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𑣲. SO EXITIN — ᨳଓ satoru comfort fucking you after suguru just finished punishing you.
CONTENT WARNING rough sex. angry sex. bruising. hair pulling. marking. jealousy. poly rs. comfort sex. suguru is an asshole in here.
the fight was already beginning to spiral out of control when geto’s voice cut through the chaos, firm and unmistakably commanding as he gave you an order.
“stay back.”
you hesitated for only a moment, your eyes flickering toward him before narrowing in irritation.
of all things he could have told you, that was the one phrase guaranteed to piss you off.
you weren’t some helpless civilian who needed to be kept out of harm’s way, and you certainly didn’t need someone constantly deciding when you were capable of handling yourself.
you tightened your grip, scanning the battlefield as you weighed your options.
geto’s approach was safe enough, but it was slow, and you could already see the opening he hadn’t noticed yet.
then your gaze shifted toward satoru, and suddenly, the answer seemed obvious.
his method would be cleaner, quicker, and far less likely to leave either of you exposed.
so you ignored geto.
without another word, you moved exactly as satoru would have, slipping through the opening and striking from the angle you knew would work best.
it was reckless enough to make geto’s jaw tighten, but calculated enough that you knew you could pull it off.
“seriously?” geto called after you, clearly irritated.
you didn’t even bother looking back.
if he wanted you to stay behind while everyone else did the dangerous work, he was going to have to learn that you weren’t going to listen simply because he told you to.
and, much to geto’s irritation, it worked.
the threat was dealt with cleanly, the curse was exorcised before it could cause any serious damage, and despite the way you had completely disregarded his orders, no one walked away with anything worse than a few scratches.
the mission was a success, an undeniable one at that.
you lowered your weapon, breathing steadily as the tension finally began to leave your body, while geto stood a short distance away, staring at you with an expression that was becoming increasingly difficult to read.
because that was the part that made everything worse.
if you had gotten hurt, if your decision had gone wrong, if satoru’s method had nearly gotten someone killed, geto would have had every reason to lecture you.
he could have pointed out exactly where you went wrong and told you that this was precisely why you should have listened to him.
but you hadn’t, you had been right.
and geto hated that he couldn’t even argue with the outcome.
his eyes narrowed as he looked at you, his jaw tightening slightly while you gave him an almost innocent glance.
“what?” you asked, unable to resist the small edge of smugness in your voice, geto exhaled slowly through his nose. “nothing.”
but the way he said it made it painfully obvious that it was absolutely not nothing.
but what you didn’t know was that geto had no intention of letting this go, not here, not in the middle of a successful mission where he had no real argument to make against you.
he knew better than to start another fight while the three of you were still out in the field, so instead, he simply swallowed his irritation and kept quiet, already deciding that this conversation could wait until the three of you were home.
and you would soon find out that geto was much more patient when he was angry than you ever wanted him to be.
by the time the two of you finally made it home, you had almost convinced yourself that geto had simply decided to let the whole thing go.
satoru had been held back a little longer, leaving just the two of you to walk inside together, and for a brief moment, you thought the silence meant you were in the clear.
you were wrong.
the moment the door closed behind you, geto’s entire demeanor changed.
before you could even turn around properly, he stepped forward and pressed you back against the cold wooden door, his sudden movement catching you completely off guard.
you stared up at him, stunned by the intensity in his expression. “you really thought i was going to forget about what happened out there?”
one hand braced beside your head while the other claimed your jaw, fingers firm as they tipped your face upward.
“you ignored me. you decided satoru knew better. in front of everyone. on my order.” a short sharp exhale left him. “do you have any idea what that looked like?”
his thumb dug just under your chin, pressure steady enough to make your pulse jump.
he leaned closer until his mouth hovered at your ear, body locking you in place. “we share you. that was the deal. but sharing never meant you get to publicly side against me.”
his free hand dragged your jacket off one shoulder then the other before settling at your waist and hauling you forward so your hips met the hard line of him.
“you made me look secondary. you made me feel secondary. and i do not let that slide.”
geto’s mouth found the side of your throat, not soft kisses but deliberate claims, teeth scraping then biting down hard enough to pull a sharp sound from you.
the hand in your hair tightened, yanking your head back so he could mark lower, sucking a deep bruise just above your collarbone while his other hand worked your pants open with impatient precision.
the moment fabric gave way his fingers shoved between your legs, finding you already slick, and a low humorless sound left him against your skin.
“look at that,” he murmured, two fingers slamming into you without warning, curling deep and rough. “already soaked. was it the fight that did it or the knowledge of exactly how this would end once we got home?”
he worked the fingers in hard ruthless strokes, knuckles pressing, thumb circling your clit with mean pressure just shy of enough to tip you over. “you disobeyed me. you chose him. and now you take what i give until i decide you’ve remembered whose order you ignored.”
he pulled free with a wet sound, spun you with a bruising grip on your hip, and shoved you chest first into the door hard enough that the wood rattled.
the sound of his own clothes opening cut through the quiet, a heartbeat later the thick head of his cock dragged once through your folds, coating himself, before he slammed in to the hilt in one brutal thrust that knocked the air from your lungs and forced a broken cry out of you.
one hand braced beside your head again, the other locked on your hip hard enough to leave marks as he set a relentless punishing pace, every snap of his hips driving you forward against the door with wet filthy sounds.
“you don’t get to go soft on me now.” he growled against the back of your neck, teeth scraping the skin there before biting down again.
“you wanted to decide whose judgment mattered out there, fine. in here you take mine. every. fucking. inch.” his rhythm stayed deep and unforgiving, hips slamming hard enough that the door creaked with each thrust, the wet slap of skin on skin loud in the entryway.
he reached up, fisted your hair again and pulled your head back so your spine arched, changing the angle so he could drive even deeper, cock dragging over that spot inside you with every rough stroke.
“next time the thought of ignoring me in front of him crosses your mind i want you to remember exactly how it feels when i remind you who you belong to just as much as you belong to him.”
his free hand slid around your hip, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight mean circles timed to the brutal pace of his thrusts until your legs started to shake and your breath came in short broken gasps.
he didn’t slow. if anything he fucked into you harder, using his grip on your hair to keep you arched and open for him, the wet sound of your cunt taking him over and over filling every pause between his words.
“come on my cock while i’m still angry with you.” he ordered, voice low and absolute, fingers working your clit faster.
“show me you understand. soak me while i’m still pissed. then maybe, maybe i’ll consider forgiving the fact that you made me watch you choose him.” he slammed in especially deep on the last word, grinding against you, refusing to ease up even as your walls started to flutter around him.
and with that he hauled you up as if you weighed nothing, carrying you straight to the bedroom while your body still trembled around the memory of him.
whatever unfolded behind that closed door stretched across hours, rough, relentless, he claimed you that it left marks and exhaustion tangled together, until the only sound left was your slowed breathing against the sheets.
hours later the front door opened. satoru stepped in, hair slightly mussed, a lazy smile already on his face as he spotted geto freshly showered and stretched out on the couch watching whatever flickered across the screen.
“hey,” he called, his eyes swept the room once, twice, then narrowed when they found no trace of you. “where’s our wife?”
geto didn’t look away from the television. “asleep.”
satoru’s eyebrow arched, he crossed the space slowly, dropping onto the arm of the couch. “she usually doesn’t pass out at this hour. what did you do to her?”
geto’s mouth curved, not quite a smile. “reminded her whose orders matter when it counts.” he finally glanced over. “she’s fine. worn out. leave her.”
satoru hummed, unconvinced, already pushing off the couch. “yeah, no. i’m gonna check.” he headed down the hall without waiting for permission.
as he slipped inside the room met him with darkness and a lingering chill, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust before he finally found you buried under the blanket, only the top of your hair visible.
a soft apologetic pout pulled at his mouth as he crossed the space and sank down beside you with careful weight so the mattress barely dipped.
“aww, poor girl..” he murmured, voice barely above a breath, he reached for the edge of the covers intending to press a gentle kiss to your temple.
but the fabric peeled back to reveal a canvas of fresh bruises and dark hickeys blooming across your throat, collarbone, and the curve of one shoulder.
his hand froze mid air, brows drawing together as a low breath left him.
“that crazy bastard.” he muttered under his breath, the marks were deeper than usual, the kind of roughness that only surfaced when geto’s temper ran hot, most nights the three of you stayed far gentler with each other.
the shift in the mattress and the quiet sound of his voice pulled you from sleep.
your eyes blinked open, adjusting to the dim light, and the second they focused on him a soft smile curved his mouth.
“hey, beautiful.” you didn’t hesitate, the moment recognition settled you pushed up and all but climbed into his arms.
he caught you easily, gathering you against his chest in one smooth motion, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other settled warm and steady across the bare skin of your back, careful of every fresh bruise.
“are you okay?” he asked, voice low and close to your ear as his palm stroked slow circles over the unmarked parts of your back.
you only furrowed your brows against his shoulder, voice still rough from sleep and everything that came before.
“what took you so long?” a quiet huff of amusement left him, though the concern never fully left his eyes.
he shifted just enough to lean back against the headboard, pulling you fully into his lap so your bare legs draped over his thighs and your cheek rested against the warm solid plane of his chest.
“got held up with the higher-ups,” he murmured, fingers threading gently through your hair.
“by the time i got free and made it home, suguru was already on the couch looking far too pleased with himself.”
his thumb brushed the edge of a dark bruise on your throat, feather light. “i’ll deal with him later. right now i only care about you.”
he felt it then, the warm slickness seeping through the fabric of his jeans where your bare pussy rested against his thigh.
his gaze dropped, taking in the evidence, and a slow breath left him, you followed his eyes and immediately pouted, voice barely a whisper.
“m..sorry.”
a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. he tipped your chin up with two fingers and kissed you, he drew back his forehead rested against yours.
“don’t apologize for that,” he murmured against your mouth. “he didn’t even clean you up, huh?” satoru’s voice stayed soft “just finished and left you like this?”
he glanced down at you, waiting. you shook your head slowly.
“well… he went all in and then kissed me on the forehead after.” you admitted.
a quiet hum left him, one hand slid down your spine in a slow, soothing path while the other stayed cupped at the back of your neck. “of course he did.”
the words carried no real heat, only a knowing sort of resignation. “marks you within an inch of your life, fucks you until you can’t think, then leaves a gentle little kiss like that makes it all balanced.”
he shifted beneath you, adjusting so your slick heat pressed more firmly against the growing hardness trapped in his jeans.
“but you know…i really missed you..” you breathed out, pressing soft kisses along the sharp line of his jaw.
a low chuckle vibrated against your lips, “you missed me because he punished you?”
you shook your head quickly, “n..no! i really did miss you.”
satoru’s expression softened at the insistence. he caught your face between both hands, thumbs stroking over your cheeks as he leaned in and kissed you properly.
“i know, baby. i missed you too.” one hand slid down between your bodies, palm gliding over the bare skin of your stomach before settling between your thighs, fingers tracing lazily through the slick mess geto had left behind. “let me show you how much.”
he kept you cradled in his lap, legs draped over his, and simply explored with slow deliberate touches, two fingers gliding up and down your folds, gathering the wetness, spreading it, circling your clit with the lightest pressure that made your hips twitch.
every time you tried to push into his hand he eased off just enough to keep you wanting, a soft teasing smile playing at his mouth.
“so sensitive already,” he murmured against your temple, voice warm and full of quiet praise.
“look at you, still dripping from him yet opening up so sweetly for me, my good girl. always so responsive… even after he was rough with you.”
his fingers slipped inside with no resistance, curling gently, stroking that soft spot with lazy precision while his thumb kept up the feather light circles. “feel how easily you take me? you’re doing so well already.”
he kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the fading edge of a bruise on your throat, each press of his lips soft and lingering as if he could rewrite every mark with tenderness.
“i hate seeing you hurt like this,” he admitted between kisses, “but fuck if you don’t look beautiful all marked up and still so needy for more. my perfect girl… taking everything he gave you.”
slowly he shifted, laying you back against the pillows with careful hands, stripping his own shirt and jeans without ever fully leaving your space.
when he settled between your thighs he didn’t thrust in right away.
instead he rubbed the thick head of his cock through your soaked folds, coating himself, teasing your entrance with shallow presses that never quite gave you what you wanted.
every time your hips lifted he pulled back just enough, chuckling softly at the frustrated little sound you made.
“patience, beautiful,” he soothed, leaning down to kiss you deep and slow while one hand stroked your side, your breast, the curve of your waist like he was memorizing you all over again.
he nuzzled your jaw, voice dropping into that low affectionate tease. “you’re so wet for me already, my sweet girl. always so eager to be filled, aren’t you?”
when he finally sank into you it was inch by careful inch, giving you time to feel every stretch, every pulse of him.
a long low groan left his chest once he bottomed out, forehead resting against yours. “there we go… fuck, you feel perfect.” he stayed still for a moment, just breathing with you, hands roaming gently over every unmarked patch of skin he could find, praising you between soft kisses.
“my good girl. my beautiful girl… letting me take care of you.”
only then did he begin to move slow, deep rolls of his hips that never turned rough, each thrust full, angled to drag against the places that made your breath catch.
one hand stayed laced with yours against the pillow while the other slipped between you again, rubbing gentle steady circles over your clit in time with his rhythm.
“my perfect wife. let me hear you, baby. let me know how good it feels when i’m gentle with you.”
𝜗℘ ◡◡ ❤︎ 𝒔𝒖𝒎 . when you're woken up in the dead of night by someone breaking into your apartment, you're scared and confused. when it turns out to be your tipsy boyfriend desperate to see you, you're left struggling to hold yourself back...
𝒄𝒘 ⤷ 𖥻 . ˖ ꒰ 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊 ꒱ . tipsy!gojo . making out . masturbating . fingering . cunnillingus . dirty talk . cum eating . orgasm denial . multiple orgasms . premature ejaculation . piv . c pie . afab!reader . no prns used . nicknames used . no sex while gojo is drunk ♯ 5.9k
The sounds of something knocking into furniture and miscellaneous items clattering to the floor wakes you from your sleep. Immediately you’re on edge, thoughts racing with your anxiety. Deciding to probably be a little irresponsible and carefully crawling from bed. Eyes scanning your room to find the nearest item to use as a weapon.
Unfortunately, it’s not that threatening to hold up a small, metal water bottle but it’s the only thing you had that could pack somewhat of a punch. With your weapon in hand, you’re cautiously emerging from your room. Trying your best to avoid the floorboards that creak the most as you sneak through your own home.
When you reach the hallway by your front door, you spot a large shadowy figure. It’s menacing and scary and maybe in your panicked state, you’re haphazardly throwing the water bottle at it.
The intruder cries out, “Ouch! That hurt, sweetheart.”
You’re physically relaxing, able to recognise that whingey tone of voice with your eyes closed. Which they practically are, heading over to the light switch and flicking it on to see your idiot boyfriend, Gojo Satoru. He’s hopping around on one leg, holding the shin of the other one with both hands. Apparently, not very coordinated tonight though because he’s falling over into the wall.
“What are you doing?!” Exasperated by him already.
Clumsily, he points back at you. Voice accusatory, “What are you doing?” About to answer when he continues, “Throwing water bottles– that thing was heavy! You could’ve killed me.”
“I threw one water bottle—”
“—One too many!”
“And– don’t cut me off– and you’re the one breaking into my apartment in the middle of the night! I thought you were an intruder here to kill me or something.”
“I could never kill you,” he pouts. Finally getting himself back upright and limping over to you.
You watch him struggle his way over. “What are you doing here, Satoru?”
“I missed you really bad, sweetie.” His large hand caressing your cheek, it’s cold from the outside air. “Wanted to see you or I was gonna die.”
He’s being extra dramatic, clumsy… annoying. “Are you drunk?”
“No, no,” he shakes his head. “Just tipsy.”
“There is no tipsy with you.” Eyes rolling at him, he’s a huge lightweight. It doesn’t matter how much he had; he can’t handle it.
Fingers pinching your cheek. “It wasn’t my fault.” Those same fingers trail to your ear, tickling against it. “Suguru and Shoko said it’d be funnnn.”
You swat at his hand playing with your ear. “And was it fun?”
“Nooo.” Hand now taking yours and interlocking your fingers together. “I missed you the whole time.”
He’s tipping forward and you can’t tell if that’s from the alcohol or his love of your personal space. Bumping foreheads because he’s now leaned all the way in, his eyes barely staying open.
“So… you missed me so much, you broke into my apartment?”
“I didn’t break anything…” he pauses in consideration, “okay so maybe I broke some things, but I didn’t break in. You gave me a key.”
You can only sigh at him because you did give him a key, but you never expected him to use it in the middle of the night while drunk and scare you half to death.
Gojo’s lips slot over yours while you’re in thought, his hands grabbing at either side your face as he kisses you hungrily. His tongue licking at your lower lip and begging for you to let him in. The force of it and the unexpectedness leaves you dizzy, brain taking a second to catch up.
Once you do, you’re threading your hand into his hair and tugging him back by it. “Satoru—”
“—Lemme kiss you some more,” he whines. “I want you so bad, sweetheart.”
“You shouldn’t have gotten drunk then.”
“Don’t punish me.” Hands pulling you in closer to him. “Just one more kiss, one more, please.”
And his begging eyes and pathetic voice has a firm hold of your heart, caving to him too easily. “One kiss. And then I’m going back to sleep.”
“Deal.” He replies quickly.
Swiftly kissing you again after that, lips desperately moving against yours. His tongue filling your mouth and licking against you. Moans are tumbling from him as he immensely enjoys getting what he wanted. Hands deftly and boldly exploring you, groping at your hips before rounding to your ass and coping a feel.
You gasp against him and pull back, lips connected by a string of spit that snaps when you talk. “That’s enough.”
“No, it’s not.” He lowers himself to nuzzle against your neck and shoulder. “I want more.” Kissing along your collar bone, taking advantage of his position.
Ignoring the shiver that runs through you to retort, “Then you’ll have to wait until you’re sober.”
“That’s not fair.” He sulks.
“I think it’s plenty fair, considering you broke into my home and scared me half to death.”
“I did that with love.”
“And I’m doing this with love too.”
Huffing against you. “No, you’re doing this with evil in your heart.”
“Keep complaining and I won’t let you sleep here tonight.”
He nibbles on your collar bone at your threat but relents. “Fine.”
You pat his head lovingly and joke, “Good boy.”
“Don’t talk like that, baby.” He groans, “I’ll get hard.”
Comment going untouched, you reply, “Go have a shower, I’m going back to bed.”
“You just want me naked.”
“No, I don’t want your gross clothes in my bed.” Poking his chest. “Shower.”
“I’ll put on your pyjamas then.” He takes your hand in his and walks off towards your bedroom. “Maybe the ones that are all sheer and revealing… I like those ones.”
Satoru’s still unsteady on his feet, almost falling over again. His hand reaches up and steadies himself on the wall. The hold he has on your hand pulls you towards him, your side knocking into his. You’re stretching your own hand out to also help steady him, his coordination is severely stunted. You can’t quite tell if he’s playing it up or not though, lazy smile spread across his lips.
His eyes flick to yours. “I don’t think I can shower alone, sweetie.”
So, he’s definitely playing it up. “I think you’ll be fine.”
“What if I slip and hit my head?”
Sighing at him and his manipulation. You’re apparently a sucker though because you’re saying, “Okay fine, I’ll watch you shower but I’m not getting in.” You’ve already showered tonight.
“…Pervert.”
“Shut up.”
He declares a little louder now, “Lead me to the shower, my little pudding cup.”
The nickname makes you smile, a little silly but completely endearing to you. “You know the way.”
“I need your help.” Hanging off you. “I’m hopeless without you.”
“Stupid.”
“Stupid in love.” He clarifies, “with you.”
You can feel your cheeks heat up. “Just start walking.”
The pair of you shuffle to your bathroom where you leave him for just a moment. Needing to dip into your bedroom to grab some spare clothes. You’d cleared out a drawer for him not that long ago. Mostly because he’d whined that he didn’t have one, a complaint he’d made while rooting through your underwear drawer.
When you walk back into the bathroom, Satoru’s behaving like you were gone forever when it was barely a minute. “There you are!” Tone sulky. “You can’t leave me alone like that, I missed you.”
“I was getting you some clothes to change into.” Placing said clothes down on the countertop.
“I don’t need those.” Squinting at the shirt and sweats like they’ve offended him. “I’ll just sleep naked, tucked in against you.”
Despite him being a little annoying, you’re cheerily saying, “You’ll be wearing the clothes, Satoru.”
“No fun…” he grumbles, “You’re no fun.”
Passing by him, you lean into the shower and turn it on. Letting the hot water heat up, watching it swirl down the drain while you wait for it. As soon as there’s a slight warmth to it, you say to Satoru, “Start getting undressed.”
Without missing a beat. “I need help.”
You have a few options here, and arguing with him feels like it would take too long. “Arms up.” Your hand making an upward motion with your words.
He does it immediately, completely pleased with himself. Your fingers tickle against his sides as you slide his shirt upwards, he shudders at your touch. Biting into his lip as he watches you closely. Then he tips down, aiding you in undressing his top half. Aware that he’s a bit too tall to just expect you to effortlessly take it off.
Once it’s off his body, you throw it into the hamper and turn around to check on the water. Steam rising at the heat. As you’re leaning in to turn on the cold water, Gojo is grabbing your hips and pressing himself to you.
“You sure you don’t want to join me?”
“I’m sure.”
Huffing at that but pulling back so you can finish adjusting the temperature. He’s cute, and incredibly tempting. He can’t keep clinging to you because otherwise you’ll cave to him. His flirtation always gets to you and tonight he’s laying it on extra thick.
When you spin back to him, he’s waiting patiently for your attention. Grinning big at you. “Need your help with my pants, baby.”
Of course he does. You do your best not to react about it, knowing that’s exactly what he wants from you. Wordlessly reaching for him, lithe fingers slipping the button free. Then, your brain tells you to look up at him through your lashes. Dragging the zipper down slowly while holding eye contact.
Satoru can barely contain himself, expression melting for you, his dick twitching in his pants. “So cruel…” Taking your head in his hands so he can press hot kisses to your lips.
You shut him down, retreating backwards. Smile tugging at your mouth and gripping his pants to shuck them sharply half-way down his thighs. “Just take your pants off properly and get in the shower, Satoru.”
His tongue clicks at you in his disappointment, grumbling to himself about how cruel you are while removing his pants on his own. Boxer briefs last to come off, seemingly pleased with himself and his dick. Fully erect from all his flirting and few kisses, having worked himself up to the point of aching arousal.
Shaking your head at him. “You truly are a hopeless case.”
“I’m your hopeless case.” Talking as he walks behind the glass of your shower.
You snicker and hoist yourself up onto the countertop across from the shower. Watching him stand under the water. “Be that as it may, you’re in for it in the morning, Satoru.”
Gojo’s using his hands to push his hair out of his face, giving you a small moment to let your eyes rake over his body. Enjoying the view of him on full display, his cock bobbing under its own weight. His head tips back and the water trails down his chin, his chest… lower.
Now you’re the one working yourself up, quickly looking away when his head is back upright. A knowing smirk playing on his lips. “I look forward to seeing what that entails, sweetheart.”
“It will entail a long lecture on why you shouldn’t break into my home so late at night.”
“I’ll listen to you talk about anything you want.” He’s pouring your nice body wash onto the extra loofah you keep here for him.
“Hey! Use the other stuff,” pointing at him hastily, “the guy stuff you use.”
“Get in here and make me.” Sticking his tongue out at you, already beginning to scrub his body.
You’re whinging a little, “I bought that stuff specifically for you.”
“I know and you’re so sweet, baby.” His broad chest is covered in soap suds and you’re fighting the urge to get in with him. “But I wanna smell like you.”
And he was calling you a pervert earlier? “Whatever.” Pointedly paying no mind to how your tummy flips at what he’s said.
Choosing to drag your eyes away from his tempting form and looking down to the tiles, finding interest in the mundane instead of your very hot, still slightly tipsy boyfriend. You could probably afford to scrub the grout in here, maybe during your next cleaning spree you’ll do that.
The sound of a soft moan has your head flipping up quickly. His hand is gripping his cock, coated in your body wash. Hand gently stroking his length, his eyes watching you closely. You can’t believe his audacity, touching himself in front of you.
“Are you serious?”
“Couldn’t help it.” He huffs, “Everything smells like you, and you’re right there and I can’t touch you.”
Gojo tried so hard to focus on the shower, he swears. But the signature scent of your body wash he loves so much and your pretty form sat in front of him is so distracting. Especially since you’re doing your best to ignore how naked he is and how much he wants you… it turned him on too much and he was already horny!
You’re looking away from him and he’s whining, “Noo, please watch.” His hand slows down, waiting for you to look again. “Feels better when– hff– when you look at me.”
“Satoru,” you say it far too softly to be any kind of scolding.
“Fuck– mmh.” He’s shuddering at the sound of your voice, eventually huffing out a reply, “Yes, sweetie?”
Glimpsing back at him is a poor choice, pausing to stare as your face heats up in embarrassment and arousal. Gojo doesn’t feel a lick of embarrassment though, hand speeding back up now that you’re watching him. His panted moans echoing off the tiled walls in the bathroom. His thumb swiping over the tip of his leaking cock, his thighs twitching with how sensitive he is.
It’s agony, watching him touch himself. Skin all flushed a pretty pink, the veins in his shaft pulsing. Your mouth practically watering at the sight of it all, pussy throbbing hot in your panties. You can’t stay here, you’re barely holding onto your sanity.
Jumping off the counter and calling back as you walk out the room, “You can finish by yourself.” Not meaning for the double entendre but still able to appreciate it.
“Don’t be like that.” His voice fades out as you close the door.
You’re scuttling back to your bedroom and tucking yourself under the covers as soon as you leave Satoru. Heart hammering in your chest, your hand trailing down your body to press against your core. The pressure offering such little relief, feeling more like you’re teasing yourself.
There’s a fleeting moment where you consider touching yourself, but you hold back. Choosing to ignore it instead and rolling onto your side, pretending to fall asleep in the hopes that you will. It takes considerable will power to keep yourself from rubbing your thighs together. And he’d called you evil? He’s the evil one.
You’re still awake when Gojo enters the room, carrying the distinct smell of your body wash along with him. He’s crawling into your bed and tucking himself in right behind you, his body pressed to you as he makes himself comfortable.
The hand he has on your hip feels heavier than usual, such an innocuous touch working you up. His legs tangle with yours as he properly snuggles into you. Words low as he says, “I know you’re still awake.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“Ouch.” He snickers.
“You’re so annoying.”
“I know that.”
“And you’re a pervert,” you say while glaring at the wall.
Satoru nearly moans. “Keep going.”
“Oh my god.” Turning around as best you can, it helps that he loosens his hold on you to let you spin. “You’re seriously getting off on being called an annoying pervert?”
“I’ll get off on anything as long as you’re involved.” Shameless grin spread across his face.
Your eyes roll at him, you can’t believe you love him. “Just go to bed.”
“But I’m sober now.”
“Nice try.”
He sighs, disappointed that didn’t work before leaning down. Kissing you all hot and heavy, his lips lingering over yours as he huffs, “I’m gonna fuck you stupid in the morning.”
You cover up the mewl you want to let out with a light laugh. “That’s if you’re not hungover.”
It takes considerable effort on both your parts, but you do eventually get to sleep. After the weight of your arousal finally started lifting, you were able to enjoy sleeping in Satoru’s arms. It feels nice to have him here beside you at night, makes you feel safe. Even though the only person who’s breaking into your home is him.
The sleep you got was pleasant but almost as soon as you’re squinting awake, Gojo’s peaking over to look at you. Barely roused from your slumber and he’s all in your business, your hand reaches up and pushes back at his face.
“What are you doing.” Speech coming a bit slurred.
He talks from behind your hand, not moving himself back much at all. “I was checking to see if you’re awake.”
“Barely.”
Satoru’s grabbing your wrist, moving your palm to his lips so he can press kisses to it. “Good morning.”
You make a noncommittal sound back, still sleepy. “Go back to sleep.”
“Can’t.” dragging your hand downwards, resting it over his erection.
For a moment, you don’t even register exactly what it is you’re touching. Not until your fingers wrap around him and he twitches. You’re waking up a little more at that, eyes lowering to where you’re gripping him.
When you look back up to him, he smiles. “I’m sober now.”
“Still an annoying pervert though.”
“That wasn’t because of the alcohol.”
He’s dropping over you, lips immediately seeking yours out. Tongue sliding into your mouth, kiss deep and imploring. Completely greedy with you, desperately sucking on you. Big hands greedy too. Groping at you and squishing the fat of your thigh. Sliding up higher to grab at your hips, sides, tits. Anywhere he can touch, he’s touching.
Kissing you until you’re moaning into his mouth and then he’s happy, pulling back and resting on his knees between your legs. Your legs that he’s spread open so he can fit between them. Stroking up and down your inner thighs, enjoying how you jump slightly at his touch.
“Always so sensitive,” he hums. “Bet it was real hard for you last night.” His fingers sneak through the leg of your shorts, tickling against your panty line. Almost pulling them up enough to slip under before moving back. “You were probably all horny, soaking your panties and you still went to bed without touching me.”
He’s frustrating you and he’s doing it on purpose. Frowning at him as you reply, “So, you’re gonna torture me for not taking advantage of you?”
“Do me a favour next time, sweetie,” eye on yours intense, “and just take advantage of me.”
“But—”
Words forgotten as he finally slips under your panties and slides his digit inside your tight heat. Using his free hand to hook into the gusset of your shorts and underwear, pulling them to the side. Giving himself a full view of your pussy swallowing down his finger. He’s biting into his lower lip at the view, his dick jerking in his pants as he slowly withdraws just to fuck back inside.
Your slick is coating his digit lewdly, his heart’s hammering in his chest at finally getting to touch you. Last night a memory of torturous arousal for him, the sight of you all twitchy and horny for him and saying no because he’d had a few drinks. You’re too cute, so sweet and respectful.
“You heard me, right?” His finger crooks up, stroking against your walls deliciously. “Next time just do whatever you want to me.” He feels your walls flutter and he grins about it.
“Next– hff– next time—” Your brows are drawn up in pleasure; it makes it hard to frown at him with any impact. “Don’t show up drunk.”
“I was tipsy,” he corrects, like it matters, “and be honest, you thought I was cute.”
You shake your head at him, too preoccupied with how his finger pulls back and fucks in another alongside it. Walls shuddering around him as he keeps his pace consistent, so close to cumming already. Pussy a wet mess of your slick, dripping into his palm.
“You thought I was cute, all clingy and missing you.”
“You’re always– hng– always like that.”
“I guess that just means you always find me cute then,” his tone lilted at you. “I always find you cute too, sweetheart.”
Your hand slaps at him, warning, “Wait– mmh– I’m gonna cum.”
“Yeah, you are.” His eyes are bright, intently watching your cunt shiver around his fingers.
He doesn’t stop, continuing to stroke you until you’re cumming all over his digits. Coating him obscenely in your creamy slick. Something he delights in completely, letting you ride out your high somewhat impatiently. Wanting to slip his fingers from your gooey hole so he can see how you left them dripping.
Getting what he wants when you whine in slight overstimulation, pulling his hand back to get an eyeful of his messy fingers. Sucking them into his mouth to lick them clean, trapping his tongue between the two of them just to tease you.
While you’re lost in the haze of your orgasm and the lewd site of Satoru sucking your cum off his fingers, you don’t realise he’s grabbed your shorts with his free hand. Not until the cool breeze in the room hits your hot core, making you jump. He’s dexterous and sneaky, digits finally leaving his mouth just to make it easier on himself to undress you fully.
You’re pliant and willing, arms lifting so he can pull your top off. As soon you’re naked, he’s groping at you again. Touching all over your body until he’s grabbing your thighs. Hands smoothing over the tops of them, thumbs sliding to your pussy. Pulling on your lips to reveal your slick coated cunt to him, your hole convulsing around nothing.
He pouts at you. “Cute.”
Not appreciating how unhurried he is, wiggling in his grasp. “Don’t just stare at me.”
“You’re right.”
Then he’s dropping to his stomach between your legs, mouth latching onto your cunt before you have a chance to think. Your palm is slapping over your mouth to cover up the whine you want to let out, somehow conscious of the fact that you have neighbours. A fact that doesn’t concern Gojo in the slightest, his hand reaching up to pull on your arm, tugging it away.
Interlocking his fingers with yours while he makes out with your pussy, tongue sliding into your entrance. You’re easing your free grip into his hair, trying to hold him still but failing. It feels so good, still all sensitive. You’re losing your mind, hips bucking against his face.
Satoru loves it, encouraging you to grind against his face. Slurping loud at you, tongue pulling out to slide up to your clit. Lips wrapping around it to suck, flicking at it quickly with his tongue. Building up your second orgasm embarrassingly quick, just to slide back down to your hole. Thrusting inside you and licking against all the spots he knows like the back of his hand.
You’re panting for him, being kept on the edge so delectably. An edge you really want him to push you off of, trying to support him with the hand you have in his hair. But you can feel the way he smiles against you, letting you know it’s entirely purposeful.
Tugging at him a little harshly. “Satoru– hah– I wanna cum.”
His eyes meet yours, hardly pulling back to grin at you. “I know.”
It’s all you get, a simple acknowledgement of your desires and then more torturous pleasure. You’re not going to beg him, not when—in the back of your mind—you’re pretty sure you were meant to be scolding him.
Gojo’s sighing happily, burying his face further into your cunt. “Mmph– I love this.” His hand squeezing yours in a show of affection. “Really wanted to kiss your sweet pussy last night but my baby is so mean to me.”
“You’re the– hnn– the mean one.” Your grip lightens on his hand as you shiver and he grips you tighter, squeezing until you correct your grip again.
“This is punishment,” he pulls back to kiss your clit, “and a nice one at that.”
Puffing at him, “I told you that—”
“—Yeah, I know, but I’d love to be taken advantage of by you, sweetheart.”
He’s done talking now, mouth preoccupied again and lapping at your slick. Audibly drinking down everything he can from you. Satoru’s not nearly as composed as he pretends to be. Grinding his lower half into the bed while he licks you, getting off on the taste of you in his mouth.
Quickly reaching down to tug his pants lower, just enough to free his cock. Rubbing it into your sheets as he lets your walls quiver around his tongue. You’re so soft and unbelievably warm, he feels like he’s melting into the mattress. Tip of his dick leaking pre into your pretty bed linens, another thing you’ll scold him for when you’re not drunk on pleasure.
Something that will make him hard all over again, the crease between your eyebrows when you try to be mad far too enticing for him to properly pay attention sometimes. He chooses to keep that to himself though; he doesn’t want you to stop chastising him.
His cock is sliding against the material of your sheets smoother now, the way he’s been drooling precum making him all slick. It’s got him moaning into your pussy—not that you notice—considering he’s probably been doing that the whole time.
Your hand is holding onto him so tightly, getting close to finishing and worrying he won’t let you. Stifling down your desperate whines as best you can to try and trick him into thinking otherwise. It makes his chest feel warm, you’re so cute. He’s so far gone, too horny to keep depriving you any further.
Finally letting you cum, whimpering against you as fresh slick floods his senses. Gulping down everything he can as he keeps fucking you with his tongue. It’s overwhelming for him, his head all foggy and completely pussy drunk. Hips still grinding into the sheets, not stopping even though he’s pretty sure he’s just cum all over them.
You’re going limp, head empty as your body buzzes in the bliss you finally got. Squirming every now and again because Satoru is still licking and sucking at your pussy. He’s greedy, and mean, forcing you to wait to cum and then overstimulating you because he doesn’t want to part from your sticky cunt.
“Too much, ‘Toru,” your words are mumbled lazily.
“Sorry, baby.” Finally, albeit reluctantly, moving away from your sweet pussy. His lips now trailing up your body, kissing you all over until he takes your lips with his. It’s a hot and demanding kiss, his tongue tasting of you.
He’s leaning away so he can pull his shirt off and you’re seeing how his cock is slipped out of the pants he’s wearing. Shiny mess running down the sides of him, clearly coated in his own cum.
You’re taken aback, asking, “You came?”
“Mhm.” Pushing the waistband further down, enough until he can clumsily shuck them off altogether. “You taste too good.” He rubs his messy tip through your drenched folds. “Been wanting this so bad, sweetie.”
Your eyes watch him slip against you; at the way he taps the head against your clit. He’s still teasing. “What are you waiting for?” It comes out more whinged than you were aiming for, but it stands.
“For my desperate, little, pudding cup to ask nicely.” His grin is wicked. And despite just how drunk on you he is, he’ll still wait for you to give in first.
Blinking at him, hoping it’ll be simple. “Please?”
“Mm…” He dips inside you the slightest bit before dragging back to your clit. “I don’t know…”
Saying a little louder, “Please, I need it.”
“Tell me the truth,” he levels you with a heavy gaze, asking, “how wet were you last night?”
“I don’t know,” you sputter. “I didn’t check.”
“I’m a little disappointed—”
“—But!” You’re watching how he’s guiding his cock back to your entrance, probing against you. “I almost touched myself.”
As if in a little reward, he slips inside you the slightest bit. Beginning to stretch you open on the thick head of him. “Why didn’t you?”
You’re catching onto his game now, if you want him all the way inside you, you’re going to have to answer every question he asks. “Felt guilty.”
“I had my dick out and was touching myself in front of you, but you felt too guilty to rub your clit before bed?” He slides deeper again and it makes him choke a little.
Nodding back in reply, you’d felt bad because he’d been drinking, he wasn’t thinking straight. Though sober Satoru is never all the different when it comes to you anyways.
“Fuck– you’re so cute.” Hips rutting forwards on their own, it makes his head spin. You’re throbbing around him, tight and warm and so creamy soft, he’s biting out a hissed moan. “How close were you to getting in the shower with me?”
“Very,” you mewl, watching how he’s half sheathed inside you, aching for more, “I left because of it.”
“Got some amazing self-control, sweetie.” Gojo’s pretty sure he would’ve folded under zero pressure at all. “Let’s have you cumming all over my dick now, okay?”
Thrusting all the way inside at once, you’re reaching your high immediately. Squeezing tight around him, feeling so stuffed full in a way that’s soothing the desperation you’ve been experiencing since last night.
“There you go,” he coos. Gripping your hips and lifting your lower half from the bed. “You’re so pretty when you cum.”
You’re not entirely coherent, thoughts bogged down by the delirious desire humming inside your brain. “Satoru~”
“Don’t worry.” Thumb stroking over your skin soothingly. “Let me take care of you.”
Then he’s fucking into you like he’s been starved, whole cock pulling out just to slam back in. His eyes wild as he watches your cunt struggle to take him all, bulging around the size of him. You’re letting out a small squeak and attempting to crawl back; he doesn’t let you. Overwhelming your every sense, his pelvis slapping against you loudly.
The heavy drags of his shaft in and out, over and over again, it’s so much. The repetitive motions leaving you stupid, and you’re trying your best to meet his thrusts, to grind against him but his firm hold on you hardly lets you. More or less getting used by him instead. Loving how he fills you to the brim, knocking against your womb and rendering you nearly breathless.
You’re somewhat realising this is what he meant by saying he’d take care of you. Railing you into the mattress, having you take it how you need, how he needs. One hand moving to your lower tummy and pressing into it, so you can feel more, feel every inch of his dick unravelling you.
He’s so big, brushing up against and hitting every spot inside that has you seeing stars. Moans pouring from you freely, not able to hold them back anymore. Neighbours be damned, it feels so good to be split open on his cock. Cunt dribbling down his shaft, making an even bigger mess of the both of you.
Gojo’s eyes roll when you clench down on him, your pussy all syrupy around him. Sucking him back in as soon as he pulls back, needy to be kept full. You’re arching your back up at him, angling yourself so he hits deeper. His heart is leaping bounds at it; you’re so far gone now. He loves it, loves when you’re so fucked and desperate that you’re just doing what your body wants.
“Hah– look at you,” he sounds proud, “been aching for this, haven’t you?”
“Uh huh,” you nod back dumbly.
Your wet eyes are glimmering, nearly crying from how good it feels. Feeling like you might start drooling over it all. Able to tell he’s getting close, his cock twitching and jerking inside you. It makes it so much better, wishing you could grind against his pelvis. It always makes you cry when he grinds deep inside you, the pleasure so overwhelming you can’t help it.
As if he can read your mind, he grinds down into you, tip kissing your cervix. “Happy?”
“Yeah– hnn– yes, oh god.” Your lashes are fluttering, walls contracting and trembling on him, so close again.
“So pretty,” he compliments, “you’re so pretty when you cry, sweetie.”
“It– hng– it feels good, ‘Toru,” lower lip wobbly, “feels so so good.”
A sharp thrust into you, panted moan leaving him. “I know, feels so fucking– hnn– good. Your sweet cunt is always so nice to me.”
He’s picking up pace again, bucking against you with a hunger you know he’s been holding back. His brows pinched tight as he moans, watching closely how he’s fucking into you. Creamy, white ring around the base of his cock, the view of it makes him groan. His own pretty, lashes fluttering as he gets closer.
Your hazy brain watches him, watches how he bites into his lower lip and gets off on stuffing you full. Your fingers dig into the mattress as you cum, whining as you come undone. Shuddering through your high, vision blurring at the corners as it rocks through you.
“There you go,” he smiles, “good job, baby.”
Slurring at him, “Want it.”
“Hmm?” He flicks his gaze to you, “What do you want?”
“Inside me,” you mumble, “your cum.”
“Oh… fuck—” Gojo feels insane, whimpering as he cums at your simple request. Dumping his load deep inside you, hips flush to you as he grinds. He couldn’t have stopped himself from finishing even if he had the mind to.
Still giving light thrusts for a while, enjoying how his seed leaks from your overstuffed pussy. Not stopping until you’re reaching for him, he caves to you your wordless ask easily. Dropping down so he can wrap himself around your body, entangling himself with you. Always happy to cuddle with you after fucking you stupid.
Rolling you both onto your sides, manoeuvring himself carefully so he can keep his dick inside you. He’s not ready to pull out yet. Stroking your back gently, smiling to himself at how you twitch when he tickles against your lower back.
You’re slowly coming to your senses and saying, “I’m pretty sure I was supposed to tell you off today.”
He talks into the top of your head. “You still can.”
But you can feel the way he jerks inside you at the idea. “Maybe later,” you groan.
Small laughs leave him. “Hey, next time I break in, please don’t throw a water bottle at me. That thing hurt.”
“Don’t break into my home then.”
𝒂.𝒏. thank you for reading ٩>ᴗ<)و i hope you enjoyed !! this was gonna be a drabble but then i had too much fun writing it and it turned into this :3 considering doing a part two where reader is the tipsy one teehee
꒰꒰. all works are the intellectual property of aliienangel.. do not plagiarise/translate/reupload/feed to ai ♡. 。
メモ。— hey, babies. been feeling a lot better w/ everything going on in my personal life, so thought i’d do a little adaptation of one of my fav’s, and possibly yours ;). but while you’re here, i need everyone to really come together and do me the biggest of favors. as y’all know, i’ve been very communicative in what’s going on within my real life. it’s been a rough transitional period after my unemployment, and now i could possibly be fasting eviction. the only way i can get through that is by love, sweet messages + support. so i need everyone’s help. if you can, i need everyone to plz, plz plz! donate to my cause. $1, $2, $5, $10–anything of your choosing. even a small portion helps. a comment, share, boost, re-post, it all helps. even through all of my hardships, i still come on here + give you guys entertainment and love, so if you guys enjoy my fics, this is your time to spread a little love back! i appreciate all of my supporters so far, and you guys have been blessings. let’s keep this going, please, please, please ! love you guys in otakuland, enjoy. link. link. link.
HOW DID YOU END UP HERE?
The question circled your mind like a vulture ; pouty lips parted around a breath you couldn't seem to steady. Heat climbed the constellation of freckles scattered across your cheeks while your gaze drifted upward—caught between the two men standing before you.
One wore a wedding band that matched the one on your own hand, the other wearing a glare that had unraveled you thread by thread.
You couldn’t have been this naive. Not to realize their plan, or how long they’d been onto you. But none of this was your plan at all.
It just—happened.
Louisiana heat was something you didn't just feel—you wore it like a second skin. Even inside the lecture halls of LSU, the humidity of New Orleans clung to everything, making the air thick and heavy. You had carved out a sanctuary for yourself in the very last row of the Business Administration grad program, your head down, curls cascading over your shoulders as you meticulously took notes. You liked the invisibility of the back row—it kept the world at bay, allowing you to exist in the quiet hum of your own thoughts. Your own fantasies.
But maybe you were dreaming lucidly, because he couldn’t have been carved out of anything but your dreams.
He didn't just walk into the room; he took possession of it. A mountain of a man he was, standing well over six feet with a muscular frame that seemed too large for the cramped university seating. His skin had that healthy, olive glow, dotted with a constellation of freckles and moles that trailed up his arms and settled along the line of his jaw. But it was the ink that caught your eye first—a dense, intricate sleeve that climbed his arm and crept up the side of his neck, marking him as something far removed from the typical corporate suit in the room. When he scanned the class, those deep green eyes flecked with hazel, landing on the only open seat left. Right next to you.
“Mr. Yeager. So nice of you to join twenty minutes late."
The scrape of a chair as he—the giant—dropped into the seat beside you.
The professor then cleared his throat—“Well, since we’re all here now—let’s go around the room. Introduce yourselves. What you’re doing here. Why you’re here."
The room droned on, one polished MBA after another rattling off their five year plans like they were reading from the same corporate script. You tucked a loose cinnamon curl behind your ear, eyes glued to your notebook—until a deep, graveled voice cut through the monotony.
“Eren.”
Your head turned. He wasn’t even looking at the class—just you, those heavy lidded eyes scanning your face like he was memorizing it.
“Oh—" you blinked, caught off guard by the directness.
“Um. I’m—"
“I know your name," he interrupted, voice low—“‘Professor called on you earlier. Said it real sweet, too. Like he knew you."
Heat flooded your cheeks.
“…I grew up here. I’m assuming you didn’t?”
One dark brow arched, “Nah. German roots. Moved down South young enough to know better,” a pause, “You askin’ ’cause of the accent?"
Your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your notebook, the paper crumpling slightly under your grip.
“You talk kinda rough," you pointed out, voice so gentle it barely carried over the hum of the classroom. The moment the words left your lips, you regretted them—too forward, too familiar. But instead of bristling, Eren just tilted his head, that dark hair slipping slightly from its bun as he studied you.
“You talk soft,” he countered, "Real soft. Makes a man wanna lean in."
Heat fully prickled up the back of your neck, spreading like wildfire across your cheeks once more. You ducked your head, pretending to scribble something important—anything to avoid that unblinking gaze.
Eren didn’t seem to mind the silence. He stretched his legs out under the desk, his work boots scuffing the floor as you couldn’t help but notice how his thighs strained against the fabric of his jeans.
How does a man like this even fit in these tiny chairs?
“My old man’s handin’ over the business,” he finally said, low and unhurried.
“Construction. Been workin’ it since I was a kid. Figured I’d get the degree to make him proud.”
You peeked up at him through your lashes, lips curving—“That’s good," you offered, “Real good."
Eren didn’t smile back. He just watched you, eyes tracing the bow of your lips, the flutter of your pulse at your throat. The weight of his attention was suffocating—intoxicating. It made you feel seen in a way that left your skin too tight, your breath too shallow.
“What about you?" he asked.
"Consulting. After my master’s."
A slow nod, “Smart."
That was it. No empty praise, no fake enthusiasm. Just that one word wrapped in that voice—dark and rich as Louisiana mud. And somehow, that was the best response you could’ve expected.
He listened when you spoke. Not the way most people did—half distracted, already forming their next thought. No, Eren listened like he was committing every syllable to memory. Like your words mattered.
So, he kept sitting next to you every class. Then he started walking you to your car under the sticky southern sun, his shadow swallowing yours whole. Next thing you knew, his rough hands were sliding into your hair, mouth hot on yours, his voice growling “All fuckin’ mines" against your skin like a vow.
And it was a vow, because yeah—you married him. Of course you did.
Falling in love with Eren was an easy three years. It was the way he built things—homes from the ground up, families from nothing, a life for you both with his own two hands. His construction business thrived under his command, stitching New Orleans back together one house at a time, healing the scars Katrina left behind decades later. And you? You were his consultant, his right hand, his wife. But Lord knows he never let you lift a finger without him hovering like a storm cloud.
The day you painted over the “Land Purchased" sign, the Louisiana sun bronzed your skin, your pale gold marquise cut diamond flashing like firelight against your finger. Your hair—a wild spill of cinnamon, copper, and black Balayage curls—tumbled past your shoulders, sticking to the sweat on your neck. A white tank top clung to every curve, the fabric stretched taut over heavy tits that sat high and full like some impossible dream. Your shorts, dusted with paint splatters, barely contained the sinful swell of your hips, the tremble of your ass with every step.
Eren emerged from the half finished farmhouse, shirtless, his olive skin glistening under the sun. His tattoos flexed as he wiped sweat from his brow, those green eyes locking onto you like you were the only thing worth seeing.
“You love it?"
You giggled, soft and sweet with a nod. That slow, knowing nod—the one that had him crossing the yard in three strides, his large hands finding your waist. A squeak left your lips as he hoisted you up, your legs locking around his hips like they were made to hold him.
“Let me hear you,” he rasped, his breath hot against your mouth.
“I love it,” you whimpered, dizzy with the feel of him.
And then? His mouth crashed into yours, deep and claiming like he was sealing the promise of this home, this life, this love—all built by him, for you.
Everything was perfect. Your wedding day draped New Orleans in gold—the kind of afternoon where the sunlight dripped like honey, where the air smelled of jasmine and the distant hum of a brass band. Eren stood at the altar, a vision in his tailored suit, his dark hair pulled back to show off that sharp jaw, those eyes—endless, fixed on you like you were the only thing that mattered. You floated toward him in a dress that hugged every sinful curve, lace whispering over wide hips, the sweetheart neckline cradling your heavy tits like an offering.
And then?
He walked in at the reception.
“Ain’t mean to be late, cherè.”
Oh, he kissed your hand too.
“Traffic from Baton Rouge was a bitch.”
Onyankopon.
Eren’s best man. His business partner. And good Lord, was he nothing like you expected.
Dark as rich mahogany, skin gleaming under the fairy lights, he was a mountain of muscle wrapped in a suit that barely contained him. Tattoos snaked up his neck, curling behind his ear where a small NOLA in bold script marked his temple. His cornrows were immaculate, tight against his scalp, leading down to a beard so sharp it could cut glass. But his hands—
“Big," you blurted, champagne tipsy, swaying in your heels.
Onyankopon paused mid step, those heavy lidded eyes sliding to yours. A slow, dangerous smirk curled his lips as he took your offered hand, his grip swallowing yours whole.
“Yeah?" he rumbled, “Yo’ ass got tiny ones."
Heat flooded you—sobering, dizzying. Eren’s arm slid around your waist, his chuckle nowhere near amused against your ear.
“Behave.”
From that day on?
You might’ve been fucked.
No, you told yourself it was nothing.
Just admiration. That’s all.
Onyankopon was your husband’s best friend, his business partner—of course you’d notice the way his muscles strained against his wifebeater when he hauled lumber, or the way his deep Creole drawl curled around words like “cherè” when he handed you coffee on sleepy mornings at the job site.
It was simple stuff, really. He would lean over your shoulder to check a blueprint, his cologne—something dark and spicy—filling your lungs, his tattooed forearm brushing your bare skin. And suddenly your throat would go dry, your fingers fumbling over the keyboard like you’d forgotten how to type.
So yeah, you lied.
Because it wasn’t just admiration.
It was the way your pulse skittered when he looked at you, like he knew the effect he had. The way your skin burned when his fingers—big, rough, capable—lingered a second too long handing you paperwork. The way you caught yourself staring at the flex of his back under his shirt when he bent to inspect a foundation, the way your thighs pressed together when he laughed, deep and rasping, at something Eren said.
You were careful. So careful.
You made sure never to be alone with him—linger too long in the office, stand too close in the supply closet. You kept your voice steady when you spoke to him, your eyes politely averted, your body angled away.
You were married for god sake, what was wrong with you?
To a man who worshipped you, who built you a home with his hands, who knew you better than you knew yourself. You’d never do anything to jeopardize that.
…But looking wasn’t bad, right?
Right.
Well—that was all until your husband caught you, anyway.
So here you were now. Keys clacked under your French tips as you leaned over the laptop, sunlight filtering through the half renovated lace curtains of a shotgun home. Behind you, the rhythmic thud of hammers and the occasional sharp ting of metal hitting metal filled the air—Eren and Onyankopon moving in that seamless, wordless rhythm they’d developed over years of working side by side.
Eren’s music blared from the Bluetooth speaker—One Step Closer, Linkin Park. While Ony’s music, Pick Your Poison, Rob49 occasionally overtook it when he cranked his phone volume up just to piss Eren off. It was chaos. It was them.
Then—the familiar click of Eren’s Zippo.
“Fais pas ça dans la maison du client, chéri," Please don’t smoke in the clients house, love—you murmured, Creole lacing your words like honey—sweet, but firm.
Eren exhaled sharply through his nose, already halfway to the door.
“J’sors," I’m going out, was a term he often grunted, the cigarette dangling between his lips. Then, as an afterthought—“Wife said she wants white oak now, not maple."
You could feel Onyankopon’s irritation immediately.
“The fuck she mean now?”
You didn’t have to look up to know his jaw was clenched, that vein in his temple probably throbbing—“I was ‘bout to start the goddamn window."
Eren just shrugged, flicking ash onto the porch steps—“Husband’s payin’ double."
“Ain’t about the money—“
“Then quit bitchin’."
A cloud of smoke hit Onyankopon square in the face.
“Chill out, nigga," he warned, voice dropping into something lethal.
“Ain’t nobody bitchin’."
You finally lifted your head, watching the two of them—polar opposites, brothers in arms, the kind of friendship that thrived on friction. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as Eren’s gaze flicked toward you from across the room—a cocky half wink, the one that usually melted you into putty. This time, you just rolled your eyes.
“And where does she think we’re gonna find white oak for countertops at six in the afternoon?" you asked.
Eren exhaled another plume of smoke, shifting his weight against the doorframe.
“Not just countertops," he corrected, gruff—“Everythin’. Counters to white granite, cabinets to off white."
A heavy thud echoed through the room.
Onyankopon had just dropped whatever tool he’d been holding. He was now leaning back against the exposed studs of the wall, arms crossed, biceps straining against the rolled up sleeves of his forest green shirt.
“Might as well tell her to sign up for a whole new renovation," he rumbled, deep voice edged with irritation.
Eren reminded, "You’re the only one complainin’."
“Ain’t about complainin’. It’s about sense."
Ony’s jaw ticked, “There’s three more days in the contract. This ain’t some HGTV bullshit where we magically got time and money to burn."
Eren flicked ash off his cigarette, “It’s about client satisfaction."
Silence stretched for a beat—then Ony’s gaze slid to you.
“What ‘you think?"
You pressed your lips together, suddenly the unwilling mediator. You weren’t a fan of getting between their disputes—mostly because you knew them both too well. Knew Eren’s stubbornness, Ony’s razor sharp pragmatism. A soft sigh escaped you as you tucked a wild cinnamon curl behind your ear, fingers lingering at the shell of it.
“…Ony’s right, baby," you admitted, “It’s a little late for changes when we’re halfway done with the kitchen."
Eren’s jaw tightened—just a fraction, but you saw it. The flex of muscle, the way his fingers twitched around the cigarette.
Then, after a beat—“I’m hearin’ you.”
His tone was clipped as he turned back to Ony, “You got suggestions?"
“Finish the cabinet setup, make the kitchen white. If she ain’t happy after?", A slow shrug, “She can sign another contract."
Eren took a long drag, exhaling through his nose.
“Alright.”
Your fingers tapped lightly against the paperwork in front of you, "Think you can grab the maple from Home Depot?”
Eren took one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it out the door, the ember sparking against the gravel.
“I’ll head there now," he rumbled, already rolling his sleeves higher up his tattooed forearms.
Onyankopon’s deep voice cut in from across the room, "You goin’ by yo’self?"
“Why? My other wife wanna kiss n’ make up before I leave?"
Ony glared, “I ain’t kissin’ yo’ overgrown ass.”
“‘Soundin’ like a damn kid," Eren muttered, grabbing his keys from the makeshift hook by the door.
“Cause I’m arguin’ wit’ one.”
You sighed dramatically, swiveling in your chair just enough to shoot them both a pleading look—“’Rennn, can you please come show me some love before y’all start arguing again?"
“You want some love, huh?”
Your giggle was soft as his fingers tangled in your curls, tilting your head back just enough for him to lean down and rub his nose against yours—his version of affection, sweet and possessive all at once.
“Don’t be long, hm?" you whispered, brushing your lips against the tip of his nose as he lowly grunted, “Mhm.”
“You love me?"
Eren sucked his teeth, “Y’know I fuckin’ do," he rasped, before his mouth crashed into yours—hard, demanding, his. The kind of kiss that made your toes curl in your sandals, all rough lips and barely restrained hunger.
Just as you melted into it, Onyankopon’s voice cut through the moment like a bucket of cold water.
“Aight, aight—remember Home Depot ‘bout to close?"
Eren dragged his thumb across your bottom lip before pulling away, “Let me kiss on my damn wife," pressing one last rough kiss to your forehead.
“Have those consultations ready for me when I get back. Be good.”
Then, he turned to Onyankopon.
“You need some shit from the store, hubby?”
Ony didn’t even look up from his sketches, just leveled Eren with a glare that could split concrete.
“Just gon’ head ‘fore I beat yo’ ass, Yeager.”
And with that, the door closed.
The thing is, you didn’t think Eren would be gone for two hours.
The sun was bleeding into the horizon, casting the half renovated shotgun house in golden orange hues. You’d texted Eren three times—no answer. Called twice—straight to voicemail. Your knee bounced under the desk, fingers drumming against the wood as your eyes flicked toward Onyankopon.
He was sprawled on the sofa, his massive frame dominating the space, one boot propped on the coffee table as he sketched out future project blueprints. The muscles in his forearm flexed with every stroke of the pencil, the ink of his tattoos shifting under the dimming light.
“…Eren text you?"
Ony didn’t glance up, “Nah, mama. Ain’t answer."
Your lips pressed into a thin line.
That’s when he finally looked at you—really looked—his dark eyes scanning your face before he sighed, deep and slow.
“Nigga ain’t dead, girl," he drawled, “‘Prolly’ all over NOLA tryna’ find the perfect maple oak like he custom buildin’ Versailles."
A small, reluctant smile tugged at your lips.
“…He’s a bit overzealous at times.”
Onyankopon smirked—that smirk, the one that made your stomach twist, “You good, though?"
“Mhm."
“You sure?"
“Fine."
“Need anythin’?"
“No."
Every question was another lick of fire under your skin. Because why did he have to be like this? Why did he have to notice?
You swallowed hard, forcing your attention back to the laptop.
“I just wanna finish these consultations."
“Ain’t gotta overwork yo’self," Ony murmured, that Creole lilt making the words too smooth, too close—“Eren gon’ be out for another minute."
Your thoughts swarmed, loud and suffocating—until his voice cut through again, sharper this time.
“You good?"
You blinked, “Hm?"
His eyes dropped just for a fraction of a second, before flicking back up.
“You sweatin’."
You looked down.
Your own forest green baby tee clinging to the swell of your heavy tits was now damp with sweat. Your nipples, hard and sensitive, were painfully visible through the thin fabric.
Oh.
An awkward giggle bubbled out of you as you crossed your arms, “It’s just...really hot."
Onyankopon’s gaze didn’t waver.
“Yeah," he said, low.
“It is."
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as Onyankopon’s voice cut through the thick silence.
“Gon’ finish that kitchen window now,” he announced, “You need me?”
Your brain short circuited.
Huh?
“Hm?”
“I said, let me know if you need sum’, aight?”
You nodded, forcing a smile that probably looked more like a grimace.
“Okay.”
Get it together.
Another twenty minutes.
Your traitorous eyes flicked up from the screen—just once, just glancing, then—
Oh.
Oh, no.
Onyankopon’s hands. Calloused, rough, knuckles scarred from years of labor—veins thick and pronounced wrapped around the glass pane of the window, biceps flexing under the strain. His stance was wide, thighs like tree trunks braced beneath him, the muscles in his back shifting under sweat slicked skin like some kind of damn art exhibit.
And then—
Hell. Actual hell.
His fingers reached at the nape of his neck as he tugged forward to pull his shirt off in one smooth motion, tucking it into the loop of his belt. Brown skin glistened under the fading sun, sweat rolling down the deep ridges of his abs, all the way to the broad expanse of his chest. He was thick and corded, Adam’s apple bobbing as he grunted, hefting the window into place like it weighed nothing.
You were dizzy.
How easy would it be for him to pick you up like that?
To pin you. To fu—
The door swung open.
You damn near leaped out of your skin, scrambling upright in your chair as you snatched a pen like you’d been vigorously taking notes this whole time. You scribbled absolute gibberish at the bottom of some poor client’s consultation form, clearing your throat so loud it was borderline theatrical.
“Baby, you alright?" Eren’s voice was rough, “You need some water?"
You shook your head quickly, not realizing just how flushed your face was until you felt the heat crawling up your neck. Desperate to ground yourself, you reached for him, palms sliding up his tattooed arms to tug him down closer.
“It’s Louisiana," you deflected.
“What took you so long?"
“‘Damn near had to travel across the entire goddamn state to find the maple,” he grumbled, but his hands were already sliding down, calloused fingers finding the dip of your waist—that spot, the one that made you squirm every time. A soft noise escaped you, lips parting in a small pout as your back arched instinctively under his touch.
“Missed you," you whispered against his jaw, your mouth barely grazing his.
“Yeah?"
You nodded, but something flickered across your face—something off.
Your husband was a lot of things, but oblivious wasn't one of them.
“Eyes,” he murmured, "Need ‘em on me."
You swallowed hard, forcing a small smile as your hands slid up to rub at his broad shoulders—“M’just tired," you lied, the words slipping out too easily.
“That’s it?"
“Mhm."
Eren studied you for another long second—without another word he dipped his head, his lips trailing hot, possessive kisses along your jaw, all the way down to the column of your throat.
“Missed you too," he growled against your skin, the scrape of his teeth making your fingers tangle in his hair, head tipping back to give him better access.
But your eyes—unfortunately for you—might’ve flicked to Onyankopon just one more time.
Later that night, dim glows of your vanity lights cast a honeyed halo around your reflection as you pressed your fingertips into your cheeks, tracing the warmth lingering there. Your face was still flushed—too flushed, the heat creeping from your temples down to your collarbones like a slow burning fever.
You dragged your gaze over your own features in the mirror. Your full, heart shaped lips, naturally dark like they’d been dipped in mahogany, the sultry slope of your almond eyes lined with those impossibly long, fox like lashes. Even on your softest days, your face carried something sinful—something that made your husband’s grip tighten when other men looked too long. The oversized DEFTONES tee you’d thrown on swallowed your curves, but it couldn’t hide the stubborn peaks of your nipples, still stiff beneath the fabric.
God, were you ovulating or something?
The steady drum of the shower cut through your thoughts—Eren was in there, steam fogging the glass, water sluicing down the hard planes of his body. You bit your lip, willing the image to overwrite the one still scorched behind your eyelids; Onyankopon’s thick neck glistening with sweat, his hands flexing around that window frame like it was weightless.
“Meine schöne Frau.”
Pretty girl.
Eren’s voice—rough, sweetened by the German endearment—snapped you back. The bathroom door creaked open, a wave of steam rolling out as he stepped into the bedroom, his massive frame barely contained by the towel slung low on his hips. Water droplets clung to the ridges of his abs, the kind of carved definition that looked like he’d been sculpted by some vengeful god. And there, thick and heavy against the damp fabric—the outline of him made your mouth water.
He dragged a second towel over his dark hair, slicking it back as his eyes met yours in the mirror.
“You finish up those emails earlier?”
Your fingers froze mid reach for the vanity drawer. Shit.
“No,” you admitted, rifling through the contents with sudden urgency—“I’ll get it done before bed.”
Eren stilled. You could feel his gaze sharpening even before he spoke.
“What happened?”
“Got distracted with some calls.”
A beat of silence.
“You seem distracted now,” His tone was deceptively light, but his eyes weren’t.
“Can’t even look at me straight.”
“Maybe ‘cause you’re so handsome, hm?”
Eren huffed.
A sound that wasn’t quite a laugh, more like the click of a puzzle piece snapping into place. His stare burned into the side of your face, heavy enough that your skin prickled. You gave him a wobbly smile, turning back to the drawer like your bonnet was the most fascinating thing in the world.
“Let me ask you somethin’.”
Your pulse kicked into a rabbit's quick rhythm the second those words left Eren’s mouth.
"Onyankopon."
A beat.
“You like him?"
Your fingers stilled against the vanity, brows lifting as you blinked at him—once, twice—before forcing out a nervous laugh.
“He’s your best friend, why wouldn’t I like him?"
He dragged the towel over his hands. Slowly.
“That’s not what I’m askin’.”
“Then what are you asking?"
“Truth," he said simply, green eyes pinning you in place—“So I’ll ask again. You like him?"
“I don’t—"
The second those words slipped out, his stare cut through you, silencing the lie before it could fully form.
You swallowed hard, shifting tactics.
“…That’s a weird question to ask, Eren."
“Nah,” he countered, tossing the towel aside—“It ain’t."
Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you studied his face—searching for anger, jealousy, something. But his expression was unreadable, carved from stone. And maybe that’s why the truth tumbled out before you could stop it.
“... I do."
You then rushed to add, “But it’s not like that. It’s just—a fantasy, you know? I’d never act on it."
Your voice wavered, “You know that, right?"
Silence.
“Your fantasy," he said finally, voice rough.
“Talk me through it."
“What?"
“Actin’ like you don’t understand isn’t gonna change my question.”
Your face burned, toes curling against the plush rug.
“It’s silly."
“You think I’m mad at you?"
“Are you?"
“I’m not. ‘Shit ain’t silly if you’re blushin’ like this."
He then repeats, “Tell me.”
You swallowed, “You’re sure you’re not—?"
“Baby," he cut in, impatient, “C’mon."
A shaky exhale.
“It’s seeing him do masculine things. How sweet he is. It’s…a turn on. But—" You hesitated, voice dropping to a whisper, “The idea of both of you together is…more.”
“You think about him fuckin’ you?"
“‘Ren—!"
“You think ’bout him fuckin’ you while I watch?"
You shrieked, rushing over to slap a hand over his mouth.
“Eren, Jesus—no! I just—both of you—that’s all!"
Panic sent you scrambling into his chest, clinging to him even as he stood unmoving, his lack of reaction only making you whimper harder.
“It’s stupid, I know. I’d never—I’d never—"
“That’s somethin’ you want?" His voice was dangerously calm, “Me an’ him? You wanna take that?"
You squeaked, burying your face in his chest with a mortified groan, “Baby! Stop it!”
A low chuckle rumbled through him as he finally moved, his hands finding your hips, dragging you flush against him.
“Schüchterne Frau," he murmured against your ear, rough and warm.
Shy woman.
Eren's massive hands then circled your waist, lifting you like you weighed nothing. The world tilted as he deposited you onto the bed, his towering frame caging you in like some predator playfully trapping his prey. e.
“You're insane,” you exhaled, fingers twisting around his arms—“How aren't you mad? Why aren't you mad?"
“Nothin’ to be mad about."
“I’ve been feeling crazy all day.”
“I’m knowin’,” he mused, “Shit was kinda cute to see.”
You flicked his nose. Hard.
“Ouch.”
Before you could argue more, his straight teeth caught the hem of your oversized tee, dragging it up with a slow, deliberate pull. The fabric slipped past your waist, your ribs, and then—there—your swollen, heavy tits spilled free, nipples already pebbled and aching.
A rough groan escaped him as his mouth descended, sucking one peaked bud between his lips with a greedy, wet drag. You yelped, slapping his bicep as pleasure shot straight to your core.
He pulled off with a filthy pop, gaze heavy lidded.
“You done with your lil’ tantrum?”
You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt.
“My husband just made me admit I fantasize about a threesome with his best friend. I’m validated in my tantrum.”
His lips trailed hot, open mouthed kisses up your sternum, between your breasts, along the column of your throat—each one leaving fire in its wake.
“Ain’t nobody said all that, huh?”
You shuddered, “Can we stop talking about this? Can you just say I’m pretty and that you love me?”
“You’re the prettiest thing in the fuckin’ South.”
When you huffed unsatisfactorily, he then cradled your face, forcing your gaze to meet his. His thumb brushed your cheekbone, his voice dropping to that possessive growl that made your toes curl.
“I love you so fuckin’ much, woman. You’re mine."
You puckered your lips in demand—and Eren obliged, peppering them with teasing, playful kisses until you sighed, melting under him.
“Mkay," you relented, “All is forgiven."
Then, with mischief sparking in your eyes, you poked his dimple and wiggled your brows.
“Wanna get freaky?"
“Yeah," he hummed, "Let me just call Onyankopon first—"
You flicked his nose again.
The next few days had been nothing short of perfect—your off days filled with the kind of lazy, indulgent bliss that made your heart swell. Sleeping in tangled limbs, slow mornings spent cuddling under thick blankets while rain pattered against the windows. You watched Eren move through the house like a restless storm, fixing things he’d been too busy to touch for months—tightening cabinet handles, oiling hinges, his muscles flexing under the thin fabric of his shirts as he worked.
But the real highlight came when Eren closed a high paying deal he’d been chasing for months. You’d screamed, silent but full bodied, jumping up and down on the bed like an overexcited kid while Eren gripped your ankle to steady you, trying—and failing—to hide his grin behind a gruff, "Relax."
Overall? It’d been a damn good weekend.
…Here’s when shit got weird.
Sunday football was a sacred ritual between Eren and Onyankopon—one you usually tagged along for out of sheer love. The routine was always the same ; morning games, the gym, then a home cooked meal—something indulgent, now a fancy spread to celebrate the big contract.
But today?
Today was…different.
You padded downstairs in your Def Leppard tee, voice still thick with lingering drowsiness as you murmured, “Bon matin, mes gros bêtes,” good morning, my big beasts.
They were already planted on the couch, the glow of the TV casting shadows over their faces. Normally, they’d be shouting at the screen, arguing over plays, or tossing crude jabs at each other between sips of beer. But today? Silence. Heavy, charged, unsettling silence.
They returned the greeting—Eren with a low “Mornin’, baby,” Ony with a slow, “Sleep good?”
But their voices didn’t match the tension in the air. It was thick, heady, pressing against your skin like a touch you couldn’t shake.
Eren broke the silence first.
"Ony’s stayin’ for dinner."
Onyankopon’s dark eyes followed the words, followed you—“If that’s aight with you.”
The way he said it wasn’t really a question.
You smiled softly, "Bien sûr, of course it’s okay."
You tilted your head, “You guys okay with what I’m making?"
“I’ll eat anything you put on a nigga tongue, girl.”
Your pulse stuttered, your mouth suddenly dry, and you could only nod stiffly before turning toward the kitchen, face burning. Maybe you were reading too much into it. Maybe you were losing it.
But if that wasn’t weird?
This was.
By noon, the energy shifted again—this time, louder, looser. Beer bottles clinked as Eren and Onyankopon tore into each other over the Saints vs. Cowboys game, their voices rough with playful aggression.
“The hell you mean ’he’s washed’? Brees could out throw Prescott in his goddamn sleep!”
“Man, shut yo’ delusional ass up—Prescott got legs and an arm, yo’ nigga was throwing ducks by ‘18.”
You curled into Eren’s side, half listening, half reading a book you’d pulled from the shelf—until the warmth of his body and the steady rise and fall of his chest lulled you into a drowsy haze.
And then?
Touch.
Onyankopon’s rough fingers grazed your hip—just once, featherlight, barely there. A whisper of contact that could’ve been an accident. Eren’s hand then clamped down on your ass, pulling you deeper into him…closer to Onyankopon’s touch.
You froze.
“That’s a bullshit ass call and you know it!” Eren barked, his grip on you tightening as he leaned forward, jostling you.
“Fuck outta’ here!”
Their voices blurred into white noise. Your heart pounded so hard you swore they could hear it, your skin burning where both their hands lingered—Eren’s possessive kneading, Onyankopon’s fingers tracing slow circles near the hem of your shirt.
You squeezed your eyes shut, playing asleep, but your body betrayed you—arching subtly into Eren’s chest while your thigh brushed Onyankopon’s. The scents of them—Eren’s cedar and leather musk, Onyankopon’s deep spice—wrapped around you like a fog, dizzying.
Eren shifted again, his arm sliding behind you, guiding you until your ass was right there, nearly in Onyankopon’s lap.
You inhaled shakily.
The gym was supposed to be your sanctuary—iron clanging, weights thudding, the sharp scent of sweat and cleaning solution filling your lungs as you worked off the restless energy coiling in your stomach. But today?
Today, nothing felt right.
You stood behind both men, watching them switch off reps with the kind of effortless, predatory strength that made your mouth go dry. Eren’s tattoos flexed under the harsh overhead lights as he powered through a set of deadlifts, his low grunts sending an embarrassing shiver down your spine. Onyankopon’s back muscles rippled with every controlled pull on the cable machine, his deep voice growling something about “Weak ass form,” at Eren between breaths.
Tugging your sweat damp curls into a messy clip, you tried—tried—to focus on your own set, but the air between the three of you felt charged, thick with something you couldn’t name.
“Arch yo’ back more, lil’ mama," he murmured, his voice rough and too close, too warm against the shell of your ear. His hands slid down to your hips, adjusting your stance with a firm grip that sent heat spiraling straight to your core.
“There you go—good fuckin’ girl."
You nearly stumbled.
Eren—you husband—was right there, watching with those dark unreadable eyes, Onyankopon’s fingers lingering just a second too long.
SMACK!
Eren’s palm connected with your ass, the sharp sting making you yelp as the flesh jiggled under his touch.
“Schau nicht so verloren,” he growled—don’t look so lost—before giving you another rough tap, fingers flexing possessively.
What the fuck was happening?
Everything had led into the night. The warm glow of the kitchen lights cast a soft halo around you as you moved gracefully between the stove and the counter, the rich aromas of garlic, thyme, and smoked paprika swirling through the air. The wine had done its job—easing the tension coiled in your shoulders, smoothing the edges of your nerves until you hummed along to the sultry jazz playing low in the background.
A buttery pale yellow ruched set hugged your curves like a lover’s hands—the fitted capris accentuating the flare of your hips, the halter top cinching your waist just right, delicate white lace bow at the nape of your neck teasing against skin. Your heavy tits pressed together, nipples taut against the thin fabric, the pale gold jewelry at your wrists and ears catching the light with every movement. Delicate gold heels clicked softly against the hardwood as you swayed slightly, seasoning the pot before you with practiced hands.
Then—that feeling.
The weight of eyes on you through the patio door.
Eren leaned back in his chair, white wifebeater stretched tight across his broad chest, open flannel shirt framing his thick arms. The silver chain around his neck glinted as he tilted his head back, exhaling a slow, deliberate stream of smoke from between those deep, full pink lips. His dark hair was tied back in that low bun hidden under a backwards cap, loose tendrils framing his sharp jaw as he murmured something to Onyankopon.
And Onyankopon—god—his cornrows were fresh, edges crisp, the deep brown of his skin glowing under the dim patio lights. His beard was neatly trimmed, the scent of that new shea butter you’d noticed earlier clinging to him. His laugh, deep and rich, was muted through the glass, but you knew that sound—knew the way it rumbled through his chest.
Their gazes locked onto you with an intensity that made your fingers tighten around the wooden spoon. Eren’s hand rubbed absently at his jaw. Onyankopon lifted his chin slightly, a slow, knowing smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he gave you a lazy, two fingered wave.
Out of pure nerves, you lifted your hand in a sweet, awkward little wave back, your dimple popping as you forced a smile.
The moment they stepped back inside, the air in the kitchen thickened. You felt it before you even turned around, the weight of their presence pressing against your skin like a physical touch.
Eren loomed behind you first, his broad frame blocking the light from the hallway as he peered down at you with those damned eyes of his. His gaze trailed over the gold crucifix hugging your ankle, his nostrils flaring slightly before he rumbled, low and rough, “Missed you.”
Before you could respond, Onyankopon’s deep voice cut in from the doorway.
“You lookin’ real pretty, girl.”
Eren stepped closer, his large hand tangling in your loose curls, tugging—like a child demanding attention. You humored him, turning to press a sweet, absentminded kiss to his cheek before gently pulling away, your voice a soft murmur.
“Just wanted to look pretty for you guys tonight—It’s a celebration, right?"
But Eren wasn’t having it. His lips found your jaw instead, rough and insistent, his tongue flicking against your skin in a tease. You let him, your hand coming up to rub at his shoulder in a weak attempt to ground him—or maybe yourself.
“You guys hungry?" you managed, voice barely steady.
“Starvin’," Eren growled against your throat before claiming your mouth in a deep, filthy kiss. His tongue slid past your lips without hesitation, your body responding before your brain could catch up.
Onyankopon watches, “You always lookin’ good, mama. You know that?"
Overstimulation prickled under your skin. Your laugh came out awkward, breathless as you cupped Eren’s jaw to gently break the kiss, holding him in place.
“Thank you, Ony," you hummed, your exhale shaky as you forced yourself to focus—“Dinner’s almost ready, okay?"
Eren nuzzled into the vanilla scented crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point as he finalized, “Don’t be long."
Then—SMACK—his palm connected with your ass once more, the sharp sting making you jolt, “Can’t keep my fuckin’ mouth off you," he grunted, like it was your fault.
Onyankopon’s voice was really the final blow, smooth as whiskey.
“Yeah. We waitin’ on you."
We waitin’ on you.
You tried to rationalize it all—told yourself both men were just a little high, that’s why the energy between you had shifted so drastically. That’s why Eren had been so possessive, why Onyankopon’s compliments felt heavier than usual.
Eren had disappeared upstairs to find another lighter, leaving you alone in the kitchen with Onyankopon while you put the final touches on dinner. The rich scent of beef stew filled the air, the buttery cornbread golden and steaming in its cast iron skillet. You focused on plating everything just right—garnishing each dish with a sprinkle of fresh parsley, making sure each portion was even.
The silence stretched, but this time, you refused to let it be awkward. You glanced over at Onyankopon—seated at the table, his massive frame relaxed yet imposing, forearms corded with muscle as he crossed them over his black wifebeater.
“How’d you spend your days off, Ony?” you asked, blowing a stray curl from your face absentmindedly.
His dark eyes tracked the movement before he answered evenly, “Shit was aight. Mostly caught up on sleep.”
A pause, “You?”
You smiled, stirring the stew gently.
“Just mushy couple stuff. Slept in, cooked, let Eren drag me around like a backpack.”
Onyankopon huffed a laugh at that, shaking his head slightly.
“So, how do you feel about the new contract?”
“Blessed,” he admitted, leaning back in his chair—“Yo’ husband been on my ass ‘bout expanding outside Louisiana. Nigga be givin’ me a hard time when it come to this job.”
You shake your head, “It’s not like that. Eren’s just particular, like his father was.”
“I’m knowin’.”
Onyankopon asks, “How you put up with him?”
Your smile softened, “The same way you do. I love him. Regardless.”
He chuckled lowly at that, the sound vibrating through the space between you.
“Aight. I feel that.”
And just like that, the conversation lulled into comfortable silence again.
A few minutes passed, the quiet only broken by the clinking of dishes as you arranged the last of the food.
Then—
“Ony?”
The words hovered on your tongue, carefully weighed before you finally spoke.
“…I just wanna thank you for coming back home and partnering with Eren."
Your voice was soft, “After his father’s passing—he needed you, you know?"
Onyankopon’s face shifted—solemn, the usual playful edge in his eyes dimming. His lips pressed together before he answered, “A nigga like me even more grateful to have somebody like him in my corner. Nothin’ to thank me for."
You turned back to the cutting board, but his next question made your hands still.
“What about you? You happy to have me around?"
“Of course.”
“Ion’ make you feel a type of way?"
“No?”
His brow arched. Like he didn’t believe you.
You swallowed, “You’ve been sweet to me since the beginning."
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest as he leaned back in his chair, manspreading—thick thighs stretching the fabric of his cargos, abdomen flexing beneath the black wifebeater.
“Sweet, huh? You think I’m sweet?"
Heat pricked at the back of your neck, but you nodded anyway.
“I do."
“Nothin’ else?"
Your fingers curled tighter around the knife as you shook your head, turning back to slice the last piece of cornbread.
Then—
“I see how you be lookin’ at me."
The blade slipped.
A sharp gasp tore from your lips as steel bit into skin, blood welling instantly along your fingertip. You dropped the knife with a clatter, clutching your injured hand as your face twisted in discomfort.
Onyankopon was on you in seconds.
His monstrous height dwarfed you, his large hands swallowing yours as he assessed the wound—rough fingers cradling your delicate palm with surprising gentleness.
"I—I wasn’t paying attention—“
Oh god.
Oh god.
He was sucking your finger.
Your lips parted as the warmth of his tongue swept over the cut, slow. A shiver wracked your body—every nerve ending alight—as his lips sucked gently, coaxing the sting away.
When he pulled back, his voice was a rough rasp against your skin.
“You got a taste on you, girl."
He didn’t let go. Just held you there, his grip firm, eyes burning into yours as he murmured, “You gotta be more careful.”
You could’ve died right there.
Eren’s heavy footsteps descended the stairs, walking into Onyankopon still holding your hand—his gaze flickered between you both, lingering for just a second before he simply asked, “What happened?"
"She cut herself.”
Eren—your fucking husband—barely reacted.
Just grunted, “Gotta watch them hands, baby.”
That’s when it clicked.
You weren’t crazy.
Not now. Not this morning. Not days ago.
This hadn’t been coincidences. This was a hunt.
Dinner had been a blur—conversations ebbing and flowing around you like distant radio static, your thoughts drowning beneath the weight of their presence. You weren’t delusional anymore, weren’t in denial.
You were just…waiting.
“Yo’—remember when we went to Velvet & Vixen on Bourbon? Niggas was weird.”
Eren’s low chuckle vibrated through the table, fingers idly tracing the rim of his whiskey glass.
“That one guy told me he wanted to be a dog,” he smirked, “‘Wore a collar under his clothes at work.”
You tapped your wine glass absently as they laughed, the sound thick, indulgent—like they were savoring something deeper than the joke.
Then, Eren’s eyes slid to you.
“Last time we went there together was a couple years ago, baby?”
You blinked, the memory surfacing—dim neon, crowded aisles, the heat of his hand on your lower back.
“Yeah,” you giggled, swirling your drink, “We did.”
Eren’s grin looked to Onyankopon.
“She had me in there for hours.”
“No I did not!”
Onyankopon mused, “For what? Applyin’ for the job or sum’?”
You toyed with your fork, a flush creeping up your neck.
“We went in there for a—”
You bit your lip, laughing nervously.
“It’s a little TMI.”
“C’mon, girl. I ain’t gon’ run off.”
You looked between them as you exhaled, “…Okay. I went in for a d—a dildo.”
You hesitated, “But the ones they had were too big for me. All over six inches.”
Silence.
The kind that hummed, electric.
You saw it—the way Eren’s pupils swallowed green, the way Onyankopon’s jaw clicked, his knuckles whitening around his glass.
Then?
Onyankopon laughed.
A deep, rolling sound that sent a full body chill straight down your spine. Your breath hitched as you looked at him, really looked—the same way you had the first time you met him.
Fear.
Intimidation.
…Arousal.
And when he said this?
“She ain’t gon’ be able to fit me.”
Your body froze.
Eren’s voice cut through, low and possessive, “Nah. She be takin’ every inch of me real good now.”
Were you going into shock? You had to be.
“Meine hübsche Frau. So verdammt schüchtern.”
My pretty wife. So fuckin’ shy.
Your skin burned—like you’d been doused in gasoline, like a single spark would ignite you.
Onyankopon leaned forward, “What’s wrong, mama?”
His voice dropped to a graveled rumble—“Youn’ want me no more?”
Your lips parted—pouting, pleading, “Ren—”
“Nuh uh,” Eren tsked, tilting his head.
“None of that poutin’ shit. Use your words.”
“C’mon, girl. Lemme’ hear that pretty ass fuckin’ voice.”
You’d never felt so cornered in your life—trapped between their heat, their hunger, the unspoken promise in their eyes.
And from that point on?
You were absolutely, positively, fucked.
So here you were now. The air was pure sex, the dim glow of lamplight casting shadows across your trembling body as you knelt between them—caught in the electric tension of their hunger.
Your back arched like a bowstring, spine curving as you pressed your cheek into the sheets, curls framing your curves like molten fire. Your palms barely covered the stiff peaks of your nipples, but it didn’t matter—their eyes burned through you, stripping you bare.
Eren stood at the foot of the bed, his cock heavy and hard, flushed a soft pink against his olive skin. Long, veined, demanding. Onyankopon stood beside him, thick thighs bracketing his hips—his own arousal a brutal contrast, wider, darker, bigger, the deep plum tip glistening as it bobbed inches from your ass.
“Show us how pretty your shit is, baby."
Eren’s voice was rough velvet, scraping over your nerves. A command, not a request.
A whimper caught in your throat as you obeyed—spreading your thighs, fingers parting your glistening folds with shaky reverence. Your pussy was already flushed, slick, begging, the plush folds gleaming under the low light.
Onyankopon lets out a rough sound—something between a curse and praise—as his thick fingers grip the supple flesh of your thighs, kneading. SMACK! A sharp sting of his palm made you jerk, your folds fluttering around nothing.
“Fuck," Eren exhaled, his knuckles whitening around the base of his cock as he watched your slick drip onto the sheets. He stepped closer, his grip bruising as he wrenched your legs apart further.
"Look at that," he growled, slapping the thick head of his cock against your swollen clit.
You jolted, a low whimper breaking free as your hips chased the fleeting pressure.
“Which one you feelin’, huh?”
“…’Ren," you trembled, voice breaking.
“Feel you, baby.”
"Just me," he snarled, grinding his tip against your desperate entrance—“Always mine. Ain’t she?"
Onyankopon’s agreement was dark, “Yours entirely.”
Your spine arched, a silent fight to swallow the second needy whimper threatening to spill from your lips. Cheek pressed into silk sheets, your lashes fluttered—half lidded, drunk on the weight of their stares.
“C’mere,” Eren demanded, “Come show me some love.”
Your favorite phrase. It meant either the sweetest affection—or this. His cock, thick and heavy against your lips, the musk of him flooding your senses as you nuzzled into his hip.
Your lips parted the moment you turned—the broad head of his cock pushing past them, the salt of pre cum bursting on your tongue as you hollowed your cheeks.
“Fuck,” His groan was ragged, hips jerking forward—“Watch them teeth."
You mewled around him, the warning making your cunt pulse. His fingers twisted in your curls, yanking your head down until his tip hit the back of your throat. Tears pricked your lashes as you gagged—soft, wet—your nails biting into his thighs.
“I know you’re excited, baby," Eren rasped, rolling his hips deeper—“Careful.”
Onyankopon watched, his own dick palmed in a brutal grip, veins standing stark against brown skin. A string of saliva dripped from your swollen lips as you pulled back, lips circling your husband's shaft with a filthy schlick.
“‘M sorry,” you whined, “‘Didn’t mean to hurt you, baby.”
Eren’s chest rumbled—half growl, half muse—“‘Know you ain’t mean it."
His thumb swiped your jaw, smearing gloss and spit.
“Tongue out."
A dark command, “Show me how good my girl is."
You obeyed instantly—mouth slack, tongue lolling, pink and used beneath his cock. You took him deeper, throat fluttering as his tip breached it. The sounds were obscene—gagging, moaning, the slick slap of his pelvis against your chin.
“She ain’t stoppin’ no time soon," Eren taunted, fingers tightening in your hair.
“You doin’ a good job, girl."
Onyankopon’s voice was thick as he continued, “Goddamn.”
“She’s doin’ a good job, huh?” Eren repeated, his free hand raking into your hair again, “You see that? My baby’s givin’ her all right now.”
“I’m watchin’,” Onyankopon replied, his neck flexing from how he held himself. His fingers wrapped tightly around the base of his length, “I see you real good. Pretty ass bitch.”
Your face was a mess at this point. The makeup you had on earlier was smeared all across your mouth, your eyes still holding Onyankopons’ while Eren continued to move your head with his strong, large fingers.
“She gettin’ better?"
Onyankopon’s jaw flexed, “Yeah. Mouth good as hell—I’m tryna’ feel that shit."
His dick, monstrous in his grip, twitched.
“You gon’ let me?"
Your mouth slows around Eren—tongue dragging one last, filthy stripe up his length before your eyes flicker to Onyankopon. To it.
His dick is a monster—thick, veined, the deep plum head glistening, twitching just inches from your lips. Your throat flutters at the sight, a whimper catching in your chest. But it’s not just the size that has your pulse spiking.
It’s the look in Onyankopon’s eyes.
Like he’s already imagining you choking on him.
Your tongue darts out, wetting your lips as you glance up at Eren—seeking permission, seeking reassurance.
“…Can I?”
Eren exhales through his nose, jaw clenched, before giving a single, sharp nod.
"Go ‘head."
You don’t hesitate.
Your lips part, tongue flattening against the underside of Onyankopon’s dick, tasting him—musky, salt-bitter, addicting. Your fingers dig into his quads, nails leaving half-moons in dark skin as you suck at his tip, moaning at the sheer fullness of him in your mouth.
“Fuck—"
Onyankopon’s voice is ruined, hips jerking forward.
“There you go—that fuckin’ mouth."
Eren watches the way your lips stretch, the way your cheeks hollow, the way you whimper around Onyankopon’s girth like it’s the best thing you’ve ever had.
You’re sloppier with him. Needier. Drool slicks your chin as you bob, tongue swirling around his shaft, sucking like you’re starved.
“Keep talkin’ to her," Eren growls, fingers tightening in your hair.
"That’s the shit she likes."
Onyankopon’s hands find your face—rough, claiming—thumbs pressing into the dip of your cheeks, forcing your mouth wider.
"Pretty ass face, Mama," he rumbles, eyes locked on yours.
“Suckin’ me up like a fuckin’ pro.”
You moan around him, the vibration making his thighs flex.
Eren grunts, “Keep takin’ that shit, baby."
Onyankopon pushes deeper, the schlupp of your spit slicked lips echoing as your throat convulses. His thumb drags over your stretched mouth, feeling himself inside you.
“Tastes so good.”
You were mewling, mindlessly at that.
“Yeah? How it’ look?"
You pull off with a pop, tongue lolling, lips swollen and shiny.
“'Looks so good. So handsome, Papa."
Onyankopon growls at the pet name—low, animalistic—before yanking you forward again.
Eren’s voice returns, "Look in her eyes."
Onyankopon’s gaze burns into yours—dark, unrelenting—as you take him back, deeper this time, until your nose brushes his pelvis.
“Always keep them’ eyes on her."
Your vision blurs, tears spilling as you gag, but you don’t look away. Can’t.
Because then—
Onyankopon yanks you back and spits between your parted lips.
You moan, tongue darting out to catch it before he’s kissing you—deep, possessive—fingers tangled in your curls as he licks into your mouth like he owns it.
And when you drop back to his dick, slapping it against your tongue with a wet smack—
You hear your husbands, “Don’t be fuckin’ cute," drag out in a warned grunt.
You giggle, high and breathless, taking Onyankopon’s balls into your mouth, sucking.
“Just wanted to taste him, baby,” you whined.
Eren graveled, “Yeah?”
He then grunts, “Quit playin’. Lay on your back, missin’ your pussy in my mouth.”
Your back hits the mattress. The moment you're down, Eren’s hand grips your thigh, spreading you open with zero hesitation.
“Come hold her legs," he commands, voice thick with hunger—“She be squirmin’ too much when I eat this shit."
Before you can even process the command, Onyankopon is there—his massive frame caging you from behind, hands wrapping around your ankles like manacles. He drags you back, exposing you completely—no hiding, no modesty, just open.
The first swipe of Eren’s tongue is fire, molten and possessive, licking a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit. You jolt, back arching, fingers flying into his hair and pulling. His groan vibrates against your flesh, sending sparks shooting up your spine.
His tongue swirls around your clit, savoring the way you twitch beneath him. Each lick is torture—calculated, teasing—until you're writhing, thighs quaking in Onyankopon's unyielding grip.
“Stop movin'," Eren growls, pressing a heavy palm to your pelvis, forcing you still.
But you can’t.
You’re too sensitive, too wound up, and when his mouth latches onto your clit, sucking—
“F—fuck, baby. Missed your mouth so much.”
Your back bows, head thrashing against Onyankopon’s chest as pleasure rips through you.
“Look at the way he devourin’ that pussy," he rasps, voice curling within your ear like smoke—“Bouta’ have a nigga drownin’ in this shit.”
“Pussy messy as fuck,” Eren groans against your folds, lapping at your slick like a man starved.
Onyankopon’s grip tightens, spreading you wider, forcing you to take every second of Eren’s relentless tongue.
“Goddamn," he mutters, voice rough, “Yo’ shit look so fuckin’ edible."
Then your husband grunts, burying his face even deeper, nose pressing against your clit as his tongue plunges inside you.
“Oooh!”
“Look at him," he commands, “Look at the way he eatin’ you."
All you can do is tremble. Whimper. Shake. Watch.
Onyankopon’s tongue wraps around your ear, “Missin’ yo’ fuckin’ mouth, babydoll."
His fingers tangle in your curls, yanking your head back, forcing your lips to part as his dick slaps against your tongue—thick, heavy. You moan around him, the vibration making his hips jerk, the tip hitting the back of your throat in one brutal thrust.
“Shit,” he growls, watching your throat bulge around him.
All while, Eren’s tongue devours you from below, lips sealing around your clit, sucking until your thighs clench, until your vision whites out once more—but Onyankopon doesn’t let you escape. His grip on your hair tightens, forcing you to take every inch, every pulse of him fucking into your mouth.
Eren’s voice is a dominance even as he worships you, “Look up at him."
Your lashes flutter open, meeting Onyankopon’s hooded, predatory gaze as he owns your throat.
“You ready for me?” he rumbles, thumb smearing spit across your swollen lips.
Your answer is a whimper—high, broken, desperate.
“That ain’t how you beg."
“Please, Ony. Need it. Need you."
And only then, Eren pulls away.
Your cunt clenches around nothing, a pathetic whine tearing from your throat at the loss—
But then Onyankopon’s mouth is there, his tongue flattening against your clit, laving over you with a roughness that has you squeaking.
He doesn’t let you adjust. Doesn’t let you breathe. His tongue spears into you, fucking you deep, mimicking exactly what his dick was about to do. Eren’s hands replace Onyankopon’s on your thighs, spreading you wider, his voice a growl in your ear.
“You look so fuckin’ good.”
Your head falls back against Eren's shoulder, seeking his mouth like a lifeline. His lips crash into yours, swallowing your needy little noises, his tongue claiming every inch of space as if marking you—reminding you who you belong to.
“I love you," you pant between kisses, trembling against him.
“Love you so much, 'Ren."
He growls against your lips, “Ich liebe dich auch" I love you too, “I fuckin’ know you do.”
Onyankopon's tip then drags through your soaked folds, spreading you so slowly you feel every ridge, every pulse of his veins against your clit.
His forehead presses to yours, dominance radiating off him in waves.
“Now I need you to keep them eyes on me.”
And then he pushes in.
The stretch is blinding—thick, relentless, carving into you inch by torturous inch. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, body arching, toes curling as your pussy drips around him, already struggling to adjust.
“Fuhhhhhhhck.”
Then, deeper.
Your back bows, a broken moan tearing from your throat as your body betrays you—gushing around him in a sudden, shocking rush. Onyankopon curses, his hips jerking at the flood of your release, his grip bruising on your thighs.
“Pussy tryna’ fight me," he grits out, mesmerized as your cream spills over his length.
“Ain’t even fuck you yet. This how you cummin’ f’ me?”
Eren’s grunt is dark against your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse—“Goddamn. Good fuckin’ girl, baby.”
“Ony,” you gasp, "It’s—it’s so much.”
His fingers tug at your chin, "You gon’ open up for me?"
You nod frantically, lips parted, “Uh-huh.”
His dick gave a slow, brutal drag out—then back in, punching the air from your lungs. Your mouth falls open, your eyes roll, and your hands scramble—one clinging to Onyankopon’s neck, the other clawing at Eren’s arm, anchoring yourself between them.
Onyankopon’s pace is merciless, each thrust stretching you wider, each snap of his hips dragging a new sob from your throat.
“Talk to me, Mama," he growls, grip tightening on your jaw—“I’m hurtin’ you?"
You shake your head, dazed in the pleasure.
“Feels soooo good.”
Eren’s thumb swipes your tears away—one’s you didn’t realize you had—his lips brushing your ear.
“Du machst ihn so hübsch.”
You’re takin’ him so pretty.
“Stretchin’ shit open for him like a pretty fuckin’ slut.”
You melt at his words, arching into Onyankopon’s next thrust, your pussy clenching around him like a vice.
“Fuckin’ hell," Onyankopon grunts, hips stuttering—“This pussy made for allis’ dick."
Eren grunts, “Nah. Made for me.”
Two men with a dominance neither of them could shake, tossing up your brain to mush with every sense of pleasure. You thought your body couldn’t take more—But oh, they had so much more to give.
And maybe you did too.
You now crawl across the sheets, hands gliding up Eren’s chest; nails dragging over ink and muscle, relishing the way his abs clench beneath your touch.
“Missed my ‘Ren.”
“Missed this fuckin’ pussy.”
A smirk curls your lips as you grind down, letting him feel just how wet he makes you—his cock slaps against your folds, leaving a glistening trail along your skin.
“You wanna put it in me?”
Eren’s growl vibrates through you, “Ärgere mich nicht.”
Don’t tease me.
Onyankopon’s hands slide up the back of your thighs, claiming as you whimper and press Eren’s palm to your lips. His finger slips between them, and you suck, hollowing your cheeks, swirling your tongue—
“Fuck," Eren’s hips jerk, his cock twitching against your ass.
“Gonna make me lose it early, woman.”
Keeping your husband's attention below—you lean over and wrap your mouth around Onyankopon’s dick, dragging your tongue against the entirety of him as you grind Eren’s cock between your thighs.
But suddenly? It seemed like he wasn’t the biggest fan of sharing anymore.
One hand fists in your hair, yanking your mouth down. His other grips your chin, forcing your gaze to his.
“Eyes on me ‘fore I show him how you really get fucked.”
You whimper—obedient.
“Now bounce.”
You sink down, taking him to the hilt, your little cry splitting the air as your walls clamp around him.
“There you go,” Eren grunts, watching your tits jump as he tugs down greedily—every slap of skin on skin infiltrating your thoughts—if you even had any left.
Onyankopon’s hands guide your hips, helping you move, his lips hot on your neck.
“Takin’ that dick like a muhfuckin’ champ.”
You mewl, fingers scrambling for purchase on Eren’s chest as pleasure crushes you.
“Ony.”
“Ion’ wanna hear my name right now. Fuck him.”
Your whine was a complaint, of course it was.
Eren’s grip tightens around your throat, his gaze searing into you like a brand—green eyes dark with something between lust and possession. His thrusts slow to a brutal, punishing grind, forcing your back to arch as his cock stretches you obscenely wide.
“Say you fuckin’ love me.”
“I—I love you,“ you gasp, pitching forward to litter his neck with wet, open-mouthed kisses, “Love you so much, 'Ren.”
His snarl is vicious, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise.
“Made you too fuckin’ greedy."
SMACK!
“Gave you everythin’,” he growls, snapping his hips up hard, “Still beggin’ for him like a thirsty lil’ slut.”
Onyankopon’s hand fists in your hair as he yanks your head back—his spit thwapping on your tongue.
“Papa heard you ‘was thirsty.”
Your body betrays you again, gushing around Eren’s cock in a sudden, shameless flood—your thighs quake, a broken squeak tearing from your throat as your body releases throughout Eren’s repetitive smacks on your ass.
“Fuckkk,” Eren groans, watching your pussy drip down his length as he tugs himself out.
Even with your legs shaking, even with your body throbbing—your chest still presses into Eren’s chest anyway, ass in the air, presenting yourself to Onyankopon.
“Put it in me.”
Onyankopon’s hand lands on your lower back, “Next time Imma’ teach yo’ ass how to wait."
He doesn’t slam into you—no.
He makes you feel it.
Every.
Inch.
Onyankopon’s dick parts you like a blade through silk—slow, stretching you so wide you feel your own heartbeat in the walls of your cunt. Your moan shudders through the room, high and broken, fingers digging into Eren’s shoulders as you arch, your ass trembling with every glide deeper.
Eren just keeps smacking your ass, “Nimm es.”
Take it.
Onyankopon’s hand fists in your hair, forcing your spine into a deep, sinful curve. His breath is hot against your ear, his teeth nipping at your pulse as he grinds deeper, making your thighs shake.
“You loud as hell," he rumbles, “Whole fuckin’ city know you gettin’ dicked down.”
“Ony—please, please, I need—“
“Now you need me, huh?”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
“Nah. Yo’ ass just want. And I’m givin’ it to you.”
You sob, tears streaking down your cheeks, your body burning with overstimulation—but you don’t stop. The thrust just keeps coming, coming, coming.
“You gon’ cum for us, baby?"
You nod, “Yes.”
Onyankopon’s groan is filthy, his hips snapping into you with a punishing precision.
“Then cum.”
Your body locks as your back arches, your mouth open in a cry—Your pussy squirts, gushing around Onyankopon’s dick as pleasure electrocutes every nerve for one last time. Eren groans, his own release painting your stomach as he watches you—watches the way your eyes roll, the way your lips tremble, the way you fall apart between them.
Onyankopon follows, his thrusts turning uncontrolled—his cum filling you, marking you, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he growls your name.
And then, silence.
Just the sound of heartbeats, and flesh drinking into one another. Your body collapses onto Eren’s chest, exhausted, ruined—his arms wrapping around you, lips pressing against your sweat slicked forehead as you now feel the entirety of what’s just happened.
“You did real fuckin’ good” he murmurs, voice soft and somehow still rough.
Onyankopon grunts behind you, his hand stroking down your spine.
“Mhm. Real good, Mama."
You shiver, burying your face in Eren’s neck, your flushed whimper muffled against his skin.
Eren’s thumb traces the delicate shell of your ear, his lips curving into that smug, knowing smirk as he watches you hide your face against his chest—your cheeks burning, your body still trembling from the aftershocks.
“My baby," he murmurs, voice thick with amusement, “Shy now, after all that? Tch,” he sucks his teeth, “That ain’t fair.”
“Ain’t no way,” Onyankopon rumbles, “Not after all that noise you was makin’. You ain’t shy—you just full.”
“Or she just knows she’ll get it again.”
A shiver ran through you.
Eren’s palm cups your face, his thumb swiping away the remnants of your tears as he leans in, pressing a slow, claiming kiss to your lips.
“Love you,” he growls, the words rough, real.
You giggle against his mouth, fingers tightening in his hair, kissing him back like you mean it—like you could drown in him, in this.
Onyankopon’s hand lands on your hip, squeezing—a silent promise, a question, maybe even a threat.
Would this happen again?
You didn’t know.
But the way they look at you—hungry, amused, and owning—tells you all you need to.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ in which you and Jason place a bet to see who can go the longest without touching the other person.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ warnings: reader plays dirty, roy is kinda ooc, this is all Roy’s fault don’t look at me, jason goes insane,
The apartment was quiet for once, saved from the usual chaos of the vigilante lifestyle. Morning light streamed through the blinds of the kitchen, casting warm, golden bars across the worn wooden table. You were leaning against the counter, a mug of coffee warm between your hands, fully enjoying the rare, tranquil quiet.
Then, heavy boots thumped softly down the hallway, and Jason stepped into the kitchen.
He was wearing a faded gray henley, his dark hair a messy bedhead spike, and his eyes still soft with sleep. The moment his gaze found you, that signature lazy, crooked smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He didn't say a word. He just strolled over, closing the distance between you, and dropped his hands onto the counter on either side of your hips, trapping you gently in his orbit.
He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.
You let out a quiet sigh against his mouth, setting your mug down to wrap your fingers around his wrists. He pulled back just an inch, his dark eyes sparkling, before dipping down to press another short kiss to your cheek, then your chin, and back to your lips. It was sweet and lazy, and sickeningly affectionate.
"Morning, sweetheart," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.
"Morning, Jay," you hummed, smiling against another quick press of his lips.
"Will you two please get a room? Or at least put a biohazard warning on the kitchen door?"
The familiarly obnoxious, loud and dramatic voice shattered the moment. Roy was leaning against the doorframe, a half-empty juice box in his hand, looking at the two of you with profound, theatrical disgust.
Roy Harper had a habit of inviting himself into your home and then acting like you were a guest.
"Seriously," Roy groaned, taking a loud sip through his straw. "It’s eight in the morning. You two physically cannot keep your hands off each other for five minutes. It’s sickening. I come down for apple juice and I’m subjected to a puke-fest"
You immediately pulled back from Jason, flushing slightly, though you pointed a defensive finger straight at your boyfriend. "Hey! Don't look at me! I'm not the clingy one, it’s Jason!"
"Me?!" Jason scoffed, dropping his hands from the counter and standing up straight, taking a step back with his arms crossed over his broad chest. "Are you serious right now? I'm clingy? Sweetheart, you were literally gripping my wrists like a drowning person ten seconds ago."
"Because you came over here and invaded my personal space!" you shot back, stepping forward and poking him sharply in the chest. "You're the one who can't go two seconds without touching me, hugging me, or stealing a kiss! You're like a giant, heavily armed koala!"
"A koala?" Jason repeated, raising a single, sharp brow. "Me? No. Im a lethal vigilante. And for the record, you are the one who whines if I don't cuddle you while we watch movies."
"I do not whine!"
"You literally snuggled into my side so hard yesterday you almost knocked me off the couch," Jason countered.
“i was scared!”
“We were literally watching my little pony!”
“King Sombra is terrifying?”
"Face it. You’re attached to my hip. You'd lose your mind if I didn't touch you for an hour."
"Oh, is that a challenge, Todd?" you snapped, your eyes narrowing as a sudden, brilliant idea sparked in your mind.
For months, you had been trying to pay for dinner. One dinner. Just a single pizza, or a nice sit-down meal, or even takeout. But Jason was infuriatingly, pathologically stubborn about money.
The man would literally fight a waiter, hack a card reader, or threaten a host before he let you pull out your wallet. He claimed it was his ‘right’ and by paying, you were being oppressive and stealing his rights. It drove you absolutely insane.
And right now, standing in the kitchen with Roy watching like it was a soap opera, your golden opportunity had just presented itself.
"You know what?" you said, folding your arms and looking up at him with supreme confidence. "Let's put your money where your big mouth is. A bet."
Jason raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "A bet?"
"Yes. A test to see who is actually the clingy one," you declared. "The rules are simple: we have to stay at least 10 inches away from each other at all times. No touching. No kissing. No holding hands. No leaning on each other. Nothing. The first person who caves and breaks the distance loses."
Jason hummed, rolling his shoulders. "And what are the stakes?"
You smirked, leaning in just a fraction before remembering the rule and stepping back. "Whoever loses has to let the winner pay for dinner. For the next three months."
Roy let out a low whistle from the doorway. "Damn. High stakes. Todd, your fragile masculinity is on the line."
Jason ignored Roy entirely, his dark eyes locking onto yours. The amusement in his expression shifted into a razor-sharp, ridiculously competitive glare. The idea of letting you pay for his food for three whole months was clearly appalling to his deeply ingrained, stubborn street-dog pride.
"Three months?" Jason murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "You're dreaming, sweetheart. There is no way in hell you are ever paying for anything. I'm going to crush you."
"We'll see about that, Todd," you chimed, checking your watch. "Starting... now. 10 inches."
Jason took a deliberate, dramatic step back, maintaining a wide gap between the two of you. "Prepare to lose, clingy."
The first few hours weren't terrible. In fact, they were almost funny.
You sat on opposite ends of the couch, watching TV, both of you hyper-aware of the space between you. Every time Jason absentmindedly reached out to rest his arm behind your shoulders, he would freeze, remember the bet, see your smug grin, and quickly snatch his hand back, glaring at you.
By evening, however, the reality of the bet began to set in.
Normally, when you cooked dinner, Jason would stand right behind you, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder while you stirred the pot. Tonight, he stood exactly ten inches away, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, staring at the back of your head like a man dying of thirst while watching someone pour water on the ground.
"You know," you said casually, stirring the pasta sauce, "you can help."
"I am helping," Jason grunted, not moving an inch. "I'm supervising. From a safe, non-losing distance."
"You look like a statue, Jay."
"I am a fortress of willpower," he replied stiffly.
The real nightmare, however, began when it was time to go to sleep.
Sharing a king-sized bed sounded easy enough in theory, but in practice, it was pure torture. You were used to sleeping pressed against Jason’s chest, feeling the steady, warm rise and fall of his breathing, anchored by his heavy arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Jason was used to sleeping with you tucked securely under his chin, his protective instincts lulled to sleep by your proximity.
Now? You were lying on your side, staring at the wall, while Jason lay rigid on his back on his side of the mattress.
The gap of ten inches between you felt like a glowing, electric canyon.
Every time you shifted, the mattress moved, and you could hear Jason’s breath hitch in the dark.
"You asleep?" you whispered into the darkness.
"No," Jason’s voice rasped out. It was strained. "I am holding the line."
"You can just give in, you know," you coaxed softly, turning your head to look at him. "All you have to do is say I win, and you get to hold me."
"Nice try," Jason ground out through grit teeth. You heard his jaw clench. "Not happening. My credit card is ready for tomorrow's dinner. Go to sleep."
You sighed, turning back around.
It was a long, sleepless night. Every time you drifted off, you instinctively reached out, only to catch yourself at the last second and yank your hand back. And every time you did, you could hear Jason rustling frantically, physically fighting the urge to pull you into his arms.
When morning finally arrived, light crept slowly through the bedroom curtains. You stretched, letting out a soft yawn, and sat up on the bed.
"Jason?" you murmured softly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.
Sitting on the very edge of his side of the mattress was Jason.
He hadn't changed out of his clothes. He hadn't pulled the blanket over himself. He was just sitting there, staring blankly at the far wall, looking like a man who had survived a war zone. His hair was wild and sticking up in every direction, deep dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes, and he looked visually exhausted.
Jason slowly, mechanically turned his head toward you. His neck let out a loud, alarming CRACK.
"Sleep is for the weak," Jason rasped. His voice sounded like he had spent the night swallowing glass. His left eye twitched again, hard.
"Jay, oh my god," you said, reaching out instinctively toward him—
"DONT!" Jason practically shrieked, flinching violently backward and throwing his entire upper body off the side of the bed, landing on the floor with a loud THUD.
He scrambled backward on his elbows until his back hit the wall, keeping a full six feet between you. He was panting, his chest heaving, his dark eyes wide and unhinged as he stared at your outstretched hand.
"Do not touch me!" Jason panted, holding up a warning finger, his hand visibly shaking. "I saw that! You tried to tag me while I was down! Disqualification! Foul!"
"I wasn't trying to tag you, you psycho, I was checking if you were having a stroke!" you yelled, sitting back on your heels on the mattress. "Look at you! Your eye is literally twitching! You didn't sleep a single minute, did you?!"
"I slept great," Jason lied defensively, his left eye twitching twice in rapid succession. He pushed himself up against the wall, standing on shaky legs. "I feel fantastic. I have never been more alert in my life. The distance is easy. Painless."
"You look like a caffeinated sleep-deprived zombie, Jason," you scoffed, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. "Just give up. Let me pay."
"Over my dead body," Jason snapped, straightening his posture, though his eyes darted hungrily to your lips before he forcibly tore his gaze away. "Ten inches, sweetheart. Remember the rules."
By afternoon, the lack of touch and sleep had completely broken Jason’s brain, and you decided it was time to deploy heavy tactical warfare.
You knew Jason Todd better than anyone. You knew he was a tough, ruthless crime lord on the outside, but on the inside—especially when it came to you—he was a deeply protective, fiercely devoted sap who couldn't bear the thought of you feeling hurt, sad, or insecure.
If playing nice wasn't going to break him, psychological manipulation was.
You sat down on the couch in the main living room, intentionally slumping your shoulders. You let out a quiet, heavy, miserable sigh, dropping your head into your hands.
Jason was standing near the bookshelf, pretending to read a novel, but his eyes were darting toward you every three seconds. The moment he heard your mournful sigh, his body went rigid.
"Something wrong?" he asked, trying to sound casual, though his voice was laced with immediate, low-level anxiety.
You didn't look up. You pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around your legs, making yourself look as small and vulnerable as humanly possible.
"I feel sad, Jay," you murmured, your voice small, flat, and hollow.
Jason’s hands tightened on the book so hard the leather spine creaked. "Sad? Why? Did something happen? Who do I need to shoot?"
"No one," you sniffled quietly, letting out another shuddering breath. "I just... I just feel like I wanna be understood."
Jason’s left eye twitched. He took two step toward the couch, stopping dead at the ten-inch boundary. His breath was coming in short, shallow puffs. You could practically hear his internal organs screaming. He wanted to throw the book across the room, drop to his knees, pull you into his lap, and kiss your forehead until you felt better.
"Understood?" he echoed, his voice strained to the absolute breaking point. "Sweetheart, I understand you. I get you. Talk to me."
"No, you don't," you whispered, turning your head away, dropping your chin to your knees so your eyes looked glossy and sad. "I just... I feel so unloved today."
THUD.
Jason dropped the book onto the floor.
His eyes were completely blown out, filled with a sudden, overwhelming, visceral panic. "Unloved?! What the hell are you talking about?! I love you! I literally love you more than life itself, you know that!"
He took a frantic step closer, his hands hovering in mid-air just inches from your shoulders.
"I don't know..." you whimpered softly, pulling out the absolute big guns, your voice trailing off into a pitiful murmur. "I don't feel pretty today, Jay. Am I ugly? Is that why no one loves me?"
Jason looked like he had just been stabbed through the heart
"Ugly?!" he roared quietly, his voice cracking with pure horror. "Are you insane?! You're the most beautiful person on the entire planet! Who put that garbage in your head?! I'll kill them! I promise i will. I’ll even torture them if you want. I will literally track them down and murder them!"
"I just feel so gross," you whimpered, looking up at him with wide, watery eyes, doing your absolute best to pout. "Like... I mean, look at me..."
He slowly began to sink to his knees in front of you, his face twisted in deep, genuine concern.
"Baby, please," Jason pleaded softly, his voice trembling as he reached his hands out, hovering barely half an inch from your face. "Don't say that. Look at me. Please look at me. You're stunning. You're perfect. I'm right here. I'm right here, baby, just..."
You let out a tiny, shuddering breath, a single tear spilling over your cheek—
And then, just as Jason was about to lose it completely, throw his arms around you, and cave...
He caught it.
A tiny, microscopic, triumphant little smirk peeked through the corner of your trembling lips.
Jason froze.
His brain processed the smirk in half a second. The realization hit him like a lightning bolt.
The concern drained from his face, replaced instantly by an expression of pure, unbridled, disbelief.
"You..." Jason whispered, his voice dropping into a deadly rumble. "You little—”
You immediately dropped the sad act, breaking into a bright, wicked laugh as you leaned back onto the couch. "Damn it! I almost had you!"
"You were faking?!" Jason practically yelled, standing up so fast his chair wobbled. He pointed a shaking finger at you, his eye twitching furiously once more. "You used psychological warfare on me! You pretended to feel ugly! You knew that would hit my weak spot! You almost gave me a heart attack!"
"All's fair in love and war, Todd!" you laughed, crossing your arms smugly. "You almost caved!"
"Almost doesn't count!" Jason shouted, pacing back and forth across the rug, keeping his ten-inch distance while glaring at you like you were a criminal mastermind. "That was evil! That was pure evil! You are a terrible person! And I am never letting you pay for dinner now! Never!"
If jason was bad one day one, it was nothing compared to day two.
The combination of zero sleep, the agonizing lack of physical contact, and the sheer mental exhaustion of resisting your psychological traps had pushed him over the edge.
He was an absolute, terrifying asshole to literally everyone who dared exist in his vicinity.
When Damian walked past the living room and made a snide remark about Jason looking like a defeated stray dog, Jason didn't even argue—he just pulled a batarang out of his pocket and threw it so close to Damian's head it embedded itself two inches deep into the doorframe right next to his ear.
When Roy tried to ask him a normal question about a case, Jason threatened to break all ten of his fingers and feed them to the sewer rats.
The only exception to his rage was you.
Toward you, Jason was agonizingly gentle, absurdly attentive, and sickeningly polite—which somehow made the whole situation ten times scarier.
"Do you need more tea, sweetheart?" Jason would ask softly, standing exactly ten inches away, his voice dripping with pure tenderness, his eyes soft and loving.
"I'm good, Jay, thank you," you'd reply.
"Okay, beautiful. Let me know if you need anything. Anything at all," he’d murmur sweetly.
Then, the second Steph walked into the room, breathing, Jason’s head would snap around, his face morphing into a terrifying mask of rage. "If you make one more noise in this room, Brown, I will throw you off the roof of Gotham General."
It was absolute madness.
You were sitting on the edge of the kitchen island, kicking your legs softly, watching Jason aggressively aggressively sanitize the counter five feet away from you. He looked like he was one minor inconvenience away from starting a riot.
Suddenly, your phone buzzed in your pocket.
You pulled it out and unlocked the screen. It was a text string from Dick.
Dick: PLEASE.
Dick: I am begging you, on my hands and knees, cave.
Dick: please please please
Dick: He threatened to burn down the Batcave.
Dick: He is losing his absolute mind. End the bet.
Dick: WE ARE DYING OUT HERE. HE IS GOING TO KILL US ALL.
You bit your lip, holding back a laugh, and looked up from your screen.
Jason was standing near the sink, gripping the edge of the marble counter so hard his knuckles were snow-white. He was staring at you. His dark eyes were filled with a desperate, starved, exhausted hunger. He looked like a man dying in the desert staring at an glass of water, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, looking completely defeated, miserable, and utterly desperate.
He looked so pitiful, so thoroughly broken by his own stubborn pride, that your heart melted a little.
You let out a soft, defeated huff of laughter, tossing your phone onto the counter behind you.
"Alright, Jay," you sighed, taking a deliberate step forward and opening your arms wide. "I cave. You win."
You didn't even get to finish the last word.
The moment the words 'I cave' left your mouth, Jason's reaction time was terrifying.
He crossed the distance between you in a blur of movement, practically tackling you backwards onto the kitchen island.
His heavy, broad arms wrapped around you with a suffocating, desperate tightness, pulling you so close there wasn't a single millimeter of air left between your bodies. He buried his face directly into the crook of your neck, letting out a long, deep, shuddering groan of relief.
"Thank God," he gasped against your skin, his hands gripping your waist so tightly it bordering on bruising, anchoring himself to you as if he was afraid you'd vanish if he let go. "Jesus fucking Christ. Never doing that again. Ever."
You laughed, wrapping your arms around his massive shoulders, burying your hands in his soft, messy dark hair and massaging his scalp softly. "You were going insane, Todd."
"I was dying," he corrected aggressively, his voice muffled in your shoulder. "I was literally dying. My brain was melting."
He pulled back just enough to look down at you. His eyes were still tired, his eye still had a tiny lingering twitch, but the murderous rage was completely gone, replaced by a warm, smitten, completely victorious smirk.
"Damn right I win," Jason murmured, his thumb coming up to trace your lower lip gently. "You fought dirty with that sad act, sweetheart, but my willpower is legendary."
"You looked like you were going to cry when I said I felt ugly," you pointed out playfully.
"Shut up," Jason grunted, though a dark flush crept up his neck. "I was worried about you."
"Now," Jason growled softly, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as he kissed the tip of your nose. "Get your shoes on, sweetheart."
"Where are we going?" you asked, smiling up at him.
"Out," Jason smirked, wrapping his hand firmly around yours and tugging you toward the front door, making sure to squeeze your fingers extra tight just because he finally could. "To the most expensive steakhouse in Gotham. And I am paying."
a/n i keep raising my own standards and then wondering why im single…
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⤷ 𝓲n which your husband satoru is overly clingy with you, even after arguing. and now it seems like it runs in the family where your son is just as — if not more clingy.
𝓬ontents: hurt/comfort, canon sorcerer au where you and gojo have a one year old together, very suggestive themes and fluff <3
all you wanted today was some peace and quiet, but it looked like your son and satoru believed otherwise.
your baby was attached by the hip for almost weeks on end, which of course is expected at one years old. but his growing attachment combined with not eating anything you made for him and finding humour in throwing around his heavy toys had you going insane.
normally satoru wouldn’t hesitate to step in and help to make your life a whole lot easier when your son was being difficult, but he was sent on a mission for a few days which left you all alone. on the rare occasion, he would be more of a nuisance than help, but let’s not jinx that.
luckily enough, he was expected to return back today. so all would be fine, right?
however, you and satoru had an unresolved argument before he left – ironically about how he overworks himself to a dangerous extent. things were now very awkward between the two of you, barely messaging during his time away unless it was to update him with cute pictures of your son or your typical goodnight/good morning messages to each other.
❀
it’s late at night when your baby has finally gone to sleep, now just you and your husband. satoru being perceptive as ever, notices you’re quieter than usual and asks, “i can tell something’s bothering you, what’s up?”
“satoru, i’m worried for you..”
“worried for me? why?”
“i think you’re taking on way too many risky missions. do you not see how they’ll eventually burn you out?”
“that’s cute, but you don’t need to worry about me sweets. i’m the strongest after all!”
“don’t be arrogant with me right now, i genuinely worry that you won’t make it back home one day. back to us. i have nightmares all the time that i’ll have to learn to live a life without you because you pushed your own limits.”
“it’s not really arrogant if it’s true...”
you clicked your tongue in annoyance, “if that’s all you take away from that then i think you seriously need to grow up.”
“okay look, i don’t know what to tell you. everyone’s relying on me as a safety net for their lives.“
“but are you their only sorcerer? just because you’re the strongest doesn’t mean you’re the only one alive and working.”
“it’s not like they can always rely on the students to take on death missions which really are just a piece of cake for me. this isn’t just a silly thing i do on a whim. it’s my job. don’t you think i know the risks that come with it?”
“of course i know, but how many times have you promised me that you were going to quit or only stick to teaching now that you’re a family man? all of which were your words by the way. so maybe don’t keep making empty promises to me and your baby that you can’t even live up to.” your voice shakes at the end, falling silent as you wipe away the tears threatening to spill.
just as he was about to speak up and try comfort you, his phone rings. you roll your eyes knowing that when someone calls him this late it’s most likely the higher ups sending him on another mission. he sighs before answering, the timing could not have been worse in helping his case.
satoru tries to listen to the details of the case, but he’s more attentive to you — not even attempting to hide it as he looks at you. now you just feel awkward with his bright blue orbs staring into your soul.
“it’s a special grade curse abroad. they said it should take around three days.” he’s still gazing into your eyes, trying to anticipate your reaction. but you’re not looking at him anymore, now focused on the ground.
“just go, satoru.”
❀
“honey, i’m home!” he calls out from the front entrance, immediately teleporting back once the mission was complete.
“dada!” your son crawls out of your grasp and waddles over to satoru’s leg, practically jumping in joy.
“hello little munchkin~ you’ve been taking care of mama?” he lifts him up and tickles his belly. your son obviously didn’t understand a thing he said, simply giggling in response. that’s when satoru really looks at you, taking in your exhausted expression and dark circles.
“hi my love, how about you get some rest, hm? i’ll take care of him.”
“n–no, it’s okay. you’re probably starving right now, i’ll make your favourite?”
“nope. won’t be needing that. i stopped by the local cafe to taste test the whole menu, and brought it back to you!” with a swipe of his fingers the front door opens and reveals the food bags floating in. your greedy baby attempts to reach out to the nearest bag with his mouth almost drooling at the sight of his favourite desserts peaking out.
“thank you, toru…” you sigh in relief as you take one of the bags full of savoury pastries and croissants before heading back upstairs to your room.
you feel well-rested after an hour or so passes, now in the state where your body is half awake and half asleep. that doesn’t last for long before satoru barges in with your baby.
“sweets!” “mama!” they call in unison.
“uhh..hi..?” you sit up and reply, still in a very much confused daze.
“we missed you! well– him more than me..” satoru chuckles as your baby kicks his tiny feet around. he plops onto the bed and your baby jumps out of his hold and onto your stomach. you wince slightly but accept his little bear hug nonetheless.
“y’know what i just realised, sweets?” he asks, getting comfy as he rests his head on your lap.
“hm?”
“you haven’t kissed me at all since i came back, not even a peck!” he pouts and crosses his arms like a child. is he going to pretend like the argument just didn’t happen at all?
“seriously?”
“more serious than the birth of this lil’ guy!” he exclaims, pointing at your son who was now rummaging through the food bag from before.
“welp– guess you’ll have to earn it.” you shrug and pat his head. something in your gut told you that satoru wouldn’t make your life any easier today, so why not make him work for it?
“you don’t mean that…” he murmurs, looking up at you like a kicked puppy.
“oh, i do. now leave us alone. you interrupted my beauty sleep and it’s his nap time.” you lie back down and pull your baby into your arms to cuddle.
“i-is this the first stage of me being replaced? my cuddling time gets stolen by our spawn?”
“nothing personal, he’s just got cuter appeal.” you tease and turn away from him.
satoru of course wouldn’t take no for an answer, deciding to join you in bed and wrapping a protective arm over the both of you, his hold so strong that you knew it was pointless trying to fight it.
“hey! who said you could join us?!” you attempt and completely fail to wriggle out of his grasp.
“shh– let’s just go to sleep baby~” he uses that same tone that he uses for your son, making you huff in irritation. you would only let it slide this time since his mission most likely deprived him of sleep and therefore cause him to act like an airhead.
yeah. that has to be it.
half an hour passes by until you’re awake and fully energised, your baby starts to stir awake as well whereas satoru is still out like a light. you push his heavy arm away to leave, desperately needing the toilet and to shower.
you barely make it to the door when your baby mumbles a sleepy “mama?”, bottom lip trembling from one breakdown away.
“mama’s coming back, sweetie. i need to shower, okay? stay with papa for now.”
“otay..” he pouts, watching you leave. once the door shuts, you let out a deep sigh of relief when he doesn’t start crying.
meanwhile your baby decided to wake up his dad by crawling up his body and straddling his chest. satoru lets out a choked groan at the added body pressure but your baby deemed it not enough, beginning to slap his face on both sides awake.
“dada! wake up time!”
“ah– alright alright!” satoru instinctively reaches out to your side to pull you in, only to be grabbing nothing “hey wait a minute…where’s mama?”
“mama showah!”
“hmm, i see…let’s go check up on her, c’mon!” he scoops up your son into his arms and tiptoes up to the bathroom door.
you’re preparing a warm bath, pouring in the himalayan bath salts before being interrupted by bursts of knocking on the other side and a screeching “mamamama!” “loveyyyy!”. you internally groan for a good ten seconds before grabbing your bathrobe to wrap around and open the door.
“what is it now?” you glare at satoru, having caught onto his clingy antics that will definitely continue on further today. but he doesn’t answer. he can’t. not when your soft legs and the outline of your bare breasts are peaking through your robe (yes he’s that easy).
“eyes up here, perv!” you pull his chin back up to your face, clearly waiting for an explanation as to why he’s disturbing your peace once again. and oh, his look alone tells you that he’s so gone.
“..how about i leave him in the playpen and come join you?”
“don’t even think about it! now shoo!” you push him out and lock the door, leaving them both whining outside. this man was seriously going to make your hair go whiter than his by the end of the day.
“satoru…” your voice eerily calm, silencing him instantly. “if you don’t leave right now, you won’t be getting any kisses for a month.” he gulps hard, knowing what you mean by kisses in this context, and that you would truly stand by it.
“heh…we’re just gonna go then…enjoy your bath!”
finally you could wind down and relax, letting your tense body bask in the warm, bubbly water. you could faintly hear your son’s toy drums being put to use from the living room, but that was satoru’s problem now. and knowing your husband, he probably egged it on.
feeling much more refreshed and relaxed, you go downstairs to start on dinner. you’re preparing and chopping up the ingredients to make chicken parmesan when satoru comes up from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder and wrapping his arms around your waist. even though you’re married, when he touches you like this, your stomach flutters and your heart backflips uncontrollably.
satoru sniffs your vanilla scent in before murmuring, “mmph, y’smell so good.” then plants slow kisses on your neck.
“thanks toru~” you giggle at how giddy he has you feeling inside.
“so how about that real kiss now?” he asks, god he was desperate for it (which you wouldn’t lie was kind of cute), so why not bless him just a bit? you turn around to face him and peck his cheek.
“that’s all you can get for now.” you turn back to dice the vegetables.
“i’ll take it, are we okay though?” he frowns when remembering your argument.
“we’ll see, i guess you’re out of the doghouse.” you can feel his smile against your shoulder. he opens his mouth to reply when your baby appears out of nowhere and tugs on your leg.
“is everything okay, baby?”
“mama play wiv me?” your heart could just melt right now. you wanted to pick him up and eat his soft, plump cheeks but you had just cut up chilli peppers and onions, a dangerous combo to even be near his face.
“heyyy!!” satoru butts in highly offended, “what’s wrong with papa to play with?”
“papa bawwing!” you struggle to stifle in your laugh, everyday your baby goes on to shock you with the choice of words he picks up on.
“ahem– mama’s making your favourite food, so later on okay?”
“dino nuggie?” more like chicken and spaghetti noodles…it’s not like a one year old would know the difference anyways!
“…yeah! so go play with papa, and don’t be so boring satoru!”
“i have a family of bullies…” he mutters dramatically as he hikes your baby up to sit on top of his shoulders, off to the living room and act out their imaginary music band for the 50th time today.
once you’re finished cooking, satoru helps to plate up dinner and place your baby in his high chair, who was thoroughly inspecting his bowl of spaghetti and cut-up chicken pieces. your mind was praying that he didn’t throw his bowl away this time, but after watching his dad eat up like there was no tomorrow he actually ate his food this time!
“y’know,” satoru speaks up and reaches out to hold your hand, thumb caressing your knuckles “i missed you a lot whilst i was away. the both of you.”
“we missed you too.” you smile softly at him.
“sweets, i’m sorry. i kept thinking about our argument the whole time and how i should’ve been more understanding.”
“i should be sorry too. i was being petty–”
“no. don’t do that. you were right, i talked to yaga about working less missions and he agreed.”
“really?” your eyes widen in shock, it almost sounds too good to be true.
“i may have threatened the higher ups with their lives to get there…”
“satoru!” you try to scold him but it fails as you end up smiling. honestly you hate the higher ups just as much as he does since they seem to be the root cause of maintaining the broken system.
“can you blame me? they’re the ones keeping us apart!” that was another fair point that made you giggle.
“can i kiss you now?” he asks when it goes quiet again. you nod, and when his lips are just about to come into contact with yours, you purse your lips. “babe! you’re so evil it hurts!” satoru whines making you full on snort out loud.
“mama me kiss?” your baby grins adorably, understanding one of his favourite words. and how could you ever deny him?
“of course mochi!” you place soft kisses all over his chubby face covered in pasta sauce. when you turn back to satoru, he’s still moping. “ugh, fine. come here you big baby.” you lean over and let your lips softly connect.
satoru, however, is on a completely different wavelength as he deepens the kiss with his tongue sneakily slipping into your entrance and sucking slow on yours. it was expected for him to be like this after three days without any touch, but in front of the baby? you can’t seem to pull away either, so maybe you’re not any better.
you slowly pull back when your baby’s grubby hands bang against the table, not before planting more small kisses on satoru’s lips. you have a theory that whenever you kiss in front of your son, he hates it. as it always results in him feeling obligated to stop it — or as satoru claims to be a tiny cockblocker.
“i may have gotten a little surprise for you while you were away~” you mention casually when you both have finished eating (satoru in five minutes and you in thirty because you were going on tangents).
“oh yeah? is it the kind that i’m thinking of?” he smirks and winks at you, which made you more flustered than it should have.
“don’t be so dirty toru, our baby’s right here! ahem– and maybe that too– but go check the fridge..” his eyes narrow at you even whilst he gets up, trying to guess what it could be.
when satoru opens the fridge, he’s surprised with boxes of limited edition kikufuku mochi — his all-time favourite snack since he was a child. it looks like you also stress baked as his eyes light up when they set on the homemade cookie dough brownies, doughnuts, trifle, and cheesecake.
“did i die and this is my heaven…?” he whispers, quickly brought back to his senses with a sharp slap to his nape from you. when did you and your son even get there?
“what have i said about saying stuff like that?”
“sorry, sorry! but woah– after i eat all of this just know you’re going to be eaten out so well~” he singsongs whilst ripping out the mochi from the package.
“oh my god satoru...” you mentally facepalm and shake your head, leave it to him to turn everything sexual. you gulp when watching how his tongue skilfully licks off the powder as he takes his time to savour each bite, shamelessly moaning every time.
“mmph~ where did you– find these? i need more of ‘em” he manages to muffle out with his face stuffed.
“i asked ijichi to make a quick stop to your favourite store out of town on my behalf! you can thank me later~”
“me mochi!” your baby exclaims and claps his hands, exactly like his father with literal heart eyes forming at the sight of more of the desserts. satoru breaks off a mochi in half to feed to both you and the baby, silently bribing you with food before you had the chance to say no.
satoru kept the baby occupied whilst you managed to clean up. although your son was not having it, immediately crying when he left your arms and leaving satoru on the verge of a mental breakdown as to whether his son already forgot his face in the span of three days.
finally, when bedtime rolls in and your baby has fully exhausted himself out, satoru gets to selfishly have you all to himself and leaves no time to waste. you get to flaunt your new baby blue lingerie set for him before he rips it off and shows you just how much he missed you. rounds later, you’re now in his warm embrace, his soft voice like a lullaby to your ears.
“i love you..” he murmurs, kissing your temple over and over again when he thinks you’ve fallen asleep.
“heh– i love you more you big softie.” you whisper back, a wide smile ghosting your sleepy face.
𝓷otes: again didn’t know how to end this, wanted to write smut but i’m literally so ahh at it so hope this was good enough x
♡ 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓... to catching you humping your pillow?
THEY'RE AMUSED ♡ walking in on their sweetheart so needy cause they're not around? shiiittt. they can't help but prop themselves against the doorway, fold their arms and watch your slippery lil' cunt stain the pillow with your desperation. their eyes deep with lustful humour. had you even seen them yet? or were you too busy picturing yourself grinding on their thigh? their presence is announced with a low, rough whistle that jolts you upright and has you scrambling in embarrassment. all while their brow's arched, head tilted, crooning in that dark, silk sin: “welcome home to me, I guess.” sure felt like a homecoming when they pinned you down and spread you open on their cock.
SATORU · suguru · kashimo
THEY'RE HELPFUL ♡ they're almost pouting the second they register it. your sweet slick soaking the pillow case, your needy little whimpers, tits perked against their shirt that hangs off of your shoulders. poor thing, had they left you all needy? it's a sin they'll have to atone for by coming up behind you, snatching your thighs, and pressing hot kisses up your shivering neck. you'll jump in surprise— but they squeeze you against them. “my sweet baby... so desperate?” a kiss pressed to your ear as they roll your hips down, guiding your clit to grind just right. squishing your thighs on the pillow to provide you the perfect pressure. “let me help... make it up to my favourite girl for leaving her pussy so needy, hmm?”
THEY'RE GREEDY ♡ what? you thought they'd just be satisfied walking in on you grinding your messy cunt on a pillow? course not. they make their presence known with a hum. casual as they lean against the wall, hands shoved in their pockets. “what?” their brow arches, gaze dragging in dark appreciation down your quivering body. when they meet your eyes again, there's a deep, raw current: effortless dominance. “don't stop now, baby. show's all yours, have at it.” a lazy grin tugs to their lips as you listen, as you always did, rocking your hips into the pillow, maintaining eye contact because you knew it's what they loved. “thereee you go. feels good to be a needy slut for me, doesn't it?”
SUKUNA · satoru · toji · yuta · satoshi
THEY'RE SADISTIC ♡ because, how dare you? fluff up your pillow, pull those sticky panties off, and decide to grind that cute cunt on a useless piece of fabric instead of asking them for help? “am I a joke to you?” that's how they make their presence known, and before you can go on your spiel of being embarrassed and stammering, they're grabbing you by the jaw. kissing you hard, senseless, breathless. and then abruptly shoving your face into the pillow. cradling the back of your neck as they stroke a thumb along your pulse. “go on.” you feel their voice on your ear. they're loomed over you, dripping with rough amusement. “lick that pillow clean for me, since you prefer it instead of asking me for help.”
in which an intruder interrupts your morning with dickie.
( dick grayson x fem!reader x platonic!damian | fluff )
the morning sunlight filled your room with a beautiful warm glow—casting the right amount of light to give you a picture perfect view of your boyfriend sleeping right next to you. he looked so calm, so at peace, so comfortable, he was beautiful and you loved to remind him of that fact everyday.
“you’re staring” he muttered, his eyes still closed but his hand now rubbed up and down your waist while the other tangled itself within your hair.
“im not staring, i’m admiring” you corrected. he hummed, finally opening his eyes to see you already looking up at him with that smile on your face.
“good morning pretty” no matter how many times he’s called you that it never failed to make your face burn causing you to look away all shy and flustered. “give me a kiss” he chuckled, the hand that was tangled in your hair tugging softly to force your head up towards him.
“nuh uh, morning breath”
“pfft, that never stopped me, i’ve kissed your other lips after training” he said with a smug smile on his face. your eyes widen and your mouth opened to reprimand his sleazy comment yet your voice wouldn’t be the one to speak first.
“thats absolutely disgusting grayson” the both of you sat up rather quickly, both ready to defend the other from the unexpected intruder but there wasn’t no immediate threat, just damian wayne standing at the end of the bed with his arms crossed over his chest.
“what are you doing here?!” dick shouted.
“she promised to chaperone my trip today” you gasped, rushing out of the bed and into the connecting bathroom, grabbing random pieces of clothing on the way there.
“give me five minutes!” you shouted at the boy, slightly grateful for his interruption or else you would have completely forgotten.
“after training? seriously?” damian teased, a tiny smirk on his face.
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one thing about satoru gojo is that he's a freak. ☆
he'll try anything once, and then three more times for good measure. as long as it ends with him emptying his balls, preferably on or inside of you, he's more than happy to entertain any of your weird requests.
this, though, is too weird.
"you want to have vanilla sex?" he gawks at you.
you're laying back on his bed, bare and smiling up at him as he climbs over you. he's hard, sure, but he's not flooded with the excitement of your usual ideas. what happened to seeing how far he could bend until he broke something?
"why don't i put the collar back on?" he suggests tapping the tip of your nose with an outstretched finger. "oh! or we could play with those candles again... or you could make me squirt... no? roleplay? anal? some music, at least?"
you shake your head, and if you weren't so damn cute satoru might be more upset than he is. "you know," you start, "plenty of couples have plain sex regularly. i just want to feel you."
"we aren't like most couples," he grimaces. "i'm the strongest. and you're the sexiest. i don't think she's physically capable of having boring sex with you, baby."
"stop calling your dick a she," you stare up at him. "please? you said you'd try anything."
satoru kisses your lips gently, as boringly as he can do without getting too worked up. you are naked underneath him, after all. "i said that hoping you'd propose pegging me. or letting me put that tentacle dildo be bought down your throat while i—"
"just fuck me," you whisper.
and because satoru is secretly a lover before he is a freak, he complies. with a gentle nod and a few seconds to line himself up with you, he pushes inside and lets you lock your legs around his waist before he starts a gentle pace with you.
it feels good, of course, it's you. but there's something sweet to the way he fucks you—no, makes love to you—that isn't there when gags and blindfolds and whipped cream and the odd sushi roll are in the way. it's just you and him, eyes locked as he becomes whole with you in the most intimate way possible.
he realises, when your eyes flutter shut and you lock your feet behind his back just to feel him even closer, that he might just like boring sex.
"this isn't me. i'd rather be spanked," he complains nonetheless, even if it's only to help that smile of yours pull at your lips. "how about you degrade me? call me an idiot like you always do. or a slut. man-whore? just don't call me late for dinner."
you hope he never manages to fuck a baby into you. the dad jokes would never end. you roll your eyes, groan, and tighten around him regardless. "there's something wrong with you, satoru."
he smiles down at you, that stupid grin that could soothe out every last one of your worries, and shrugs. "eh, that'll do."
he rolls his hips into you nice and slow, taking on the domestic vanilla sex role the best he can, and you moan into the kiss he leans down for in response. gojo feels your breath mix with his, and your heartbeats sync into something so unanimous it might as well just be one heart.
he gets it now. making love, being one with someone else so closely that he's quite literally inside of your body and still doesn't feel close enough. sure, the security of putting his body on the line and letting you do as you please is intimate... but it's not this.
his orgasm hits him fast, fueled by your close proximity and warmth and tightness and love for him. he rubs your clit in circles so sweet it sickens you, and drags you right over that beautiful edge with him.
the two of you cum in sync with each other. you shake and tighten around his cock and he spills into you with sweet moans that sound a little more raw and vulnerable than they usually do. he kisses you silly, peppers his lips all over your face until you're laughing underneath him and trying helplessly to writhe away.
gojo pulls back to look at your face, and he nods to himself. you smile, and push his white hair out of his face with a gentle tilt of your head and more love in your eyes than he could ever really fathom.
"what's that look for?" you ask.
and that's when you notice the tears welling in his eyes. the tremble of his lip as he recognises a million different feelings at once. and with a sniffle, and a shaky breath, he grins.
"this is way better than being spanked."
this is a rewritten version of an OLD post of mine from like 2024. does that count as it now being original? regardless, if you accuse me of stealing this i'm going to pluck your eyelashes one by one, keep you in my chamber of secrets as we wait for them to regrow, and continue the cycle until i have enough eyelashes to stitch together and knit you a cute cardigan
Includes: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Wally West
Summary: he accidentally comes home in full superhero garb and now he has to think of a clever way to explain himself without revealing his identity
Word Count: abt 500/part
Content/CW -> gn! reader, mild injury (wally's), mention of voltron (tim's), mostly silly, technically they commit a Crime
froggi yaps -> was on a roll writing this, this idea was so silly and fun >.< thank you to the nonnie who sent it in
Dick:
Moving in with Dick Grayson has had its hiccups.
He has the oddest sleep schedule known to man, for one, and every time he tries to cook anything beyond what a 13 year old can, it seems to end in smoke and sheepish apologies.
Collectively, you now have more coffee mugs than you do forks, which speaks more to the amount of cutlery you’ve curated than it does to decorative mugs.
Nothing however, in the two weeks you’ve been living together, could have prepared you for this.
Nightwing stands in your bedroom, frozen in shock after having climbed through your window. You stand on the opposite side of your bedroom, the baseball bat Dick keeps by his bed clutched in your hands.
“Woah, woah, I’m Nightwing, I’m one of the good—“
Nightwing is real?
“What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?”
And where the hell is Dick when you need him?
Nightwing raises his hands in surrender, a slightly-familiar sheepish grin on his face. “You’re not gonna hit me with that, are you?” He pulls out one of his own escrima sticks and tosses it on the bed, “at least use that, it’ll hurt more.”
You blink, unimpressed. “You’re not serious, are you?”
“Dead serious.”
Despite your trepidation, you lean forward and snatch the stick off the middle of the bed. You turn it over in your hands, examining it.
Dick breathes a sigh of relief, happy his distraction worked. He’s dead tired, and he’d gotten sloppy on the way home when all he could think about was getting out of his suit and into bed with you.
He didn’t even think about what he was doing until he’d slipped his second leg through the window only to be met with the sound of you shouting. He’d by lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little proud at how quick you were to get out of bed and start threatening the fully grown vigilante in your room.
“If you’re done yelling,” he says cautiously, “I’ll just be going, I’m clearly in the wrong apartment.”
“The wrong—“ You laugh incredulously, “you don’t double check before breaking and entering?”
“Hey, you try doing this in the dark in the middle of the night.”
Your eyes roll. Dick’s never wished more that he could reach out and kiss you.
“I’ll be taking that,” he says, reaching over the bed and grabbing his escrima stick from your hand. “Uh, maybe don’t tell anyone about this.”
“Embarrassed?”
“Something like that.”
And before you can say anything else, he’s maneuvering back through your window and disappearing into the night. You latch it tightly behind him before crawling back into bed, your heart still racing.
Grabbing your phone, you start typing out a message to Dick. You’ll never believe what just happened to me.
Jason:
You thought he was a myth. Some silly tale passed around from criminal to criminal like parents warning their children of the bogeyman. But if he’s a myth, then why is he standing in your living room?
It was hard enough to come to terms with Batman being real, but seeing Red Hood in person is almost as absurd as if Santa Claus himself had broken into your house.
You hold your breath, pressed against the wall, the glass of water you’d snuck out of bed to grab clutched tightly in your hand. Your hands are shaking, your knees are shaking—fear wracks your whole body. And then the glass slips, shattering across the floor and spreading glass and water everywhere.
Any hope Jason had that you didn’t see him dies in his chest. Fuck.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says, and for once, he wishes his voice was just a little softer under the mask.
“T-then why—“ You take a breath, trying to quell your fear. “Why are you in my boyfriend’s house?”
Jason wishes he had a better answer, something beyond ‘I’m a fucking idiot who didn’t think before I broke into my own house in full costume while you were there.’ He comes up empty.
“Jason is…” His own name sounds foreign on his tongue, “he left something here for me. He didn’t say anything about you being here.”
At the sound of your boyfriend’s name, you suddenly remember the glass of his you just broke and the water seeping into his nice floors. You drop to your knees, cupping your hands and trying to stop the spread of the water.
Red Hood is crossing the room in the instant, footsteps heavy so as not to startle you. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Cleaning, I—I can’t believe I broke that.”
“You’re going to cut yourself,” he sighs, going to the kitchen and grabbing the roll of paper towel he keeps on the counter. He’s semi-grateful for your panicked state keeping you from questioning how he knew where that was. “Here, let me.”
And before you can argue against it, Red Hood starts soaking up the water with paper towel. When he’s satisfied the floors are dry, he gets to work on the glass, gloved hands carefully picking up every last shard and wrapping them in another piece of paper towel.
You can only stare in utter disbelief as Red Hood—the notorious anti-hero, this broad man who’d broken into Jason’s house—cleans up your mess as if it’s the must mundane thing in the world.
“T-thanks,” you stutter out, rising to your feet as the masked man discards the used paper towel in the trash.
“Was my fault you dropped it anyways,” he mumbles out. “Tell Jason I’ll come back a different time.”
With that, he’s disappearing back into the shadows of the room, leaving back through the window he came from. You stand there, still shaking slightly, utterly shocked by what just happened.
You’re still standing there twenty minutes later when Jason runs through the door, having ditched his gear off with Bruce. He’s frazzled, a hand running through his messy hair.
“Fuck, sweetheart, what are you still doing up?”
“Your—“ You swallow, looking at your boyfriend with equal amounts of excitement and fear. “Your friend stopped by.”
Tim:
You’re watching Netflix when you hear the distinct scraping of your window opening. Illuminated by the light of your tv screen, you can just barely make out the face of Red Robin, sleepily sliding a leg through your window.
You blink, almost entirely unphased by the sudden appearance of the vigilante. “Um, are you here for me?”
His head snaps up, mouth falling open. Shit. Tim had been so tired, so out of it, he hadn’t even realized his brain was on auto-pilot to your apartment until you’d said that. Shit.
He’s not sure whether he’s relieved or not by how unphased you are by a vigilante breaking into your house in the middle of the night.
He scratches the back of his neck. “No..?”
You hum, your own tired brain working to interpret this information. “Okay,” you say simply.
“Okay?”
You nod, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Tim fully commits, letting himself drop into your room and lean against your windowframe.
“You’re not gonna ask why I’m here, or..?”
“Are you here for something nefarious?”
“Well, no—“
You yawn, “then I don’t care. Do what you need to do.”
He mentally makes a note to talk to you tomorrow about stranger danger and what to do if someone breaks into your house in the middle of the night. For now, though, he’s slightly grateful for your nonchalance. He glances around your room, taking in the plushies you keep on your bed and the tv playing at half-volume, displaying a show a little too familiar to him.
“Shit, are you watching Voltron?”
“Rewatching,” you admit tiredly, finally sitting up in bed. “Are you a fan?”
And Tim suddenly wonders how this has never come up in all of your conversations with him. How is he just finding this out as Red Robin of all things?
“You could say that,” he laughs slightly.
Then you’re patting the bed, inviting him further into your room. Tim knows he shouldn’t, knows he has a dozen other things to look into tonight and yet, he finds himself settling in on the side of your bed he usually sleeps on to watch Voltron.
“What are you doing up so late, anyway?”
You shrug, “was waiting for my boyfriend to text me but…”
Guilt pangs in his chest. He hadn’t realized he forgot to text you back until right now, his phone feeling heavy in the pocket he’d tucked it into. Tim kicks off his boots and fully leans against your bedframe.
He really shouldn’t be doing this. He knows it’ll only lead to more trouble for himself both as Robin and Tim Drake and yet, he can’t bring himself to leave.
“There’s snacks on my kitchen counter if you’re hungry. Soda in the fridge.”
“You’re feeding me after I broke into your house?”
“Figured you work up an appetite running around the city,” you slide back down into bed, lazily splaying your limbs across the mattress. “Could probably use the extra fuel.”
Tim can only smile, “I guess I never thought of it like that.”
Wally:
Wally doesn’t realize his error until he’s skidding to a stop in his own living room only to be met with you, mid handful of popcorn, looking utterly shocked. Well, fuck.
He’s exhausted, lungs burning from all the running he’s done tonight, and the blood trickling down his side is definitely staining the carpet Iris and Barry had gifted in when he moved in. Double fuck.
“Are you—“ You tentatively rise to your feet, looking around as if you’re the one that’s in the wrong place. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” No.
Your eyes scan him, from the big logo on the middle of his suit to the hand he has clutched over the tear on his side that is definitely dripping blood all over Wally’s floors. You start towards him, equally concerned as you are flabbergasted.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’m—“ He takes a breath, a weak puff of air leaving his lips, “clearly in the wrong house.”
“You’re bleeding,” you repeat, and you’re so close now you can very visibly see the cut on his side. Nothing too deep or serious, but painful looking nonetheless. “Do you—I think my boyfriend has a first aid kit around here somewhere.”
Under the sink, Wally thinks. But he wouldn’t dare let you get too close to him right now, not when he’s sure you’ll be able to sniff out it’s him every moment. His heart pangs as he thinks of how awkward a conversation that’ll be.
Before he can say anything, you’re disappearing down the hall, coming back with the first aid kit lifted above your head like a trophy. Wally can’t help but smile a bit. You’re so damn cute.
You order him to sit on the couch, laying down a towel you’d stolen from his bathroom to keep him from making a mess. “I’ll try and be quick,” you promise. “But not all of us have super speed.”
“As long as it means you won’t maim me.”
You’re careful as you patch him up, gentle touches along his skin as you clean and disinfect the wound. Wally sits there, resisting the urge to pet your head and kiss your forehead.
It’s a few minutes of oddly comfortable silence before you’re pulling away with a grin, gently patting the wound. “There,” you proclaim. “It’s not perfect, but it’ll feel a little better, at least until you can leave.”
“Thank you,” he says, rising to his feet and twisting his core. “It feels way better already.”
“Um, before you go,” you smile sheepishly. “Do you think—could I grab a picture with you?”
He raises a brow under his cowl.
“It’s just, my boyfriend is the Flash’s biggest fan, and I think he’d just really love to see proof of you in his apartment.” Your eyes widen slightly at the look on his face, “but if you’re too busy, I totally get that too. This is silly, actually, sorry for even—“
The Flash grabs your phone out of your hand, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his side. He’s quick to snap the picture, throwing up a peace sign before handing your phone back to you.
“Um, be careful out there.”
He laughs, “always am.”
He offers you a two fingered salute before he’s disappearing from your living room, leaving nothing but a trail of lightning in his wake. You smile at the picture on your phone, Wally is gonna freak.
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thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚： ♡ friendships can be hard, especially when the lines are so blurry you can't tell where the both of you stand. so what do you do when you catch feelings on top of all that?
cw ⤷ 𖥻 . ˖ ꒰ 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊 ꒱ . smut . pwp . swearing . making out . annoying drunk stranger . fingering . dirty talk . marking . titty worship . piv . clit slapping . c pie . geto fucks mean . geto is a TEASE . multiple o's . oversim . f!reader . s/her prns . no use of y/n ♯ 11.9k
Being friends with Geto Suguru isn’t hard… in theory but in practice it’s one of the most difficult things you’ve ever had to do. It’s especially difficult because he does things for you that feel like they’re pushing the boundaries of a normal friendship without actually doing anything weird.
Things like his insistence on bringing things for you when you’re feeling down, showing you extra care in how he talks to you, hanging out with you and having frequent movie nights, being attentive to your needs. While those things are innocuous in theory, it’s the way he treats you, talks to you and how it makes you feel that has your friendship feeling like it’s on a precarious ledge. Caught between pulling back or pushing over.
Sighing, your foot kicks at his sitting form. “Don’t you have something better to do tonight?”
“Like what?” His eyebrow raises at you, eyeing your lazy form that’s all spread out comfortably on your couch.
You’d maybe feel bad for taking up the whole couch if you weren’t so comfortable. “I don’t know, like a date? Hanging with friends? Going out on the town or whatever youths do.”
“Firstly, I’m older than you—”
Interjecting to add, “—Not by much!”
He only rolls his eyes, ignoring your interruption all together. “To your other points, I’m not interested in dating, and I am hanging out with a friend.”
Sighing louder than last time, foot pushing him enough to sway him. “Aren’t you bored of me?”
“No?” His brows pinch together in confusion. “Should I be?” Hand grabbing your foot to stop it from kicking at him.
You pout, trying to pull yourself free of his grip. “I don’t know…”
“Don’t say stupid things,” he huffs, amused by your struggle. “I could ask you the same thing you know.”
“I like hanging out with you,” you grumble at him.
“Yeah, well, I feel the same.” Finally letting go of your foot.
You’re feeling restless, he’s your friend, you know he’s your friend, and yet you can’t help hoping that your friendship is just a little bit more special. You groan and kick at him with both your feet.
“Woah, hey!” Both his hands grab at your ankles, pinning them down into the couch. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”
“I’m annoyed.”
“I’ve taken notice.” He’s trapping you with a pointed look, waiting for more of an explanation from you.
If you had an explanation, you’d freely give it to him but as of right now, you aren’t even sure if you’re aware of what you’re feeling enough to verbalise it to him. You deflate, looking back at him sheepishly. “I know you want to know what’s wrong, but I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Or you don’t want me to know?”
Pushing yourself up, you cock your head at him. “The result is the same despite my answer, no?”
“No,” his is tone resolute. “I could help.”
You deliver a very plain, “You can’t.” He’s the cause of your confusion, talking to him could make it all so much worse and you don’t really want to deal with the fallout of all that.
“Woah, awful dismissive of me, I might be able to easily fix what’s wrong.”
Turning so you’re facing the screen, you try to focus on the films plot. “You can fix what’s wrong right now by being quiet and watching the movie.”
“I was watching the movie, you distracted me.” He pokes lightly at your shoulder.
Shushing at him quickly, “Shut, I’m trying to listen.”
He doesn’t say anything more, just goes back to watching the movie in silence, probably following the plot better than you are because you’re sat closer to him like this and can’t help but sneak glances at him.
It’s not fair, he looks pretty like this. Face illuminated by the soft glow of the television, seemingly entranced by the movie playing. While gazing over his features, you find yourself constantly looking back at his lips, heart stuttering in your chest. You wonder how kissing him would feel like, would it help, wait.
Prying your eyes off him, you desperately hope to be shown some kind of mercy. You shouldn’t want to kiss him, you shouldn’t be thinking about kissing him. You need to get a hold of yourself.
Predictably, you are not shown any kind of mercy and all you can manage to think about is him. How soft his lips might be, how he would kiss you, would he be tentative… or would he kiss you like he’s done it a million times before.
Not even realising you’re staring at him again until he sighs and locks his eyes onto yours. “Are you aware you’re staring at me?”
Trying to play it cool by answering, “I wasn’t staring.”
“Are you alright?” He’s growing a little concerned by your unusual behaviour tonight.
“I’m fine! Good even, just… have some things on my mind.” You feel guilty.
“And just what exactly are these things you’re thinking about?”
Your skin flares at his question, feeling embarrassed by your own thoughts. “Nothing! General thoughts… you know…”
“Right…” He’s clearly sceptical, not believing your flimsy answers for even a second. “Have I done something to upset you?”
He’s too much for you right now, you try answering confidently but fail miserably. “No?”
Moving so his body is facing you, he gets into your space, worried by your answer. “Why don’t you sound sure?”
“Why are you asking me so many questions tonight?” You avoid his gaze, flustered by him suddenly being so close to you. Still thinking about his lips on yours, in the back of your head thinking about his hands on your body.
“You’re being weird, I’m just concerned.” His hand reaches for your face. “Do you have a fever or something?” His knuckles rest on your cheek, gauging your temperature.
“Seriously, I’m fine.” You’re fumbling more than you want to, eyes rounded and shocked looking into his.
It feels like you grow warmer the longer his hand stays on your face, it’s becoming difficult to think. If you had a good reason, you would kick him out right now but you’re already concerning him and you’re trying so hard to be normal. This night is taking a very unfortunate turn.
His face twists, concern written all over it. “You feel a little warm, are you sure you’re okay?” Hand slipping from your cheek, moving to rest against the back of the couch.
Trying to keep your answers short, you give a simple, “I’m sure.”
Geto doesn’t know where to go from here, his silence is evidence of that. You don’t blame him though because you’re not really sure where to go from here either, the thoughts of his lips on yours linger in your mind and you feel as if you could die.
“I just…” He looks to you when you start talking, ready to hear whatever it is you have to say, “I was just thinking – and don’t make this weird – but I was thinking about… how you would kiss me…” your words trail off slightly, growing quieter and quieter with each word.
His eyes widen slightly in response before he switches back to his neutral expression. “I—”
“—I don’t wanna know, don’t talk actually,” you cut him off abruptly. Too embarrassed to dissect this any further and certainly not willing to have a conversation with him about it, already regretting having admitted to thinking it.
He questions you, clearly caught between being entertained and somewhat concerned, “I’m not allowed to comment?”
“No.”
“Even though you’ve been thinking about how I would—”
Hurriedly moving your hand to cover his mouth, hissing out, “Shush!”
You’re closer like this, the proximity flustering you, the silence awkward. Suguru glares at you from under your hand. He has something to say and is showing clear disdain for your repeated interruptions.
His larger hand reaches up and wraps around your wrist, trying to gently pry your hand away but you hold steady. Growing frustrated with this little tug of war game you have going on, he uses more force to pull your hand down, grabbing your other hand as well. Restraining them both in your lap to keep you still.
Exasperated when he asks, “Don’t you think you’re overreacting slightly?”
“No.” You tug back on his grip but get nowhere.
“Why are you annoyed at me over this? They’re your thoughts,” he reminds.
You’re irritated with how right he is; it’s not his fault you’re thinking like this. Knowing that doesn’t change the fact that sitting right next to him makes it difficult for you to think of anything other than how soft his lips might be, or if he’ll hold you still while he kisses you, or if—
He barks out a quick laugh, “You wanna kiss me that bad?”
Realising you were staring at his lips again you feel like you might spontaneously combust, struggling against his hold and huffing out, “Shut up, just forget I even said anything.”
He sounds restrained and incredibly serious when he murmurs back, “Might not be able to if you keep looking at me like that.”
“Don’t make this even more embarrassing for me, Suguru! It’s your fault,” you accuse indignantly.
Lips quirking evilly, “Oh? So, you want me to fix it then?”
“You should! Take a little responsibility,” you grumble out at him, all pouty and annoyed.
He leans in closer to press you, “Do you want me to kiss you? Do you think it would help?”
“I don’t know… I mean…” You look to his lips again, gaze getting a little lost as you do. You’re a completely helpless cause.
If Suguru were being honest with you, he’d tell you how much you’re killing him when you look at him like that but he’s stubborn and a tease, so instead he says, “Eyes up here.”
Dragging your eyes back to his and staring daggers, completely pissed at him but mostly yourself for being so obvious again. “Do you think it would help?”
“You’d stop wondering,” he shrugs easily, like this is all so incredibly normal and not uncharted territory for the both of you.
“I don’t want this to make our friendship weird.” Feeling pathetic as you look at him, you’re not even sure if what you have together is as simple as a friendship, it feels like so much more. At least, you’re kind of hoping it is, kissing him could do irreparable damage and you don’t just mean in terms of how you act around one another but specifically how you feel about him.
“I won’t let it,” he assures.
“I’m not worried about you…”
He’s taken aback by your small admission, it’s not clear enough for him to make any real conclusions from it or confront you on anything but he knows it makes his heart beat faster and flusters him slightly. In all his years of casual dating and serious relationships, you’re the only person to have ever made him feel like such a fool.
“It’s up to you then,” he smiles softly.
You aren’t sure if it’s worth the risk but if this is the only chance you’ll get then you don’t know if you want to risk letting it go by either. “I think… yes.”
Playing dumb, he returns, “‘Yes’ what?”
Your tone is lowering again, confident answer short lived when he teases you. “Yes… I want you to kiss me…”
“You’re sure?” He asks but his hands are already moving up your body, one resting against the side of your neck, touch gentle and light.
“I mean… I’m not sure if this is a good idea but I’m sure I want you to kiss me.”
He huffs lightly in disbelief, breath tickling against your lips. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”
“You…” Frown dusting your features as you utter it, eyes already focused back on his lips.
He doesn’t say any more after that, faltering in his movements a bit but ultimately moving in completely and pressing his lips to yours delicately. It’s featherlight, kiss shallow and simple, like he’s holding back. It’s still enough to have your head full, full of thoughts of him, of how soft his lips are, how gentle his kisses are.
Geto pulls back all too soon for your liking, putting some distance between the two of you, head tilting to the side as he looks you over. “Curiosity satisfied.”
“Is that really how you would want to kiss me?”
“What?”
At his question you’re suddenly all too aware of how bold yours was. “I just… It’s nothing, sorry.” Fumbling over yourself, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “It was nice! It was a nice kiss.”
“No, no,” he squints at you, “Go on… say what you want.”
It’s quiet for a moment, your hesitance clear. “…Did you… kiss me how you wanted to?”
“I think if I kissed you how I wanted,” pausing to lean in closer, “You might pass out or something.”
“Oh, come on, you’re not my first kiss or anything,” you roll your eyes at him and his ego, “I was just curious, if that’s really how you’d kiss me then that’s all there is to it, it was a nice kiss.” You shrug at him.
“Why am I starting to feel like I’m being assessed?”
“If you feel that way then that’s on you.” Trying so hard to play it cool, like you can’t tell he was holding back, like you don’t want him to kiss you more. “Do you wanna go back in the movie? Rewind to where we were before?”
As you get up to move off the couch and find the remote, Suguru is pulling you back down to him, one hand gently holding the front of your throat. You don’t get a second to think about all the movements he just made, his lips on yours rushed, like he’s suddenly, incredibly desperate to kiss you.
Barely able to keep up with him, head dizzy from the whiplash, this isn’t at all how he kissed you before. You’re basically panting against him when he does pull back, allowing you the small moment to catch your breath.
His thumb pulls down on your chin lightly. “Open your mouth more.” His eyes are lidded as he looks at you, tone deeper than before.
Obeying him wordlessly and then he’s kissing you again, tongue in your mouth. It’s all messy and rushed and has you losing your mind. Your arms wrap around his neck, and he pulls your body closer to his, hand moving to the back of your head.
When he sucks your tongue into his mouth and licks at you, you can’t stop the moan that leaves you. Swallowed down by Geto in an appreciative manner, his kiss lingers for a while longer, making you dizzy and thoughtless. He pulls back from you, connected by a string of saliva that snaps when he licks at his lower lip.
The look on your face is dumbstruck, eyes big and wet as you gaze up at him in a dazed manner. It makes him feel feral, not able to help the way he leans back in and presses more short, sloppy kisses to your swollen lips.
There’s a pause before you can regain your faculties enough to say anything to him and even then, the only thing you can manage is, “I… uhm…”
“Was that better?” He’s trying to be light-hearted about it, but his lips are swollen as well, and his eyes are lidded, and he looks… “You didn’t pass out did you?” His head lowers so his eyes catch yours.
Your brain feels fuzzy and all you can think about is how you’ve never been kissed like that before, that you want to keep being kissed like that. “What? No… I just… wow.”
“Live up to your expectations?”
“I didn’t really have any, I was only curious…” Smiling big at him, you add, “But yeah, maybe even exceeded them.”
“You aiming to boost my ego, or did I really kiss you stupid?” He can’t help the way he leans in again, just shy of your lips.
Mouth on yours before you get to answer or refute what he’s accused, you don’t stop him though, allowing him to kiss you fully, deeply. One of his hands on the side of your face, holding you. The other grips at your hip, almost tugging you in closer.
Before you lose focus again, you part to gasp out, “I don’t know if—” Interrupted by his lips on yours, tangling your hand into his hair to pull him back, he groans at the force of the tug. “Suguru, I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep—”
“—Just another kiss, one more…” breathless when he talks, mouth hot on yours, tongue already in your mouth.
It’s almost too much, he’s so insistent. Kissing you like he might never get to again, like he’s trying to get the most out of this. He might actually have you passing out, it’s not even as if you really want him to stop but that’s part of the problem, isn’t it?
Pulling back, he sucks on your lower lip before nipping at it. The whimper he pulls from you is embarrassing and weak and you’re facing an internal conflict of so many emotions right now, but mostly you’re struck by how badly you want to sleep with him.
You hadn’t realised his hand had snuck under your shirt, warm and large against your side, sending a shiver down your spine. The breathlessness you’re hit with has your skin feeling hot as you try to stumble out your words, “I, uh, think we should stop… here.”
“Why? Am I not a good kisser? Are you not enjoying yourself?” A smile creeps onto his face. “You sounded like you were enjoying yourself.”
“Don’t.” Your head tucks down and onto his chest, forehead resting against him. “Please don’t embarrass me.”
He wraps his arms around your body, embracing you. “Can’t help it.”
You stay like this for probably longer than you should, enjoying the moment too much for someone who’s about to go back to being just his friend.
Geto breaks the silence first, speaking into the top of your head, “Is your curiosity satisfied or are you going to start kicking me again?”
“I can’t promise I’ll never kick you again but yeah… I’m satisfied.”
He laughs against you, “Alright, well, if you’re ever curious again… you know where to find me.”
It’s been about a week since you crossed a line you probably shouldn’t have in your friendship with Suguru, and like the incredibly brave individual you are… you have been ignoring him.
Not on purpose though, you intend on replying to all his messages… but then you get nervous and freak yourself out and stop short of sending anything back. From his messages, you can tell he’s getting increasingly more worried… or maybe frustrated… you’re not sure, there is only so much you can infer over text.
Maybe you should reply, looking at his last message that reads, ‘seriously? answer me. today.’ Oh yeah… he’s annoyed, you have no idea how to reply to him, maybe something simple? Or maybe a long paragraph overexplaining yourself… or maybe—
Your phone screen changes to Shoko’s caller ID, saved by the metaphorical bell. “Hey! What’s up?”
She sounds a bit short when she answers you, “Are you coming tonight?”
“Tonight…” You trail off, completely blanking on what the hell she’s talking about.
Her reply coming incredibly deadpan and disappointed, “You forgot.”
“No noo, I would never forget about…” The rest of your sentence dropping off, silence falling over the line.
She fills in the gaps for you, “The stupid party that’s being thrown by our stupid friends to celebrate the stupid event that is a boring, normal, Friday night.”
She already sounds over it and you’re pretty sure she would’ve only just got there. “Okay, well… I now feel significantly better about the fact that I actually had forgotten what tonight was.”
“Yeah, well I wish I had forgotten too because this is boring without you.”
“Didn’t you only just get there?”
“I feel like that’s beside the point.” You can feel her eyeroll through the phone. “So, when are you getting here?”
Sighing as you ask, “Do I really have to come?”
Not missing a single beat when she shoots back, “I’m here which means yes, you do.”
You go quiet for a moment, “…Will Suguru be there?”
“You’re more likely to know than me,” she sounds confused, “Listen, I don’t know what happened but surely you don’t think you can avoid him forever.”
“Not forever… just tonight.” You really don’t feel like running into him in person, not when you can barely get your head on straight long enough to message him back.
“I haven’t seen him, and he didn’t sound all that interested when this was first planned so I doubt he will show up.”
“You’re not just lying to get me there, are you?”
“Of course not.” It’s always been hard to tell when she’s joking but you’re pretty sure Suguru isn’t there. If you had been replying to him, you probably would’ve ended up hanging out together tonight just to avoid that pointless party.
Deciding to take the risk, you acquiesce. “Alright, I’ll be there soon, just give me a bit to put on something that isn’t pyjamas.”
Getting out of the apartment will be good for you, that and you’ll have the chance to catch up with Shoko, it’s been a while since you last hung out.
“Just come in your pyjamas.”
“Okay, now you’re being unreasonable,” you chuckle.
She groans through the phone, “Gojo and I just made eye contact, that’s like asking to be trapped in a conversation for at least an hour.”
You smile at her and her exaggeration. “That’s really funny, tell him I said hi.”
“Don’t hang up on me—”
The line goes dead as you hang up on her.
Nearly an hour has passed by the time you get to the party, but when you make eye contact with Shoko across the room – still stuck in conversation with Gojo – it looks like a century has passed for her.
Walking up to them both, you grab Gojo by the sides of his arms and shake him, making a loud noise to scare him as you do. He just about dies then and there, head whipping around to see it’s just you and gripping a hand over his chest.
He’s a little breathless when he scolds you, “You scared the fuck outta me, what the hell?”
“I thought it would be funny.” You smile bright at him, out the corner of your eye seeing Shoko fighting a smile and hiding it behind her drink.
“It wasn’t,” he half pouts.
“It kinda was,” Shoko interjects.
He just continues to pout over how badly you got him.
“Hi Satoru,” you chirp at him, trying to be as sweet as possible for scaring the living daylights out of him.
“Yes, hello,” he fights a smile when greeting you back, and then his face twists as if suddenly remembering something. “Hey! What happened with you and Suguru?”
Taken aback by his abruptness. “What?”
He’s staring at you intently, seemingly desperate to know your business. “I know something happened, you gotta tell me what.”
Honestly, you would’ve thought Geto would’ve told him by now, seeing as how they’re sort of attached at the hip. “He hasn’t told you?”
“He’s insistent that nothing is wrong.”
“Then nothing’s wrong.”
“I know something is wrong and I also know you’re dodging him because he made me text you to see if you’d reply and you replied within the same minute,” he squints at you accusatorily.
Arms crossing over your chest as you size him up. “You sent me a photo of the cat that hangs out in your neighbourhood as bait? That’s messed up Satoru.”
“I was investigating,” he defends.
“No, you were being nosy, just like you are now.” Something occurs to you very suddenly, “Wait, if you’re here… and I’m here… where is Suguru?”
“Here, obviously,” he shrugs.
Turning, you glare at Shoko who raises her hands in defence. “Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t lie, I really haven’t seen him. I’ve been trapped in conversation with this idiot the whole time.”
“Trapped? That’s so mean Shoko,” Gojo plays up his hurt, sulking and giving her the saddest eyes he can muster. It unsurprisingly has no effect on her.
He’s here somewhere, you need to leave before he sees you. You’re so annoyed at yourself for not connecting that Satoru being here obviously meant Suguru was going to be here too, especially since he wasn’t with you.
Spinning, you go for the front door you came through not that long ago. Managing to get it open a crack before a hand above your head closes it. Turning around, you come face to face with Suguru, a very annoyed Suguru. Polite smile painted on his face but his eyebrow twitches slightly.
His weight is supported by his hand on the door as he leans down to you. “And where are you going?”
“I was just gonna… head home… get an early night?” Looking away from him as you lie poorly, not able to look at him without thinking about how he kissed you.
He points out, “You just got here though.”
“Yeah, it’s just… not my scene…” In your defence, not a complete lie.
“Really? Because it feels like you’re avoiding me.” He leans down further to catch your eyes with his, sick of you avoiding eye contact.
You’re only able to look at him incrementally, eyes flicking from his, to the wall behind him. “No there’s no reason for me to be avoiding you, I don’t know why you would think that.”
“Oh good! That means you can stay then.” Face scrunching with his—now—less than polite smile. Clearly growing frustrated with how you’re refusing to communicate with him properly.
You have no excuses to give, nothing good or even remotely believable anyways. “I uhh—”
Cutting you off to give an ultimatum, “—Either we’re leaving and talking like adults or you’re staying right here and suffering through this whole night with me right by your side.”
His choice in wording disgruntles you, locking eyes to say, “It doesn’t cause me suffering to be beside you, Suguru.” You want to make at least that much clear.
He gives you a tight-lipped smile. “Good. Then you won’t mind me not leaving your side.”
Weighing your options, you don’t know what would be better right now. On the one hand you’d get to leave but then you’d have to tell him about how much you’re affected by the line you crossed, about how you’re developing feelings for him that you shouldn’t have indulged in. On the other, you stay but he lingers around you all night and you’re left haunted by all the things you want to say but can’t quite bring yourself to.
“Let’s go back to everyone then,” you smile back at him.
His face drops. “You don’t wanna talk about it that bad?”
“Suguru, you’re looking for answers I don’t even know if I can give you.”
He relents and takes a step back from you, “Fine. But just so you know, you can’t get rid of me that easily.” Waiting for you to want to talk first seems to be his main goal but you can see just how impatient he’s getting.
You ignore his comment and walk past him back to Gojo and Shoko in the other room, they’re both exactly where you left them. It’s awkward, for you anyways. You don’t know about them or everyone else here, but you feel awkward.
It carries on for the whole night; it’s been a couple hours now and Suguru is still just following you around wordlessly. Only speaking to others when spoken too, engaging in some conversation, only to cut it short when you move on.
This really isn’t fun for you, normally not even bothering to come to house parties like this and only doing this as a favour to Shoko but she’s gone home now, and you’re left here with just Geto. You’d leave too, but you have a feeling he’s going to follow you home, or at the very least make you talk to him before you try leaving and you’re just… so not in the mood.
Sighing softly to yourself as you walk into the kitchen, somehow managing to shake your tail, for now. Taking the small reprieve as a chance to breathe and think, which is cut short when some stranger starts a conversation with you.
“Hi! You’re really hot, do you want a drink? I can make you a drink. I’ve never seen you here before and trust me– I’d remember you.” He’s slurring his words slightly, “So, drink? You wan– I can get you a—”
He’s really forward, and drunk, it’s making you uncomfortable, especially since you’re far too sober and far too annoyed to have to deal with drunk men. “—I’m good, thank you, I’m not drinking.”
“Oh, come on! Jus one drink, it’ll loosen you up.” He moves in to elbow your shoulder lightly. “You’re too hot to be– to be such a downer, maybe a smile would help.”
Completely unamused and slowly shuffling back away from him. “I think I’d prefer you just leave me alone; I’m not interested.”
“Don– don’t be like that,” he sulks at you.
Your back collides with someone’s front and looking up you can see it’s your missing stalker of the night. As annoyed at Suguru as you are, you are endlessly thankful for his timing, physically feeling yourself relax now that he’s here.
Geto glares down at the pushy guy. “She’s not interested.”
“Oh man, I didn’t know she had– had a boyfriend, you know you should keep an eye on her,” the drunk idiot leers at you, “She’s kind of a tease, leading me on,” he shrugs.
Your face grimaces at his words and the way he eyes you, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Suguru moves in front of you, shielding you from him, his lip twitches at this guy’s words. “Excuse me?”
“No, well… I jus mean she didn’t tell me—”
“—She said she wasn’t interested, that was enough,” Geto’s tone is growing more irritated by the moment.
“Suguru, let’s just go, it’s fine.” You tug on the hem of his jacket, not really wanting to have to deal with the fallout of whatever may happen if this idiot keeps unwittingly provoking Geto. He tries his best, but he has a breaking point, and he tends to hit it pretty quick when you’re involved.
He glances back at you. “It’s not fine.”
“Okay, it’s not but I kinda can’t stand this guy, and this party sucks and I’m annoyed, and I don’t wanna be here anymore.” You feel a little pathetic for whinging but you’re so drained and this guy was your breaking point.
All his attention drops from that guy to you, his hands coming up to either side of your face, taking in how tired you look. Thumbs stroking high on your cheekbones, “Alright, let’s leave.”
Relief in your bones at the fact you’re about to be gone from here, “Thank you.”
From behind Suguru you can see the drunk take the opportunity to slip away, apparently smart enough to use this distraction to his advantage. If Geto notices, he doesn’t say anything, clearly done with him, all attention on you now.
He hums at you, asking, “How’d you get here?”
Your eyes flick back to his. “I didn’t drive, if that’s what you’re asking.” You took an uber, you thought you’d either catch a ride with Shoko, or you’d take another uber home.
“You’re riding with me then.” His large hand takes yours. “Come on.” Then tugging you through the house behind him.
The car ride has been quiet, you can feel your head drooping and your eyes closing, very nearly falling asleep. That is until, you notice Geto isn’t taking you to your house, instead heading towards his.
Turning to face him, you ask, “Why are we going back to yours?”
Without turning to look at you, he replies, “Because you’ve been avoiding me, so I am now forcing you to spend time with me.”
He’s decidedly not funny. Sighing as you try to chide him, “Suguru—”
Finally glancing your way only to speak over you, “—Don’t ‘Suguru’ me, my place is closer and you’re tired, if you weren’t being so weird around me ever since I k—”
“—Shhh, be quiet.” Your cheeks suddenly feel warm at the memory of how insistent his kisses were.
“All I’m saying is, if you weren’t being so weird around me, you’d come back to mine tonight anyways.”
It’s frustrating to you that he’s right, you normally would just go back to his and crash in his bed next to him and then you’d make him breakfast the next morning to make up for the fact that you’d taken up his whole bed.
The only thing you can think to say is a flat, “…Fine.” Crossing your arms and looking out the car window the rest of the short drive.
Back at his apartment, he lends you some clothes to sleep in. It’s all incredibly intimate, showering in his bathroom, using the spare toothbrush you keep here, wearing his clothes. Has your friendship always been this intimate or are you just looking at it in a new light.
Leaving his bathroom, you find him in his room. Getting his bed ready for you to sleep in, you stand awkwardly at the foot of it. “I’ll just sleep on your couch.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, you always sleep in the bed with me.”
“Yeah but…” Your brows settle into a deep frown. “Do you not feel weird?”
He drops the blanket back onto the bed, exasperation with you clear. “I said to you, I wouldn’t let it affect our friendship, and that’s what I’m doing.” Turning to look at you before adding, “You’re the one making it weird.”
“I know that…” You also know that you were the one who said you weren’t worried about him.
His arms are crossed as he looks you over. “I’m gonna shower now, you don’t have to sleep in the bed, but I think you should, you know firsthand how awful that couch is.”
“Go have your shower.” You shoo him out of the room, standing in the middle of it, alone, considering what you should do.
The couch really is atrocious; it’s part of the reason why you started sleeping in his bed when you visited. He always says he’ll get a nicer couch or a blow-up mattress for you, but he never does, and you always end up in his bed anyways.
Deciding you’re too drained to think any harder about all of this, you crawl into his bed and make yourself comfortable. Everything is so frustrating to you right now, have you always felt this confused about your friendship or were the lines blurred for so long that you’re having trouble understanding where you both stand.
The irony of the situation is annoying and almost laughable because if it were about anyone else, you’d be hitting up Suguru and asking for his advice on it all.
When he comes back into the room, he shuffles around a bit before turning off the lights and getting into bed beside you. You’re lying on your side with your back to him, pretending to already be asleep.
His voice cuts through the quiet of the room, “I miss you.”
Your reaction to it is almost visceral, how are you meant to reply to that. It doesn’t help you feel better at all, only leaving you longing for something you don’t know if you’re allowed to claim. Your friendship has always been on a precarious ledge but it’s only now that you let yourself acknowledge the disgusting depth of your feelings for him.
You mumble into the pillow, “I’m right here.”
“Then why do you feel so far away?”
Readjusting, you rotate so you’re facing him, not completely prepared for him to already be facing you. Propped up on his elbow, closer than your poor heart was ready for. You lower your head, so you don’t have to look at his face. “I wasn’t purposefully ignoring you, I really did want to reply.”
He pushes, “So why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t know what to say…”
“What can I do to help?” He lowers himself down to your level, head on his bicep.
You still avoid his gaze. “Nothing, you can’t do anything.”
“You’re being—”
“—You are the problem, Suguru, there is nothing you can do to help but get out of my head.” You meet his eyes, frown prominent on your face. “You and your stupid kiss, you made it all a thousand times worse for me.”
“Making out with me was so life changing that you can’t get it out of your head, and you’re annoyed at me for that? You’re the one who wanted to know what it was like.” He’s trying to keep his tone light-hearted but he’s struggling, seemingly growing more irritated by it all.
You grumble at him, discontent, “You don’t need to point out the obvious, stupid.”
A noise of disagreement comes from him, “Well, I feel like I kinda do, since you’re overreacting.”
“I am not overreacting.”
“You are though.”
“No because it’s not just…” you stop short, “…Whatever, I’m going to sleep so be quiet.” He smiles at you like you’re completely endearing, which only frustrates you further.
“The only reason you would be this annoyed is because you want to kiss me again, or more…” His hand reaches for your chin and tilts your head up towards him. “You tell me, are you still curious?”
“Shut up,” you huff out, going to move away only for his hand to slide to your cheek, holding you still.
“You haven’t asked me, you know.”
“What?”
“What if I want to kiss you again? What if I want to do more?” His forehead rests against yours. “You’ve been so caught up in your own head, acting like an idiot over this, that you’ve not even asked yourself about what I want.”
“I am not an idiot.”
“No, but you’ve certainly been acting like one.” His hand slides from your face, down the side of your body, landing on your hip. “At first I thought it was cute, the curiosity, the unawareness.” His hand tugs you in closer to him, body against yours. “But now… now I’m growing impatient.”
Your head feels fuzzy, all pressed up against him and that seems to be the only thing your brain is processing right now. “I’m confused.”
“It’s really quite simple.” He moves in, lips ghosting against yours.
You want so badly to kiss him, breath catching in your chest at the way his lips tickle against yours. Your attention solely on the way he might kiss you.
“You like me, and while it’s endearing to watch you fumble your way through the realisation, it’s killing me to know you’re all caught up on how I kissed you and I can’t even get in contact with you.”
“What? What?” Your brain takes a second to catch up. “I do not– you can’t know– just– what?”
“I can know, you know how? Because you’re painfully obvious about it. So honest, telling me about how you’re thinking of me, not able to look at me without looking at my lips,” a light laugh leaves him at your expression, “and it’s sweet, really. But I’m getting annoyed by the fact that you’re so obsessed with your own feelings that you’ve failed to consider mine.”
He’s giving you so much whiplash right now. “You—”
“—You think I kissed you like that just ‘cause?” He frowns at you, “I kissed you like that because I wanted to, I feel I was a little obvious about it all actually.”
“I’ve been so worried about ruining our friendship.” You feel so pitiful when you say it, like a wet puppy.
“I know.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “But I’ve hoped for nothing more.” He sighs, “I wanted you to come to me on your own, to talk to me about it but instead you hid from me.”
“What was I supposed to think? Through my eyes, I was stupid and asked you to kiss me just because I was thinking about it. Only to not stop thinking about it, and then realise I like you, my friend.” You pull back from him slightly. “How was I meant to talk to you about it?”
“You think I’d kiss just any friend because they simply wondered about what it would be like?” His brow lifts at you. “Don’t you think our friendship has always been a little too intimate to just be a friendship?”
“Nothing was ever said… how was I supposed to know?”
“Okay, well, let me be perfectly clear.” He tugs you in close again, eyes meeting yours, like he’s going to say something incredibly important, only to plant his lips on yours in a full kiss.
Hand holding you to him tight, like he needs you to stay pressed up against him. His mouth on yours is hot and consuming, kiss messy, tongue licking at yours. An involuntary moan gets caught in your chest and your hand moves to his hair, tangling in it.
Suguru’s parting from you to pant out, “I like you—” kissing you again, “I like kissing you—” lips desperate against yours, “I want to do so much more—” He never parts from you long at all, barley willing to but needing to get his words out.
This is a feeling that you’re never going to be able to forget, the first time he kissed you overwhelming enough and now it’s like he’s completely following his instinct. No critical thinking happening in his head or yours. All your thoughts wash away from you, slipping through your fingers before it even occurs to you to form a thought.
Less scared now, throwing caution to the wind, not worrying about how you should stop, how you can’t ruin the fragility of your friendship. It doesn’t matter anymore, not when he already knows how you feel, not when he seems to feel the same, not when it feels this good.
He mumbles against you, “That clear enough?”
“No,” you huff back, “I think… I’m still a little confused.”
“Well, in that case,” he smirks before kissing you again.
Hand moving to your thigh, sliding it across your skin before grabbing at your knee and crooking your leg to rest on his hip. Leaning into you slightly, using his weight to push back on you, rolling the pair of you until he’s on top. Forearm holding himself over you, his other hand still on your knee, holding you flush to him.
You gasp up at him when his erection ruts into your core, lips parting messily, spit connecting the two of you. A shudder runs down his spine when he looks down at you, at how you’re looking up at him. All big, wet eyes and kiss swollen lips, it’s like he feels all his insides softening for you in that moment, in the most sickeningly affectionate way.
His eyes suddenly look lost, and you don’t know why, going to say something only for his lips to land on yours again. Short, firm kisses planted on your lips over and over again, barely able to return them before he’s pulling back, just to do it again.
It’s sweet but it’s frustrating you, your hands are eventually grabbing at either side of his face and forcing his mouth onto yours, lips meshing together, kissing him fully. Tongue in his mouth, your arms wrapping around his neck, fingers playing with his hair. He moans at how you’re kissing him, at how both your legs are now wrapped around his waist.
Practically clinging to him, lips locked to his, your need making your body hot and head fuzzy. You’re trying so hard to not come across desperate for him, but you really can’t help the way your hips seek out his, grinding up into him.
His voice shakes with a moan, breaking the kiss, “Ohh fuck– hah—” a breathless kind of laugh leaving him, "A little eager, aren’t you?"
"Should we stop then?” You ask with a smile, hands untangling and pushing at his shoulders.
He rushes out, “No no, I didn’t say that.” He pulls your arms, so they’re wrapped around his neck again. “Come back,” a light laugh leaves him, pressing kisses all over your face, lingering on your lips.
“So… you don’t want to stop?”
“Absolutely not, be as needy as you want.” He looks down between where his hips are resting against yours, his cock twitching in his pants. “Hell… be needier.”
“I don’t know… maybe this is all happening too fast,” you say it light heartedly, teasing him, “I mean… we are just friends.”
“Just friends?” He takes personal issue with that, even if he can tell you’re goading him. “Just friends but you’re grinding your pussy all over me?” His hand slips into the front of your borrowed sleep shorts, two fingers rubbing between your folds over your panties.
“Letting your friend touch you like this, hmm?” He pulls your panties to the side, “Fuck– this wet for your friend?”
Your back arches against the bed when his fingers slip over your clit, struggling to get your words out. “I– mmph– I get it, m’sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” He smiles sweetly at you but two of his fingers are slipping inside you, quirking up and rubbing at just the right spot.
God, your eyes roll into the back of your head, cunt pulsing around his fingers so needily. Hands grabbing at him, tangling in his long hair, gasping for air you don’t really need but feeling like you can’t breathe from how he’s touching you.
“What are you sorry for, pretty?” He wants you back on track, he wants to hear you stumble out your apology to him.
“I-I’m sorry– hnnn – f-for…” your mouth drops open in a moan when his thumb rubs at your clit, “You’re not jus– you’re not just my friend– oh! You’re more– you mean more– Ah! Ah!” You can’t think, not when he slides another finger into your pussy, stretching you so open.
He tips forward, fingers not stopping. “You mean it?”
It’s a question made to tease you but with your gooey brain, you look up at him so earnestly and answer, “Mhm, yeah.” Nodding your head firmly at him, even when your eyes look so fucked out.
Soft squelching noises fill the room with how his fingers fuck into you, your cunt clamping tight down around them. Walls so hot and wet that it’s driving him crazy, imagining how it would feel to have you wrapped so snug around his neglected cock.
He wants so badly to rip off your pants, so he can see just how well you’re taking his fingers but you’re pulsing so rhythmically around him, and your eyes roll with how good you feel. Making the nicest expressions for him that he can’t even tear his eyes away from your face if he wanted to.
“You’re really cute right now.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, his heart stammering at how your glistening eyes sparkle at him, at how your bottom lip wobbles.
Pouting up at him, “You don’t– ah!– think I’m cute all the time?”
“I think you’re downright adorable all the time,” he laughs airily, “but especially right now,” he’s gazing so intently at your face, “because, I’m pretty sure…” his thumb speeds up on your clit, “…you’re about to cum all over my fingers.”
Oh, how his words effect you so deeply, his tone, the cockiness. If he weren’t touching you so right you wouldn’t find it as arousing as you do but you feel like you could cry from just how overwhelming it all is.
Shaking your head at him as if to say ‘no, you’re not about to cum.’
“No?” He pouts at you mockingly. “You sure?”
Denying it really doesn’t get you anywhere, especially since he can feel how you tighten around his fingers, how your gooey cunt pulses for him. Your back arching meanly, legs wanting so badly to kick against the air. Hand tugging at his hair as you gasp, broken moans leaving you.
“I mustn’t be doing this right then,” he hums at you in thought, slowing his movements slightly. “Should I stop then? Change up what I’m doing?”
The thought of him stopping now, or changing what he’s doing kills you, almost literally. Your eyes widen and you shake your head vehemently at him. “Don’t stop– hnn– don’t– please,” begging him with your eyes.
“Only ‘cause you begged so nicely,” his tone so sweet on you.
He doesn’t change anything, keeps fucking you with his fingers in the way that’s driving you crazy. His mouth waters at how your pussy gushes for him, dick leaking into his pants. Losing his fucking mind at how he’s able to finally touch you like this, how you’re letting him touch you like this, even begging for it.
Your muscles are pulling taut, hearing and sight going fuzzy. “I– ohh– Sugu I can’t– I’m gonna–”
“You can,” dragging it out in a singsong. “Doing so well for me, pretty.”
Biting on your lip to hold back all the moans tumbling from them, hands pulling at him as you struggle to breathe through it. Chest stuttering as your cunt clamps down around his fingers. Grasping at him and pulling him closer to you, planting your lips on his. Desperately kissing him as you cum all over his fingers. Your tongue licking into his mouth, his own moans spilling into the kiss.
Panting against your open mouth to say, “You just came all over your friends’ fingers.” His smile taunting and bright.
Your head lolls to the side. “So you really do just like teasing me, huh?”
“Pretty sure I said I couldn’t help it.” His fingers slip from your core, sucking them into his mouth, licking them clean in a display so obscene that your skin heats up.
If he were a lesser man, he’d cum from licking himself clean. Groaning around his fingers, mostly for himself but also somewhat to embarrass you. Loving how you squirm, and your face pulls up in embarrassment. All dazed and stupid looking from your orgasm, it makes his heart skip and his dick jerk.
You shock him when you tug your shirt up and over your head, moving to pull at his but he’s too distracted by your tits to make any move other than to lean down and press wet kisses all over your chest.
“Suguru– hah– your shirt.” Your fingers still pull at the fabric.
“You can’t—” He sucks and licks at your nipple, relishing in the reactions and sounds he’s pulling from you. “—You can’t show me your tits and expect me to not touch them.”
When he looks up at you, his eyes are lazy and dazed, his tongue drooling all over your boobs. Moving to plant even more firm and wet smooches all over your unbelievably soft skin, sucking to leave behind his mark. Wanting to leave behind marks that he will see when he wakes up tomorrow, marks that he will leave marks over so that they never go away, so he will always have evidence of how he touched you. Of how you let him touch you.
Groping at all your exposed skin, pulling at you, fingers tugging at your nipple, while he salivates all over the other one. Your legs tug his hips down into yours, rubbing your clothed cunt all over him, wanting him to fuck you so badly. He’s working you up so unfairly, already making you cum and then playing with your tits in a way that has you itching to be full of his dick.
“Suguru.” He ruts his hips back down into you but doesn’t remove his mouth from you, so you pull at his hair harshly. “Please.”
He moans at how you pull at him, eyes lidded. “So demanding.”
“You’re taking too long.”
He tuts at you, nipping lightly at the skin between your tits, “You’re just impatient.”
“Yeah, I am.” untangling your legs from him, you shuffle your shorts and panties down and off your body. “Are you going to help?”
“How can I refuse when you ask like that?” The desire to lick at your pussy, make out with your cunt, is huge but with how you look at him, so needy and impatient, he needs to stuff his dick inside you. Now.
When you go to tug at his shirt, he lets you, letting you pull it off him completely. Goose bumps breaking out across his skin with how you rake your nails delicately over him. The affection he holds for you feels like it grows tenfold at how you look at him, how tenderly you touch him.
“You’re so pretty,” you’re mumbling it out at him before you’re really registering that you’ve thought it, let alone spoke it.
His head drops into the crook of your neck. “So sweet on me, got me forgetting why I waited so long to say anything.”
You grin at him. “Because you’re stupid.”
“Oh, that’s right,” he sneers back at you before shuffling back to pull his pants off. Finding immense joy in how your smug little smile drops from your face when his cock is free, tip flushed a pretty pink and leaking profusely, precum dribbling down the sides of his dick.
Moving to get up before even really thinking about it, wanting to touch him. Only to fall into the pillows when his large hand pushes you back by your sternum. Looking to him just as he leans in, lips brushing yours so softly you’d think you’d imagined it if he didn’t immediately follow it up with a firm kiss.
“I want to touch you.” Hands already finding their way back to his shoulders, his long hair tickling against skin.
His head is dipping low to watch how he moves his hands down your body. Brushing against your inner thighs, opening your legs for him more. “Well, I want to fuck you.” He’s not capable of taking his eyes off your syrupy cunt, so wet for him.
Goading him with your words, “What are you waiting for? A formal invitation?”
“Sharp tongue for someone so sensitive,” he muses, fingers slipping through your folds, gently over your clit to make you jolt, as if to prove his point.
Not giving you a chance to say another snarky comment, his fingers dipping into your hole again. His fingers stretch you open obscenely, pulling back covered in cum from your previous orgasm and fresh slick. It’s almost embarrassing how soaked you are, at least it would be if he didn’t seem almost overjoyed at the sight.
His hand covered in your mess moves to his dick, stroking himself, lubing himself so you can take him easier. You want to rub your thighs together, to squirm at how he languidly pumps at his cock, how his brows upturn and his mouth gapes slightly.
His palm so warm against your inner thigh, holding you still. Moving so he can tap his dick against your clit, smiling at how your body jerks.
“Don’t be a tease.” Your hand moves for his, but he grabs at you before you reach him, looping his fingers with yours.
His tone is cheerful and bright, “But you look so cute when you’re frustrated.”
“I’ll leave,” you threaten, not even a little convincingly, way too horny to be taken seriously.
“Really?” He raises a brow at you, intrigued. “I don’t think you’d get very far…” Mocking pout settling on his features.
Nothing if not stubborn and true to your word, you push him back and roll to get out of the bed defiantly. Barely making it to the edge of the mattress when his hands are on your sides and manhandling you back into your previous position. Spreading your legs wide and rubbing the tip of his cock through your folds, just dipping into your hole before repeating the previous movements.
Biting his lower lip as he watches, his precum smearing all over your messy cunt. “Told you, you wouldn’t get very far.”
Your head rolls at how he dips his dick in more, beginning to stretch you open. His hips are stuttering forwards, hand slapping down onto the mattress beside you to stop himself from pushing you too far.
“Oh– oh– fuck! How– h-how are you this tight, oh,” breathless not even beginning to describe how fucked out he already sounds.
“Mm– more, Sugu, please– I–”
At your insistence, he fucks himself all the way in, holding his pelvis to you as he fills you to the hilt. Your pussy spasming and creaming around him, so worked up that he can feel just how aroused you are in the way you twitch, at how your fingers grab at his skin, how your breaths are uneven and broken.
He can’t help but marvel at how you let out little squealed moans, how your cunt stretches to take all of him. On cloud nine at how you’re so horny over how heavy he’s sitting inside you that you’re close to tears.
The moan he lets out is debauched, unbelievably turned on when your hips struggle to grind down into him needily, working yourself up to an orgasm so fucking fast that he can’t do anything but watch in awe.
You can’t stop yourself; you know you should, should slow down and maybe calm down but it feels so good. He’s so big inside you, his cock pulsing in a way that has you memorising the thumping rhythm. Not usually so eager, never this eager, enthusiastically rutting down into him over and over again before suddenly cumming all over him.
Choked and gasped moans pulled from you as your hands reach for him, hoping for him to let you tug him down into you but he’s too busy watching how you throb and cum all over him. Obsessed with how your cute, little cunt struggles with his size as you coat him in all your creamy cum.
“Holy fuck,” he laughs, “That was—”
Head dizzy and eyes lazy as you whinge at him, “—Don’t– don’t say anything.”
“You came as soon as I got inside you and you expect me to make no comment?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“I think it was adorable,” he hums, voice strained, much more effected by it than he’s willing to let on.
You whine when he moves down onto you, cock somehow reaching deeper. Geto’s arms cage you in either side your head, resting on his forearms, his lips against yours in a breathless kiss. Beginning with shallow thrusts, his lips insistent on yours, fucking you so carefully for now.
Quickly, the need to have him fucking you stupid grows within you again and your legs loop around him properly, pulling him into you. Wrapping yourself around him, mouth panting against his.
“Fuck– hah– you’re so wet.” He’s fucking into you faster, hips becoming desperate. “It’s actually– it’s– hnn– it’s crazy how good you feel.” He moves his head to the crook of your neck, growling beside your ear, “such a soaked little cunt, taking it so– ohh– taking it so good.”
“Ah! Ah! Sugu, it’s– ohh– it’s– more– I need more.” Your fingers dig into his back, depraved, wet sloshing sounds of him fucking into you so well fill the room.
He nips at your neck. “Demanding little thing, aren’t you?”
He’s pulling out of you and the moan you let out is small and pathetic, disgruntled by his abrupt movement. The last thing you see is his smug grin before he’s flipping you over onto your stomach, hands pulling your hips up and pushing on your upper back, manoeuvring your body into an obscene arch.
He’s takings his sweet time to slip back inside, eyeing up your pussy and how your hole trembles and drools for him. Your hips wriggle back at him, and he finds himself incredibly amused at how blatantly needy you are, apparently honest with him in more ways than one.
Just as you were about to turn around and complain at how long he’s taking to re-enter you, he’s shoving his cock back in all at once, jolting your body up the bed and forcing a whine out of your lungs.
“Ohh– Sugu– I…” you trail off as his hips pick up, eyes rolling to the back of your head.
Sliding your legs further apart to take more of him inside, arching yourself even more, greedy cunt sucking him deep inside. He’s barely able to withdraw before you’re fucking your hips back into him, desperately driving back. So fucking needy that if you had half your mind, you’d be embarrassed but right now all you can think about is how his dick thumps against your walls, how his hands grip onto you tight. He’s probably leaving behind marks to match the ones he left all over your tits.
Mouth gaping open, spit pooling onto the pillow below, drooling over his cock. God, you could cry from just how fucking good it feels. Pussy spasming wildly on him, the more you think about the fact that he’s fucking you, the more worked up you get. Insides flipping at how he seems to touch the most perfect spots inside you, full of butterflies and him.
His mouth by your ear shocks you, his voice chirpy, “What are you– hah– thinking about, pretty?”
“Hah– about how goo– good it feels, feels– ohh– feels so good, Sugu,” your words are slurred, mind reeling at how he doesn’t even seem to slow his pace.
“Flatterer,” he barks out a laugh, “You’re quite the little charmer,” he mockingly compliments. Tongue licking meanly at the salty tears you hadn’t realised you’d shed.
“Shh– shut up– ah!” gasping when he gives a particularly mean thrust into you.
He can’t help but smile at the fucked out look you’re wearing, eyes rolled back, hazy and not comprehending anything other than his dick rubbing up against your walls so perfectly. Your face turns into the pillow and you bite at it, muscles pulling tight as another orgasm crawls up your spine.
It shocks you, how quickly you cum. With Suguru’s harsh thrusts, your ass is burning with the smack of his pelvis against you. The sting biting at your flesh making you feel like you’re on fire, cunt tight around him and orgasm overcoming you so fast that you don’t have time to prepare for it.
And maybe if he hadn’t been caught up in how deliciously you squeeze around him, he’d have time to realise you were coming again and he could stop himself but when you shock the both of you with your sudden orgasm he whines into your back and cums deep inside you. Shivers running down his spine at how it feels, dumping so much deep inside you that the force of his continued thrusts has some of it leaking from you back onto him and down onto the bed, making the obscenest mess he’s ever seen.
Immediately he’s pulling himself back up to see how he’s coated your walls white, his dick covered in your shared cum. Creamy and lewd and he’s not even going soft because how could he when you’re still wrapped so warmly around him. When you’re so fucking gooey and snug. He might die before he’s done fucking you yet and he can’t even find it in himself to care even a little bit.
You’re not capable of forming words together enough to think of making a sentence, only thing coming from you being your garbled, choked moans and the sounds of your plush cunt struggling to take him and all his cum. Pussy bulging with the weight of his cock and the mass amounts of seed he’s just pumped you full of.
His own eyes are lidded and low, pussy drunk and loving every second of it. “So turned on you couldn’t even warn me before you came,” he bites out.
His hand rounds your body and his fingers land on your clit, the overstimulation too much, one of your own hands moving down to try and pry it away. Managing to squeak out, “Too much– ah! Too much, Sugu.”
Tone light when his harsh words are mumbled back at you, “If it’s too much, then why– hnn– why are you fucking back onto me like such a slut?”
He’s so mean, so mean to you while he fucks you so… meanly. Head whirling over how he speaks to you, not even able to think long before he slaps your clit harshly. It’s got your knees buckling, falling into the mattress under him. His dick slips from you as you collapse into the mattress.
Geto doesn’t pick you back up straight away, oh no, because you’re leaking all of his cum out of your little hole onto the bed and he can’t take his eyes off of how much of it he managed to get inside you. It’s you who picks your hips up lazily, presenting yourself for him.
He chuckles at your loyalty to his cock, but he also can’t help the way the sight makes him twitch. Shoving his dick into you again, feral in his pursuit to fuck you, to fuck you full of more of his cum.
“S-so devoted– hnnn– doing such– hah– a good job for me, pretty,” he slurs.
You feel like you might pass out, so lightheaded but meeting each and every one of his thrusts all the same. An arm wrapping around your front pulls your back to his chest. Both of his hands land on your tits, fingers pinching and rolling your nipples, making your pussy shudder around him.
You want to fuck your hips back recklessly but not able to with this angle, only able to arch further and give shallow grinds while he fucks his hips into you. He plants kisses and bites along your neck, nipping your skin hard enough that you twitch and whine each time he does it.
One hand leaves your tit and trails down your front, going for your cunt, spreading wide around where he’s stuffing you full continuously. Getting an absolute mess all over his hand and fingers, only to shove those fingers into your mouth, leaving you to lick him clean. Crammed full by his dick and fingers at once, convulsing around him at the thought of it, at the reality of it.
“You like being stuffed full, huh?” He muses to you, an evil kind of joy in his tone. You don’t get to choose your own response, he’s already using the fingers he has in your mouth to nod your head yes. “Ah, thought so.”
Pulling his fingers from your mouth slowly to watch how you suck on them as he does, before he’s wiping all your spit down your chest to your tummy. And then he has another hand on the back of your neck and is pushing you down into the pillows again, this time he keeps his hand there while he fucks into you diabolically.
Somehow faster than before, relentless, reaching his own end and wanting you to cum all over him at least once more. Head dipping back as he groans out, thrusts harsh and calculated. Hitting all the spots he’s just learnt about, having memorised just how to make you fucking squirm for him.
Which he succeeds in, if he didn’t have the hand on the back of your neck, you would’ve crawled up the bed to try and get away from his evil thrusts. Poor abused pussy creaming around him for the fourth time, orgasm blinding you, only seeing white spots behind your eyelids.
The sounds he lets out are wrecked and beautiful and have you wishing that you weren’t cumming so violently if only to see the way he’s spilling inside you for the second time tonight.
“That’s it– fuck– take it– taking it so fucking well– holy fuck—” Every word he utters is breathless and broken, essentially fucking himself stupid too.
Taking a moment for himself to catch his breath before he’s slipping from you and pulling your ass cheeks apart to watch how his cum dribbles from your overfilled cunt. You try to wiggle away but he holds you steady, eyes trained on your dipping hole. Overcome with the desire to fuck his tongue inside you but instead settling for shoving two fingers inside, plugging your hole to keep his cum in.
You whine at him, and he can only chuckle and find you incredibly cute in your post orgasm bliss. Barely able to keep your eyes open, let alone speak right now.
He does eventually pull his fingers from you, wiping the mess on your thighs before turning you onto your back. It feels like you’re looking up at an angel as he looks down at you, or maybe the devil. All flush and sweet smiles, too sweet for a man that just fucked you within an inch of your life.
“You can’t smile at me like that, not after you almost killed me,” you babble back at him.
He rolls his eyes at you, “There you go overreacting again.”
“You fuck so mean, Sugu,” you accuse… accurately.
A smile grows on his face again. “Feels real good though, doesn’t it?”
You weakly slap at him, he just grabs your hand and tugs your body into his kneeling form, hugging you to him. Pressing kisses all over your face. “Think you can stand long enough to shower?”
Shaking your head at him, “Not without fainting.”
“Alright, bath it is,” he concludes.
He takes such nice care of you afterwards, a complete contrast to how he fucked you. It’s lovely though, the hands that grabbed and pulled at you now delicate as they trace over your skin, washing you clean.
You rest with your back to his front in the bath, head laying lazily on his chest. “So… for the sake of clarity, we’re not just friends?”
His lips tickle against the tip of your ear. “I can fuck you all over again if you need more proof?”
“I fear you might actually kill me.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.” He leaves a single kiss against your cheek.
In the morning, for the first time ever, he makes you breakfast. To make up for all the marks he’s littered your body with. He also officially asks you on a date, which you pretend to think really hard about even though you’d already decided you were going to say yes.
In the end, being friends with Geto Suguru wasn’t hard… it’s just not what you both wanted.
𝒂.𝒏. THIS IS A REPOST .. a repost from my old account @/lovelivision, if you feel like you've read it before, maybe you have !
thank you for reading !!! i hope you guys liked it and i hope everyone is doing so good >:3
꒰꒰. all works are the intellectual property of aliienangel .. do not plagiarise/translate/reupload/feed to ai ♡. 。
Summary ˚. ᵎᵎ Chris picks you up from a party after you call him complaining about missing him. But he knows what you want and gives it to you before you even get home /or/ Chris fingers you in his car while driving home from a party drunk.
Warnings ˚. ᵎᵎ SMUT, F/M, fingering, fingering while drunk, praise kink, pet names (baby, babygirl, good girl) Let me know if I missed anything!!
Authors Note ˚. ᵎᵎ We could take a coupe or a truck, vroom, vroom. I got a little inspiration ˙ᵕ˙
Also my titles are complete bs at this point
WC ˚. ᵎᵎ 2.0k
You decided to go out and get drunk with your girls. You had a safe ride home, and you didn’t have anything else going on, so why not? You thought it would be a fun normal night out but you couldn’t help thinking about your husband. His lips, his nose, his hands, his shoulders, and just him overall.
At first it was fun being out. You haven’t done anything like this for a while, but later in the night as more shots were poured, you stood in the bathroom, phone in hand, calling your husband you so desperately missed.
“Hello?”
You smiled hearing his raspy voice answer. He must have been half asleep.
“Hi Chris.”
You could hear him laugh softly. Your voice must have reflected how tipsy you were. “Hi baby. Are you having fun?”
You nodded, leaning your head against the wall to help stabilize your stand. “Mhm. But I miss you.”
You heard him laugh again on the other end. “You miss me? You’re supposed to be partying right now.”
You groan playfully in response and fully lean your back against the wall. “I know. But I miss you. And I wish I was with you.” You sigh dramatically into the phone. “Cause I miss your hands, and your hair, and your nose, and your shoulders, and your laugh, and… yeah.”
You could hear his smile as he spoke. “Baby, do you want me to come get you?”
You hum in response, nodding. “Please… I want a hug.”
You could hear him moving out of bed and keys being picked up as he spoke again. “Okay, I’ll be there in like 30 minutes. I love you. Be safe till I get there.”
You said you love him back before ending the call and walking out the bathroom. You told your friends you didn’t feel good and wanted to head home and that Chris would be picking you up soon. You said your goodbyes and had last minute conversations with them before you got a text from him saying he was outside. You said one last goodbye as you waved at them while walking out.
You immediately spotted Chris' car and opened the door looking over to see your husband in the drivers seat. You pout your lip seeing his sleepy, messy hair state and crawl inside the car, leaning over the center console to hug him.
He was a bit surprised but didn’t deny your hug and wrapped his arms around you before helping you sit down in the passenger seat. “Hi, baby. You okay?”
You nodded before pulling away from the hug and closing the door as you settled into the seat. “I missed you.”
He smiled softly looking over at your loopy state and put a hand on your thigh, “I missed you too.” Thumb rubbing against the soft skin as you put your seat belt on. “How many drinks did you have?”
You whine leaning back against the leather seats and turn your head looking at him. You looked over his face, his shoulders, his arm that was running down to your thigh, before making eye contact with him again. He raised an eyebrow waiting for an answer.
“Mmm, a lot.”
He watched over your face before he did that small squeaky laugh at your response, pulling his hand away from your thigh to put it on the wheel. “I figured.”
You almost grabbed his hand to put back on your skin, but stopped your hands before they could lift off your lap. You hum playfully in response and fidget with the skin on your hand to stop you from begging him to touch you, watching as he pulls out onto the street.
It was silent other than the soft noise of the car engine, and the other cars you passed by. You watched out the window as you drove past everything. You had him here with you now but you wanted him closer. You look over at him, eyes are focused on the road, and take this time just to admire your husband.
Your first thought was how cute he was. His blonde dyed hair all curly from getting out of the shower, his face slightly puffy from laying in bed earlier, and his eyes blinking as he watched the road. He felt your eyes on him and turned to see your expression, before looking back at the road with a very subtle smile.
You thought he might be able to read your thoughts because soon after, his hand went back to your thigh slowly rubbing up and down. You put one hand over his, guiding him as he caressed you. Your eyes watch his very attractive hands running over your skin feeling heat build.
When you started listing things you missed about him earlier, you weren't lying about his hands. They were one of your favorite parts. The feeling you had when they touched you, felt like butterflies rushing to your stomach. It didn’t matter how many times he touched you, It always felt like he was doing it for the first time.
You guided his hand closer to the end of your short dress before crossing your legs and closing his hand in between your thighs so he couldn’t pull away. You watched his smirk grow before he glanced over at you. “What’s up princess?”
You hum in response and lean against the seat turning your body towards his, running a hand over his forearm. “I like your hands.”
He laughed at your response and glanced down at your thighs holding his hand hostage. When his thumb started rubbing over your skin again you felt heat building up in your body. As his touch went on you felt it building up in your core.
You let go of his hand sitting back in the chair and crossing your arms in your lap over the heat building up. You pout your lips feeling embarrassed at how easy it was for him to make you feel like that.
He immediately recognized your body language. From years of being together he’s learned a lot of your habits, especially the ones you did when you started getting needy.
He only stilled for a moment before you felt his hand pushing the one leg that was crossed over the other, off to make you uncross them. Before you could even process what was going on you felt his fingers slipping under the end of your dress.
You felt your stomach tensing at the buzz you were getting from his touch. He didn’t go any farther. Like he was waiting for you to give him permission. Instead of speaking, you grab his hand and guide it over the lace on your panties.
His fingers tease your entrance over the cloth slowly before adding pressure over your entrance clit and rubbing small circles. You lean your head back against the seat humming in response to the pleasure, feeling your breath picking up slightly.
You spread your legs allowing him more access, begging him to make more contact with your body. You were so drunk you didn’t care how fast or desperate you might have seemed. You just wanted him to touch you. You see his eyes glancing back to you as he watches you spread your legs and smiles.
“Were you feeling needy? Is that why you wanted me to come pick you up?”
You pout playfully and shake your head looking up at him. He just scoffed a playful laugh looking down at you. It was a yes and a no. At first it wasn’t. You really did miss him and wanted a hug, but after the phone call you started feeling your panties dampening after hearing his raspy voice, thinking about how every morning he makes sure you start your day off with an orgasm.
You whine softly feeling his hand slip inside your panties, his fingers gliding over your cunt, spreading your slick enough where he can slip his fingers inside you.
You lean your head back, one hand holding yourself against the seat, the other going back to hold his forearm, feeling the muscles working as he started thrusting his fingers in and out of your cunt slowly.
“You’re so wet. Are you sure you didn’t call me just cause you were feeling needy?”
You whine in response and lean your head against his arm feeling your cheeks heating up into a red hue. Pleasure spreads through your body making your legs weak and your body warm. He was really fingering you in the passenger seat of his car while driving. Just thinking about how it sounds in your head made you clench around his fingers.
You pulled up your dress so it was bunched at your waist and out of the way, leaning back into the seat holding Chris’s arm with both hands. His fingers hitting long and deep inside your cunt, hitting that one spot over and over again. You almost wanted to roll your eyes annoyed at how well he knew where it was.
“Is this what you wanted, baby?”
You hum before softly nodding in response. You closed your eyes, leaning your head against his arm, holding on tight as he sped up.
“You look beautiful by the way.”
Even now when his fingers were inside you, he never stopped complementing you and making you feel good about yourself, it drove you crazy. You turned your head against him, opening your eyes to see him still sneaking glances down at your state with a small smile. You groan feeling your legs weakening as your stomach tenses up. You couldn’t even properly respond to his comments right now.
The car windows were fogging up slightly, lights from other cars driving past dashing by you, you know no one would see what was going on but it was still giving you a thrill.
You started getting impatient. You were only like 10 minutes away from the house, that’s good. You couldn’t last much longer. You held onto his arm guiding his fingers deeper. You felt his eyes go down to you, imagine his little smirk seeing how badly you wanted to cum right now.
You felt his hand pull out your cunt before tapping your thigh and tugging at your panties. “Take these off for me, baby girl.”
Your stomach flipped before quickly moving and hooking your fingers into your panties and sliding them down, not caring enough to unhook it from your left ankle. Immediately his fingers were back in your cunt sliding in and out at a faster pace.
You felt your legs starting to buzz, and pulled them up on the seat up to your chest, leaning back giving him more access to your cunt.
Chris looked over to see your expression, your legs being spread open for him before speaking softly “There you go.”
You could feel your mind going blank. Filled with nothing but how his hand was making your body fill with nothing pleasure. “Fuck, Chris-“
“I know, baby go ahead.”
Your hands go back to his arms, holding on tighter, feeling your legs giving out as your body goes numb with a numb buzzing. Your whines are loud and unfiltered against his arm as you lean your head into him, holding onto him tight, his fingers still moving at a steady pace as you ride your orgasm. You felt yourself pulsing around his fingers, the sound of your slick coating him as he thrusted in and out.
“Good girl.”
You hum in response to his praise, still holding him tightly as you come down from your high, Your body still shuddering slightly, your breath uneven and trying to catch up with itself. You felt your body getting tired. From all the drinking and your orgasm you just had you felt your eyes closing as you came down.
You felt Chris slow down seeing you down from your high before pulling out and bringing his hand to your thigh holding it tightly. You still held him
And rested your head against his arm.
“We’ll be home in 2 minutes. I can carry you inside, don't worry about it baby, rest your eyes.”
And that’s exactly what you did. You closed your eyes before feeling a smirk growing on your lips knowing as soon as you hit that bed when you got inside, you would be begging for a round 2.
Authors Note ˚. ᵎᵎ kinda short, but I’m working on a lot of differnt things so here’s this one.
THIS & THAT CAME OUT AND BANGCHAN LOOKS SO GOOD IN THE MV. DON’T PLAY WITH ME RN 🤤
switch!choso who absolutely worships your pussy with his mouth. he’ll lay between your soft thighs for hours eating you out and jerking himself off to your moans and the way you taste on his tongue.
switch!choso who loves when you handcuff him to the bed.
switch!choso who’s addicted to cock warming. he’ll make you sit on his lap with his cock inside your dripping cunt and won’t let you move till he’s either finished what he’s doing or till he’s too desperate and needy to wait anymore.
switch!choso who accidentally leaves bruises on you from holding you too tight (he’s not sorry).
switch!choso who praises and talks you through it like it’s a full time job, “so pretty for me, angel. you look so perfect taking my dick…just lay there an’ take it f’me, you can do that, right baby?”
switch!choso who jerks off with your panties when you’re not around.
switch!choso who’s so clingy after sex, you’re lucky if he pulls out before you go to sleep (he’s doesn’t want to so he can fuck you again first thing in the morning).
switch!choso who sounds so pretty when he’s begging and whimpering as you overstimulate him, “please…please slow down babe, i can’t- oh god, fuck…sh- shit.”
switch!choso who will wrap his hand around your neck, squeezing the sides with his fingers till you’re dizzy.
switch!choso who’s obsessed with breeding you. your pussy just feels too good to pull out of and you look so pretty all full and leaking his cum. besides, it’s not like he would mind if you got pregnant with his babies anyway.
switch!choso who gets so needy when you keep him waiting. jumping up from the couch the second he hears your car outside. it’s hardly been 10 minutes before he has you manhandled into prone, fucking you like a dog in heat. his chest pressed to your back while (incoherently) mumbling apologies and praise into your ear, “‘m sorry baby, i couldn’t- fuck, i couldn’t wait anymore. you feel so- oh fuckkk…feel so fucking good hah.”
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セク ME ON YOU ໒꒰ they absolutely love when you get all shy and embarassed when they say filthy things to you while they’re buried deep inside
CONTENT WARNING dirty talking. praise kink. slight humiliation. heavy dirty talk. vulgar language mild degradation / sukuna nd gojo. shyness. light restraint nanami. embarassment play. focused on how he talks to you
you feel him push your legs open and sink into you in one unhurried motion, burying himself all the way to the hilt and staying there for a long second just to feel the way your body flutters and tightens around him before he finally starts moving in those rough thrusts that drag every inch of him against you.
“fuck, look at that face….” he mutters mean right against your ear, “already turning red like that, you always get this shy when im balls deep inside you huh?” his hips keep rolling grinding in deep, and the more you try to turn your face away the more he seems to enjoy watching you get flustered.
“this tight cunt’s gripping me so good.” he keeps going, “why’re you so nervous while i pump you full? cute.” he thrusts harder now, deeper, the wet sound of it filling the quiet between his words, and he doesn’t ease up even when your breath starts hitching.
“you feel every thick inch stretching you open right now?” he mutters, grinding deep, “and you’re still trying to look anywhere but at me even though you’re soaked around my cock.” he shifts, pushing your thigh higher so he can sink in even further, and the new angle makes your whole body tense under him.
“yeah, just like that.” he continues, “feel how deep i am? this is what you get for being so fucking tight and nervous,” he keeps the same rough pace, every thrust heavy as he leans in closer so his mouth is right by your ear again.
“i’m gonna fill you up while you’re still too embarrassed to even make a proper sound.” he doesn’t stop, doesn’t soften, just keeps moving and talking, letting every filthy word spill out as he uses you exactly how he wants.
♯ NANAMI KENTO
you feel him settle between your legs and push into you slowly, fully, every inch, until his hips are flush against yours and he stays there for a moment making sure you’re taking him properly before he starts moving in those steady strokes.
“you’re doing well my love.” he says“taking me this deep without complaining. good girl.” his hips keep the same precise rhythm, and the way he looks down at you is almost assessing.
“you’re very tight around me. it’s… pleasant.” he doesn’t seem to notice how the words sound, just continues as if he’s stating facts. “your body is reacting nicely. every time i push in you get wetter. that’s good.”
it gets to be too much and your hand comes up to cover his mouth, trying to stop the words, but he simply catches your wrist and pins it firmly beside your head without breaking rhythm.
“don’t do that,” he says against your palm before moving it away, still thrusting steady and deep.
“i’m not finished. you’re taking me so well it would be a waste not to tell you, keep being good for me while i fill you.” he doesn’t raise his voice, his hips never miss a beat and your pinned hand stays right where he put it.
♯ GOJO SATORU
“aww, already this red?” he coos,“look at you trying so hard not to make a sound.” his hips keep rolling and he watches your face the whole time like it’s the best entertainment he’s had all day.
“c’mon, don’t hide,” he keeps going, still smiling, “you get this embarrassed just from having me inside you? look at how you’re squeezing me every time i talk. you really can’t handle being called out for being this nervous, huh?” he thrusts a little deeper, dragging it out just to watch you squirm.
“so shy you can barely look at me even while you’re taking my cock this well,” he teases as he shifts his angle, pushing one of your knees higher so he can sink in further, and the new depth pulls another quiet sound from you that only makes his grin wider.
“there it is,” he murmurs, still thrusting slow and mean, “that tiny noise you try so hard to swallow. you’re so shy you can’t even moan properly, can you? just lay there getting fucked”
♯ SUKUNA RYOMEN
“look at this pathetic little thing,” he sneers,“already trying to cover your face, keep your hands down, i want to see you.” his hips keep slamming in deep and mean, and even though the way you’re hiding clearly irritates him he can’t seem to stop the grin stretching across his face.
“you think covering up makes you less of a desperate little hole?” he continues, still thrusting hard, “it doesn’t. it just makes you look more pathetic, keep trying to hide, it’s almost cute how much you can’t stand being looked at while you’re getting fucked.”
he forces one of your hands away from your face only to watch you immediately try again, and the low laugh that leaves him is pure mean satisfaction.
“there you go again,” he mutters, “covering up like a little coward even though your cunt is gripping me so tight.” he doesn’t ease up, just keeps driving into you hard and deep, every filthy word coming out like he’s both irritated and thoroughly enjoying the show.
♯ GETO SUGURU
“you’re so quiet,” he murmurs, “and so wet already. does being talked to like this make you this nervous?” he thrusts a little deeper. “you take me so well… trembling and trying to hide that pretty face. i can feel every little squeeze. it’s alright to look at me. i want to see how shy you get when i tell you how good this tight cunt feels wrapped around me.”
his hips keep that same rhythm even as the words stay filthy, and he never raises his voice once. “you’re going to let me fill you, aren’t you? even while you’re this flustered.” he leans in a little closer, still smiling.
“you don’t have to hide. i can already feel how much your body likes this even if you’re too shy to show it on your face. every time i push in you get tighter, i’m going to enjoy every second of filling you up while you can barely meet my eyes.”
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