b for bee

kishibe is as steadfast and proud as ever, even with every inch of his cock in you the only thing that gives away his wavering disposition was the sweat on his brow and the pink on his cheeks. he licks his lips, pink tongue snagging on the white of his teeth for just a moment and dark eyes flicker to you.

amusement and pride dance in the iron of his eyes when he sees the state he has you in - mouth ajar and eyes hazy with unshed tears. you’re sensitive and you wear everything you feel on your sleeve. it makes him want to coo at you, makes him want to kiss and swallow your whines, biting your lips until they are sore, raw.

girlish little mewls leave you, the patting of his sack against the sticky wetness of your ass; the scorching air is cut by the soft - “ah, ah, ah!” leave you and he watches as your canines glisten in the low light of the moon breaching through your blinds.

“s’good yeah?” he prods his voice so thick it rumbles above you like thunder and you can only nod haphazardly, your eyes scrunched as tears run down the apple of your cheeks when the head of his cock presses in deep, deeper than anything else you’ve taken.

“yeah, yeah that’s it,” his thumb goes to your clit swiping the flushed nub, sighing contentedly at how it makes you sob - your cunt tightens and you whine his name so prettily he has the half the mind to pull away, to drag out the night a bit more. old age has softened his mind and he keeps the pace, pressure - the pleasure breaks your and you come crashing down hard for him.

“sensitive little thing aren’t you,” he stills, his cock throbbing in the slick clutch of your cunt and he watches as the base of him grows translucent and shiny. the overstimulated squeezes of your cunt make him groan - loud and deep, he keeps your boneless thighs at his waist, right next to the barley there love handles ; age softening his body.

“kishibe - use me.” you sigh, reaching and settling your hand over his that grips your thigh. his breath dies in his throat and he watches you. God you are beautiful - fucked and loved and wrecked. his cock twitches inside of you and you moan, so gently he makes him surge forth chasing his high even as you squeal in pain soaked pleasure.

“i’ll use ya all night for that, sweet thing.” you gulp knowing he’s saying the truth. you look at him through soaked, wispy lashes. your throat is dry and rough but you still sigh out for him,

“i’d let you. i love you.” you say it earnestly like it’s the first time you’ve seen something beautiful, like the sea.

Gentle lips pressed to your neck, slowly but effectively waking you from your sleep. You hummed in response as tentative fingers trailed down your spine, causing you to shift your body against his like two halves of

“Morning, Prince Aemond.”

Aemond Targaryen was many things. Half of them true, while the other half the mere product of imaginative folk who fed the rumour mill across King’s Landing. But they’d never mentioned him to be an exceptional lover. Which was, for the most part, the truth.

And, for that, you were grateful. It was a hidden side of him that he reserved only for the worthy ones.

He’d mastered the art of providing pleasure. The hand on your lower back drifted around your waist and expert fingers slowly parted your folds. The young prince continued plastering his lips to the nape of your neck before a single digit lazily circled your clit.

“I need you to get wet for me. Can you do that?”

The urge to moan at his bluntness nearly overcame you, but you’d also discovered a few tricks on how to supress your desire for him.

In fact, Aemond needn’t have to keep up with his ministration to have you comply with his request. His words were enough to have the pulse on your clit to quicken.

Aemond was a master of twirling swords and daggers in his fingers, but excelled at handling your body with equal dexterity. He’s slowly collect your wetness on the tips of his digits, spreading it across your folds.

A breathy grunt rumbled in his naked chest. “Always so responsive.”

At this point, you didn’t trust yourself to speak, and instead took your lower lip in between your teeth in an effort to muffle the moans he raked from you with each stroke.

However, he wasn’t going to have none of that and abruptly paused the circular motion on your clit.

“Let them hear,” he whispered seductively, his breath fanning your ear. “Let them know I’m the one responsible for your pleasure.”

You jerked back into him, causing his hardened cock to press against your ass. Aemond hissed, bringing his soaked fingers to your hip hold you in place.

“Always so eager,” you said, taunting the young man.

But when you mess with the dragon you get the consequences.

He sank his teeth into your shoulder hard enough to drag a loud groan out of you.

“Clever mouth,” he said, caressing the indentations on your skin with his tongue. “You ought to know better than to tease me, sweetling.”

But his words betrayed him as droplets of precum leaked from the tip of his long cock, running down your ass cheek.

“Arch your back.”

The moment you did so, the bed shifted under you and, just as quick, the swollen head started to mix his wetness with your own.

Out of reflex, you lifted your left to grant him better access, but Aemond had other plans. His large had sprawled on your thigh, forcing it to return to its initial position.

No wonder he had taken his time getting you wet enough for his cock.

He wanted the tightness and all the friction you could possibly provide. The confirmation came, when he planted a soft kiss on the side of your neck.

“Let them hear you.”

From members of the Kingsguard to servants and even family members, it was clear Aemond Targaryen cared not for who would listen.

That was all he asked for before started to slide his thick cock between slippery folds.

He started to mumble in High Valyrian. You could only make out a few words (which he had taken the time to teach you not long ago) and it took extreme willpower not to sink into his cock all at once. An elegant and exclusive language that would almost feel out of place if not for its speaker.

The young prince gripped your hip with enough strength to keep you in place as he sank into your tightness.

The air in your lungs rushed out while you struggleed to swallow all of him. He was deliberately taking his sweet time, and uttered a few more curse words once he finally bottomed out.

Both of you stilled, and you patiently waiter for him to start dragging it out and in again, but he did no such thing.

Instead, Aemond’s arm circled your waist so he could bring you to him, molding your body in his.

He eventually sighed in pure relief and would occasionally let out a faint groan if you were to squeeze around him.

“You’re going back to sleep?” You asked in disbelief.

He shifted to rest his chin on your shoulder, still refusing to move inside you.

“Let us stay like this,” he said absentmindedly. “Do not squeeze too hard… I might not last.”

You would have chuckled at his lack of self control had it not been for the fact that you were thoroughly enjoying the feeling of being stuffed with Prince Aemond Targaryen’s cock.

And for what was worth, you were trying your best to stay still and to find comfort in this position, but all you found was yearning. It couldn’t be helped that the need to reach your high overcame Aemond’s wish.

After a few minutes of silence, you felt his neck quivering on your skin.

“Kelītīs.”

He had taught you that one. Stop.

A smile tugged at your lips as you feigned innocence. “What is it, my prince?”

The arm around you squeezed tighter as a warning sign. Your simple response was to clench. Hard.

Profanities spilled from his mouth as he brought his hand to give your ass a squeeze.

Pleasure took over you and you made sure your moans reached new heights, filling the his room. “Go on, my prince… don’t you want to fuck me?”

That was enough to kindle the flame of desire within him. With lips glued to your neck, gently sucking, he dragged his cock all the way out before ramming back into you with such force you had to still yourself by gripping the sheets.

Aemond’s hips snapped against yours aggressively and the fingers on your hip were sure to leave marks in their wake.

You tried to muffle your moans with the pillow under your head.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he managed to say in between grunts, immediately snatching the plump object and sending it flying across the room.

A loud pang was heard, and in the back of your head you hoped nothing of significance had been damaged.

But, quite frankly, you couldn’t care less.

And from the way Aemond kept slamming into you, it was clear he shared the sentiment.

His lips were on your ear once more, and through breathy pants he made sure your attention was fully on him. “You do not get to taunt me without consequences.”

To make sure you fully understood the weight of his words, he flipped you over onto your stomach and still managing to keep his cock buried in you.

He smacked your behind twice. “Up. Come on. Up.”

You clenched around his cock in protest, but that merely earned you a third one. The slick sound of your pussy swallowing his cock over and over again filled the room.

Even though you were reluctant to comply with his request, Aemond was not one to ve underestimated when it came to getting his way.

He slid out of you entirely.

“Ass up or no more.”

You turned your head pressed against the wrinkled sheets to meet his glare.

Both eyes, surprised to see he had removed the eyepatch, f

“I will touch myself, then. I do not need you, my prince,” you taunted once more, rejoicing at how his handsome face twisted into a deep frown.

With no warning, Aemond gripped your hips with both hands, effectively angling your ass upwards just like he had initially intended. Before you could say a single word, his cock slide inside you, filling you to the brim.

“You. Do. Not. Get. Off. Without. Me.” He punctuated each word with a sharp snap of his hips.

His seething words sank into your very core, sending jolts of pleasure down to your swollen clit, and you realised right there and then that it wouldn’t take loong to reach that point of no return.

In the midst moans and heavy breathing, you heard the faint sound of someone knocking on the large wooden door.

“Prince Aemond.”

Fuck.

Another knock.

Aemond kept his ministrations, slowly increasing the rhythm, ultimately forcing a several loud moans from you.

“Prince Aemond,” the unmistakable voice of Ser Harrold Westerling rose above the cries of pleasure erupting from deep within you. “The Queen requests your presence at once.”

The young man leaned forward, visibly enjoying how embarrassed you were at the current situation.

“Should we give him a show? Poor bastard would surely enjoy it.”

You widened your eyes, mouth agape in a mix of shock and undeniable pleasure. “Aemond…”

His sapphire eye glistened in the dim morning light and you nearly spilled over the edge when you felt him pinch your clit in between his fingers.

A louder knock was heard this time.

Aemond’s amusement had run out. “Leave at once if you do not wish to meet Vhagar’s wrath.”

That did it.

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard knew better than to defy Aemond Targaryen.

After all, a dragon is a dragon and no match for a simple man.

“You’re… wicked…” you manated to groan, as he worked relentlessly on escalating your pleasure. His fingers kept on rubbing your throbbing clit in perfect sync with his thrusts.

“You first,” he groaned, unware of just how close you were already were, and unable to withhold the gutural groan that escaped his lips when you started contracting around him. “Kelītīs… kelītīs… kostilus…”

Begging would do him no good.

You were too far gone in the intense pleasure that burst withing you to aid the young prince in lasting longer.

The rhythmic clenches that engulfed his cock finally sent Aemond over the edge, and you couldn’t help but to stare in utmost awe as you watched the man behind you come undone.

And all because of you.

But even through the thick fog of pleasure, Aemond was still able to pull out, rushing to position himself so you could take him in your moth while he kept stroking his soaked cock.

More profanities in High Valyrian were heard across the stone walls of his room and you nearly gagged when he slid past your lips.

“Swallow…” he breathed out, beads of sweat streaming down his flushed face.

He was truly breathtaking.

Thick ropes of cum shot out into your throat, and you tried your best to keep it all down, but it started overflowing from the corners of your mouth, eventually rolling down your chin.

“Good girl,” he praised, caressing your cheek.

He removed his cock from your mouth and allowed you to wipe away the cum excess off your skin.

“You did not mean it, did you?”

“What exactly?” He said, reaching to grab the eyepatch and adjusting it over the sapphire.

“You wouldn’t summon Vhagar to have Ser Harrold meet his demise,” you said in a low voice. “would you?”

But Aemond Targaryen merely shrugged.

_

More Aemond fics: May I?

“Eyes on the mirror.”

Such a simple command, yet powerful enough to have you rest your head on Aemond Targaryen’s bare shoulder.

He was taking his sweet time dragging both hands along the length of your body as the two of you sat on the carpeted floor of his room.

Your grip on his thighs increased lightly when he reached the underside of your breasts.

With the other hand he slowly caressed your resting head.

“Bartos.”

You met his right eye through the surface before repeating the word. “Bartos.”

Easy enough.

He then bent his head so he could reach your side, planting a soft kiss on your earlobe.

“Eleks.”

“Eleks.” You said.

You closed your eyes and gasped once his tender lips reached the corner of your eye.

“Laes.”

Aemond’s fingers then cupped your breast as he awaited your reply.

You could almost feel him smile at your visible struggle to keep up with the lesson.

“Laes.” Aemond repeated.

“Laes.”

It was but a whisper mixed with a strained moan, and it had Aemond’s hand firmly on you jaw so he could angle your face near his.

A faint peck on the tip of your nose.

“Eyes open,” he said, massaging your breast with the palm of his hand. “Pungos.”

“Pungos…” you moaned, spreading your legs open to help with the tension that had started to build up in your core.

The consequences that came with that motion were immediately noticed as you watched Aemond’s piercing glare drop to your most intimate part.

The was something particularly alluring in being able to not only feel but seeing your reflection on the tall mirror as you captured all of his attention.

Hot breath fanned your ear when you shifted to sit upright against his naked torso. “Great pronunciation,” he said, taking your hand and vaguely caressing it. “But let us see how you roll your tongue again.”

He slowly guided your hand with his, parting your folds and allowing you to see your swollen clit. You felt him heave his chest, wasting a few seconds to glare in wonder at how responsive you were.

“Touch it,” he commanded, but before you were able to, he turned your face toward him and sealing your lips with his. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, but it was fervent enough to have you moaning into him.

He broke the kiss to dart out his tongue and trail your moist lips.

“Relgos.”

“How am I to focus on your teachings?” you groaned, attempting to steal a kiss from him. “What is relgos? Tongue?”

“Relgos,” he corrected you, not able to hold back the faint tug that curled the corners of his lips. “Roll your tongue.”

There was this insatiable need to please Aemond Targaryen. You craved his validation and approval like no other.

“Relgos.”

He glared proudly at you. “Sȳz,” he praised. Good. “Relgos means mouth,” and before you could react, he leaned into you once again, gifting you one more lustful kiss.

Without you even taking notice, the pads of your digits were on your folds, but you’d rather have him do it and rapidly slipped your hand from under his grasp until his fingers touched your clit.

Aemond clicked his tongue, pinching the bud gently before withdrawing completely. “Do not be so needy. So unbecoming of a lady-in-waiting.”

You inwardly flinched at the thought of his sister ever finding out about your nightly escapades with him. Maybe Helaena already had her suspicions, but if so, she had decided not to voice them as she’d rather keep the company of bugs.

But before you could reply, he captured your fleeting hand, guiding it back down. Your lips parted in a foolish attempt to reign in your laboured breaths from the ever growing pleasure.

His slender fingers wrapped around yours and your heart skipped a beat at the sight of your clit lightly twitching from the delicate pats.

“Eyes on the mirror.”

In no time, you were clenching desperately, feeling your wetness drip with each circular motion.

His free returned to your breast and with his devious grin he gave it a light squeeze. “Naejos.”

Even though he wasn’t directly touching you down there, the fact that he was the one guiding you was enough to have his cock stiffen. The pressure on your lower back was faint at first, but it increased rapidly.

It felt empowering to know you were able to have this effect on Aemond. For a man who preferred solitude, he surely enjoyed having you around.

His breath prickled your skin in goosebumps. “Naejos.”

Aemond quickened the pace, causing your hips to roll into your own touch. Wetness dripped from with you, and your attentive lover made sure all of it would be put to good use by taking your drenched fingers to collect the droplets and spread them along your soaked folds.

Another squeeze on your breast snapped you out of your thoughts. “Naejos.”

Aemond rewarded you with his index finger taking the place of your own, massaging your clit so gently that you nearly groaned from the impatience.

You needed release.

Keeping your eyes fixed on the mirror in front of you was getting harder and harder to accomplish, and you purposefully avoid staring down.

But Aemond was not one to be underestimated and he excelled at reading you like an open book. “Look at how ready you are. I’m certain my cock would slide right in.”

“Please…”

He stopped moving his finger. “Kostilus.”

“What?” You nearly yelped at sudden lack of friction.

That mischievous expression was on his face once more. “If you are going to beg, then you will have to do so correctly.”

The urge to slap him nearly took over, but the hypersensitivity and need for release overcame it. Aemond adored being in command in all aspects of his life, and he was able to make someone’s life extremely difficult if they were to oppose him.

You’d be no exception, and failure to play along would result in terrible consequences for you.

“Aemond… kostilus…”

“Do it yourself,” he said, removing his hand from yours, leaving you to deal with a very swollen clit on your own. “I’m teaching you my language. Go ahead and teach me yours.”

Your jaw dropped and you couldn’t quite believe his nerve. However, admitting defeat was out of the question and you backed into him, earning a low grunt from the young prince as his cock was now pressed firmly against your lower back.

“Show me how you pleasure yourself whenever I am not around,” cockiness coated his voice.

“Bold of you to assume I exclusively rely on you for pleasure, Aemond,” you replied, marching his arrogance and slowly sliding two fingers inside your sopping pussy.

His face twisted into something that caused your heart to skip a beat. “And who are you fucking, then? Who else dared touching you?”

It was all fun and games until Aemond sensed what he claimed as his was being disputed.

You hadn't expected this exchange to turn you on so much, but seeing the reflection on the mirror showing an unsettled Aemond and all for you certainly soared your ego.

Slender fingers wrapped gently around your neck while his other hand pulled yours away, making you wince from the sudden emptiness.

“I don’t share,” his words were poison, but you felt his cock twitch briefly against your skin. “If I find out another man has touched you, I shall feed him to Vhagar. Or have her burn him down into a pile of ashes. Whichever I see fit.”

His thumb grazed your pulse point soothingly as if to ease the tension. There was no intent to hurt you, but the verbal warning was given to whoever dared having you.

"Do you understand?"

"Daor," you replied, flashing a defying smile.

Aemond's eye widened in surprise. "What?"

"I thought daor meant yes."

"You know it does not," he said, turning your head to press a scorching kiss to your lips.

-

Other Aemond fics: May I?

A Helping Hand: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

wc: 629

tw: NSFW

When you get to your friend's house, you're already in tears. Despite you being overqualified for the position you just applied for, overqualified for the loan, and just a shoo-in for the new apartment, you're left with nothing: nothing but the dust of your dreams.

"Tell me what's wrong," Suguru whispers, sitting you down on the couch.

"I...I..." You can barely articulate yourself over the sounds of your failures repeating in your head, and you place your face in your hands, sobbing anew.

"Oh, no." Tea is procured, but that doesn't help. The soft coos of reassurance don't help. And the tissues and blanket don't help either. It isn't until Geto smoothes his hands across your back and has you lean into him that you feel something other than sadness. And when he presses his lips against your wet cheek, you feel something else, too.

"Suguru," you keen. "We shouldn't--" but he silences you with a deep kiss, holding you against him with a tender arm.

"If you don't want to, that's okay. I just want you to feel better." His words are whispered against your lips, and you give in to your desires, clutching at Suguru's hair and touching him with your fingertips. You tingle with need; you need relief from your pain, need for someone to pay attention to you, need for... feelings.

As Geto peels off your clothes, you consider thinking about alternatives, but they're lost as soon as his lips touch your breasts. Suguru's cool tongue roams lazily over your skin, taking your mind away from the present and into the realm between knowing and not knowing. You're in a haze, and all of this is overwhelming for you in the best way.

"Just relax," he moans into the valley of your breasts, and you tilt your head back, letting him kiss down your body and to your core. "Let me handle this."

And you do, letting Suguru take you up to heaven and back down, his mouth touching you in the most obscene and gentle ways. How could you deny yourself this one thing that you deserve?

"Please," you beg as he continues to kiss at your thighs, eyes flicking up to yours. "Please fuck me."

That's all the permission he needs to roll his pants down, revealing his length.

"One second." The raven-haired man walks into his bedroom, then comes back out a second later, condom in hand. He rolls it down his impressive length, and parts your legs, sliding the head up and down your wet cunt. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, letting him pause before he pushes into you, stretching you with ease.

You both grunt at the sensation of being entangled with each other, and Suguru angles his head up, scrunching his face up and hissing. "So good..." he moans, and you reply with a moan of your own, feeling every part of your body light up under his touch.

As Geto fucks you, he tucks your head into the crook of his elbow, pressing his lips to your ear while whispering filthy words into your ear.

"You like that, hmm?" he finally whispers, and you nod as much as you can, hands feeling around for something - anything - to anchor you back down to earth. "That's a good girl; you can take it." You moan loudly, and he brings a hand down to press your left leg higher. "Y'just need someone to take care of you, that's all."

And Suguru is absolutely right, you reason as you orgasm intensely, legs shaking as you cream around his thick cock. But he keeps thrusting into you, his hips smacking against your thighs.

"Oh, god, Su..." You press against his abs, but he moves your hand away while clicking his tongue and shaking his head.

it had been gojo that had taken you under his wing while you were in school, though, not quite old enough to be a teacher yet but so eager to be a leader. you were certainly his favorite from your class (never mind that beside you, there was only one other sorcerer left by the end). still, you're his little shooting star. a little treasure that he's found and ready to show off to the rest of the jujutsu world.

more than that, others from his age group like you a great deal, too. your remaining classmate had always been jealous of you, getting all their attention. hell, nearly doting on you. utahime coos over you, keeps gojo away. shoko offers you a drag of her cigarette and laughs as you splutter and cough the first time you ever try. mei mei toys with you, like a leisurely cat amused with an overly brave mouse.

nanami is protective of you. when the others try to send you head first into danger, it's him who makes sure you land on your feet.

by the time you graduate, you're their perfect little witch. the baby of their group, eager to prove yourself. you're fiercely excitable in a way that makes you seem so innocent for a sorcerer. even excited for the blood of it all, the copper caught between your teeth. eager for the gore and sickly sweet rush.

gojo pretends to get teary eyed at your graduation.

all grown up, he tells you, pinching your cheek until you're laughing and trying to swat him away. you're glowing, though, looking up at him like he holds the secret of the universe in the curl of his smile.

they all know how you look at him. nanami especially, who snaps at gojo when he encourages you to be a little too reckless. nanami knows you'd do whatever gojo asks of you.

(and maybe nanami doesn't even know the half of it; you're eager for more than just gojo's attention, but a touch from the untouchable, the crescent moon sliver of his smirk against your skin. maybe nanami does know. maybe that's why he gets so frustrated with gojo.)

it's why getou is so intrigued by you. they think you're the future; something brilliant and beautiful amidst all the grime and muck. and boy, does gojo sure seem to like you.

getou plays his cards carefully. he catches you alone on your missions, the tail end of them, when you're exhausted but still standing. he doesn't fight you. he just talks, looks for pressure points. and then he gets lucky and happens upon you, drenched in blood and gore, fighting for your life. he's reminded of those poor sea birds that get caught up in oil spills, your wings slicked down with thick crimson, the desperate flailing of you.

it makes him furious, to see someone so powerful and viciously good, so strangely innocent, on the brink of death. how would gojo feel now? watching his favorite little star all dim, in the blood and filth with the worst of the world. where is he now? when you're on the brink of death?

that's okay, getou's here– i'm here for you now, he murmrus. and he pulls you into his arms, cradles you, gore and all, into his chest, like you're a newborn. he brings you back from the brink.

you stay with him for three days, until you're healed enough to walk out on your own two feet. but while laying in agony, he speaks with you, he tells you how horrible it is, to almost see such a life as yours wasted. he treats you like you're precious, something to be coveted. his fingers are lithe and cool when they brush your hair from your face.

his voice is so low and soothing, a balm to a wound you hadn't even known you'd had.

he plants a seed; why are they sending you out to slaughter on your own? how many classmates did you lose? four? jeeze, that was a big class. how terrible. do you miss them? of course you do, you poor thing.

he even lets you walk out and right back to gojo.

but it isn't the same, is it? watching all those poor young sorcerers die, when someone more powerful could've saved them. and what about you? when you needed saving? who was there?

you're only visiting shoko, nanami trailing beside you, when a first year is wheeled in on a cold slab. pale. dead. and you've seen death before but– it's horrible like this. you think of your classmates. you think of yourself.

getou's voice, cool like water when you need it most, trickles into your mind to both soothe and strengthen you.

(nanami watches you carefully, feels as if he has deja vu, like he's looking into the past, and there's a different sorcerer peering down at a different young body. so many bodies. nanami can see it now, too. it's tiring. it's infuriating.)

the change in you is so gradual it's almost hard to spot. and then all it takes is getou extending his hand to you.

palm up. offering.

eve's apple. an unanswered question. the need to know, to have.

and you take it.

he is solid in your touch, the scars of his hands pressed to yours like broken pieces finding their home in a mosaic.

he isn't untouchable.

no, not at all.

he is solid beneath your seeking fingers. he is gentle and coaxing when he lays you down. getou touches you in a way that makes you blossom, slow and easy. so giving. when you gasp, he repeats the swipe of his thumb over your nipple. when you mewl against his cheek, he rewards you with the slow rocking of his hips into yours. he builds you up sweetly, let's you get overeager, gives in to your pleas.

how could he deny you? precious thing that you are.

he even fits his hands to yours, fingers slotting against your own as he pushes inside the deepest part of you in one shove of his hips. it isn't your first time, but it feels like it could be, with how sensitive you are, with the whimper that bursts free from you.

getou is heavy inside of you, stretching to the point that tears prick your eyes. he coos at that, voice molten and murmuring in your ear.

it's all so deep, so hot and slick that you have to hide in his throat when he rolls his hips in a way that nearly makes you cross eyed.

he doesn't kiss you (and won't let you kiss him–untouchable, untouchable, untouchable–), but lets his lips hover over yours, warm and tempting.

"oh, this is what you've always wanted, isn't it?" he purrs, "so desperate for it–eager to be cared for. poor thing. i'll care for you–ah–yes, you're mine now."

you keen all high and eager, lips parting, “yes—yes, please—oh—please!”

it’s music to getou’s ears, hearing your pretty pleas for him. his hips snap a little harder, his fingers pressing harder into your plush thighs as he tries to haul you closer.

he tries to make you need him. tries to mold you to him.

you’re sugar soft and inexperienced enough that you bend to getou’s will like a flower to the sun. it’s clear you just needed some guidance, someone to care for you, to treat you like the little treasure you are.

the next time you see gojo, it is by getou’s side. getou’s smile is an axe blades curve. you are changed in a brutal and extraordinary way.

you’ve grown into yourself, beneath getou, as a curse user.

more powerful than you’ve ever been before. gojo’s little star completely stolen from his infinite sky.

all grown up, gojo thinks to himself as he gazes at you, keeping back the stubborn lump in his throat.

He clicks his tongue at you chidingly, leaning forth and brushing his lips against yours with just enough force that you can taste curses on his tongue. You try and kiss him back nonetheless, eager for the feel of his mouth and tongue conquering your own.

“You’ll stay empty if you don’t learn some manners,” he breathes, his eyes dark and half-lidded. You’re utterly at his mercy, the soft warmth of his bed behind you – Suguru has you wrapped around his little finger, sitting in the palm of his hand. Those fingers slide up your body, to cup your chest – the soft, pillowy skin dipping and moulding to the shape of his hands. “I don’t want to have to deny you. You know that.”

You’re panting a little, your mouth open as you look up at him like you’ve been struck dumb. You always find it so hard to function around him; Suguru gives you a lick of attention, the brush of his hand, a small smirk that quirks the corner of his lip – and you roll over like a puppy desperate to be told they’re doing a good job by their master.

“Please,” you breathe again. Your thighs knock against his knees, and you see his lips twitch again – he moves.

But instead of settling in between them as you’d hoped – reaching into his robes to take hold of his cock and slide it into your wet and waiting and needy cunt, you’re pushed.

“Alright,” Suguru is saying, his tone still laced with sweet sugar. “Get on your hands and knees for me.”

When Suguru gives you an order, you obey it without question – and you’ve been fucked by him enough times in this position, sharp hips digging into the generous push of your ass, your pudge bouncing with every thrust, that you feel yourself clench at the possibility of it again.

When Suguru is feeling particularly mean, or if you’ve been particularly badly behaved (spoken over him, pouted too much, demanded his attention when he has far more important things to be doing), he has fucked you from behind and pushed your face into his pillows, telling you to bite down and drool into them and not to be noisy and disrupt his concentration.

You’re expecting that. You’re expecting him to be rough with you.

You’re not expecting the way he shifts, the way you feel his fingers give you a sharp tap on the inner thighs.

“Spread,” he says – and again, it is an order. You push your knees further apart – you start and sigh as you feel two slender fingers part the plump lips of your cunt, warm breath fan across the heated, slick folds.

“Look at you,” Suguru breathes, and you feel the words tickle at your bare skin. “You’re so wet. You’re such a needy little thing.”

“F-for you,” you whimper, as you feel one of those same elegant fingers swipe through the slit, brushing your clit and circling your entrance but not giving you the relief of dipping inside. “Suguru-- S-sir--”

He clicks his tongue again.

“I’ve spoilt you,” he says, mournfully. “You’ve been far too indulged, and now you’re an insatiable little slut.” You moan into the pillow, bucking your hips backwards, trying to get him to sink a finger into you. Suguru says your name – sharp like a warning, but soft like honey.

He plays with your mind like this, always; you never know if he’s truly angry with you, or truly disappointed, or merely desperate to see your eyes go all watery and glittery with tears. The pad of Suguru’s finger circles the sensitive ring of your fluttering hole, still not giving you a single ounce of relief.

“Look at your hips,” he breathes. “You can’t control yourself at all, can you? Disgraceful. You’re dripping all over me.”

“S-Sir-- ‘m sorry, please--”

A hand hits the meat of your ass, making the flesh sway. Another soft noise escapes you; a cry of pain that’s not without the edge of enjoyment.

“You even like it when I spank you, don’t you?” Suguru breathes. “You’re such a mess.”

You are. You’re a mess for him, because he’s made you into one – spoilt you with his tongue and your fingers only to turn around and chide you for enjoying it so much, bury his fingers between your thick thighs until you come all over his hand and then made you lick it off whilst you tell him how you taste.

You’re so empty. You feel light-headed, the side of your face pressed against the pillows, your chest heaving.

“How shall we punish you for this, sweetheart?” He asks you, shifting again – you whine in disappointment as he presses your legs together, chuckling as he watches the chub of your thighs tremble. “Not only are you a spoilt brat who can’t control themselves, but you’ve made quite an issue for me, too--”

He presses his front against the curve of your ass and you feel the familiar heat and stiffness of his cock. Your mouth drops open and you whine again, feeling yourself drool. He’s barely touched you and you’re cock-drunk on the very idea of him. That’s just Suguru’s power, you suppose.

You should feel lucky that, despite your bad behaviour, you’re his favourite. He shows you exactly how much he adores you in the blood that rushes to his cock, the stiffness of the shaft pressed inside of you, and the tribute of his release as it paints your insides white.

“I know,” he murmurs. You hear the shift of his robes – you feel the slick head of his cock rub against the back of your thigh and your empty cunt gives another throb, as if to remind you of how badly you need to be filled.

“Sir, please--” Your voice comes out no more than a trembling whisper. “Want you inside, please, need you--”

He chuckles. A too-tender hand strokes over the small of your back, before it goes to grip onto your hip again.

“You don’t deserve me inside of you, brat,” he reminds you – as the other hand takes the other side, and he’s gripping onto you with abandon. You whine aloud as he slips his cock into the pudge where the seam of your thighs meets your cunt.

“You’re built so nicely for this,” he coos, still elegant even as he talks down to you. “So soft. So pretty. So . . . good for holding onto.”

Fingers dig hard into the soft love-handles ringing your hips, dragging you backwards – and you whimper as you feel the pulsing shaft of his cock brush against your outer lips, without coming anywhere near to the burning need inside of you.

You’ve leaked so much slick all over your thighs that Suguru’s ability to slide in and out of them isn’t hindered in the slightest – in fact, as he pulls out for the first time, he murmurs;

“This is just as wet and as tight as your cunt, you know. Perhaps I should only fuck you like this from now on, hmm?”

“N-no,” you whine, bucking your hips, begging him to slide his cock back between your thighs. “Need you inside, need it--”

He chuckles, leaning forward and brushing a kiss over your shoulderblades.

“Only good girls get what they want.” He reminds you, sliding into a rhythm – fucking into the space between your thighs as if it is, indeed, your sex. “And you’ve been a spoilt brat, haven’t you?”

You let out a noise that’s half-whimper, half wail.

“D-didn’t mean to be,” you manage to get out, through the all encompassing need that’s flooding your body with boiling hot heat. “J-just wanted you to fuck me, please--”

A laugh. The scrape of teeth over your shoulder.

“And what about what I want?” He asks, lightly. “What if I merely wanted to watch you squirm? What if I merely wanted you to lay here and let me play with you? What then?”

“’m sorry--!”

His hips are getting faster. There’s an unsteadiness to his breath, as he moves them, that you know from prior experience means he is coming close to his climax. You want to cry with the unfairness of it – if he doesn’t put his cock inside you, fill you up as you’re meant to be, you’re simply going to die of the emptiness.

You are crying. Hot, frustrated tears roll down your round cheeks as Suguru uses your thighs to get himself off.

“Sorry’s not good enough, sweetheart. You have to back up your words with actions--”

He groans, his cock twitching between your thighs, his hips stilling as you feel something spatter across your very inner thighs and stomach.

His come is hot, thick; sticky as it paints your bare skin. He groans, riding out the last few weak shocks and pulses and spurts – draping his chest over the back of you as his fingers finally let go of your hips and you collapse onto the bed, tears still blurring your vision.

It takes a moment before Suguru sighs luxuriously.

“I don’t like punishing you,” he says. “You know you brought this one on yourself, hmm?”

You whimper into the sheets – Suguru’s hand reaches between you, to take your chin and force you to look to one side so you can stare into his pretty, dark eyes.

“You know you deserved that, don’t you?” He repeats, a little more fiercely and insistently. You have no idea how cute you look to him; your eyes blown and brimming with tears, your lips swollen from bites, tear-tracks dried on your skin. “Don’t you?”

You sniffle, but nod.

“S-sorry for bein’ a brat, Suguru,” You say – and the corner of his mouth curls. He taps your lips.

“What do you call me?” He asks.

“S-sorry for bein’ a brat,” you correct. “Sir.”

He smiles at you. A thumb brushes lovingly over your bottom lip.