocence presented before you. Who’s really the ‘victim’ here—you or him?

“Nah,” Choso whispers, “That’s a real knife.”

“Why would you carry around a real knife?” You ask in an equally soft tone as your brows twist up in confusion.

He shrugs. “Honestly, I was gonna ask if you were into a bit of knife play…” 

His words make your mind stray away from the situation at hand. Your imagination is quick to push out ideas and all sorts of scenarios that could have occurred with this knife of his had you not looked so scared when he first saw you…

“Are you?” The question in return makes Choso’s gaze flicker into something way more lustful than it was moments before.

He scoffs, “Am I? Why would I ask you about it if I wasn’t.”

“So… What, you wanna cut my clothes off of somethin’?” You ask carefully, steadily slipping the tip of the knife along his jawline.

Choso just barely nods his head in response.

“Y’know it’s funny you say that and yet you’re the one on your knees with a knife held up to your chin right now.” You point out with an all-knowing grin plastered all over your face.

Choso bites back a laugh. It’s cute that you think you have the upper hand here. “You and I both know that could easily change in a matter of seconds.” He claims.

And y’know, maybe it’s because you found yourself turned on by this whole game or maybe it’s simply because you wanted to fuck Choso but either way—you do not shy away from testing that theory. All you said was a simple ‘prove it’ and you found yourself in quite the position moments later.

It was one thing that Choso managed to easily gain a hold of the knife once more but it was another thing entirely that he was able to swiftly and quietly get you out of the tub and into his arms. All without even so much as grazing you with that sharp weapon too.

It was almost impressive, in all honesty.

Somewhere in the mix of all that, he ends up placing the knife down and soon has you sitting on the bathroom counter. Well, had you sitting on the bathroom counter—it quickly becomes a lot more than simply that.

Choso used that lil’ knife of his to cut down the center of your (Geto’s) shirt and was quick to have you all exposed to his overly greedy eyes. You were wearing nothing more than this lacy black set beneath that oversized shirt so it wasn’t much to get you unclothed.

One second he was cutting your shirt open and the next his lips were on yours. Then his pierced tongue was in your mouth and your arms were around his neck, tugging him closer to you and feeling his hard cock poking you through the thick layers of black clothes between you and him.

Which is exactly what led to the way you are currently.

Choso now has your legs spread wide open for him and his clothes are hardly even off, safe for the black cloak-like jacket that slipped off of his shoulders and the way his pants have been tugged down. He’s got on this black compression shirt and you spot the layered chains/necklaces hanging from around his throat that you heard earlier. Now leaning back slightly against the mirror behind you with your eyes set down between the two of you, you’re left watching the mean slap of Choso’s leaky cockhead against your clit. 

“Cho,” You whispered out pleadingly. He’d been doing this for the longest—tapping his thick cock against your clit and then rubbing it from side to side against you, feeling the way you leak onto the counter below and hearing those faint whines escaping your throat.

Then he has the nerve to have the sluttiest expression on his half-revealed face, eyes all low-lidded and glued to your exposed pussy, bottom lip locked in between his teeth as he holds back his own breathy sounds of pleasure, and brows all tense as if he’s not the one torturing the two of you like this. “Shiiiit,” Choso rasps out, sliding his cock down slowly and pressing his fat tip against your weeping hole. “Suguru was right, this pussy is s’fuckin’ loud ‘n messy…” He breathes.

Your lips are all parted and all you can do is pant softly as he lifts his tip away and then slaps it against your cunt again, listening to the shlick tapping sound that comes from your sex.

Almost in a daze, he glides his cock up and down your wet folds, “Look at herrr,” Choso purrs, “All wet f’me. Can’t believe he’s lettin’ us fuck you.” His hips push forward a bit and you feel the way his heavy shaft glides against your cunt instead of inside like you so desperately want him to.

You have to suppress the needy whine that threatens to escape your throat, holding one hand slightly over your mouth. “Choso, please.” You whisper beneath your palm.

He pulls his hips back and angles his tip back down to your entrance, pushing forward ever so slightly and teasing that tight ring of muscle, not trying to really push himself into you at all. “What is it, princess?” Choso taunts, smirking as he lifts his eyes up to your face, “Want me to fuck you?”

You throb at his words, nodding as if a second longer would have you pronounced dead. “Please,” You whine, trying your best to wiggle your hips forward.

Choso leans forward and moves his lips right up your ear, his breath all warm and tickly against your skin. “Yeah? Y’want my cock inside you that badly?” He says with another faint push of his hips. Every word that leaves his lips has you dripping all over him.

It’s not until you move your hand away from your mouth and place it on the counter space behind you, and whisper, “Yes Choso, just put it all the way in already, I’m losing my fuckin’ m-mind…” Your last word leaves a little shaky due to the way he suddenly moves a hand over your lips.

Pressing his palm against your mouth, you grow confused until you look over to the bottom of the bathroom door and see a shadow moving by. Yet another Ghostface was nearby.

Choso, not yet wanting to ruin his alone time with you, presses his lips further against your ear, and his other hand grips your thigh tightly. “M’not ready t’share you yet so, be really fuckin’ quiet f’me, alright?” His warning confused you for half a second before you felt him roll his hips forward with a sharp snap at the end, stuffing you full with every hard inch of his cock in one go.

Your eyes tear up and your mouth hangs open under his hand, a strangled moan escaping your throat. Choso’s dick is so stupidly big, reminding you of your boyfriend in more ways than one. Unlike Geto though, Choso’s got this ruthless right curve and just drags against your sweet spot with every small movement he makes, the rest of his cock felt throbbing and twitching wildly against your sodden walls.

He lets out a choked grunt against your ear and you can feel him humping his cock deeper inside you with these small maddening little thrusts. “Does he even fuck you? S-Shiiit…” Choso lets his thoughts be vocalized against the crown of your ear and you only squeeze around his girthy shaft. “S’fuckin’ tight.. God-, fu-uck…” His voice has this pretty lil’ crack at the end that makes you soak his cock even more, sloppy juices leaking all out from where the two of you are connected.

Choso has to tug his hips back a bit and he completely forgets that he recently heard someone walking by the bathroom as he mindlessly thrusts right back into you. Your eyes meet the back of your skull and you groan into his palm. The wet gurgles and squelches from your pussy are what draws attention to the bathroom, if any.

Which is something you can’t even control, especially not with the way Choso goes from short grunts in your ear to moaning delightedly against your skin and fucking his thick cock into your sinfully warm cunt. Deep and almost passionate strokes are made into you and he can’t help but rid his hand from your mouth at some point. Moving it back to your thighs, he sprawls your legs out even wider so his cock can dig deeper into you.

With your jaw still hanging open, the sounds of him fucking you against the counter slowly grow louder and louder. You’re trying not to moan but it’s so hard with him—Choso knows how to use his cock all too well and his eyes are studying your face so he knows where exactly he should be thrusting. Just the slightest shift of his hips causes drool to leak from the corner of your lips and that makes him flash this fucked-out little smile.

Choso leans up closer and his body sandwiches against yours for a moment. You swear you can feel his angry cockhead prodding at your guts because fuck is he in there deep. Not to mention how orgasmic it is to feel him drag his pierced tongue against your chin, lapping up the mess of drool from your face before shoving the muscle into your mouth and forcing you to suck on it.

That leaves your moaning drowned out for a bit and Choso takes the opportunity to pound himself into you like a damn madman. Your legs quickly begin to feel like jello in his hands and you couldn’t even focus on sucking on his tongue anymore. Then, he pulls his mouth away, just barely, and the two of you are staring deep into each other’s eyes as his pace gets faster. His hips are so sharp against you and you can feel his weighty balls slapping against your ass with every mean and pronounced thrust.

Your breath mingles with one another and you’re both so fucked out that you don’t even realize you’re a lot louder now until you spot the bathroom door cracking open in your peripherals. It barely makes a sound as it’s pushed open slightly and all you see is yet another person wearing a Ghostface mask—the sight alone and the clear eye contact you make with them leading straight to your orgasm.

The second Ghostface stands motionless, doing nothing more than watching the blissful way your eyes lull to the back of your head and you release this sweet moan of Choso’s name. Choso, oblivious to being watched right now, is so close to emptying himself inside you.

“F-Fuck,” He huffs, tipping his head back and looking up to the ceiling for a moment. “So tight… I’m gonna c-cum if you keep squeezin’ me like that.” His voice fluctuates here and there but by the time your eyes roll back into place, the bathroom door is shut and that second Ghostface is now standing right behind Choso.

You flinch and Choso chokes out a grunt at how tightly you just clenched around his cock. The second Ghostface is slow to lift his mask up a bit, only revealing his mouth with this recognizable snake bite piercing that has your cunt gripping onto Choso even tighter. Then, the man leans to Choso’s ear and practically scares him into cumming inside you.

“What do we have here, hm?” Gojo whispers, making Choso’s hips stutter against you. He then reaches a gloved hand around Choso and your neglected clit is met with his thumb swatting over it, “Can’t believe you found her first. S’not fair…” Gojo hums softly with a slight pout.

You have this dumbfounded look all over your face and you may be fucked out of your mind but you swear Choso’s cock is almost harder inside you. The two of you curse in unison as Gojo rotates his thumb against your clit in a sensual circle motion, making you clench again and Choso rolls his gaze back—only the whites of his eyes visible to you.

“K-Keep rubbin’ her like that,” Choso pants with a soft moan. “She’s so fucking tight… I’m gonna die in here, s-shit.” He curses dramatically.

Gojo flicks his thumb upwards against your clit with a nasty trickle of your slick oozing out onto Choso’s cock. “You’re not gonna die, Cho,” He says in a chastising tone with a smile on his face, taking his free hand to pull his mask further up so that you can see his eyes. 

You watch the way Gojo looks over Choso’s shoulder and stares at Choso’s lengthy cock disappearing in and out of your slobbering pussy. Gojo feels his own dick throb against his pants, pressing himself a bit closer to Choso and moving to talk into his ear. “I mean look at her,” Gojo directs, leading to Choso focusing his hazy gaze onto your face. “You’re already fucking her to tears, you’re not gonna die, heh. You’re fuckin’ her good.”

That last praise is what causes Choso to slump forward against you and roll his hips harshly against you—followed by which is a thick spurt of cum as he finishes inside you with a broken groan pouring from his lips. All as Gojo keeps his thumb on your clit, despite his hand getting squished in between you and Choso’s body. 

Then Gojo smirks and leans in toward Choso again, “There ya’ go, good boy. Let it all out inside her. Jus’ like that…” 

You don’t think you’ve ever been this… ruined before in your life. Watching Gojo tease and praise Choso like that while you were still being fucked and your clit was being stimulated led to you abruptly squirting. Choso’s cock slips right out of you and Gojo removes his hand just so that both of them could watch you let out that filthy lil’ stream.

Choso’s completely out of it as he watches your pussy spasm wildly. “Holy…” He whispers, hardly able to finish the rest of his statement.

Gojo clicks his tongue, “Suguru didn’t tell us you were a squirter. Or, has he never made you do that before?” He asks, slowly lifting his eyes up to your face.

You look like you’re about to pass out, your body all sweaty as you lean back against the mirror again and pant heavily. “He… hah, f-fuck, h-he has.” You squeak out softly.

Gojo hums before looking back down, allowing Choso to step (stumble) back slightly past him so he can catch his breath. Then, once Choso is completely out of the way and the space between your legs is left vacant—Gojo lets out an alarming chuckle.

He watches the way Choso’s cum dribbles out of your overstimulated cunt, glob after glob leaking out so prettily that Gojo can’t help but crouch down to get a closer look. Your eyes lazily follow his snowy head of hair and watch as his face is repositioned in between your spread legs. He moves his gloved thumb to your pussy lips and sloshes that mix of you and Choso’s cum around against you. 

Then, Gojo flicks his gaze up to you and you gulp. He looks you dead in the eyes before spreading your lips further apart with his thumb and leaning forward. Your jaw drops in shock as Gojo cups his mouth against your pussy and suckles the mess from Choso into his mouth.

You whine, “S-Satoru—oh, w-wait,” You’re left gasping as you shoot a hand down to his hair and grip him tightly.

Gojo groans deeply and you feel his tongue lap against your saturated cunt leisurely. Moving up and down in a sloppy filthy manner, your legs are trembling while Gojo cleans you up casually. 

Choso’s sitting on the nearby toilet seat now, batting his lashes at Gojos actions in shock. “Satoru you… you know I just—“

“Mhmm,” Gojo mumbles into your pussy, pulling his lips back just barely to allow a cool slap of air to hit you. Then, he swallows. “You both taste really,” Gojo leans back in to kiss your cunt, “Mmph… fuckin’ sweet.” He murmurs against you before slithering his tongue inside you.

Your back arches and your legs move to close around his head as your fingers tug desperately on his locks of hair. “S’toru,” You mumble, “Fuck. Please… mgh, n-needa’ break. I-I can’t—“

Gojo tilts his head and smiles into your honeyed slick, “Sweetheart,” He rasps against you, suckling on your taste for a moment longer before pulling off with a wet pop! “I jus’ got here ‘n you want a break from me already?” He says, pushing out his bottom lip to pout. “That’s so mean.”

Before you even get the chance to argue with that, he’s diving right back in and eating you out like a man staved. Sucking, licking, kissing, spitting—Gojo’s between your legs in some kind of trance as he drools all over his current meal. He’s such a messy eater too, his actions quickly leading to the lower half of his face being coated with remnants of you.

After a bit, Choso seems to have collected himself and he’s soon standing up. His pants have been hastily pulled up and you’re too lost in the overstimulation Gojo’s giving you to realize Choso is approaching you too. When your eyes lift, you see Choso with his Ghostface mask back over his face and his phone held in his right hand.

Cocking his head to the side, he looms closer to Gojo and sneaks a, now gloved, hand into his bright white tufts of hair, prying his mouth away from your cunt with a harsh tug. You watch with teary eyes as Choso holds his phone up to Gojo’s face, and hums out a low, “Smile.” With the voice changer turned on.

Gojo sparks a toothy grin and his expression is all high in pleasure. He looks faded out of his mind, simply off of eating you out alone. The flash from Choso’s phone lights up the bathroom and within the picture he just took, only your legs are visible dangling over Gojo’s shoulders. They’d just recreated that infamous photo you see around this time of year all over your socials. Usually, the victim would be laid out stomach first on the floor and Ghostface would tug their head up by their hair but, this definitely works too.

“Atta’ boy,” Choso praises after he’s taken the desired amount of pictures. 

Gojo looks up to you and he’s pretty sure he can see little hearts in your eyes as you glance back and forth between him and Choso. “You don’t mind, do ya’? We wanna have somethin’ to remember this by,” He tells you.

You simply shake your head no and both of the men in front of you smile. Choso then nods his head a little before using his grasp on Gojo’s hair to shove him back down in between your legs—earning a surprised hum from your throat and a muffled groan from Gojo’s. 

Despite the little Surprise, Gojo gets back to work with his mouth and you end up leaning forward a bit in surprise. Choso moves over to the side a bit and he feels you drop a hand to Gojo’s head to give him a light push away so he can ease up on you. In contrast to this, Choso steals your attention by wrapping a free hand of his around your throat. Your eyes shoot up to him and you’re met with the eyes of Ghostface since he’s got the mask back on.

Purposefully, he does that head tilt again. So slowly does it tip to the side as Gojo’s teeth graze your clit, causing you to let out a pleasureful yelp. “Fuck!” You gasp, to which Choso removes his hand from Gojo’s hair.

Creeping up along your body, Choso grabs a greedy handful of your breast before leaning in. “That was loud, princess. You’re gonna get us all caught,” He snickers to you.

Your bottom lip quivers and you think the sight of it makes Choso feel bad. He takes his hand off of your tits for just a second to pull his mask up and then returns his gasp. Both of you have the same idea in mind but it’s you that reaches for him this time, tugging him in so that his lips can meet yours again.

And then it’s just sloppy from there on out. Anyone with ears could walk past that bathroom, or anywhere down stairs for that matter, and hear the sliding of lips over one another followed by gurgled gasps and barely muffed goans. Choso’s making out with you while he plays with your tits in his hands and Gojo’s still lost in between your legs.

Your whole body feels like it’s on fire and your head is beginning to spin from how good you feel everywhere. It only gets worse when the two start muttering praises out to you.

Dragging his lips down to your chest, Choso hushes out these elated whispers, “C’mon pretty girl, don’t tap out on us jus’ yet.”

Then there’s Gojo who moves to suck on your inner thigh. “Yeahh, don’t tap out. Let us make you feel good, baby.” He hums into your skin.

The counter beneath your ass is a slippery wet mess just like the bottom of Gojo's face and all the way down his neck with the way he let your juices trickle along his skin as he ate. All three of you get a little lost in the moment for quite some time. So much that you all seem to forget there’s supposed to be a third Ghostface.

Who, unknowingly, ends up silently opening the bathroom door and catching the way his two friends have his girlfriend all spread out ‘n ruined like some slut. Geto swore he almost came in his pants at the sight alone. You don’t seem to notice he’s standing there and you’re the only one facing him. His eyes are all over your wet expression, watching and listening to you moan two other guy’s names.

He didn’t even want to say anything. Geto just wanted to remain where he was and watch because lord knows if he joins in he won’t last longer than a few seconds. So, he does exactly that—going completely unnoticed there for a while. 

Up until Gojo pulls his mouth off of you for a second. He looks up to see Choso decorating your chest in hot kisses and wet hickies, the two of you constantly making eye contact with one another before he moves his lips to yours again. Fuck just watching you two was hot. So hot that it makes Gojo wonder where the hell his best friend is at and why he’s missing out on all this.

Which is what leads to him turning around to glance back at the bathroom entrance, quickly spotting Geto standing there leaning against the door frame. Well, shit. It’s in that moment that Gojo realizes he sees the appeal in the whole Ghostface thing because fuck is his best friend just as hot as everything and everyone else in this damn room.

After Gojo, you’re the next person to realize your boyfriend is now present, and then Choso seconds later. Each of you have this face as if you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to but that little detail is irrelevant given how Geto could care less about how he was the last to find you. And sure, he may have watched you run into the bathroom earlier and could’ve gone in there to scare you a while ago but, watching Choso and Gojo eventually find you and then listening to them interact with you from outside the bathroom was far more entertaining.

—

So, one thing led to another and…

You find yourself laid out in your bed all over again, this time accompanied with three men. Geto was the first to get himself situated—seating himself not too far away from the bed and telling you to “put on a show for him”.

By this point, who were you to even question him? If Gojo and Choso were leading things before, they damn sure aren’t now because it’s you who’s ordering them around and letting them know where you want them. Starting with you on all fours, showing off that arch that Geto has had you perfect over the years. Then your legs part slowly and Gojo’s behind you in a trance as he watches you move a hand to spread your cunt open for him.

“You spoil us, sweetheart,” Gojo rasps in a low pitch, voice slightly hoarse from how long he’d gone without talking earlier. 

You wanted to focus on him some more but a pair of fingers are placed on your chin and your face is quickly redirected to the second man of need. The moment your head turns, you’re met with Choso’s fat cockhead right in front of your face. Batting your lashes, you’re slow to look all the way up to him and see the way he’s smirking down at you.

“‘Could get off on that look alone, y’know.” Choso comments deeply in reference to your wide glossed over eyes and how close his tip is to your lips.

Gojo’s behind you frowning at the way Choso stole your attention yet again. In an attempt to, at least, have your mind on him once more, Gojo simply pushes his hips forward and eyes the sloppy part of your pussy spread against his pink tip. He hears it, Choso hears it, they all hear the way you gasp softly. It’s like they’re all hyper aware of every sound or slight movement you make.

Immediately after, your hips are wiggling back and Gojo’s quick to palm the fats of your ass. “Finally givin’ me some attention now, huh?” He quips.

You pull away from Choso’s touch just to look back at Gojo. “Suguru should’ve told you guys, I hate bein’ teased.” The way you force yourself back on him not even a second after that last word is leaving your lips has Gojo’s jaw falling and his fingers curling into your skin.

“W-Woah sweets, you could’ve warned me f-first…” He stammers, eyes dropping down to your greedy cunt swallowing up his lengthy inches of cock like it’s nothing. Gojo had to bite back a whine as he listened to the syrupy squelches that came with each backward push of your hips. “Fuuck, don’t stop. Give it t’me, baby.”

Gojo doesn’t even have to move yet and you’re already letting off a shaky moan, driving your hips back carefully and feeling him fill up every inch of your cunt. He’s all dazed while he watches his aching cock delve deep inside you, inch by inch—you take him like you were fuckin’ made for him. 

The man is just dazed. He understands why Choso said he was gonna die earlier becuase fuckin’ hell he’s not even all the way in yet and you’re already clamping around his veiny shaft with no intention of ever letting go. And the goddamn arch you have, they way your ass looks all pretty backing up against him—

Gojo’s thrusting forward before he even realizes he is and his hands slide up to your hips to hold you nice ‘n steady. Your legs shake and your jaw mirrors his with the way it just hangs open. Then there’s your eyes and the way they roll back, a delicious moan exiting from deep within your throat.

He definately fucks you harder than Choso was earlier because you can feel his cock everywhere—he has you so stupidly full and dumb on his dick within seconds, landing a mean hand down onto your ass amid his thrusts.

“Ohh fuck, Suguru y’had this pussy all to yourself all this time?” Gojo grunts. “…S-Selfish bastard.”

Gojo’s hands are arguably slimmer than your boyfriends but his grip on you is just the same. Hence why you can’t do anything as he tugs you back to meet his rough pounding. Hell, all you’re left with is a brain full of nothing as your head turns to face forwards and you unconsciously look up at a stunned Choso.

His hand is wrapped around his cock and despite being right in front of your face, he’s definitely jerking off to they way Gojo’s fucking you (or maybe just to Gojo himself, who knows). When Choso does look down, you see his brows twist up and his lips part.

Your mouth is already hanging open so clearly you’re silently offering to help him, right? Which is why he angles himself toward your gape mouth and grunts, “Open up f’me pretty girl, nice ‘n wide…”

And you do, widening your mouth for him to slide his cock in steadily. Choso hisses at the sensation, the underside of his cock gliding down the center of your slobbering wet tongue so lewdly that it makes his teeth grind together. God, if you weren’t every bit of perfect like this. He watches the way his dick fills your mouth and feels how ridiculously tight your throat is as he eases his hips forward.

Almost in unison, Gojo and Choso and up tossing their heads back—one letting out a guttural groan and the other releasing a sweet moan. You’re soaked just about everywhere. Your pussy is sobbing and dripping around Gojo’s cock and your mouth is hardly any better with the way drool is dribbling down from your chin and onto the bed.

All as your boyfriend is losing his ever loving mind. 

Geto came twice in his hand already and yet he’s still bucking his hips up into his fist. He’s never been this hard in his life. Something about watching you get absolutely ravaged by his two friends just make his dick throb in ways he cannot explain. You look perfect too, so damn angelic despite the rather sinful situation you’re in. There’s a creamy mess of cum slicked up and down Geto’s length from the thick tip to his base.

You’re busy getting fucked to tears (again) by Gojo and Choso, one of which has a heavy hand on your head encouraging your throat further around his curved cock and the other keep’s snapping his hips against your ass with his weighty balls grazing your clit every now and then. 

You’re all so screwed. This is like something straight out of a damn porno and yet you didn’t care. Hell, you could hardly fathom enough thoughts at the moment to care.

And of course all three of them are just babbling all sorts of things to you, teasing you, taunting you, making you dizzy with pleasure.

Gojo’s back there spreading your ass apart and watching how wet you’ve gotten his dick, smiling sinfully at the sight. “Look at this pretty girl,” He grunts, “Takin’ my cock so. fucking. well. ungh.”

Then there’s Choso, nodding along as if he agrees with Gojo’s groaned words. His fingers are buried into your hair and by this point he’s fucking your face at the same rate Gojo’s fucking your cunt. “Her throat’s even better—shit. Y’should see how her lips look wrapped around me right now. Especially when I get,” Choso pauses just to give his hips one tortuously slow push, making you deepthroat his angry cockhead. “Right here, f-fuck.”

Again, Geto’s on the side just losing himself at the moment. You make the mistake of glancing over at him and his eyes lock with yours. Geto’s bottom lip is quivering and you watch his hand jerk himself off faster, his legs shifting open and closed as he overstimulates himself. Some nerve you had to look at him as if you don’t have two cocks inside you right now.

“M’gonna cum,” Geto’s muttering to himself over and over in some fucked-out little mantra. 

Watching his head toss back and the way his Adam's apple bobs up and down is probably one of the sexiest sights. The Ghostface mask is all pulled up and his hair is splayed out in a mess of strands.

You end up gagging around Choso when Gojo hits your sweet spot for the sixth time in a row, your fingernails clawing against the sheets below. That’s all it takes for Choso to pull out and come undone all over your face without warning. In his defense, he wasn’t expecting your throat to tighten around him like that so suddenly…

Geto’s not too far behind, cumming in thick ropes with a sexy groan of your name leaving his lips—a sight you barely get to see because then Gojo’s leaning over you and your torso is suddenly pressed down against the bed for a moment. Then, you’re tugged up by a harsh grasp of your hair and Gojo’s fucking you even rougher than he was before, pressing his lips right against your ear.

“Fuckin’ slut,” He degrades so suddenly, wraping a free hand around your waist just to swat a finger over your clit again. “Look at this mess,” Oh, he’s just mean all of a sudden. Gojo lets go of your hair and turns your face toward him, leaning in and… licking the remnants of Choso’s release off of your face, again.

Your breath hitches and you wish you could have said something snarky but then you’re shoved right back down onto the bed. Gojo shifts his gaze to Choso, who flinches at the sudden eye contact, and then motions for him to come closer.

Once he does, Gojo grabs him by the jaw and pulls him in. “Open your mouth,” He breathes out hotly.

Choso bats his lashes at the man but doesn’t hesitate, parting his lips and taking the extra step as to sticking his tongue out. Gojo spits right onto the center of it and then smirks, “Good boy, now swallow it ‘n taste yourself f’me.” 

It’s right about then that you release for the nth time of the night, followed by you squirting again due to the exchange you just heard between those two men. Then, as you wait for the stars in your vision to clear out, you hear Choso gulp loudly.

Half-way smiling to himself, Choso scoffs. “Guess you were right… I do taste pretty sweet.”

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He could hardly use his limbs for a time, let alone rule the Seven Kingdoms, so Maekar relieved his brother of his duties. You did not return to your home in King’s Landing when you left Ashford. Instead, you made a new one in Sunspear, on a piece of far-off farmland, not far from where his mother grew up in Dorne. The warmth and the golden yellow sun brought the color back to his face, and made Baelor nostalgic for a time he can no longer remember now.

“Tell me again,” the man says with his head tipped back. He looks up at you as you stand beside his chair, raking the thin blade down the length of his neck. Heavy soap cakes onto the white cloth around his neck, along with the fine scruff you shave off his pale skin.

“I’ve already told you a thousand times,” you laugh. “I think I could recite the Dance of the Dragons better than most maesters at this point.”

The sound of your pretty giggling mixes with that of the rolling waves from the bright blue sea about a furlong away from the porch, and the distant bleating of goats being shooed away from the grape vineyard a mile or so up the hill. Everything smells like sea salt and citrus and soap and you.

Baelor knows he has a hard time remembering his home back in King’s Landing, but he can’t understand why he should care about anything other than the one he shares with you now.

“I should know it, I know…” Baelor hums in a soft voice that borders on melancholic.

He smiles softly to himself as his mismatched eyes dart over your face — memorizing the shape of your eyes, the curve of your nose, and the dip in your cupid’s bow — lest the merciless Gods take that memory away from him, too. He fights back a shiver while you sculpt his greying beard with a blade in your expert hand, taking care of him like you were made to do it, though he struggles to recall why.

“I just… I don’t understand why I don’t remember…” he confesses quietly.

You smile through the pang of grief in your chest and repeat the reminder you have to tell him most days. “Because you got hurt, my love. And the maester said it affected your memory.”

“I got hurt…” Baelor echoes, not quite a question, but not quite a firm statement either.

“Yes,” you nod, smoothing the edge of the blade down the milky white tendons of his neck. “You were defending Ser Duncan’s honor at the trial of seven—”

“Trial of seven?” the older man repeats with a furrow to his dark brows. “There hasn’t been one of those in over a century.”

The statement of fact makes you perk.

“Do you remember the last one?” you press gently, parting from his side to wash the blade off in the basin of warm water beside you.

Baelor thinks for a moment, blue-brown irises tracing the fluffy white clouds overhead as he fights to recall a deeply held memory. “It was… Maegor the Cruel,” he mumbles some moments later. “And Ser Damon from House Morrigen— They called him Damon the Devout…”

He turns his head to the side to flash you a soft smile, full of a quiet pride, as if he himself were shocked at having remembered. You meet his sheepish grin with a wider beam, “Aye, my love,” you nod as you return to his side, brushing the blade gently over his jaw. “That’s right.”

“Pity…” he hums in a monotone, folding his weathered hands across his stomach. “I can remember every battle recorded in the citadel, but not my own…”

“Ser Duncan was accused of hurting Aerion, your nephew, who opted for a trial of seven rather than trial by combat,” you explain, soft eyes flitting from Baelor’s attentive gaze to where you shape the edges of his grey beard. “And when Ser Duncan couldn’t find seven fighters, you stood up for him — like a true knight. And you fought gallantly—”

Baelor makes a noise of protest in the back of his throat.

“A gallant knight would remember fighting gallantly,” he protests. “And I can hardly remember what happened to me.”

“Perhaps it’s best you don’t,” you murmur warmly and turn away. “It was a brutal fight.”

Baelor’s soft voice follows you the short distance to the basin, where you drop the blade and rinse your hands. “Tell me,” he says with an audible, sad sort of smile in his voice. “Of how gallantly I fought, I mean.”

Even with your back facing him, he can see the way your shoulders tense, as if his simple plea were enough to take your breath away.

You swallow hard and fight back the distant nausea that always accompanies the bitter memories. You blink, and suddenly the basin of soapy water becomes bright crimson blood — and the white suds turn into the shards of Baelor’s bone and brain, from where you’d cradled his wound to keep his skull from falling apart. Even now, the scent of a salty sea and dewy grass washes away to the stench of copper you’d smelled in the barracks that day — when the blood was so thick in the air you could taste it.

You shake your head to physically remove the memory from your brain. Your answer is the repeated monotone you find yourself reciting most days. “You protected your men. All of them.” You clear your throat when your voice cracks. “It wasn’t until after it was over, when Aerion yielded from his injuries, that Maekar hit you with his mace whilst trying to get to his son. Hard enough to put you in a coma for a moon’s turn.”

“Of course he did,” Baelor hums with a strange fondness in his voice as he plucks the towel from around his neck, wiping the remnants of shaving cream from his skin. “My brother was always stronger than he realized… Even when we were boys…”

Baelor smiles at you and waits for you to look back at him. You never do.

You just keep dipping your hands into the water, like you’re trying to wipe something from your already clean skin. You’d gained a habit of that since the day you nearly lost Baelor — when you rubbed your hands raw in scalding water because you felt like his blood was still clinging to your skin there, long after it had washed away.

“Forgive me,” he says. “If my words pain you— I mean no offense.”

“Stop that,” you scold, features twisting in offense as your head snaps in the man’s direction. You close the brief distance between you to snatch the towel from his fingers, drying off your hands with a quiet smile. “I know you don’t, Baelor. You’re too kind for any of that.”

You sit gingerly across his thighs and dab diligently at the soapy spots he’d missed on his neck. Your soft lavender scent mixes with the spiced oils he’d bathed in that morning.

Baelor’s mismatched eyes soften with affection as he cradles your waist in a pair of wide, sturdy hands. “If only I could remember… Then you wouldn’t have to carry it all… And I wouldn’t be such a burden to you.”

You flinch, as if his words have found you like a physical blow to the stomach.

“You’re the furthest thing from a burden, my love,” you tell him, stern but no less soft with him. “I wouldn’t want you to remember any of it, anyway. I’ll happily hold the memories for the two of us…”

“You were there, yes?” he wonders then.

You nod wordlessly, not trusting yourself to speak.

“And you saw it?”

“I saw all of it,” you answer, slightly strangled by the burning tears you fight hard to blink away. Your glassy eyes remain on the towel in your grasp, lacking the strength to meet Baelor’s gaze. “I ran to you in the barracks when it was over… I didn’t let go of you for two days— they had to transport both of us to the infirmary together…”

You exhale a sharp exhale through your nose, as if you mean to laugh, though the smile doesn’t quite match the sadness in your eyes.

“Eventually, my body gave out from exhaustion, and Maekar carried me out,” you sigh. “I’m pretty sure I slapped him for it when I woke up, but… That might’ve just been a dream— I’m not sure.”

Baelor’s lip twitches in a faint smile, half-hidden beneath the cloth you press to his cheek. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs beneath it.

“For what?”

“You shouldn’t have had to see that— You shouldn’t have had to see me like that.”

“Perhaps not,” you shrug. “But you’re here now. And you’re getting better every day. And that’s all I really care about now.”

You drop the towel into your lap and cup Baelor’s bearded jaw in your soft palms, brushing the trimmed edges with your thumb. There’s a distinct sort of tenderness in the way you hold him, like you’re savoring the way he feels against you — his coarse scruff in your delicate palms, the warmth beneath his pale skin, the way his chest rises and falls beneath you with even breaths. Alive.

“Any word from my brother?” he asks, the third time that morning.

“Not yet,” you smile. “He was here three days ago to check in on you, remember?”

Baelor’s brown-blue eyes dart back and forth between yours, going glassy as he struggles to recollect the not-so-distant memory. He swallows hard, half-embarrassed, and shakes his head. “I… I think I’m having some trouble remembering…”

“That’s okay,” you tell him, scratching gently at his scruff. “That’s why I’m here. To help you remember.”

“And we’re…” he trails off, brows lowered in curiosity. “We’re married, yes?”

Your smile widens. You nod once, proud and visibly giddy. “We are.”

“You poor thing,” he scoffs a quiet laugh that mixes with your lighter giggling. “What did you do to the Gods to end up cursed with an old man like me?”

“Must’ve been something nice, I’m sure,” you lilt and curl your arms around his shoulders. Your fingers rake through his short grey hair, tracing lightly over the healed wound at the top of his neck, where the base of his skull dips in. “Considering they saved you for me… I wouldn’t exactly call that cursed…”

Your words trail off as the tip of your nose traces the bridge of his. You close the minimal space between you to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. When you pull away, you catch a flicker of something flashing across his face — like he’s seeing you for the very first time.

That was, perhaps, the only good thing to come out of all this, watching Baelor fall in love with you again every day.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you giggle.

“Have I told you that I love you today?” Baelor wonders, for the hundredth or so time that day.

“You tell me every day, Baelor,” you grin. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing it a few more times…”

You lean in to kiss him again — a longer and more languid thing this time. Baelor exhales a heavy sigh against you that fans across your cupid’s bow. He prays your kiss leaves a mark on him, like hot sealing wax on a love letter. He wants you to mark him with your touch — to burn him, to stamp him, to brand him — so that he’ll have something to remember this moment by, before it’s gone again forever.

You have always drawn eyes.

Beautiful, intelligent, the perfect lady. You were admired by commonfolk and nobles alike for your amicability and wit. Your lord father was a loyal ally to the great House Targaryen and a valiant support during the Blackfyre Rebellion, not to mention a loud and magnetic personality. His parties and tourneys drew thousands from across Westeros—even luring nobles and merchants alike from across the Narrow Sea.

Similar has happened today as you watch with bated breath, your ringed fingers interlinked upon your lap, as a pair of lordlings clash in a flurry of splintered wood from your position in your noble pavilion. Your father roars his approval, cheering loudly as one poor knight topples from his horse, a jagged shard of lance protruding from a joint near his shoulder in his plated armour. You can’t help but cup your hand to your mouth, watching as the poor felled knight is dragged from the tiltyard.

Your lord father takes a deep sip from his goblet, resplendent in the midday sun. He is draped in the colours of your House, as are you, with jewels strung around your neck and wrists, decorated like a shrine. He turns to you, wine still glossy on his lips as he eyes your uneasy expression which does little to match the glittering of your jewellery. You’re now fidgeting with a wreath of flowers, an intricately woven ring of heartseases, carnations and lilies, finished with ribbons of your House’s colours.

“What is troubling you, my dear?” Your father asks, reaching across to place a gentle hand atop your own, the metal of his rings cool against your knuckles.

You exhale and then give him a meek smile. “Nothing, father. I apologise—”

“You are my daughter. Do you believe I do not know when you are lying?” Your father interrupts, giving you a pointed look.

Embarrassment claws within your chest as you drown out the cheers from the large crowd beyond the pavilion, realising that there are likely to be dozens of eyes glued to you. You calm yourself, ensuring your face remains as passive as possible, but you can feel the slightest tremble in your lower lip.

“I—what if I do not wish to give my favour away?” You say, fingers brushing the beautiful wreath in your lap. “I see no point in—”

Your father interrupts you again with a smooth and rather diplomatic confidence you’re sure he uses with everyone he speaks to. It usually gets him what he wants, and paired with the irreverent glimmer in his eyes, you realise why he and Lyonel Baratheon get along so well.

“Do not view this as giving your favour away,” he says carefully, drumming his fingers against your hand as he speaks. “View it as lending your favour to a poor, desperate lad who wishes to impress you. You are helping the needy, which all ladies care to do, do they not?”

You can’t help but scoff, your father battering his eyelashes in an attempt to make you smile with his humoured tone.

“These men are not needy. They are knights,” you reply.

“Ah, but they are still men,” your father utters, withdrawing his hand to pick up his goblet and take another drink. He tips his goblet in your direction before he drinks. “And all men, no matter their strength or their status, are needy when chasing the favour of a lady.”

You mull over your father’s words for a while as he gets to his feet and shuffles towards the entrance to the pavilion. You hear him speaking to someone, you hear the thunderous cacophony of the crowd, the stamping of hooves, the blaring of bugles. And you’re not sure how much time passes before you hear a beckoning call of your name. You look to your side, placing your flowered wreath upon an adjacent pedestal, and see that your father is welcoming a pair of men into your pavilion dressed in black and red.

Your heart stammers in your chest as you hurry to your feet, Baelor and Maekar Targaryen appraising you as you drop into a perfected curtsy.

“Seven blessings,” you utter, tone light and airy, your flower-sweet perfume lingering around you as you dip.

Your father introduces you, a beaming smile split across his face, both by name and a proud declaration, “my little dove, my pride and joy.”

Humour sparkles in Baelor’s eyes as he turns back to your father, settling onto a chair on his other side. “You have sons, do you not?”

Your father lets out an annoyed puff at the mention of his sons, then shakes his head as he sinks back into his own seat, Maekar settling with a grunt on the other side of his brother. “My sons are… spirited. My daughter, however, is perfect.”

Something like relatability crosses across Maekar’s face, the subtle hint of a smile as warmth grows in your chest. He’s put you on a pedestal with his praise, and now you can feel even more eyes on you as you settle back into your seat.

—✿—

Across the tiltyard, Aerion Targaryen watches you from the flap of his tent as servants and smiths attend to his intricately plated armour. His violet eyes trace the lines of your face from afar, the curves of your body beneath your dress and skirts as you sit, mostly obscured by the low walls of the raised pavilion. He watches the way you join politely into conversation with your father, his uncle and his father, and he can imagine that you’re saying all the right things. That pretty little mouth of yours would say all the right things, wouldn’t it? Would it plead and beg sweetly too?

“My prince,” some kind of servant says hesitantly as he approaches, cloaked in the colours of your noble House. “Your mount is ready.”

Aerion acknowledges him for the briefest of moments with a bored look, before his eyes find you once more. Your father and Baelor are laughing at something you’ve said, and you dip your head like the polite lady you are to hide most of your smile. He sees, too, the cute little wreath you are now toying with, and he realises, with something sick and sharp building in his gut, that it would look perfect around his lance.

With purpose, the prince strides away from his tent, finding his steed at the edge of the tiltyard. Servants help him into the saddle, before he’s securing his feet into the stirrups and urging his warhorse forward through the sawdust-thickened mud of the tourney grounds. Another knight, already arranged against him at the ruling of your father—“It is my tourney, in honour of my nameday, so I can do as I please,” the lord had announced—canters towards the pavilion.

Aerion pulls his horse to a stop as he watches with narrowed eyes as the knight—a knight from somewhere in the Reach, he thinks he remembers—requests your favour. Or at least, Aerion assumes he does, for he cannot hear anything over the angry rush of blood in his ears as jealousy rips raw through his chest.

You bow your head and rise to the edge of the pavilion, and gods, you look a dream—the material of your skirts flowing around you as you dip, the curve of your breasts and neck on full display as you slip your wreath onto the knight’s lance. Aerion faintly hears the roar of the crowd as the Reach knight says something to you that makes you beam, your smile splitting widely across your face as your father claps.

Then, the knight takes your hand in his and fucking kisses it. Plants a gentle kiss to the back of it before he’s turning his horse away with a triumphant smirk.

Aerion is seething. Anger boils hot inside him, and with an angry, too-hard thrust of his hips, he urges his horse towards the knight, and the pair meet in the middle of the field for a brief moment. Aerion’s eyes drop to the wreath around the knight’s lance, his jaw flexing, violet eyes flashing with an unbridled fury that has him wishing he could drive his lance through the other man’s throat.

Maybe he will.

“It seems the lady has given me her favour,” the Reach knight says with a sickening smile that makes Aerion want to punch him in the face. “Best of luck, for I intend to honour her virtue greatly and de-horse a dragon today.”

Aerion scoffs. “You impudent little rat. If I do not kill you today, I will slit your throat on the morrow for use of such words.”

The Reach nobleman does not look put-off in the slightest, which, admittedly, takes Aerion by surprise. The knight simply smiles and then pulls down his visor, cantering back to the edge of the tiltyard, leaving Aerion alone in the middle, swamped suddenly by the sounds of a jeering crowd of commonfolk. Anger burns in his veins as he turns with a curse, trotting back to where his squire awaits him, his lance primed and ready.

He’s going to kill that fucking knight. And then he’s going to have you.

—✿—

You watch the knights ready themselves as the trumpeting of bugles pierce the clamour of the crowd. Your fingers are crossed against your lap as you watch the young knight you had bestowed your favour on roll his shoulders and clutch his lance and shield, ready. Your father offers you a side-long glance.

“Are you happy now, my dear?”

You don’t turn your head to speak with him, eyes on the tiltyard. You can’t help the way they fall from your favoured knight to the opposing side, where the imposing Prince Aerion is being handed his shield and lance. “Happy may be too strong of a word.”

Your father chuckles. “Well, these men are certainly needy for your favour.”

You huff. “Yes, as you have said.”

“Yes, but I failed to mention,” your father begins, clearing his throat. “That when a needy man does not earn a lady’s favour, well…”

Your stomach squeezes tightly as you watch the dangerously beautiful face of Prince Aerion vanish behind his helm as he shuts his visor with a rough hand.

Your father shakes his head, chuckling again. “They become quite dangerous.”

With a blare of a horn and a surge of noise from the crowd, both knights take off galloping towards one another. You grip the arms of your chair, watching with your heart in your throat as they get closer and closer, lances poised, before they clash—wood chips flying, metal grinding on metal.

You gasp when Aerion forces his lance through the Reach knight’s shield, shattering it completely. The end of the other knight’s lance makes impact with Aerion’s shield, but the now-jagged tip of Aerion’s lance drives through a gap in his plated armour. You hear the Reach knight let out a sharp shout of pain as the lance drives into the flesh beneath his armpit, and he tips sideways off of his horse.

“What a charge!” Your father remarks to Baelor and Maekar, the three men watching, transfixed, as the Reach knight’s horse gallops away and Aerion whirls his around, hounding for a second run.

The black steed takes off again, and Aerion dips his lance low, much to the detest of the crowd, who jeer and curse and throw stones, as Aerion’s lance lands a decisive blow to the staggering nobleman’s armoured back. He is thrown forward into the mud, winded, piece of wood protruding from his side.

You raise a hand to your mouth as you watch Aerion dismount his horse, dragging the tip of his lance through the mud. He’s not stopping, you realise, as he stomps through the muck to kick the fallen knight onto his back. Then, tossing his lance aside, he brings two hands to his shield and slams the heavy base of it down atop the knight’s helm, the visor denting with the impact. Aerion brings the shield down again, and you find yourself shooting a hand out to grip onto your father’s.

Sensing your concern, your father nods to a man near the edge of the pavilion. The man quickly blows into his bugle, and relief washes over you as Aerion, body heaving, pulls away from the unmoving knight. However, terror quickly seizes you when the prince stalks a few feet away to pick the fallen knight’s shattered lance from the ground. He snatches the favour—your favour—from the broken lance and then lifts his visor.

His eyes find yours as he clutches your favour, bringing it to his chest as he stares up at you. The crowd shouts at him, but he ignores them. You can see the way he ignores them, eyes transfixed on you, the dainty garland engulfed by his hand, crushed in a vice-like grip.

You continue to hold onto your father, who angles his head to whisper to you, “See, my dear? Dangerous.”

—✿—

That evening, you successfully manage to avoid Aerion by locking yourself away in your chambers, informing your father that you feel unwell and intend to retire early. Of course, he knew you were lying, but noticing the dullness in your eyes and the unease that seemed to seep from your pores, he let you go with a kiss to your forehead. Now, as the sun sinks beyond the horizon, and your father and the visitors dine across the castle, you light the candles around your chambers until the room is bathed in a soft, golden light, shadows flickering against the wall. You calmed yourself with a bath, and now sit before the fireplace in your soft linen chemise, a book in your lap.

The flames light the pages well and warm the bare skin of your arms and legs.

The quiet is punctuated, however, by a sharp knock on your door. It is much too forceful to be one of your servants, and for the briefest of moments, you wonder if one of your guards has something to ask of you. You pad towards the door, standing just behind it as you unbolt it and open it a crack.

“Open up, little dove,” Aerion utters, and you yelp in fright as his strong fingers curl around the edge of the door and shove inwards.

You jump back, heart in your throat, as he enters your chambers, violet eyes alight and reflecting the flickering flames of the fire and surrounding candles.

He looks you up and down, the point of his tongue running along his bottom lip. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You shake your head, hugging your arms around your body. The heat of his gaze burns through the thin material of your chemise, and despite the trepidation rooting deep in your gut, something warm gathers at the base of your womb, your nipples hardening.

“No,” you whisper. “No, my prince, I’ve just—”

“I won your favour,” he interrupts you quickly, stalking forward after slamming—and bolting—the door shut. “And you’ve been hiding from me.”

Some semblance of courage seizes you in that moment as you remember what your father had told you. You lift your chin a little as he crosses the room, predatory like a lion. Or perhaps a dragon.

“You did not win my favour,” you hiss at him, but you find yourself backing up in response to his movements. “You stole it. No proper knight would steal another’s favour.”

A dark smile splits across his serpentine features as he creeps closer to you. He wears his House colours, blacks and blood-reds, his tunic and doublet dark and fitting against his strong chest and lean torso. The pale skin of his hands and throat are a stark contrast.

“It was always supposed to be mine, little dove, whether you knew it then or not,” Aerion says, stopping only when your back hits one of the wooden posts of your canopy bed. “I simply saw an opportunity to take it back.”

You scoffed, but it came out more as a breathless sigh. “Knights do not—”

“No, they do not,” Aerion whispers, stepping forward once more to pin you to the post, his chest flush to yours. One of his hands seizes your chin, forcing you to look at him, and your hands fly out to rest against his forearm. You don’t push him away. He continues, “Knights earn, my sweet girl, but dragons take, don’t they?”

“I…” You can’t speak, your tongue heavy in your mouth as he maintains eye contact. Your body heats beneath your chemise, blood honey-thick in your veins as you attempt to form a sentence, but your words fail you.

“I am a prince of the realm, blood of the dragon,” he mutters, trailing a finger across your jaw, up along your cheek before cupping your face. The press of his rings are cold to your heated skin. Your lips part, a feather-light sigh escaping you. “And I will take whatever I want. Do you understand me?”

You find yourself nodding, the warmth of his body against yours pulling something tight in the base of your tummy. Your hands squeeze at his forearm, feeling the soft skin and the sparse blond hair there. No scales, no fire.

“So, from this moment forward, you will not grant your favour to anyone but me,” he tells you, hand back on your jaw. He grips you tightly, and a meek yelp leaves you, his hold bruising, the back of your head knocking lightly on the wooden post. “And if you do, I will sever the head of whomever is brash enough to seek your favour, and mount it to the post of your bed for you to look at whilst I fuck you. Do you understand, or shall I repeat myself?”

“I understand,” you say quickly, voice squeaky with both fear and the restriction of your jawbone. “I understand, my prince.”

Aerion approves, for his eyes flash brightly and a purr escapes his chest as he dips forward and presses his lips to the corner of your mouth. It is soft, tender, and he trails his mouth over the curve of your jaw and down onto the slope of your neck. His other hand rubs over your hip, and your breath hitches in your chest as his hand smooths down your front. It trails over the material covering your mound, before slinking beneath the short hem and brushing against the airy linen of your smallclothes.

The heat of his fingers and the gentleness of his touch has your hips bucking involuntarily, eyelids fluttering as he sucks at your pulse which thrums heavily in your jugular.

“I’ve heard whispers about the sweet little dove that nests within this castle’s walls,” Aerion breathes against you. The coarse pads of his fingers press against your clothed core and a quiet sigh is coaxed from your chest. “I never imagined she’d be such a good girl—such a good listener.”

He rubs two fingers back and forth over your clothed slit, the gusset of your smallclothes growing damp with your slick. The heat of your core against his fingers makes him groan into your neck, his sharp teeth skimming your sensitive skin as he sucks at the junction of your neck and shoulder. 

You hold on to his forearm as it rocks with the movements of his hand, but you should be wrenching him away, cursing and screaming and begging for your guards to seize him, to haul him away for attempting to corrupt your virtue. But you don’t. Your brain is fuzzy, your heartbeat heavy in your core, nipples catching on the linen of your chemise and brushing against his doublet. You can’t believe how your fear has turned into lust as the Targaryen prince works two of his fingers against you, his lips suckling at your neck while he grips your jaw tightly still.

The hands you have on his forearm trail up, caressing the bare skin, then dancing across the sleeve of his tunic. He groans against you at your touch as you wind your fingers over his shoulder, then flatten across his chest, caressing his pectorals beneath the padded doublet. His mouth withdraws as he pants against the curve of your shoulder, one of your hands threading along the back of his neck, nails scraping through the short hair that grows at his nape. You grab a fistful, stroking his scalp, before tightening your fingers and tugging gently.

Aerion pulls back and growls, then slams his mouth to yours. The kiss is harsh, more teeth and tongue than anything you’ve ever experienced, his lips burning hot against yours. The fingers he pushes against your clothed slit dip against the fabric, pressing against the puffy bud of your clit, pinching before rubbing a heavy circle. It makes you stutter out a moan against his mouth, which he uses to curl his tongue against you deeper, sliding across your teeth. He tastes of wine and ash, and something metallic, the richness of blood on his snake-like tongue. A sound of deep pleasure, a loutish grunt from the back of his throat, knocks against your teeth as he kisses you, the hand he has on your jaw forcing you to be completely pliant beneath him.

Aerion pulls back after a long moment, pressing a wet, saliva-slick kiss to the corner of your mouth once more before speaking lowly into your ear, “Are you going to be good for me, little dove? Are you going to give me what I want?”

“Yes,” you whisper, pleasure a firm knot in the base of your belly already as he continues to slide his fingers back and forth against you, the fabric of your smallclothes soaked through, tacky against your folds.

The prince tuts at you, his fingers vanishing from your core. You whimper at the rush of cool air that hits you, but he quickly closes the space when he taps four fingers roughly against you—a measured smack against your covered cunt, which rips an embarrassingly loud moan from your chest, head falling back against the post.

“You are a lady,” Aerion chastises you whilst he acts more unlike a prince than any nobleman you’ve ever met. His palm cups your core now, soothing the dull ache caused by the smack. “Answer nicely.”

You pant, eyes watering as you meet his, lips swollen from the force of his kiss. “I–I’ll be good, my prince. I’ll be good for you.”

He smiles. “Of course you will.”

Then, his palm shifts, two fingers looping through the band of your smallclothes and tugging. The material all but tears as he pulls it down your legs with such aggression it makes your hips buck. Your slick cunt is bared to the tepid air of your room, the fireplace dwindling now, and you squeeze your thighs together as you kick your undergarments away. His other hand leaves your face to join his other in pulling your chemise over your head, tearing it away from you and tossing it across the room. It disappears into the shadows and you’re left bare before him.

He groans at the sight, eyes dropping to where he kicks your legs apart with his foot, trailing his hand over your mound and dipping into the silken wet heat of your folds. Fingers slide over your puffy clit, and he groans again at the way your body jolts against him. His other hand squeezes one of your breasts tightly beneath strong fingers, nipple crushed beneath his palm, making you moan.

“Oh, my poor girl, you’re soaked,” Aerion whispers, almost in disbelief, as he runs two fingers through your slit, gathering slick between your folds. “Pretty little pussy’s drooling for her prince, isn’t she?”

His middle and ring finger find your hole, slick and warm and too empty. You huff out something that sounds like his name, but the syllables are lost as the pads of his fingers trace circles around you. You lean your head back, baring your throat to him, allowing him to swoop down and attach his mouth to a soft patch along the column of your trachea. As he does this, he—with surprising restraint—works the blunt tips of his fingers past the entrance of your cunt. He pushes, and pushes still, until your silken walls open around the intrusion, the bump of his knuckles rubbing against your posterior wall, sending electric shocks into your womb.

“She’s taking me so well,” Aerion lifts his head to utter against your cheek, and he nearly smiles when he feels how hot you are there.

He curls his fingers and presses further until the top of his palm rests against you. Quickly, he retracts his fingers before plunging them back into you, and the wet squelch that fills the space between you makes you suck in a breath, ears ringing. 

The prince hums darkly, kissing your cheek. “Oh, she’s mouthy too, is she? Pussy’s got something to say?”

He repeats the movements, the wet plap-plap-plap of his fingers rutting into you, and his palm hitting your wet folds, makes his cock twitch painfully in his breeches. You whine out, embarrassed, pleasure as heavy as an anvil in the base of your stomach, Valyrian steel threatening to sever the cord of tension that withheld your release.

“Please,” you find yourself begging as your hands grip his shoulders. The contrast of Aerion being completely clothed while you stand before him, naked with slick dribbling down your inner thighs, has a sort of drunkenness washing over you.

His other hand, kneading your breasts still, shoots up to slap a palm across your mouth as he works his fingers in and out, pace quick and unrelenting. He angles his head down to watch where his forearm flexes as he shoves his fingers into you—he pulls out, lines up to add a third, and then forces them in, and the stretch makes you yowl against his palm.

“Easy, little dove,” he utters, pulling his fingers away only to hike one of your legs around his hip, giving him a deeper angle to drive his fingers back into you. Three fingers stretch you open and curl deep inside you, pressing against the gummy spot inside that forces a tremor through you. You moan against his hand, breath coming in quick pants, eyelids fluttering as he fucks his fingers into your cunt. 

The pace is animalistic, rushed. Aerion grunts as his arm works, the other gripping the lower portion of your face so he can listen to the way your pussy takes him. He can feel dribbles of slick running down his wrist, smearing across your inner thighs. Your walls clench him tightly as he nails the best spot inside you, and he marvels in the way your leg trembles against his hip, your nails digging into the thick material at his shoulders as he urges you towards release.

You say something against his palm, but it is muffled. He wrenches his hand away and finally looks at your face as you manage to puff out, “M’gonna… come…”

Aerion pulls his fingers from you, your pussy clenching around nothing. You curse loudly, and then moan his name, eyes springing open when he drops your leg. He hides his smile as he sinks to his knees before you, hands grasping the doughy flesh of your inner thighs to spread your legs. His head slots between them, and he exhales a forceful blow onto your soaked cunt. The air makes you keen, hand shooting out to grasp his hair.

“Gods, just look at her,” he voices from below you, hands moving across your thighs. His thumbs find your folds and he spreads you open for him, slick webbing between them. The feeling makes you whine—and then the feeling of his tongue, pointed and firm, curling into your hole has you whining even louder.

The narrow slope of his nose rubs perfectly against your puffy clit as he works his tongue inside you, curling between your walls, slick and warm. His hand is wet against you as he holds you open for him, a series of soft, dragon-like huffs suffocated in the heat of your pussy as his tongue coils inside you.

The stretched cord of your release is pulling taut in your abdomen once more, and you find yourself rocking your hips against his face in chase of it. Pursuing a hare through the long grass, adrenaline mounting, hound’s teeth closing in.

“My prince,” you whine, hips twitching. “Gods, I’m going to—ah—”

He hums against you and the cord in your lower belly snaps and splinters inside you. Your orgasm racks through you, pleasure white-hot in your chest and womb, spreading through your veins as your pussy clenches around his tongue. You moan his title loudly, pelvis stuttering against the rigid lines of his face as he works you through your release. Your hole spasms around his tongue, clit thrumming with your heartbeat.

He hums again when some of your release dribbles down from the corners of his mouth, running down his chin, and when he pulls away, a string connects his lips to you. It snaps when he runs his tongue over his lips, sitting back on his haunches to admire the glossiness of your pussy and the way your hole clenches around nothing.

“Pretty girl…” Aerion muses, leaning forward to press one last kiss to your clit before getting to his feet.

His cock is painfully hard, pressing against his breeches and the seam of his trousers. Grinding his hips against your pelvis, Aerion drags his hands up your sides, caressing you softly, before placing them either side of your face. He kisses you, lips slick atop yours. A sinful thrill runs up your spine as you taste the faint musk of yourself on his tongue, an earthy-sweet ichor that Aerion will fist himself to the memory of for months to come.

“Your favour is mine,” the prince says against you, before the warmth of his mouth disappears and he’s spinning you around. Still fully-clothed, he pushes his body against your back, keeping you warm. “You are mine.”

You suck in a breath as one of his hands brands you between the shoulder-blades, rings biting against the skin as he forces you to bend. You curl over the end of your bed until your chest presses flat to the sheets, your arse bare against the tent in his trousers. You breathe out an “o-oh fuuuck” as he grinds his clothed cock—the imprint thick against the cleft of your arse—in firm, teasing thrusts.

After quickly ripping his doublet from his body, suddenly too hot, Aerion keeps one hand to your upper back, pinning you to the bed while his other works in unfastening the ties and clasps of his trousers. He nudges your legs wider apart with his feet as his trousers loosen finally, and he can dip his hand into his breeches, shucking them down enough to fish his cock out. He hisses quietly behind you as he fists himself, tip red and ruddy, beads of precum wetting the slit. He chokes on a groan when one slips down his frenulum and along a prominent vein on the underside.

“Gods, little dove, what are you doing to me?” Aerion groans, angling his hips forward to drag the head of his cock down the split of your arse before tapping it against your pussy. He spreads your folds with the blood-flushed tip as you mewl out, incapable of giving him a properly-worded answer.

He chuckles at that, and you are surprised when he bends to press a line of kisses down your sweat-dampened spine. You arch for him as he tongues the dip at the base of your spine, teeth nipping at the skin.

“So good for me,” he breathes against you, and groans as he pulls back to stand a bit straighter.

Still grasping the base of his cock, he runs the head up and down your folds once more, pressing firmly to your clit—“there we go, this sweet girl gets a little kiss,” he says under his breath—before he lines up at your entrance. He says louder, “I deserve this, little dove. This is my prize.”

And then he’s thrusting into you in one deft movement. Your eyes roll, fingers gripping the sheets as you cry out, an echoing moan causing the flames of nearby candles to flicker. An animalistic growl tears from Aerion’s chest as he buries himself to the hilt inside you, the silken walls of your cunt moulding like clay around him. The ridges of his cock slide against you just right, and the prince grips your hip and glues you to him.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re so tight,” Aerion grits out, canines gnashing as he bites down the pleasure crawling up his diaphragm.

“Please,” you call out to him, cheek to the sheets, a tear slipping from the corner of your eye. “Please, my prince, please move.”

Aerion grunts, but doesn’t chastise your begging. Instead, he does what you ask of him, withdrawing until the head of his cock is just nestled inside you, before rutting back in. You whimper out a pathetically meek string of gasps—“ah–ah–ah,”—as he sets a pace, his hips smacking against your arse, the fat rippling. He grunts and groans, the sounds have your pussy tightening along with his movements.

He keeps you anchored to the bed. The hand between your shoulder blades is strong and unmoving, and the hand on your hip clenches around the softness there with a vice-like grip, forcing your arse back onto him as he moves. The pace is quick and rough, packed full of desperation as he stuffs your wet cunt over and over. His cock stretches you open, splits you apart, curls up towards the plug of your womb. Desperation is translated through the way his deep grunts end with the lightest lilt, a slight whimper at the end.

All men are needy when chasing the favour of a lady.

“Hgnh—fuck, come on, sweet girl, that’s it. Y-yeah, that’s it, stay just like that,” Aerion mutters, rambling as his eyelids droop low, sweat beading high on his forehead and at the hair on his temples.

You can’t do much but bend and take it, cock filling you perfectly, the angle driving him deep against a spongey spot inside you that punches whimper after whimper from your throat. He groans when your back arches further for him. “That’s my good girl, that’s my girl—pretty little dove taking my cock like a dirty fucking whore.”

You moan in response, clit pulsing and body starting to shake. You tremble against the sheets of your bed, pleasure building like the rush of water beneath your skin. Rising and rising, suffocating you as the head of his cock drives you closer and closer to release.

Aerion knows you’re close.

“I know, sweet girl, oh, I know,” he coos down at you, caressing your back as he plows into you from behind. The bed creaks with the force, the sheets bunching beneath you. “Let me feel you. Give me your favour, little dove.”

The ball of tension in your belly grows tighter and tighter as your body grows hotter and hotter. Small moans of his name fall from your lips. Not his title, but his name. He doesn’t reprimand you for it, too obsessed with your soaked cunt wrapped tight around his cock, but he’ll be sure to scold you later. For now, he maintains his pace, watching the way your hips bounce against his pelvis, sweat still building in a light sheen along your spine.

“Aerion.” Then, with a realm-shattering moan, you come around him, legs locking up tightly, fists clenching the sheets.

Your eyes snap shut as stars burst behind them, your second orgasm crashing over you. Your lower belly pulls taut, pussy clenching around his cock as the pleasure crests, and Aerion takes it with a groan of your name, pace faltering slightly as he pushes deeper into you.

You’re boneless against the bed now as the prince uses you, his cock twitching, thrusts becoming shallower. He’s rutting into you, humping the curve of your arse, cock barely leaving the drooling sheath of your cunt as his high rears like a hissing serpent inside him.

Knights earn, dragons take.

Aerion groans your name, collapsing half-way on top of you, the hand on your back moving to the side of your head to hold himself up as he grinds his cock into you.

“I’m going to spill inside of you,” he mumbles, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “Yeah, m’going to fill you, little dove. Fill this pretty pussy with my seed. Every—uh, fuck—everyone’ll know who you belong to i-if you’re round with my babe.”

You whine, screwing your eyes shut, overstimulation leaking into your gut like molasses, but you know he’s not going to last. You can feel his cock jerking inside you with each sloppy thrust.

“Uh-uh, none of that, m’lady,” Aerion murmurs, words drawing together now: pussy-drunk. “You’re mine—your favour is mine. You belong to the dragon.”

Then, with one last growl of your name between clenched teeth, Aerion comes inside of you, release filling you in hot ropes as his cock twitches. He’s buried to the hilt, a wanton groan leaving his lips as the warm walls of your pussy milk him, take him. The heat that fills you, the sensation of growing full, makes you hum out a pleased moan.

Slowly, the prince pulls his softening cock out of you and wipes his shaft along your arse cheek. The stickiness makes you huff out at him, and he laughs as he tucks himself back into his breeches, drawing his trousers back up.

His seed leaks out of you as you attempt to pull yourself onto your bed, turning to lay on your back and watch as he retrieves his doublet from the floor and begins pulling it over his head. You didn’t expect aftercare, but the absence of his warm body against you makes your heart contract beneath your ribcage.

Aerion notices the brief expression of discontent that passes over your face. He rolls his eyes, smoothing his hands through his hair, clearing the strands that stick to his skin with sweat.

“I left your father’s feast for this,” he says, bending down and placing his arms either side of you. He cages you against the bed, nose brushing yours. “I will finish my meal and make your father happy, and then I will return and fuck you to sleep.”

The prince presses one last lingering kiss to your mouth, a surprisingly sweet gesture, before he retreats and heads for the door. He unbolts it and looks back over his shoulder, watching as you reach blindly for your chemise, limbs pleasure-lax, eyes tired. He sighs loudly, stalking back across the room and scooping your chemise from the floor. Pale fingers snap around your wrist and he pulls you into a sitting position.

“Arms up,” he orders, and you do as you’re told. He shoves the chemise roughly down your arms and then over your head. His fingers brush your softening nipples as he lays the fabric back over you. He shakes his head as you blink up at him like a doe. He grumbles, “Pathetic.”

But you’re sure he doesn’t really mean it, especially when he cups your cheek and caresses your cheekbone for a fleeting moment, before he’s heading back towards the door. He opens it and vanishes without a look back, closing it with a firm slam. But even with his abrupt exit, you can’t help but smile as you sink beneath your sheets, his seed and your slick leaking out between your thighs.

All men, no matter their strength or their status, are needy when chasing the favour of a lady.

———