★ᴀꜱᴛʀᴏ ᴡʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ★

Your breathing was shallow, hands gripping your headboard as you staddled over Hiromi’s face; your second set of lips hovering just above his. His hands gripped your thick, supple thighs as he laid back with pristine patience. Maybe it was the erotic position, maybe it was the anticipation, maybe it was the way he kept his eyes that seemed almost black, pupils blown wide as he looked up at you with hunger. He didn’t rush; he simply laid back and waited for you to bless his tongue.

When he brought up face sitting, you laughed. Now, you two weren’t puritan, Christians who only had vanilla, missionary with all the lights on for the “holy act” of procreation. You had allowed Hiromi to fold you up and toss you around as he pleased. But this was different, sort of embarrassing, and you didn’t get what pleasure he would be getting out of it. The man was fully clothed as you sat over him with nothing but a large shirt that his eyes peeked from under, cunt pulsing around nothing and already beginning to drip.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Hiromi hummed, placing another kiss on your thigh, his nose nudging your plush flesh. You sigh, wiggling above him as you adjust yourself.

“Okay, okay.” You mumble, lowering yourself every so slightly. You felt his warm breath fan over your slick hole, sending a jolt up your spine. And just before his lips touched you, before he could bury his nose in your scent, you straightened back up. Hiromi gives a tired sigh, rolling his eyes before he trained them on you once more.

“Okay, but like-” You stammer, your nerves causing you to stall. “What if, I don’t know…I break your neck, or something gets caught in your eye-”

“Babe.”

Your stomach seemed to sink at a sudden realization, and your hands grip the headboard harder as you felt yourself grow mortified. “Oh my God, I didn’t even shave-!”

“Grown men aren’t afraid of bushes.”

“But what if, I don’t know? One gets stuck in your teeth-”

“Babe.”

“Yeah?”

His hands grip your ass, applying a bit of force as he squeezes your flesh. His voice teemed with frustration at such a delicacy being teased in front of his eyes yet denied.

“Have a seat.”

Your cheeks grow warm as they puff slightly, eyes wavering at his demand. He was so adamant, and you were already here. You huff out a breath through your nose, and lower yourself again, fully sitting your cunt on Hiromi’s mouth.

You groaned almost instantly, his tongue teasing your folds sloppily, slurping messily as his nose poked at your clit. His tongue worked inside your entrance, coaxing soft mewls out of your mouth as your thighs threatened to close, yet unable to because Hiromi’s face was nestled comfortably between them.

He stuck his tongue out, stiffening the muscle and shoving it inside of you, your slick washing down his throat as you rocked to-and-fro. His nose massaged your clit as your hips grinded on his face, moans bubbling behind your bitten lip. You threw your head back, chest rising and falling heavily, as you slid your wet hole across his mouth. Your stomach curled, Hiromi’s hands trailing to your waist, his thumbs caressing your abdomen.

Your moans were music to Hiromi’s ears, his length tenting in his pants as he swallowed your sweet arousal, drinking up every drop so as not to let it go to waste.

Hiromi loved to feast on your body. He found it most pleasurable when you were writhing beneath him, falling apart. But this, this new concept of you having your way with his face, grinding hopelessly into his mouth to release that delicious pressure building behind your belly button, it was a new favorite of his. He stared at you greedily, sucking on your clit to coax more out of you.

You dared to look down, Hiromi’s eyes boring into your soul, his nose wet with your arousal, and that was enough for you.

“Ah…f…fuck…!” You fucked onto his face, creaming on his tongue as your orgasm rifted through your body, hips jerking on your boyfriends nose. You slowed your hips ever so slightly, riding out the waves of your orgasm as pleasure pulsed through you. You let out a soft whine, daring to catch your breath as you grip the headboard to help you off the man’s face, when his fingers tighten into your flesh, keeping you firmly in place.

“H-Hiromi?” You mumble, your vision focusing on him.

“She’s doing all the talking…” Hiromi plants a wet kiss on your sensitive bud, and you jolt, a strangled gasp brushing past your lips. “Yet you haven’t said a word.”

You latch your bottom lip between your teeth, cunt a slobbering mess as it throbs around nothing.

“Tell me how good I make you feel.”

“Hiro-ah!” 

Without warning, Hiromi forces you onto his tongue, devouring your cunt as if it were his last supper. His tongue works mercilessly, your thighs shaking as one hand steadies you on your headboard, and the other into his locks, gripping onto him for dear life.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-!”

Swears tumble from your mouth, the lewd squelch of your cunt aiding in your arousal as you drip like a faucet. One of Hiromi’s hands guided your hip as you rode on his tongue, while the other gripped your breast, as if to keep you from toppling over as you curled on top of him. His hand kneaded into your breast like a mound of dough, every now and then a finger brushing under your sensitive nipple, the buds sensitive and tenting underneath your shirt. Your stomach tightens as you rut into his face, trying to chase that high.

“‘Romi-” You slid your cunt across his mouth, his warm tongue snaking inside, neck rocking in a “yes” motion as he kept up with your tempo. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-!”

You felt Hiromi smile, and hum with content, the vibrations shooting right through your core. You choke on his name, hips stilling before you begin to spasm on his face, pitched whines spilling from your throat.

You twitch, Hiromi still slurping at your sensitive entrance, as if trying to clean it from the inside out.

“Ugh, wait-” Your hands fly to his hair, trying to unlatch his mouth from your swollen cunt, and give yourself a breather. You whined above him, thighs trying to close. “Babe, wait-!”

But Hiromi hadn’t nearly had enough.

He begins to sit up, as if your weight on his face meant absolutely nothing to him, a surprised “oh” pushing past your lips. In one swift motion, you were played on your back on the opposite side of the bed, Hiromi already prowling in between your legs.

Your eyes widen, and your trembling thighs try to close.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

But you were far too slow.

Just before your knees could snap together, Hiromi’s face was buried into your cunt, pushing you further down the mattress with a stuttering moan. His tongue circled your clit, as a finger entered your cunt, and you almost screamed.

Your thighs threaten to crush the man’s skull, but Hirmoi found solace in between your plush thighs, nose buried in what he would later refer to as “the bush of life”. You gripped his hair, animalistic moans clawing from your raw throat as Hiromi entered another, long finger, creating a beckoning motion in your sobbing cunt as if to summon more arousal out of you.

You felt the bed rock, and dip, and it took you a second to realize that Hiromi was humping the mattress, so turned on by your lewd moans and hot arousal spilling from your body that he just couldn’t help himself. It was almost pathetic, the man groaning against you cunt as he found friction between his slacks and the mattress.

Your back arched as his fingers pummeled inside of you, creaming at the base of his fingers as you felt something else swelling in your lower abdomen, and you squirmed underneath his touch, back slamming against the mattress in an attempt to get away, but Hiromi had you locked onto his face.

“‘Romi it’s…it’s cumming. Something…‘Romi, please-!”

Hiromi drills his fingers into your cunt, and you feel yourself begin to sob, the feeling much bigger than an orgasm, and much more foreign. Hiromi, breathless yet excited, kissed your thighs before whispering lewd words against your cunt, as if that was the only set of lips that could properly answer him.

“Come on, give it to me, sugar.”

The words were hot, searing into your flesh as your back arched so high off the mattress, the top of your head touched it. Hiromi snatches his soaked fingers out of you with a disgusting squelch. Your voice cracked, your moan pitching and going unheard as you came, a hot liquid spraying from your cunt. Your mind blanks, and your eyes screw shut, white flashing behind your lids like lightning. Your back slams back into the mattress, rasps tearing through you as you convulsed like a girl possessed. Hiromi grunts, spilling his seed in his pants, groaning with satisfaction as he continues to lap at your swollen lips, drinking with reckless abandon. The man was wet and sticky; his fingers, his face, his jaw, all coated in your clear and white substance. Not even the collar of his shirt had been spared.

The man’s tongue slowed, and you mewled helplessly, hips jolting as he nudged his nose onto your clit. Then finally, with a satisfied sigh, he kissed your inner thigh, raising himself to look at you as he gently closed your knees together, shutting himself out of heaven.

He trailed soft kisses up your shin, and all you could do was lay there, damp tired, and totally blissed out as the man worshipped your body.

“Thank you.” He whispered between each peck on your skin. He brought his wet lips to your face, giving you a soft, sensual kiss as he crooned over you. You sigh into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue.

You hated his mousy, black curls that fell in front of his adorable round face. You hated his thick rimmed glasses that always seemed to cloud when the room was too humid, sliding down his sweaty nose after he had slipped them back up. You hated how he chewed on his pencil with a pathetic pout when he was deep in thought on how to write his lead sentence for the Daily Planet that day. You hated how his tie was always uneven, his shirt slightly untucked, and his pants high-watered from his towering height. You hated his dorkish smile that always seemed to reach those bright blue eyes; not a sky blue, but something other worldly, as if they weren’t meant to be seen by the human eye. You hated the secrets he hid behind that innocent look, that impish smile with the knitted brows.

You hated it all, is what you forced yourself to believe after waking up to an empty bed, having shared it with Superman the night before.

It was the first and only time having sex, but it wasn’t the first time the two of you had met. While your memory of your first night encountering each other was scrambled, there were a few things your senses picked up on and held onto out of familiarity. You had been intoxicated that night, drinking yourself into a stupor over your boyfriend not showing up to your pre-planned date for the umpteenth, when a villain you didn’t care to remember attacked the establishment. Superman showed up as usual, took a few punches to his sharp chin, but of course won the battle. From then on, you could only rely on your senses, and the feeling of familiarity.

You had never gotten the chance to stand close to Superman, but when he had scooped you in his arms, you felt a strange sense of deja vu. The way his arms held you, the shade of his eyes, the sturdy tone of his voice, even down to his very scent; it was all too familiar, yet your deductive reasoning wouldn’t work. Like tasting something that resonated with a nostalgic feeling, yet you couldn’t recall the memory clearly.

You woke up the next morning in bed, your boyfriend Clark telling you that Superman dropped you off the night before with a side of apology pancakes and a fresh batch of lilacs. You nudged at your food as you tried to piece it all together, tried to make sense of that feeling, and why your stomach seemed to tighten at the mention of the hero’s name.

You decided to follow your gut. You sought out the hero, often traversing into dangerous areas just to grab his attention, since you couldn’t have Clarks. As shameful as it was, you couldn’t help it; Superman just felt so familiar. He would chastise you and take you back home to a cold bed, yet you would go out once more in search of an answer you couldn’t seem to find, desperate to scratch an itch that was nagging under your skin. 

There was just something about that man, and it was irking you to oblivion. Something was tugging you towards him, but you couldn’t understand why. Maybe it was the overwhelming feeling of loneliness. Maybe it was curiosity. You just couldn’t put your finger on it, and it didn’t help that the hero would always show up without any prior knowledge of where you were. How did he know where you lived? How did he know where you would be?

Whenever he would hold you in his arms, you always got a good look at his face, and he was undeniably handsome, in comparison to your boyfriend who was undeniably cute. He had this one stubborn curl that snaked on his forehead, and you would often have to resist the urge to tuck it back into place. But what had you the most captivated were those eyes. 

A set of other worldly eyes.

It stirred something within you, and you found yourself leaning into his touch more. Snuggling into his hold. A deep sense of longing stirred inside of you; and it didn’t help that Superman never obliged. Maybe he was providing comfort. Maybe he had a bit of pity.

Or maybe he sensed her heart breaking bit by bit.

So one night, after the man dropped you off near your doorstep, you had an episode of desperation. Your frustration, your anguish, and that feeling of attraction you had been trying to ignore bubbled up into a deplorable action. You lurched forward, on the tips of your toes, and kissed the hero.

And almost immediately, he kissed back.

He kissed you as if he had known you in another lifetime, as if his breath were meant to be shared with you, and you only. He kissed you as if you had shared the same bed, the same meals, the same living space. It was so familiar, that your waterline sprung forth tears, the fat streams falling down your face; overwhelmed by guilt, a sense of security, and even more confusion than before.

The two of you had pulled away, as if snatched apart. Your hands fly to your mouth, and Superman’s expression mirrors your own, as your words blend together.

“I’m sorry-!”

“I’m so sorry…”

“I shouldn’t have-”

“That was inappropriate-”

“Oh my God-”

“Holy Krypton-”

“Clark.”

Superman’s smile softened, a distant look that held a layer of understanding. His lips were in a firm line, as if keeping himself from speaking up.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

The hero then leaped, soaring into the sky and into the night, a gust of wind blowing past your body as you blocked your face.

You stare off at the blue and red dot in the sky, as it grows further and further away, blinking wildly?

“How did you know my name?”

You were sitting on a rooftop after being dropped off by the hero, the sun casting a golden glow on the chiseled man. A towering robotic villain tore up the backdrop of the city, the Justice Gang battling the hunk of metal as Superman faltered.

“I…um…” The curl  on his head warbled with his voice. “I’ve read some of your articles…in the Daily Planet.”

“You have?” You couldn’t hide your excitement even if you tried. You wondered if the man could hear the pounding of your heart.

“I have.” He nodded, giving an almost boyish smile. “Really fascinating work.”

You clutched your hand to your chest. The words seemed to warm you up inside, but you ended up scoffing.

“Not as fascinating as Clark’s.” You say, looking out at the battle. “You know him.”

“I do.” Superman seemed to strain.

“He’s always at the heart of the scene, getting the best scoops, the best sound bites, sometimes the most extraordinary pictures to pair with his articles.” You leaned on the cinderblock trimming caging the rooftop in. “He’s always around when it really seems to…matter.”

You couldn’t help but feel bitter. You understood this line of work like the back of your hand, you admired Clark’s passion. You just wish he had a better balance, better communication. Hell, at this point, you’d have the right to suspect Clark and Superman getting one off with each other with the amount of time they spent together. You just wanted him around.

You paused for a moment, head whipping to Superman, his brows low in thought, yet his nose scrunched in curiosity, as if he were trying to deduce the thought forming in your head.

What better way to get your boyfriend’s attention than usurping his greatest story?

“Could I maybe…” You started, subconsciously picking at your nailbeds. “Interview you after this battle?”

Superman tilted his head at you, that restrained look on his face, as if withholding something from you, and you didn’t like it. You despised it. It reminded you too much of your boyfriend, as if you were venturing into territory that should never be entered, as if you weren’t trustworthy (the author notes that you were beginning to become untrustworthy anyway).

You quickly tried to retract your offer.

“I know it’s Clark’s thing-”

“No, no, it’s fine-”

“-and I would like to emphasize that you don’t have to-”

“I want you to.”

“You could always say no- I’m sorry what?”

Superman stood there, poised as ever, as you were cast in his silhouette.

“I want you to.” He insists.

You blink. You raise a brow. You tilt your head.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Just like that?”

Superman shrugs haphazardly. “Is it supposed to be something more?”

“No, no, it’s-”

“Would you like me to announce to all of Metropolis that you’re my new interviewer?” The hero smiled, but it wasn’t cocky nor coy. It was sincere, as if he were trying to follow a specific set of rules to keep from inconveniencing you.

“That won’t be necessary.” You hold out a flat palm, and the man chuckles, hiding his dimpled smile behind his hand. You swallowed, wetting your lips. “I just…what about Clark?”

“I’m sure Mr. Kent will find another interesting story to write about.” The hero said, a sort of glint in his eye, as if he knew something about Clark that you didn’t.

And with how secretive Clark was being at the moment, you wouldn't have been surprised if the hero did.

It started off as just interviews after battle; just you, Superman, and your voice recorder so you wouldn't miss a single detail that came from his mouth. They were often quick, ten minutes tops. It then grew to 15 when Superman would say things that would have to go “off the record”; complimenting your hair, or your smile, and then to 20 when you would return the sentiment. Your interviews slowly became outlets where you could speak your mind to the hero without judgment or prejudice, because who would he tell and why would they care about the secrets of a small journalist in Metropolis? You’d discuss your political views that couldn’t be distributed to maintain an unbiased opinion, some hobbies you did outside of work, until you slipped and mentioned Clark one too many times during one of your off-the-record moments.

“You seem to talk about Clark a lot.” Superman said with a pensive look on his face, and your eyebrows loosened. You hadn’t even realized you were making such a tight expression until the muscles in your face relaxed.

“I…I do.” You say, sinking into the chair of the abandoned building, one of the many places you and Superman came for privacy. You watched as debris flitted in the areas the sun’s rays shined the brightest.

Superman shifted uncomfortably in his own seat. “I didn’t mean to pick-”

“No, it’s fine.”

Superman pursed his lips, cocking his head to the side, the curl on his forehead wavering.

“Is he someone who is important to you?”

The question seems to wring your throat dry, and it makes you aware of the bones residing beneath your flesh.

You hadn’t seen Clark in ages, it felt like. He was always so busy running around, chasing after the hero sitting right in front of you, so you would think you would see him more (the author giggles at this). You would think the fact that you usurped his most prized interviewee, stolen his spot on the front page on the Daily Planet that he would at least confront you about it, and get angry. Get upset. Something. 

But there was nothing. His face had started to become one belonging to a stranger, the only thing indicating that he was still alive was waking up to his back in the morning.

This distant, this growing chasm, it was eating away at you.

So was he someone important to you?

“I don’t know.” You answered aloud, staring at the recorder which had been off for almost an hour now. “He just…hasn’t been around lately. Running around, keeping secrets.”

The hero’s eyes bore into your skin, his gaze hot.

“So I don’t know.”

You meet his eyes with something just as intense, as if he were the only one in the entire universe who could answer the predicament plaguing your relationship.

“You keep secrets, right Superman?”

He swallows.

“I do. Sometimes, I do.”

“Is it worth it?”

The hero’s answer stalls for a moment, and you watch him try to formulate an answer worth your question. It looked as if it physically pained him to speak.

“I do it to protect.” His voice strained. You felt anger bubble inside your chest.

“And do they feel protected?”

The hero lets out a quick exhale, as if you had jabbed him in the stomach. He blinks rapidly, then answers in a small voice, much too weak for someone of his constitution.

“I don’t know.”

Despite his vague answer, you felt a mutual understanding.

Your visits became more frequent, and you two never brought up Clark again as some unspoken truce. Eyes began to linger longer, soft grazes over the skin became heavier, and Clark was nowhere to be found, making your guilt almost nonexistent as the hole he had left became filled with the attention of someone who you believed was unobtainable for a human.

Then one day, with a bite of your bottom lip, nerves causing your hands to shake, you invited Superman into your home for his interview.

You had gotten rid of all traces of Clark, even cooked up a nice homemade meal for the hero as an overzealous way of saying “thank you”. Your heart stalled in your chest as you waited in the living, waiting for a knock at the door, when you heard a rapt tap-tap-tap at your bedroom window instead.

Expecting a crazed pigeon, you were jaw-dropped when you saw the hero floating outside your window, red cape billowing in the night breeze, fist knotted at his hips in a heroic pose as he waited for you to open it.

“Was the door too normal for you?” You ask with a wide smile, poking fun at his grand entrance. But the hero doesn’t seem to be smiling; entering through your window with an almost blank expression. He stood there, clad in blue, red, and gold, surveying your living space.

“This is your room.” He states plainly, almost too plain, as if he were giving you the tour instead of the other way around.

“Um…yes?” You say, brows furrowed together. “I made dinner, so we can eat and-”

The hero doesn’t seem to be paying attention to you, his eyes rapidly roaming around the room, as if looking for something.

“Um…Superman?”

His eyes stop at your closet, glaring at the door as if to burn it off its hinges. Your heart slaps against your chest; Clark’s stuff was in there.

“Hey-” You take a giant step in front of the man to block his view, but his eyes seem to phase right through you. “Are you okay?”

You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, what he was looking for, or what he was trying to prove. You felt caught, yet Superman had no reason to “catch” you in anything, nor did he have anything to accuse you for. So why didn’t it feel as though you were watching the man’s heart break before your very eyes?

“I can’t do this.”

The mutter was low, barely audible, and resonated someplace within the back of his chest.

“I’m sorry?”

Superman didn’t provide you an answer, or at least a verbal one. Instead, it was purely physical, hungry, and desperate, as he plunged his mouth on yours.

Your surprised gasp went unheard as the hero swallowed it whole, his hands gripping your waist tight enough to bruise as he craned his neck to meet your height. His hands didn’t stay there long, finding solace on your face to keep you steady, your head growing dizzier by the second.

For some reason, you didn’t fight his advances, which made your stomach pang at the contradiction. You tried to keep up with his pace, but ended up absolutely breathless as the man quite literally seemed to steal the oxygen from your chest.

Your knees buckled underneath you, the hero toppling over you as you landed on the bed roughly, despite the cushion. The hero’s lips began to train down your jaw, and you gasped aggressively, your chest heaving as if you had run a marathon.

But you didn’t protest, you didn’t push him away. You just relished in his touches, at his rough hands as they gripped at your flesh.

Because something in the way he kissed you was way too familiar.

Because something in the way he touched you was way too familiar.

As if he had done it in multiple lifetimes, as if he had been doing it for eons, as if it were a religious practice. Tears stung your eyes, and you closed them, your mind trailing to someone else.

Clark.

In one swift motion, every piece of clothing you had been wearing was ripped off, and you yelped. Your t-shirt, lounge pants, and undergarments screeched as the fabric tore into pieces, your nude body enveloped in a cold wind let in by the window. Superman then tossed them, the shredded clothes knocking over a lamp and shattering it into pieces, your room enveloped into sudden complete darkness. You screamed out, jumping as sparks flew around your room, and through your body.

“I’m sorry.” The hero muttered, against your flesh as he continued to kiss down your flesh nibbling at your stomach, which curled under his touch. “I’ve grown impatient.”

You couldn’t see anything, only relying on your other senses to comprehend what was happening to your body. The gruff of his voice, the scent of his sweat, the taste of his lips still lingering on your tongue, the touch of his hands on your body as he poked, prodded, and preened.

His tongue, flat and warm, licked a stripe up your wet cunt, and you gurgled helplessly, voice already breaking. The hero slurped messily, cleaning the arousal from your folds as your cunt clenched. He did so as if he were in a hurry, as if there were someplace he would rather be, or rather, someplace his cock would rather be than strained against his supersuit.

He sucked on your clit, a finger entering your body, and your knees threatened to close at the pace he was setting. It was rough as he rushed through the foreplay, quickly entering another finger, and curling them with expertise; in a way only you liked. In a way only one other man in your life could have known. You strangled out a sob, one hand gripping his black hair, the other covering your face in shame as tears poured.

The hero forced our legs apart with brute strength, his hands pressing on your knees and splaying your wet cunt for him as he stuck out his tongue, and fucked you with it, your hips moving grinding mindlessly, almost as if you were no longer in control. You were at the mercy of the hero, and it caused fear to brew at the base of your spine. But what added to your impending terror was the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about Clark.

Because he was the only one who knew how you liked to be touched. He was the only one who knew how to press all the right buttons, yet this man who wasn’t your boyfriend, let alone someone you had an established relationship with, seemed to be pulling out all the stops. It made you self conscious, much more self aware, and small in his brutal touch. You squirmed, trying to push his mouth off your clit, begging him to stop.

It was too much.

“Please, please, w…wait!” You sobbed, trying to halt your orgasm which was speeding towards you. You moaned through your pleas, trying to push the man, but he would not budge. He was locked onto his target, his target being your slobbering cunt.

You continued to squirm under his touch, until the man grunted in a tired-fashion. You felt him scoop you up with one arm, and flip you over, a yelp escaping your mouth as you bounced on the mattress. Your heart pounded as your hands rested by your head; Superman’s hands grip your waist and yank your ass into the air, a mewl slipping past your lips as cold air brushes against your cunt. You can feel the vibrations of your heartbeat reverberating through the mattress, back arched painfully as your spine popped.

You heard fabric tear behind you, and you moaned uselessly as the hero poked your entrance with his hot pink tip, smearing your hole with his pre and your own arousal.

“I’m sorry.” The hero croaked.

Your voice rasped as he pushed into you, inch by inch, stretching your cunt in a way that hadn’t been done in ages. His shaft curved, grazing against your tight, plush walls.

You let out a guttural groan when his pelvis connected to your plush ass, his head kissing your cervix as his length and your cunt pulsed in unison. From this position, you could feel every single inch as he throbbed inside of you.

“Ngh…God…” You groaned, your fingers clutching your comforter to ground yourself in reality. You felt the hero’s pulse on your ass through his hands, as he gripped you with fervor, spreading you wider as he tried to nestle deeper into your womb.

Tears pricked your eyes. It had been a while since you had sex, so a bit of pain mixed with the pleasure was inevitable. But that’s not why you felt wails bubbling at the back of your throat. You knew Clark’s body like the back of your hand. You knew that familiar stretch, you craved it. You had the feeling of him inside you memorized, practically engraved into your body. Only Clark was able to satisfy you in the way you needed, only he was able to scratch that insatiable itch.

So why was such an itch able to be scratched by another man?

Superman slowly dragged himself out, white streaks coating his shaft, and pushed back in. Slowly. Tantalizing. Savoring.

Your mouth grew slack from the fog clouding your brain; from the acute pleasure and the obtuse confusion. Saliva pooled at the corner of your mouth as the hero fucked into you slowly, again, and again, and again.

“I’m sorry.”

There it was again, an apology so despondent and full of regret. You weren’t sure what the hero was apologizing for. Was it for the longing eyes? Was it for lending an ear? Was it for having his way with you? Was he regretting this moment?

You found yourself regretting it, only because the familiarity reminded you of the person who was supposed to be your one and only.

But you didn’t ask to stop, God, you just couldn’t.

Because you had missed this so badly; this intimacy that had become foreign to you that went beyond just physical, that you were willing to have a moment with Clark, even if it meant having it with someone else’s body.

So you screwed your eyes shut, biting your tongue to keep his name from tumbling from your lips.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, God I’m sorry-”

The hero whispered out broken apologies, his clothed pelvis smacking into yours as you choked on your moans, blanket wet with tears and spit. Your cunt clenched, almost trapping the man’s curved length, the stretch causing your stomach and throat to burn.

“Ah, fuck-” The man whined, and your stomach tightened, the two of you fucking like pathetic lovers. You heard what sounded like a broken sob behind you, and something wet splatter on your back.

“Fu…fuck…” The hero whimpered, one hand pressing on your stomach as he enraptured you with his upper body, and you felt his length poking against your lower abdomen, thick and hot. You cry out at the pressure as he fucks you, harder and quick, barely leaving your weeping cunt before entering you again. He grinded his hips against your ass, and all you could do was take it, chest pressed flat onto the mattress.

“I’m…fuck-” The man garbled, and something within you stirred. The familiar cadence of a man teetering too close to the edge. The familiar cadence of your man teetering too close to the edge.

Your mouth betrayed you as you gathered yourself on your elbow, turning your head to look back at the man. You wondered if his face looked as feeble as yours. You wondered if he was crying like you, and who he was crying for. You wanted to see the man fall apart on top of you, as you fell apart beneath him.

You wanted to see who was really behind you.

“Cl…” Spit bubbled at the corners of your mouth. “Clar-mmph!”

With a wide, forceful hand, your head is shoved into the mattress, muffling your cries, and slowing your breath.

“Stop talking.” The man demands with a rasp, but it’s not out of anger. He sounded utterly distressed.

In such a quick and inhumane way, less merciful than a hero should, the man rut into you with pure desperation. Between his pathetic gasps, and your muffled cries for a boyfriend who didn’t seem to care, the two of you were slobbering messes as your hole drooled.

You cunt clenched aggressively, your orgasm piledriving through you hard as you screamed into the comforter. Your legs shook, throat raw as you tried to breathe, burst of electricity shooting through your body and behind your eyes.

“I can’t-” The hero pulled out of your cunt with a disgusting pop, jerking off his swollen length until you felt his seed shoot across your sweaty ass. Long, hot streams dripped down your thighs as the man behind you shook and groaned, his body convulsing each time his balls emptied on your trembling body.

You grunted into the blanket, tears soaked into the fabric as both of your heaving breaths filled the silence. When the hero’s hand finally let you go, you realized it was the only thing holding you up as you toppled over into a crying mess, broken sobs stuttering between your ribs.

You didn’t look at the hero. You simply curled up, and cried; somehow feeling full, yet entirely empty.

You didn’t notice the hero reaching out to you.

You didn’t notice his sweaty, curly hair that resembled someone you knew way too well.

You didn’t notice that boyish look of defeat that made his cheeks round, and his dimples more prominent.

But you did notice the rushing sound of wind, followed by the stillness in the air that told you that you were alone once again.

He had left.

You stayed there, motionless, cold, and damp, on top of the blanket. When the birds first chirped outside your still open window, you craned your neck upwards, eyes swollen and dry from crying. You rolled out of bed, stiff and sore, and began cleaning the mess from the night before. You cleaned the lamp, discarded the torn clothes, and threw away the dinner that went untouched. You washed the bedsheets, dried them on the lowest tumbling before putting the freshly washed coverings back on the bed. By the time the sun’s light danced across the building rooftops, you were hopping out of the shower, skin raw from scrubbing away your sins and watching them flow down the drain. You climbed into your bed, in an oversized t-shirt, and closed your eyes.

Until you heard a specific set of keys turning into place.

Your eyes shot open, the door opening and closing. Your heart pounded as a familiar set of footsteps towards the bedroom door.

You clasp the blanket to your chest as the door swings open, and you stare.

You stare, and stare, and stare.

You take a hard swallow, looking at your boyfriend, eyes dancing across his face. His under eyes were dark, his hair falling like the sad ears of a pup, his glasses were fogged, and his clothes wrinkled and filthy as if he had slept outside.

He looked as bad as you felt.

You wondered why.

He bit the inside of his cheek, dimples sagging, then let his satchel bag slip off his shoulders, and hit the wooden floor with a solid thud. You jumped, startled at the sudden sound.

And you both stare.

You stare, and stare, and stare. A match to see who would break eye contact first. A match to see who would crack first.

It’s Clark who breaks away first, and you follow shortly after, staring at your sheets. He grabs a t-shirt from the drawer, and heads straight to the bathroom in silence, the knot in his throat bobbing. He shuts the door, and you sigh deeply, rubbing at your face aggressively.

What were you supposed to do? What were you supposed to ask? What were you supposed to tell him?

Was this even salvageable?

You flop back on the bed, turning your back towards the bathroom. You hear the shower run, and allow the sound of trickling water to lull you to sleep.

You’re not sure how long you were asleep, or how long Clark was in the shower, but you did feel him slide underneath the covers next to you. Next you felt him scoot closer, his chest pressed to your back, and his thick thighs tucked under your own. Then his lips on the nape of, placing soft, gentle kisses as if he were apologizing, prostrating himself. Your eyes fluttered open, stomach churning. Tears pricked your eyes as you grew overwhelmed and overly sensitive, but you relished in silence, tilting your head back to become closer to him.

Then he stopped, leaving the searing spots on your shoulder cold.

You turned your head and body, looking back into his beautiful eyes. Those bright blue eyes; not a sky blue, but something other worldly, as if they weren’t meant to be seen by the human eye.

His eyes flitted to your plump lips, then back to your eyes.

Permission.

Your lips ghosted over his own, tasting the mint on his breath.

Granted.

His lips were as pliable as dough as he kissed you sensually, softly, as if it were the first time all over again. He crooned, leaning over you as you arched underneath him, pressing your bodies together as warmth brewed against your better judgment.

The kiss was an exchange of something more than just spit; it was almost like an exchange of secrets. An exchange of sins. An exchange of wants, desires, apologies; a mixture of giving and taking as breath passed between your conjoined lips.

So you whispered-

“Clark-”

“Shhh.”

He silenced you with his mouth, maneuvering on top of you until he was on all fours, and your legs opened instinctually, as if waiting to welcome him home.

Calloused hands slide underneath your shirt, your breath shortening as he nudged his head against your entrance, teasing you gently. He pressed onto your clit, and you moaned in his mouth, eyes screwed shut and brows knitted together.

“Clark, fuck me.” You beg, desperate to feel him. Not so much because you missed him, but to prove something to yourself. To confirm something. To compare something.

To forget something, just in case you were wrong.

Clark didn’t respond, just continued to tease your folds as you whimpered, his cock stiff as he grinded against your body.

“Please, Clark.” You pleaded between kisses, nudging your nose against his own. “Fuck me like you hate me.”

You needed him to be rough. You needed him to be angry. For you to atone, you needed him to be upset with you. Not this gentle giant.

But Clark declines, pushing into you slowly. Your moan gets caught in your mouth as your lips fall agape, and he finds solace on your neck.

“I can never hate you.” He muttered, and your nails clench him through his shirt. “I love you.”

“I need you.”

As soon as his tip pushed into your cervix, the two of you moaned in unison, chest rising and collapsing together. He bottoms you out, and your waterline wets itself, feeling that same delicious curve only he can provide.

His love is slow and sensual, more akin to a grind as he barely leaves your cunt. Your clit is dragged across his pelvis as you moan into each other’s mouths, the creak of the bed signaling the steady rhythm Clark was keeping as he fucked you deep into the mattress.

Your legs lock around his torso, bringing him closer into the classic missionary style, your whimpers in time with each other as you slowly climb to your highs together.

“Say my name.” The man husked into your ear, as he rocked you further up the mattress. You obliged, your stomach curling you gripped the back of his curls. Your toes curled inward, the pressure threatening to release.

“Cl…ark.” You fumble.

“Again.”

“Clar…Clark.”

“Again.”

You fell apart, his hips snapping at the rhythm in which you spoke, cumming on his throbbing cock.

“Clark, Clark, oh fuck, Clark-!”

Your voice gets caught in your throat as your moan goes unheard, then the wind hits your chest with a heave that knocks you out.

“I’m- mmph!”

The man couldn’t finish his sentence, instead finishing inside of you. His hips stuttered momentarily, then stilled as he whined into your ear. You jolted each time you felt the thick, hot liquid spurt inside your womb, Clark slowly fucking his seed deeper into you. You felt a few pools spill past your walls, training down your ass and wetting the sheets you had just cleaned.

Clark shudders, but stays inside of you, snuggling into the crook of your neck. Your fingers danced in his hair, as you both lay in silence, just breathing.

You hated your boyfriend.

Your foot jittered nervously on your carpeted floors, the taps muted by the shag. The sun had already set, signaling the end of his work day, which meant that he should be here at any minute, like clockwork. Nervousness twisted in your stomach like a vine, a small gurgle musing from your gut. You tongued at your cheek, wondering how you were going to go through with this. How were you going to explain yourself? You should have never been unfaithful in the first place. Even if you were alone-

You heard that familiar set of keys jingling outside the door, and the sound of heavy footsteps growing closer. You heard a key grate inside the lock, and the snaps of the locks turning into place. The door creaks open, and you shoot to your feet, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants as you try to figure out how to present yourself. Should you smile? Should you avoid the bullshit and just confess?

The blonde man enters, suit still pressed at the seams, but his leopard-print tie loosened around his undone top button. His glasses hung off the tip of his nose, briefcase clasped in his hand. Everything about him was sharp; his neatly styled hair, his jawline, even his eyes, thought they softened once they landed on you.

Your stomach sunk into the floor.

You were ending this today.

You had to.

“Hey, babe.” Nanami says cooly, nudging the door closed with the tip of his dress shoe. Your hands curl behind your back, fidgeting, as the man takes two long strides towards you.

“Hey-” You say quietly, Nanami placing a swift kiss on your cheek. He leans his briefcase against the couch. Nanami leans back, looking into your eyes as you avoid them. His brows furrow, leaning in to search your face.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, clearly concerned, as he brings his hand to your cheek. You blink once, leaning away from his touch, twiddling your hands again.

“N-Nothing.” You stammered, licking your lips. You shuffled on your feet, opening your mouth again, Nanami giving you a confused look.

“We just…can we-?”

“You’re back!”

You bit your lip, swearing internally as you heard small footsteps barreling into the living room. Nanami’s puzzled look melts into an even softer one than the expression he held for you as he crouched down, arms wide open, ready to receive the child flinging into his arms.

“Hey, kiddo!” He laughs, patting the little boy on the head, affectionately ruffling his spikey hair. You fold your arms, looking away from the scene, tonguing your cheek.

The five-year-old pulled out of the hug momentarily. “I missed you.” He then leaned in, trying his best to whisper, but failing miserably. “Mommy did too. She told me not to tell.”

“Didn’t I tuck you in already?” You chastise, your tone much more bitter than you had meant for it to be, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Nanami. He looked up at you from his crouched position, a slight frown.

The boy pouted. “But I’m not tired.” He whined. “How come you guys get to stay up when I have to sleep.”

Your cheeks warmed as you tried to hold your ground. “That’s because we have to talk about…” You throw a look towards Nanami begging for help, “...adult stuff.”

“Your mother is right.” Nanami nodded, his joints popping as he stood. “You should go back to bed. Your mother and I have…some things to discuss.”

“I’m not sleepy.” The boy folded his arms, and Nanami tried not to find the resemblance of his attitude in you.

“How else do you expect to grow up big and strong like me if you don’t get a good night's rest?” Nanami says, flexing his arm. Despite his suit jacket curbing the view, you could see the fabric straining across his triceps. The boy seemed to ponder this for a moment, then put up his own offer, his voice small.

“Will you…” The boy rocked on his feet. “Will you at least be here? When I wake up tomorrow?”

Nanami tries to look at you, but you look elsewhere. Anywhere but in his pretty brown eyes.

“I’ll tell ya’ what.” Nanami says, scooping the boy up into his arms. “I’ll read you a story and tuck you in. If you can survive the whole story, then you can stay up with Mommy and I as we…talk.” Nanami said the last word flatly, still searching for your gaze as you did your best to avoid him.

The boy seemed to like the deal, nodding his head as he placed his small palms on Nanami’s shoulders. “That’s fair.”

Nanami chuckles, turning your son towards you.

“Tell Mommy, g’night.”

“Night!” The little boy sings out, and you give him a soft look. You lean in, kissing his warm forehead, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Night, baby.” You hum, tucking a lock behind his ear.

Nanami stalks to the boy’s bedroom, and you collapse on the couch once you hear the door shut. Your head swirls as you hear a few giggles, the melodic tone of Nanami’s voice, and then soft snores.

It made your head hurt.

You were ending this today.

Nanami exited the bedroom, closing the door behind him softly, before making his way into the living room. He sits next to you as you fidget with your ring, twirling it around your finger.

“He’s asleep.” Nanami said softly, signaling that the two of you would be uninterrupted and could continue your conversation. You sighed, wiping your hands on your knees, as Nanami’s eyes flitted to your left hand.

“Ken–no…” You stop yourself. “Nanami.”

“(Y/N)?” Nanami returns, his face grim.

You open your lips, tongue pressed to the roof of your mouth as you try to form a coherent sentence. “Nanami, you know I appreciate you, right?”

Nanami tilts his head, a half-hearted smile on his lips.

“I know.”

“No, I mean…everything.” You exasperate, motioning around the room. “I mean…this apartment, the groceries, God, helping me take care of Megumi…” You tried to keep your voice from warbling. “God, you helped take care of his kid…”

“I did.” Nanami’s eyes trail to your finger, and he can’t help himself. “You’re wearing it again.”

“Nanami, I can’t keep doing this.” Your lips quivered. “I can’t…I can’t keep taking these things from you. I can’t keep allowing you to make yourself available to me when I have nothing to give in return. You’re my friend–”

Nanami didn’t respond, he just sat there attentively.

“I’m married, Nanami.” You exasperated. “I’m supposed to be faithful. I have a kid–his kid. There is nothing about me that should keep you coming back, yet here you are. For years, Nanami, you’ve been there. But this–haven’t you had enough?”

Nanami leans in, voice low and soft, yet his eyes are sincere. “I could never get enough of you, even if I tried.”

And you knew he meant it. Even back in your shared college days, you knew there was something more behind his eyes when he spoke to you, but you ignored it in favor of the “bad-boy-next-door”.

You took a hard swallow, stilling your breath; Nanami was so close. So close that his faded cologne seemed much stronger, and you could almost count the blonde lashes decorating his eyes.

“Why do you think I did all that?” He asks patiently.

Your heart hammers behind your ribcage, and you try to play it off as a chuckle. “You want me to believe you did this out of the kindness of your heart? Because you’re my friend?” 

Nanami shuffles on the cushion, giving a low laugh. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“It’s easier to believe you were taking advantage of a desperate and lonely woman.” You try your best to sound furious, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. And Nanami knows this. “Am I supposed to believe you did this because you actually took an interest in me, and not because I was an easy way to get your rocks off?”

“Is it easy to think that because it’s true, or because it gives you an easy way out?”

You shuddered, feeling as if ice had entered your veins. Of course that was a cop-out. At the end of the day, your loneliness led you into Nanami’s bed, a line you never thought you would cross. Your desperation for companionship allowed you to bring Nanami into your home, into your spouse’s bed. It was easier to paint Nanami as the bad guy so the burden of committing adultery wouldn’t weigh down on your shoulders as much; it was easier to claim he took advantage of a friend who had been isolated thanks to her husband’s crimes, her entire life derailed and only having him to count on.

You backed out of his personal space, standing up.

“Leave the key, and don’t come back.” You state, as plainly and emotionless as possible.

“(Y/N)-”

“‘Until death do us part’.” You strangled out. “I said those words. I took the ring. It’s my fault, and I’m sorry, and I know that’s not good enough. I’m sorry if I made you think we could be…I’m sorry that I thought we could…”

You stopped talking, feeling yourself get worked up. You had gotten so attached, too attached to a man that wasn’t even yours. All because he helped care for your child and kept your bed warm at night in your husband’s stead, even though you promised to wait for him. You promised to stick by his side, even through this predicament. You promised to be patient and stand strong, and you failed.

But who could blame you? Nanami surely didn’t.

“Don’t…don’t come back.” You beg. “Please. Let me salvage what’s left.”

Did you mean your marriage? Or were you trying to hold onto your pride?

Nanami searched your face from his seat on the couch.

“What good is waiting on someone who’s not coming back?”

You felt like you got punched in the chest. But instead of letting him see you crack, you walk into your cramped kitchen. You hear the couch creak, and a set of urgent steps behind you.

“Can you go, please?” You turn around, frustration bubbling at the back of your throat. Why couldn’t he just listen to you? Why was he making this so hard?

“Megumi doesn’t even remember him.” Nanami says. “You don’t even bother showing him pictures anymore.”

You chewed on your tongue.

“When does he get out?” Nanami asked, a bit of a bite in his words. “When Megumi graduates high school? College?”

“So what.” You teem.

“So what?” Nanami tries to keep his voice low. “You’re going to wait that long for someone who can’t even have the decency to be a good father figure?”

Nanami is close to you again, and your senses become overwhelmed as he corners you at the kitchen counter. His hands trap you at either side as he leans in.

“A good husband?” He finishes his statement, his voice faint in the low light of the kitchenette.

“Let me take you out of here.” He nudges his head, referencing the small complex that was one paint peel away from being completely rundown, if not for your careful and decorative touch. “Let me buy you the house you deserve. Give you the ring you deserve. The life that you both deserve; let me give that to you. I’ve always wanted to.”

Nanami nudges his nose against your cheek, whispering the sweetest of dreams in your ear, and you place your hands on his chest.

“How-”

“Be with me.” Nanami breathes, his breath tickling your ear. “Be with me in a way that goes beyond flesh.”

One hand nestles on your hip, and his touch feels as if it’s burning into your skin.

“He gave you a ring because you were carrying his child.” Nanami pressed. “I’d give you my everything, because without you, I have nothing. I am nothing.”

He places a soft kiss on your temple, then another on your eyelid. Your stomach knots, and you can no longer differentiate the guilt and your attraction to him. His words cushioned you, and made you melt inside.

“Let me take care of you.”

His hands grip your waist, his pelvis fleshed to yours as he maps out gentle kisses on your warm face. Despite your hands gently pressing on his chest to move away, your heart betrayed you as you moved your head, allowing him access to your neck.

“Nanami-” You sigh sweetly, your strength faltering as one of his hands cupped your round ass.

“You think he can take care of you better than I can?”

He nibbles at your neck, pulling your skin taut between his teeth, then lapping over the area to relieve the stinging.

“You think he can touch you better than I can?” He whispers into your ear, squeezing your flesh; you clear your throat in an attempt to mask your arousal.

“Nanami, please-” 

“Tell me, then.” Nanami pulls his face closer to yours, his low mumbles carrying around the kitchenette. “Tell me you don’t want me, that you don’t want this. Tell me you hate me. Tell me that this is one sided, and I’m just a delusional, love-sick man. Spit at me, curse me even.” He eggs you on, eyebrows furrowed as he awaited your response, stood patiently to hear you parrot those words.

But you couldn’t.

Because it would all be a lie. A lie that you could no longer swallow.

Was it really a crime for letting your heart be swayed during the lowest point of your life? Especially when it was being swayed by the person who had been there, even if you kept them at arms reach until it benefitted you the most?

So you nudged his nose with your own as a form of an answer, a pitiful one at that. Sparring no time, Nanami gives you a deep kiss, and you sigh into his mouth. One handed presses your lower back, pulling you close to him as he grinds into you, the other holding your face steady.

“Nanami…” You mutter, but his lips are relentless, swallowing your sentences whole. “Megumi…” You warn.

Nanami began trailing kisses down your jaw. “He’s never woken up before.” 

“He might hear-”

“We’ll be quiet.”

Nanami began rubbing his hand against your clothed cunt, and your knees almost gave way.

“I don’t know if she will, though.”

Skipping anymore foreplay, Nanami helps you shimmy out of your pants, leaving kisses on your thighs. Your hands knot themselves in his blonde locks. He gathers your slightly damp underwear into his teeth, pulling them down, staring at you hungrily as he does. Your breath shortens as you allow the garments to slip past your legs and crumple to the floor.

Nanami unzips the fly on his pants, untucking his length from his boxers. You sit on the counter, legs splayed open as Nanami positions himself at your entrance, rubbing his angry, red tip against your slick hole.

“You think he can get you wet like this?” Nanami asks, nudging himself against your clit, and you throw your head back against the cupboards. “By all means, call out to him if you think he can.”

Without warning, Nanami slams his hips into yours, and you yelp, hugging his shoulders for dear life. Your thighs shook at Nanami’s side, your cunt throbbing at the sudden intrusion. In this position, you were left at Nanami’s mercy; his girth thick and pulsing against your gummy walls.

Nanami’s pace is steady at first, calculative and slow, both of you panting against your hot bodies, your face buried in his neck from shame. Shame for being unable to stand your ground. Shame from falling in love with someone else despite being wed. Shame for being fucked open on your counter.

And last but not least, shame from savoring every second of it.

You felt filthy, vulnerable; as if you were falling apart, yet Nanami was there to hold you together. His hands gripped your thighs in earnest, fingerprints bound to imprint themselves in your skin as an act of marking what was his, as if pumping you full of his warm seed wasn’t enough.

Supple, sweaty skin slapped against each other in wet plaps, and you threw your face over Nanami’s shoulder, moaning into his collar as he grunted in your ear in return.

“I wonder what he would do right now.” Nanami husked, breathing heavily in between his words. “I–ah…wonder how his face would look…as I fucked into you like this” 

Your cunt tightened around his length, and Nanami let out a satisfied laugh. “You seem to like the idea.”

You whined, digging your nails into his back as his tip prodded your inside, your stomach contracting as that delicious pressure built up in your stomach. Why did the idea of your husband watching you commit such a sin seem so tantalizing to you? So delectable to the point where it made your toes curl, and knees lock tighter around Nanami’s torso?

“F-Fu…mmm–” You muttered, trying to keep your volume low, but the moans were bubbling at the back of your throat, threatening to spill like the slick from your second set of lips.

“While he’s jerking off at the thought of you in his cell–” Nanami whispered in your ear, devilishly low, “I get to have you to myself.”

Nanami thrusted so hard, you were practically lifted off the counter, his hands prying your ass wider for him, hoping to feel his own length buried inside of you as you were positioned pressed stomach to stomach.

“Nana–ah!” Your mouth began to salivate as you clamped your teeth down on his neck, your breath uncontrollable as your lungs expanding and deflated faster than you could process the oxygen entering your body. A wet spot began to accumulate on his shirt, the drool from your cunt and his leaking tip dripping down Nanami’s thighs.

“Go on, call him.” Nanami dared, and your heart almost imploded. The adrenaline pumping through you couldn’t be clearly distinguished as excitement or fear anymore.

“Sto-stop…!” Your eyes watered as you tried to keep your voice low, but your body was rushing towards its climax quicker than you could stop it.

“Tell him what you’re doing.” Nanami travels back to your neck, nipping at your flesh, your sweet perfume and sweat lingering on his tongue. “Tell him how good I make you feel…”

The words, as delicious as a charred marshmallow, get stuck in your teeth.

“To…Toji, I’m-!”

“Come on, you can do it.”

Your eyes began to roll, flits of white flashing across the dark ceiling.

“I’m cumming, oh God, I’m gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum-!” 

“Tell him by whom.”

“Nanami! Oh, God-!”

You strangled on your moan, choking as Nanami quickly brought a hand to your mouth, muffling your cries of pleasure. You slobbered behind his hand, thighs shaking as Nanami gave one more thrust, shoving your body upward and causing you to tap your head against the cupboard.

Nanami’s seed was hot, long spurts pumped into your stomach, pushing past his length and dripping out of you like the fountain of youth. Your cunt pulsed, milking the man dry as he emptied himself into your slit, a stifled groan rumbling through his chest as he tried to keep himself quiet as well.

Nanami let out a shaky sigh, removing his hand in favor of thumbing away the spit that had formed around your mouth. Your breathing slowed as you looked at the beautiful blonde in the dark, your bodies still glued together.

“‘S yours.”

“Hm?” Nanami tilts his head closer, his nose kissing your own. You nudged his face, hands falling around his neck.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is apologetic. “I thought this would be-”

“Easy?” You breathed. Choso simply nods his head, tucking his face into the crevice between your neck and shoulder. His breath fanned your skin as you spoke, the hair rising on your arm. “You just…slide it in.” You say, any form of modesty abandoning you.

When you and Choso decided to be each other’s first, you didn’t think it would be so…awkward. Or maybe the word was uncomfortable, at least from your position.

When you guys made-out in preparation for this exact moment, that was the fun part. It was easy. It was as if your lips had themselves a perfected routine thanks to a year of practice; they were more than familiar with each other. But when the clothes came off, when the condom slipped on, and both of you were left in your most vulnerable state, it was as if you were strangers meeting each other all over again. Strangers, treading uncharted waters, learning a new side of the other while also having no experience outside of each other. The touches became more delicate, the smiles much more shy, and blush had bloomed over both your bodies; Choso’s shoulders and ears were glowing red as he laid you gently on the comforter.

And now, after talking such a big game, there you were, laying on your back, just as clueless as your boyfriend who was laying on top of you, the tip of his hard-on the only thing able to get between your tight folds.

“Haven’t you watched…” Your voice trailed off, your cheeks inflamed, and Choso mirrored you, avoiding your eye.

“I mean, I have before…not often…” He admitted with shame, as if confessing his sins. “But it’s…different.”

“Yeah?” You asked, but you had to admit that you agreed. In the videos, they just…did it, but you couldn’t take it past his head. You didn’t understand why you couldn’t just…get into it. You were much too tense, much too tight. Maybe the pornos had a lot more preparation behind the scenes? Even the amateur videos you watched every now and then seemed methodical, while this was much more sensual. Much more personal.

Much more uncomfortable.

“Yeah.” Choso chuckled, taking his hand and thumbing your cheek with a look of affection. “No…overexaggerated moans or…aggressive crossed eyes or whatever.”

You laughed, your nerves disappearing the longer you glanced at Choso’s smile.

“It’s just…you.” Choso leaned down, placing a soft kiss in the area he had caressed earlier, muttering softly into your skin. “Just us.”

You sighed, letting your head sink into the pillows beneath you. Of course you could theoretically back out, but you were already here, both hot and bothered. A little discomfort was inevitable, as you’ve never had anything other than a tampon or your own two fingers inside your body; surely a foreign object as thick as your boyfriend’s–ahem…losing your virginity has a chance of being uncomfortable. You just had to breathe and relax, and Choso needed to fucking move.

“Choso, just…shove it in.”

He looked at you with a look of astonishment.

“I am not doing that.”

“Choso-”

“You said it felt weird.” You felt a frown fold his lips as he curled back into your neck.

“Yeah, but it feels even weirder like this…”

“Okay, I would love to move, babe, but…you’re really tight…I can’t…”

You closed your eyes again, lips in a line as you tried to talk about it without talking about it.

“Can you…relax? Please?”

Choso’s voice pleaded as if it hurt to speak, and you couldn’t tell if he was choked up on his own embarrassment or if the view of his swollen dick protruding out of his girlfriend's glossy cunt made it hard for him to concentrate (the author notes that it was both).

“I’m trying.” You admit, squirming a bit under him, to relieve some sort of discomfort, but all it did was send a jolt of pleasure through Choso’s body, a low grunt resonating inside his chest. 

“I’m just-”

“Nervous?” Choso finished for you, sitting up slowly so he could look you in the eyes. Cheeks slightly puffed, you nodded after a moment of hesitation.

After your heart pumped approximately 20 times with you and Choso trying to read each other’s eyes, Choso pulled himself out of you with a sigh, and you let out a breath you weren’t aware you were holding. He traded his position of laying on top of you for sitting beside you, one leg folded in and hiding his length while the other hung off the bed. A bit confused, and feeling slightly rejected, you sat on your elbows. Then feeling self conscious of your own nakedness, you began to curl into a ball, but Choso put his hand on your knee to stop you.

“Don’t.” He mutters. You blink twice.

“I thought you…” Your voice trailed off, and Choso interjected.

“No, I do.” Choso said, removing that sinking feeling of discouragement from your gut and replacing it with a flutter. “I do, honest. I just…don’t want to hurt you.”

“I want to be careful. Not careless.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, not sure if the expression wavering on your face would be one with tears, a smile, or maybe a bit of both. So to keep from choking on your own words you simply nodded.

You watched as curiosity lined his irises, and a question danced on his tongue. He wiped at his mouth once, his pointer finger curling in enough to chew at his nail.

“What makes you…relax?” Which the author translates to, what gets you off?

Even if Choso tried to take a roundabout way of asking, your neck and cheeks still stung with the heat of a stove top. You squirmed, avoiding his eye as you tried to come up with a way to verbally describe the lewd things you did in your spare time.

The things you thought about Choso doing to you in your spare time.

You didn’t know how to tell him that you would often envision him eating you out just to get one off, with your wrinkled fingers curled into your wet folds for some sort of stimulation.

“Well, I…” You start, but you can’t seem to spit it out. “I, um…sometimes…I- fuck, Choso, do I have to say it?” You admonished, a feeling of despair welding into your chest. Choso eyes grow wide with pure intent, despite the both of you being nude and trying to talk about the next steps in having a comfortable experience.

“Can you show me?” He asks, and steam almost spews out of your ears. As if to cut off your impending protest, Choso leans in, and gives you a soft kiss on the lips, his tongue wetting your bottom lip before placing a softer one onto your cheek. His hands, one creeping between you and the other nestled at the back of your head, gently guide you back down on the duvet. Choso then sits up, waiting patiently, his eyes trained with uninterrupted focus on your trembling body.

You look the other way. God, this wasn’t easy. You felt small, like prey in the eyes of a hungry predator, and with the way your body was reacting, you would think you were on your way to get eaten alive (the author giggled a bit).

So you closed your eyes, doing your best to ignore the silhouette of the person next to you, doing your best to ignore their hitched breath as your hands fondled with your own breast, finger tips ghosting over your slightly hardened nipples. You ignore the silent dissection of his deep brown eyes. The only way for you to put on a proper performance was to pretend he wasn’t watching, to go about the movement as if you were alone.

With one hand cupping one of your breasts, the other trails down, down, and down some more, your legs prying open like a clam. Meticulously, without rush, but with pure calculation. Your middle and ring finger graze down your abdomen, which twitches inward at the tickling sensation, then finally to that sensitive pearl, locating it without even needing to look or think. You circle it slowly, without interruption, thinking about the ways you like to touch yourself.

Then, without meaning to, you start thinking about the ways you would like Choso to touch you.

Your fingers start rolling a bit faster, catching a bit of slick whenever they’d venture too far, the other hand gripping your chest for dear life. Your bottom lip slowly latched between your front teeth, silencing the onslaught of sighs attempting to escape your mouth, yet backing up at the base of your throat as muffled whines. You kneaded at your breast, rolling your nipple as you thought of Choso’s hands on you instead, hardened palms and long fingers pressing into your skin, moulding it in a way only he would be able to understand. As your fingers slipped into your cunt, in almost perfect routine, you imagined they were his. You told him what to do without telling him, applying visual aid in hopes he would get the hint and take over without you needing to verbalize it. But as your fingers continued to pump into your core, the ache in your clit pulsing, you wondered if he understood because, dammit, how much visual aid did a person need? What was taking him so long?

Did you need to put a sign on your puss that said “touch me”?

Before your frustration could grow, and before you got too close to the edge, Choso’s hand wrapped around your wrist, gently removing your fingers. Your eyes fly open, head snatching to you lover, the desperation in your movements were not going unnoticed by him; he could practically smell it. He was just trying to be patient, but both of you were past that point. Without even touching himself, he was one glance away from filling his own condom.

Eyes low, Choso looked into your soul as he kissed up your wrist, then into your trembling palm. You swallowed thickly as he kissed your wet fingers, his tongue gently grazing your skin and tasting the sweet slick stringing across your finger.

Words were no longer necessary now as your bodies did the talking.

His hand interlocking into yours, he throws himself into a kiss, fast paced and hungry. Any sort of shyness abandons you as you openly moan into his mouth as he pins you from above. Your body curls into his mindlessly as he pecks at your neck, nibbling gently with his teeth, then onto your sternum. He follows the delicate map you laid out for him, following in your footsteps as he kisses the swells of your breast, his warm tongue swirling your sensitive nipple as one hand rolls the other, alternating between a light pinch and a sensual roll of his thumb.

He doesn’t stay there long, leaving your nipples cold and wet as he kisses down your abdomen, nestling one last kiss on your navel before he stops. You peak your head up to see a mischievous glint in his eyes, your cunt pulsing around nothing as it waits. Your thigh muscles twitch, unable to close with Choso shoulders in the way. And before you could properly think about what came out of your mouth, you said-

“You’re such a tease.”

To which Choso responds-

“I’m a visual learner.”

Without warning, Choso took one long drag up your cunt, causing you to shudder; the feeling foreign but much more enjoyable than words could describe. He smacked his lips, as if allowing the taste to settle on his tongue, then nodded in approval. You would have laughed in any other circumstance, but your giggle quickly turned into a moan as he latched onto your clit.

You throw your head back as he sucks on the bud, his tongue darting out ever so often and flicking like the tongue of a snake. You groaned, eyes screwed shut as your hands found his hair, gripping the strands a bit tighter than you meant to as you clumsily squirmed on his face. In turn, Choso’s hands gripped your waist in an attempt to keep you still.

Both hands didn’t stay there long, one leaving your waist before pushing the back of your knee up slightly, giving Choso a better view of your glistening slick mixed with his saliva, as he mused with your folds, the tip of his nose nudging at your clit.

You didn’t notice you started squirming away until Choso pulled you back to his mouth.

Finally satisfied with the work his mouth had done, and you clearly were too, Choso let go of your knee, and lifted himself from your cunt, again leaving it wet and cold, each flutter causing your body to twitch.

“Hey.” Choso whispers.

You peek up again, getting a glance at Choso’s wet lips and nose, your brows furrowed. He then takes his pointer and his ring finger, and places it into his mouth, sucking on his own digits and wetting them. Your eyes widen momentarily, before throwing your head back onto the mattress.

“You don’ wanna watch?” He asked, almost genuinely curious in his question. But he took your squeezed eyes as a kind decline, as he began to slowly circle your clit, your body jolting immediately.

He dips his fingers into your folds, gathering a bit of wetness before pumping a finger into your cunt. He massages the fleshy walls, curling upward every other pump. Your breath grew heavier, almost raspy as your hips moved without your permission. Choso took it as a sign to enter one more, speeding up his wrist as he stretched you out, carefully prodding at your entrance. The lewd, wet sound of you being fingered filled the room, and your legs threatened to close again, only to be pried open by Choso’s free hand. He continued pumping into your cunt as he placed a gentle kiss on your thigh, then another on your clit, before taking it in his mouth again.

A guttural groan escaped out the back of your throat, your back arching off the mattress. Your stomach tightened, that familiar tenseness behind your belly button building as your body seemed to run from Choso’s touch, but he locked your leg into place, giving you no breaks or room to breathe.

“Choso…Cho- ugh…” You moaned with warning, your hands finding themselves in his scalp again. Choso’s fingers entered you with ease now, his speed doubling as he twisted his wrist, drinking up your wetness with reckless abandon. He messily ate, with the clumsiness of any novice, but with care and compassion as your lover, his goal revolving around your satisfaction, and your satisfaction only.

Your toes curled involuntarily, just as Choso’s fingers did in your cunt. Your moans pitched as the tenseness grew tighter, much tighter than you had ever experienced on your own. It was almost overwhelming.

“W-Wait-” Your hand goes to stop Choso’s, but he grabs it, intertwinging his fingers tightly. He begins humming, as if coaxing you, his tone low in his chest.

“I can’t-”

“You can.”

You peeked up again, just to see Choso already looking at you, as if he had been waiting on you to get a peak of his face buried between your legs. Like he had been watching you fall apart on his tongue. His hair was messy, face flushed, and his eyes low as he gazed at you, his pink tongue lapping you up like a dog.

And with that one look of hunger, the pressure finally releases. You cum hard, voice pitched so high that it went unheard to the human ears, muscles tense and trembling. Your cunt squeezes Choso’s fingers with vigor as they continue to curl inside you, milking you past your orgasm. Your body twitches in aggressive waves, sensitive to the touch as your breath heaves in your chest, rasping. Choso gently takes his fingers out of you,  almost admiring the creamy substance gathered at the base of his fingers. He licks between his fingers as if he had downed a five-course meal, and was snacking on the residue in a way to hold on to the last bits of flavor.

Despite your daze, you sit up as he climbs on top of you. Your eyes dart down to his throbbing length, and you reach out to grab it, but Choso stops you, his face bright red.

“Don’t. It’s going to be an even shorter night if you do.”

You giggle, leaning in to kiss him, tasting a bit of yourself on his lips and tongue. The two of you tumble back on the bed, you opening your legs as Choso positions himself between them. Not wanting to prolong the event, or prematurely ejaculate into his condom, Choso slipped his tip inside. He hisses through his teeth as you moan at the back of your throat.

You swallow as your throat grows dry, sensitive as Choso pushes in a little, and stops in an attempt to stall his own orgasm, his abs tensed and face screwed shut in focus.

“Shit.” He mutters, slowing his breathing as he inches in more. You both moan in unison when he finally bottoms you out, your pelvises fleshed together. The pressure you felt before wasn’t as overbearing or as uncomfortable, your slick providing a smooth entrance.

“H-Hold on…” He mutters.

You nod your head, speaking in a gentle whisper. “‘S okay.”

You held your breath, trying not to move, but your cunt had other plans as it throbbed around Choso’s thick member; you could feel him pulsing in unison with your walls. Choso’s hands nestled at your waist, thumbing across your skin to ground himself.

And finally, after a long sigh, Choso moved. First, short thrusts that were more akin to a grind, your clit dragging along his pelvis. Your eyes fluttered, swallowing in between your moans as the sensation grew to be overwhelming. You couldn’t look Choso in the eye, the sight of him on top of you, stirring that feeling behind your navel yet again, and much quicker than before. Choso hid his eyes behind his hair, refusing to look at his cock disappearing into your wet cunt; the sensation was enough by itself. The steady rhythm of his shaft gliding in and out of your tight walls was too much for him to handle. Choso gripped his hands tighter as if to brace you, and himself, stilling his hips with a pensive look in his eyes. He looked ashamed, distraught, and embarrassed.

“I’m…fuck, I can’t-” He gritted, his cock pulsating as he willed himself not to cum. God, it would be so embarrassing; he didn’t want to be labeled as a one-minute-man.

“-close…” You muttered, causing Choso to snap out of his thoughts. “You’re so close. I’m so close, Cho.”

Your hand snaked down to your clit, rubbing it in quick circles, almost panicked.

“Don’t make me cum alone-ngh…”

Choso gave one sloppy thrust, then another, memorizing the shape of your insides one last time, before releasing into his condom with a strangled moan. The erotic sound was like music to your ears, rushing you through your second orgasm of the night, both of you trembling with ragged breaths. Your legs shook as Choso’s seed spilled from the condom, trickling onto the bed in thick, white puddles.

Choso gently collapses onto your chest, his breath tickling your ear as you stay conjoined at the pelvis. His length began to soften inside you, but it felt warm.

“Ah…fuck…” Chosos hummed, and you could feel his heart hammering against your own. “Fuck…you’re so beautiful, you know that? Just looking at you makes me…ah, fuck.”

Choso slowly pulls out, earning a grunt from both of you as the warmth in your core disappears. His wet length sat on your abdomen, in between the two of you as your heart's calmed.

You give a breathy laugh, running your fingers through his damp hair. You squirm to give him a kiss on his ear lobe, earning a low groan from him. You feel his cock stiffen against you, ever so slightly at the movement.

You’d dress in something business casual, a wardrobe containing only shades of black and brown, while downing a cup of luke-warm coffee. He could smell the hazelnut through the open window in the kitchen.

Next you’d bound out your door because you would realize you were going to be late, swearing you would be on time tomorrow as if you hadn’t promised that the day before. Then, you would check to make sure your wallet was still in your car’s glove compartment. There was no need to do that, though. He would always check the night before, since you’d often forget to lock your car door when you rushed home to prepare for your partner's arrival.

You would come back from work at approximately 6:00p.m, your lover hot on your tail as you two engaged in a heated make out session with your body pinned against the door as you struggled to open it from behind; the two of you would practically collapse into the house when you finally did so. Your lover would kick the door shut in haste, the sound echoing off the empty street, the orange-colored bulbs in the lamp posts flickering at the same tempo as your pounding heart. Gojo didn’t see the point in closing the door, you two had already graced the public with your intimacy, why not continue to fuck on the patio to spite him? He knew that you were aware that he was watching, purposefully calculating your every move in the hopes of pissing him off. He knew you were trying to make him jealous, upset even. But he could never be mad at you, nor this cute little game you decided to play to get a rise out of him.

And oh, did something rise.

Gojo would move accordingly to your bedroom window, watching in preemptive calculation as clothes flew across the bright room. Your lover would always be in a rush to get themself off, never taking their time with you for the sake of their own pleasure, in a hurry to chase their own high without you in their regards. He could tell by the way you over exaggerated your twitches, and attempt to put on your best performance as you moaned with insincerity.

Gojo knew that he could satisfy you much better, so much better, sending you on a blissful ride you’d never be able to exit. You made it so clear that he was the only one capable of executing the job right, the way you’d gaze out the window towards him (the author notes that you’re not exactly at him, more so at the tree he would conceal himself with, but who’s taking notes, amiright?), almost begging for him to take your lover's spot on top of you. It’s as if you were pleading to be saved, to be satisfied, because you never were.

Gojo would let you have your way with him. He’d let you have, or take whatever you wanted from him. He’d let you touch him to your heart's content, rake your fingers through his hair or leaves scratches in his pale skin; he could tell you wanted to break free from your lover’s bruising grip on your wrist, hands pinned above your head as your attempts to reach out to them failed. He would let you ride him at your own pace, even if it was a painfully slow grind that left his balls swollen and blue, as he was nothing outside of his goal to please you. He had no other job, outside of being underneath you, because he, by his own admonishment, was beneath you. You, an untouchable deity that he was only able to watch from afar. You, an image of supple beauty, which he thirsted to drink from like the fountain of youth. Yes you, dear reader, were everything to him, because he was nothing but a shadow dancing in your yard.

Your partner would finish just as quickly as you arrived at the house, not even bothering to make sure you had reached a similar level of ecstasy. It was shameful. What kind of partner were they supposed to be?

Though you would attempt to avoid it, they would give you a sloppy kiss as a poor way to thank you, and shuffle their wrinkled clothes back on in a hurry to get ready for work the next morning, or at least that was the excuse they gave. No cuddles, no drinks, a movie, not even offering a second round, though Gojo doubted that they even had the stamina to perform that in the first place considering their repetitive offense of premature ejaculation. You would be pissed to oblivion, unable to even look at them as they hurried out of the room, and out the front door. They would kindly lock the door after them as you would shamefully get up, sheets cascading down your sheened body, a bit sticky from the unfulfilled sex. Gojo could smell your dissatisfaction, and hated how that smell, along with your lover’s, marred your sacred scent.

Now we get to the fun part. Gojo’s favorite part after being forced to suffer through that poor sex scene.

This is the part where you performed for Gojo only. He just knew it. The way your hips would sway as you walked to your bathroom, thighs jiggling at the motion. You’d stand there, sliding the glass wall back of your shower and turn it on. You stand outside the unit, feet tapping impatiently as you wait for it to steam. As soon as the mirrors turn foggy, you hop in, immediately scrubbing the touch of your lover off your skin ferociously, until it's almost raw. Lavender wafts out the steaming bathroom to the window, a scent you never seemed to trade. You hummed a sweet song, running your finger over your soapy body, tracing your swells and curves, massaging your breast. Your angry expression would sink into a look of pleasure, the sound of your soft exhales over the running water.

Gojo felt a slight tent in his pants, but he wouldn’t allow his hands to touch himself, not just yet.

You’d detach the shower head from its resting place, the pressurized water running down your body with haste as you rinsed off, holding the nozzle on your breast a little longer than the other parts of your body.

You mutter low curses, trailing the head down your abdomen as you fondle with your breast. Finally, leaning on the nearby wall with your legs slightly parted, you placed the head on your cunt, convulsing immediately at the contact. Your withheld moans rush out of your throat in desperation, your body instinctively grinding into the nozel.

“Shit, shit, shit.” You gripped the glass, a wet hand print being left between the fog.

It was pathetic, Gojo thought. Almost shameful that a nozzle pleased you more than the human being you were supposed to share these moments with. It was absurd how easily a shower head could make your legs shake, but not the person you called “mine”. Gojo found it perplexing every night, and knew deep down that he could do better than both. He studied you, knew your body almost as well as you did. All he needed was to grasp onto you one good time, and you would be liquid on his finger.

Staling your orgasm, you turn the shower off as you usually did when you felt yourself about to cum too fast. Gojo would have allowed you to orgasm, and then some.

You slide the glass back, exiting the shower, hot steam emulating off your body. You grab a towel, dabbing the glistening trails of water that raced down your being. You grab a bottle of your favorite moisturizer, walking into your bedroom while flicking the lights off and turning the television on. 

You would lay the slightly damp towel on your bed, and plot onto your duvet with a heavy sigh, as if disappointed  that this is what your love life had come to. You squirt a hefty amount of the substance into your hand, then start working into your body, softening your ghosted skin in the television light. You massage and knead into your flesh, working out the stress and kinks from the day as if playing with dough. Soft exhales leave your lips as you close your eyes, cupping your perky breast as the TV light exaggerated your silhouette on the wall behind you. Gojo wanted to tear his teeth through your soft skin, marking you with the most desperate imperfections. He couldn’t help but palm himself as you rubbed your nipples, willing them to harden under your graceful touch. You were so gentle, the way you caressed yourself, and Gojo wanted so badly to rough you up to his liking.

But he would have to wait just a bit longer. He didn’t want to scare his love away.

One hand abandons your warm breast to circle your clit, and your subtle breathing turns into desperate whimpers, your body being overtaken with a wave of warmth. It was sensual, your fingers going at a steady pace that seemed tortuous, yet exhilarating. You couldn’t hear the whisper of Gojo’s pants unzipping in the depths of the night over your own pleas, or the sound of whatever channel was playing from the TV.

Gojo couldn’t see it, but he could feel the slick liquid around his member as he stroked himself in the dark. His eyes didn’t tear away from you for a second, not even to properly blink, as he used his own pre-cum as lubricant; slowly fucking into his own palm. How he wished it were you instead, his hand could only do so much; but the visuals you provided were more than what his imagination could ever conjure up. He watched as you allowed one, then two, and finally three fingers slowly entered your soaked cunt, the other hand gripping the sheets mercilessly.

“Oh, God-” You called out in almost agony, but never once begging for your lover’s name. Gojo was thankful; you were so respectful to him, you wouldn’t dare use another name in his presence, and he liked that about you. That blank spot was registered for him, and he awaited the day his name would slip past your salivating mouth.

Your back arched against the bed, cunt pulsating around your fingers as if they were trying to milk some sort of substance from them, to no avail. Your breathing grew wilder, untamed whines that showed no pattern or consistency. Gojo knew you were close, he could smell it from your window over the scent of the dewy grass. He sped up his hand, biting into the leather fabric of his jacket as his breath showed in wispy vapors around him.

It would never be enough. No matter how many times, he would never be satisfied until he plunged himself into the real thing. His infatuation with you grew to an unprecedented amount, to where he couldn’t just think of your body anymore, he had to see it. He had to feel it. His insatiable need to see you grew into wanting to be one with you; skin to skin, his pelvis fleshed against yours over and over as your combined liquid sex poured out of you like a river of honey. He wanted to bury himself in you, get under your skin, and revel in your being.

And even then, it would never be enough.

“Shit…” He muttered, teeth baring into the piece of clothing, his movement becoming sloppy which each thrust. He would normally wait for you to finish first, being the gentleman that he is, but he just couldn’t take it. Luckily, with one final whine, you came on your fingers; a high pitched whine that only a dog like Gojo could hear, and he immediately spurt into his hand, stifling a groan. Semen leaked from his pink tip, trailing down his softening cock, and into the blades of grass with soft splatters that you easily mistook for an impending rainfall.

Though it was quicker than usual, Gojo was satisfied. He couldn’t help but wonder who you were thinking about to get you to cum so fast, and what he had to do to make sure he was the only one invading your mind the next time.

Just as Gojo began tucking himself away, zipping up his fly, you reached into your night stand.

And this is where we pause, and enter Gojo’s mind.

As stated before, Gojo had been watching you for a while now, to the point where he knew your entire schedule by clockwork since it lacked any sort of variation. You followed your schedule to the “t”, never deviating from the narrative, as if following a script.

But you had begun to diverge from the main plot tremendously.

Normally, you would finger yourself, maybe even ride your pillow if you were that desperate, orgasm, and go to sleep.

But today there was a change in pace that even Gojo never thought that he would be able to predict.

Out of your night stand, you pulled out a hairbrush. Not a toy of any kind, maybe it would offend your partner if they found out a 9-inch piece of vibrating plastic satisfied you more than they could. How would you explain the purchase to your lover, making it obvious that they had failed you in one of the most important areas in a relationship? But this took your desperation to a new level that had Gojo in a state of admiration. A brush was perfect for you; inconspicuous, no one would ever think twice about a hair brush with a ridged ends, curved to perfection. Most people would think you liked fancy hair brushes for the sake of the aesthetic, not for plunging into yourself.

Gojo couldn’t believe his eyes. He was sure he was mistaken. He found it cute, your desperation to be properly touched had led you to take great lengths, when the answer to your problem was right there, outside your window.

Gojo’s flaccid length began to tent again, but he didn’t want to touch himself just yet. He wanted to see what you would do.

Play.

You got back onto your bed, your face down against the comforter, but your ass protruding into the air. Your body trembles in earnest. You run the brush against your cunt, drool leaking down your thighs as you whimper. 

You egged yourself on, saying it would be “just one more”. Gojo didn’t know you had the stamina for another orgasm, he had never seen you have more than one. Now, the idea of training you to cum multiple times didn’t seem as much of a necessity anymore; you had it in you all along. You just didn’t have the right tools.

Holding your breath, you slowly entered the brush, the designed handle disappearing into your cunt. Once the brush is burrowed deep, the padded part sticking out, you let out a deep exhale, adjusting yourself accordingly. It felt foreign to you; different from the warm flesh of a human being, and a bit embarrassing to have a brush practically shoved up your ass, but it excited all the same, the thought of doing something so vile with a household item making you squirm.

Slowly, you begin moving the brush, pulling it out, then plunging it back in as you feel the handle reside deep within you. You screw your eyes shut, moaning softly as your free hand finds your clit.

Gojo’s cock twitched against his pants, visualizing the act of you taking him from behind, your ass in the air as you creamed around him . He bit his bottom lip hard, exhaling repetitively through his nose.

“F-fuck…oh-” You moaned, a bit louder than you thought you could, and feel your face flush from how genuine you sounded. It wasn’t forced at all, nor performative; you were getting off on a brush. God, you could just die right now from the sheer amount of embarrassment running through your veins, but you don’t stop. You couldn’t help but be turned on by your own voice. You wondered how you looked right now, your pussy desperately sucking in the brush as if that were the main purpose of its existence.

You hear the sound of your own arousal as you speed up the brush, thighs trembling as you feel liquid stream down your legs. The feeling of the brush's tip in your lower abdomen causes your body to twitch, as you feel an orgasm rushing towards you.

“Please, please…fuck…” You pleaded out to an imaginary phantom, one that would tend to your every sexual desire. You whined, blurring your own actions to become someone else's, eyes screwed shut as you moaned in ecstasy.

“I’m right here.” Gojo whispered, gripping the tree as he coaxed you from the dark. God, you looked so edible from this angle. He felt himself pulsing in his pants against the stiff fabric, his vision flooded with you.

“I…I’m-” You drilled the brush into your fluttering cunt, your walls gripping the handle tightly. You never thought it possible to gain so much pleasure from an object so simple. Why hadn’t you done this before?

But then again, why stay with someone who couldn’t satisfy you anymore than your own damn fingers?

“Go ahead…” Gojo muttered, and as if following his instructions, you orgasm with unprecedented delight. You yank the brush out, liquid secreting from your trembling pussy, spraying on the towel underneath you as you continue to circle your clit. Your body shook with rough tremors, as if an earthquake coursed through you. You wailed, hips relaxing as you sunk into the comforter, breath unsteady.

“Fuck-!” Gojo whispered a bit too loudly, as his legs shook. His body convulsed as he leaned on the tree, the slight friction from his jeans causing him to cum against his will. He couldn’t believe you made him do that, cum in his pants, without even properly touching himself. Without him properly touching himself.

He stifled  gasp, body wavering on shaky legs, when he noticed you looking out the window in concern.

He flips behind the tree, just as you make your way to the window, gripping your sheet close to your chest. You could have sworn you had heard something, maybe someone even. But you chalked it up to your conscience. It was late, and you had to be at work to do everything all over again. With no deviance, and no variation.

Gojo put his arm over his mouth to still the sound of his heavy breathing, until he hears your windows click closed. It throws him for a loop, and as he peeks around the bark, just to see you snatch your curtains closed.

You were just full of surprises tonight.

You never did that. You left them open, even if partially, all day to allow a breeze to waft through your house. Gojo knows you like the smell of fresh air.

Then, he hears your front door open, and watches from the brush silently as you walk down the patio to the driveway. You clutch a satin robe to your chest as you gaze around, frantic. Gojo didn’t understand why, he was there to protect you. To keep watch and make sure no sickos intrude on your alone time together. 

You open your car door, rummaging through the glovebox before grabbing your wallet. You slam the door closed quickly, then lock the doors with a loud beep from your car. Gojo couldn’t fathom why on Earth you would do this. He wasn’t a thief, he would never steal from you.

Finally, you make your way back to your house, slamming the front door shut, and locking it tightly.

Gojo stood from his usual resting place, hands deep within his pockets.

Gojo had been watching you for a while now, to the point where he knew your entire schedule by clockwork since it lacked any sort of variation. But you had diverged from the main plot tremendously.

♪ 10:01 - She ft. Stalker!Gojo Satoru

Gojo had been watching you for a while now, to the point where he knew your entire schedule by clockwork, since it lacked any sort of variation. The only reason he knew is because you left your window wide open to invite him into your conversations.

♪ 10:02 - N Side ft. Virgin!Choso Kamo

When you guys made-out in preparation for this exact moment, that was the fun part. It was easy. But when the clothes came off, when the condom slipped on, and both of you were left in your most vulnerable state, it was as if you were strangers meeting each other all over again.

♪ 10:03 - These Walls ft. Nanami Kento

You heard that familiar set of keys jingling outside the door, and the sound of heavy footsteps growing closer. The door creaks open, and you shoot to your feet, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants as you try to figure out how to present yourself. Should you smile? Should you avoid the bullshit and just confess?

♪ 10:04 - B.A.S. ft. Clark Kent

You hated your boyfriend. You hated how he would go off radar for hours on end, sometimes for days. You hated how he took last minute rainchecks on dates planned weeks in advance, sometimes not even having the courage to offer at least that and doing no-call-no-shows. You couldn’t understand the unanswered questions; where he was going, where he had been, why he was taking so long, why he would come home so late. It was as if he were living a double life, one that you were not privy to, one you had not gained permission to access. You hated Clark Kent.

♪ 10:05 - Sugar on My Tongue ft. Higuruma Hiromi

♪ 10:06 - So Anxious

♪ 10:07 - In the Closet ft. Nerd!Gojo Satoru

♪ 10:08 - Blow My Load

♪ 10:09 - Good Kisser

♪ 10:10 - B.E.D.

♪ 10:11 - Agora Hills

♪ 10:12 - Me and Your Mama

♪ 10:13 - Fucking Young/Perfect ft. Professor!Nanami Kento

♪ 10:14 - Water Slide ft. Sevika

♪ 10:15 - Focus

♪ 10:16 - All Mine ft. Clark Kent

♪ 10:17 - Hold On

♪ 10:18 - Slow Down

♪ 10:19 - Analog 2

♪ 10:20 - Yes It Is

♪ 10:21 - So High ft. Aizawa Shota

♪ 10:22 - Lipstick Lover

♪ 10:23 - Tape You ft. Loid & Yor

♪ 10:24 - Nothing Even Matters

♪ 10:25 - Only Have Eyes 42 ft. Jayce & Mel

♪ 10:26 - Say Yes

♪ 10:27 - VCR

♪ 10:28 - Partition

♪ 10:29 - Frontin' ft. Toji

♪ 10:30 - Ryd